Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Half The World Away

I would like to leave this city, this old town don't smell too pretty

The knock on the door and the call that followed through the worn wood was meant to rouse her, but Caden had been awake since a little past dawn. She was sat cross-legged on her bed, viewing her meagre possessions one after the other.

“I’m up, Shianni,” she called. “I’ll be out soon.” She heard her cousin move off, satisfied that her first task as bridesmaid was complete. The blushing bride was up and getting ready. Caden made no move to that effect; she wanted to go over her things one more time. Today she would leave her childhood behind and become an adult. She needed to see what could make that transition with her and what would need leaving behind.

Her most prized possessions were the first items laid out before her on the bed. Her mother’s supple leather boots, by far the fanciest item of clothing she owned, as well as being the most practical. With these boots, decorated with patterns of leaves and swirls, evoking an autumn breeze as it stirred through the trees, Caden could move so quietly that she wagered she could creep up on any animal. She had practised her stealthy hunting ever since she had grown into the footwear on the rats that made their homes alongside the elves in the Alienage and had almost caught one once. She would be hard pressed to leave them anywhere, so she picked them up and straightened her legs, sliding her feet into the boots. There. That was better. Caden smiled to herself as she reached for her other family heirloom and turned it over in her hands. The crack in the roof at the foot of her bed let the morning sunlight spear the room and Caden winced as the light bounced from the knife in her hands into her eye. She laughed in spite of herself and blinked; this knife was her mother’s second favoured item, one that her father liked to pretend didn't exist. As Caden sheathed the weapon in the special hidden casing inside the lining of her left boot, she remembered the first time Adaia had handed her the weapon, how large the knife had felt in her small hands.

Those were the most important things that Caden owned, though she still had a few more possessions. There was a small pile of letters bound in a scrap of ribbon, her record of the correspondence she had enjoyed with her husband-to-be. He would be arriving that day and she would look upon him for the first time, hear his voice, see his face. But at least with the few letters-- couriers being an expensive luxury for the badly paid elves of Denerim-- she at least felt like she knew Nelaros of Highever better than a stranger. It was more than many of her peers got; her cousin Soris had married a woman from another Alienage having never met her before the ceremony. It had worked out for him, but others did not always fare so well. Thea, a woman only a few years older than Caden, had been matched with a man she obviously despised and was not afraid to unleash her ire on anyone she felt like blaming for her circumstances. Caden had had an altercation with her only the previous day, where Thea had scorned that Caden was privileged thanks to her father’s savings, that he had managed to score Caden a good match with a decent sort. Of course, how Thea would have any idea how much money Caden’s father Cyrion had spent on her dowry or how she would know whether Nelaros was a good guy, given that she had no insight into the family funds or Caden's betrothed wasn't worth wondering about. The woman was bitter and that had turned her cruel.

Caden’s mother had always instilled in her the importance of marrying a person for love, or as near as could be achieved, which was why Adaia had taught Caden to read and write when others had missed that lesson. Adaia had been Caden’s teacher in many ways, enabling Caden to write to her betrothed and, she thought of the knife in her boot, how to defend herself if ever her trust in men proved to be a mistake. Adaia and Cyrion had been lucky to grow up together, to know one another and fall in love before getting married two decades ago. They were Caden’s guiding light to love and friendship, and they had had thirteen years together before sickness had struck the household. Caden still remembered how frightening it had been to feel so weak and helpless, how her even sicker mother had held her. She also remembered slipping into blackness for several days, only to find when the fever finally broke that Adaia had passed away.

Her final belongings were the three books she owned, slim dog-eared items, bound in shabby leather, these were books that humans had thrown out. They comprised the majority of her lessons in words, and each one had her shaky, early handwriting inside each cover, spelling out Caden Tabris. They were hers, all of these things were hers, and she couldn't bear the thought of leaving them behind. She gathered up the letters and the books and slipped them under her pillow. She would keep the boots and the hidden knife with her, but the rest could be collected later when she and Nelaros were presented with a room in the marriage house. They would get a bigger place to live when she became pregnant, fulfilling her first duty as a new wife. Caden’s insides constricted at that thought. She was not yet twenty years old and still felt very unprepared for impending motherhood, in spite of being on the cusp of adulthood. It was a strange feeling to be considered still a child at this moment and to know that within a few hours she would be a married grown woman and all that came with that new position. Caden let out a shaky breath. She might have been approaching this milestone of growing up, but she wanted her mother in that moment.

Another knock came to the door to announce that the gathering from Highever had arrived, including her fiancé. Caden blanched. "I'm coming, Shianni." She shook her head and pushed outside.

Her redheaded cousin was beaming in the sunshine and Caden couldn't help but smile to see her. A year her junior, Shianni was desperate to get married and openly jealous of Caden’s nuptials, although she was never unkind with it like Thea. Shianni slipped her hand through Caden’s arm and tugged her close. "Todays the day!"

"I know," Caden said evenly, ignoring the butterflies in her belly that were making their presence known in earnest now. "I suppose I had better go and greet my... greet Nelaros."

The two girls, one giggling, one reserved, headed for the Alienage gates where a crowd of elves had formed. It had been a while since there had been a wedding in Denerim for the elves and they were all curious to see the new arrivals. Nelaros had travelled with a small party of older elves, the intention being to safeguard his journey and to prompt some discussions with the elders of the town to broker some more matches. Shianni was scanning the faces for an unknown young man, but her eyes kept straying to the elders, hoping they would spy her and wish to make enquiries as to her suitability. Caden kept a firm grip on her friends arm until someone tapped her on the shoulder and she turned, already knowing who she would see. She didn't recognise him, of course, that would have been impossible, but she knew who he was. "Nelaros." She said, warmth on her tongue in spite of her nerves.

Nelaros was handsome; slender and tall for an elf. They had similar colouring, though his eyes were green to her blue and his yellow hair was paler than hers. Her mind leapt to children again, how clearly she could see their offspring with their similar appearances, though she pushed those thoughts away.

Nelaros smiled, brightening his travel worn face. He reached out his hands and took hers -- Shianni tactfully moving away from her cousin and leaving her open to Nelaros' reach -- clasping both of his over hers. "It is so good to finally meet you, Caden." In a bold move, he lifted her hands and pressed his lips to the back of her hand. Caden felt his breath on the silver scar that scoured her knuckles and momentarily felt embarrassed by it. He didn't seem to notice.

"Well met, Nelaros," Caden managed after a moment pause. "But how did you know it was me?"

Nelaros grinned and nodded towards Cyrion who was standing with the hahren Valendrian, watching the two. "Your father pointed you out for me. I am glad to finally look upon your face. I have looked forward to this moment for so long."

Caden nodded and a few moments elapsed before she realised it was probably expected that she should return the sentiments. "I've enjoyed your letters." She said grasping for something to say. "I'll miss them now you're here." Inwardly she cringed. What a way to make someone feel welcome, by bemoaning a future without long range correspondence.

Nelaros, to his credit, laughed. Her hand was still lying between his, and was starting to feel quite hot. "I have enjoyed yours as well, though I look forward to learning more about you after our wedding."

Caden thought of the knife in her boot and of her father’s words the night before, how he had warned her to keep the part of her that knew how to fight away from her husband. She tucked the foot that hid the knife behind the other. "Mm-hmm.”

As if they sensed a potentially awkward silence descending on the couple, Cyrion and hahren Valendrian appeared beside them.

"What a fine pairing you make, Caden, Nelaros." Cyrion said, wrapping an arm around his daughters’ shoulders. Caden’s hand slid from between Nelaros' and she leaned into her father’s embrace. It was rare for her to feel as though she were making her father proud. Too often in her youth had she given him reason to sigh and look upon her with disappointment. Too much scrapping, too many fights. Despite her reservations for the day, it was nice to bask in the glow of Cyrions approval for once.

"I am honoured," Nelaros said with a bow to Cyrion and another to Valendrian, he having been instrumental in signing off on the match before the wedding could go ahead. "Andraste has blessed me greatly."

"I felt the same when my daughter was born," Cyrion said. "See that you protect her."

"Father..." Caden protested weakly, but he shot her a look to drop any assurances of how she could look after herself before she could begin. She clamped her mouth shut. If it would make her father happy to have her pretend that she wasn't skilled in the fighting arts then so be it. Nelaros could learn that later, when they were wed.

The men continued to talk and Cyrion released Caden after a short while. She listened with only half an ear to the conversation around her. Her gaze drifted over the dais where the wedding ceremony would take place and her stomach swooped unpleasantly. Keen to avoid the thought of her wedding and the complicated feelings that evoked, she looked away, her eyes alighting on a human man who was speaking with another elder. She gripped her father’s arm to get his attention. "There is a human here."

Cyrion followed her gaze and nodded, as Valendrian chuckled. "Don't fret, child." He said in his usual calm manner. "Duncan is an old friend."

Caden’s eyes narrowed. "There are friends and there are humans. There are no human friends."

Cyrion huffed, crossly. "Caden, mind yourself."

Valendrian didn't look perturbed and caught Duncan’s attention as his conversation came to a close; the tall bearded man made his way towards them. "Duncan is a Grey Warden, young Caden."

Her eyes widened at once as the man drew closer. She knew of the Grey Wardens through her mother’s stories and the idea of one being in the Alienage ignited an interest in her that had been missing so far that morning. The man called Duncan reached the small group and Caden watched as the human offered his hand to her hahren of many years for him to shake. It seemed so strange to watch this friendly exchange; her entire experience of humans interacting with elves was one of disinterest at best, cruelty at worst.

Cyrion turned to Caden. "My dear, why don't you go and get ready. We shouldn't delay the service." Caden glanced at the Grey Warden who was speaking quietly with Valendrian and then nodded to her father.

"Of course." She threw a small smile to Nelaros. "See you soon, I guess."

*

Shianni sat behind Caden and gathered her golden hair up to fix it into a neat bun. "I'm so excited, are you excited?" Caden made a small, non-committal noise, but Shianni didn't seem to notice the fact that the bride’s enthusiasm didn't quite match her own. "Nelaros looks so handsome. Did he ever tell you he was handsome in his letters? I guess not; who writes about themselves that way?"

"Why do you think the Grey Wardens here?" Caden asked Shianni worked on her hair.

"Who?" Shianni sounded confused. "Oh, that human man? I didn't know he was one."

"Do you think he's just visiting Valendrian?" Caden wondered. "They seem to be friends."

"Who knows." Shianni said, breezily. "Not like it matters to you. Your whole life is going to change really soon." Caden felt Shianni lean forwards and hug her from behind, mindful of the hair she had just fixed in place. "Can you believe it?"

"I... I really can't." Caden stood and went to her bed as Shianni set her own hair into a plait. She brushed down the sheet, taking an inordinate amount of time to smooth an already made bed, before finally standing and reaching for the dress on the trunk at the foot of her bed. With shaking fingers, she pulled off her casual clothes and stepped into the white shift. As wedding dresses went it was both plain and exquisite, certainly for the Alienage. It was Adaias gown from her wedding to Cyrion, carefully kept all these years. Caden felt a weight of expectation in the dress, despite its light cotton and lace material. Shianni gave a squeal of joy and then Caden felt her start to pull the ribbons together at the back, tightening the gown over her waist. Caden looked down at her naked ring finger, imagining a band of gold adorning it. She glanced at her other hand, feeling the shape of the knife in her boot and picturing it in her palm.

Shianni tied the laces into a knot and sighed happily. "It's time."

*

The groom stood tall and proud. Cyrion looked on with delight beaming from his face. Shianni was sniffing as she stood near Caden. The Chantry sister who was performing the ceremony was talking about the Light of Andraste. Caden hardly heard it. Barely saw the faces watching. Nelaros said something softly, but she heard him as though he were speaking under water. The edges of everything were blurring. And then a flash of colour. Caden turned, her gaze immediately locking onto the group of humans who had noticed the commotion and were descending upon the wedding party. Her eyes narrowed and she stepped forward. She knew this shem. She heard Shiannis sharp intake of breath; they both knew this man and Caden quickly put herself in front of her cousin, who had always had the eye of this shem.

“What’s this? A party?” the man brayed as he drew closer, an unpleasant sneer across his face. Caden bristled, but kept quiet. The Chantry sister faltered, mid-sentence, turning to him in alarm. “I can’t believe I wasn’t invited; you all know how much I love a good knife-ear party.”

“My lord!” the sister gasped, incensed at his racist remark. She obviously didn’t know him well, Caden thought to herself.

Vaughan Kendells reached the dais and climbed atop. Caden reached behind her, manoeuvring Shianni so that she was between Vaughan and her cousin. “Wait a moment,” Vaughan said, putting two and two together as he glanced from Caden in her gown and back to Nelaros, who was looking confused, but not afraid. “Is this a wedding?”

“It is, my lord,” the sister replied. “If you wouldn’t mind, we would like to continue.”

“Oh please, it’s not like this means anything,” Vaughan scoffed as his cronies down in the crowd chortled. “It’s like children playing with dolls.” He stepped closer to Caden, who held her ground in spite of the jolt of fear at his proximity. “It’s like dressing up two pigs for a funny Satinalia prank. Everyone has a good laugh, but at the end of the day, it’s still just a pig in a dress.”

Caden gritted her teeth. The dig at her rolled off her skin, but mentioning the dress, her mothers dress, ignited a fire in her belly. “Thank you for your opinion, my lord,” her voice dripped disdain as she stressed his title. “But the only pig here is dressed in House Kendells colours.”

Any humour Vaughan was getting from the situation drained from his face, to be replaced by outright disgust. “Watch yourself, knife-ear,” he started, but then spied the elf cowering behind Caden. “Who’s this? Ah, my favourite!”

Caden pushed Shianni and moved to block Vaughan who was trying to get closer to Shianni. “You will not touch her.”

Vaughan laughed again at this, finding Caden’s protection of her cousin to be the utmost in hilarity. “How sweet. You actually think you have a choice.”

Caden didn’t think; her hand was in a fist and that fist was connecting with Vaughan’s chin before she could even blink. A dangerous hush fell over the assembled. Even the Chantry sister looked afraid.

“Caden, no,” Cyrions cry came too late and he was swiftly silenced by one of the men Vaughan had brought, who dove his own fist into Caden’s fathers’ stomach. He dropped to the floor in a ball, winded.

“Father!” Caden jerked where she stood, torn between barricading Shianni and going to her father. The man added a kick to Cyrion for good measure. “Stop it!”

Vaughan whirled on her. “What will you give me in return if I call off my men?” He nodded to the man, who planted his boot over Cyrions face and slowly pressed down. Cyrion couldn’t even cry out. Caden looked back at Vaughan who was signally to the other men to start roughing up the other elves. Those who could fled home, but within moments the floor was littered with bleeding elves. Caden felt ice cold fear shoot through her veins.

“Stop it.” She said again, her voice mirrored by the exclamation of her betrothed. Nelaros jumped down from the dais and went to Caden’s father, trying to get between the man and Cyrion.

Vaughan reached over and touched his fingers to Caden’s chin, tilting her head up high as he looked down at her. “Very well. If you come with me now.” He didn’t wait for her response; Caden felt him release her chin and felt a moments relief at that before his rock-hard fist crashed into her skull and the world pitched upside down and into darkness.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: The Wedding List

You've made a wake of our honeymoon, and I'm coming for you!

Caden groaned in the darkness. Her head was pounding an uncomfortable rhythm and the dim light hurt her eyes as she tried to open them. Blinking, she grasped at her temple and pushed herself to a sitting position. She froze for a moment, waiting for the world to cease its lurching and right itself. “Ow,” she muttered to herself.

“Caden?”

Caden turned her head, another flash of pain shooting through her skull, though it was already better than before. Shianni was sat beside her, knees drawn up, voice muffled by her face resting against her arms across her legs. “Shianni!” Caden crawled across the cold stone to gather her cousin up in her arms. “What are you doing here?” She looked around the room. “Where is here?”

“The Arls estate.” Shianni said in a small voice. “Vaughans men carried you here.”

Caden growled low in her throat at that thought. “But why are you here?” She pulled back and searched Shiannis face. Her cousin had the same big blue eyes that Caden had, and hers were brimming with worry.

“He made me come, too.” Shianni affirmed the dreadful thought Caden was forming.

“That bastard.” Caden gritted her teeth. A thought struck her and she dove for her boot. She was still wearing her mothers clothes; the boots and the wedding dress, though her hair was coming loose from the bun. Her hand slid into the secret sheathe and for a moment her heart lurched as she found only leather, but in her panic, she hadn’t felt far enough down. Her fingers brushed the hilt of her knife and she relaxed a little. Caden kept one hand on Shiannis arm as she sighed with relief. “They didn’t find my knife.”

“Your knife?”

“You know the one,” Caden said. “The one my mamae taught me to use.”

“Why did you have your knife on you on your wedding day?” Shianni looked bewildered, but this conversation was serving a purpose to lift some of the dread Caden could see in her face.

“I always have it on me.” Caden replied darkly.

“Doesn’t it scare you?” Shianni wanted to know. She shifted her seat until she was sat cross-legged beside Caden.

“The knife?” Caden met Shiannis eyes, matching a scared gaze with her stern one. “No, what scares me is being caught without it.”

Caden squeezed Shiannis arm and then pushed up to a standing position. The pain in her head had abated to a dull, manageable ache and she wanted a better look around the room they were being held in. It was a basic square room, stone floor and walls. One wall was bare, that was behind the girls. Two other walls each held a lit wall sconce, the candles flickering and casting shadows in the bare room. The final wall held the wooden door. Caden knew before she tried it that the door was locked. She crouched down and peered through the keyhole. That there was no key in the lock was both helpful and frustrating; there was enough of a gap under the door that she might have been able to push the key onto something to slid back into the room and engineer their escape, but its lack meant that she could see through to the hallway beyond them. There was one guard posted at the opposite end. Caden could just about see his armour and the sword that hung from his belt. Armed and defended, but still only the one.

Caden made a decision; she turned and hurried back to Shianni. “Right, listen. I’ve got something of a plan forming. We need to work together, but I think I can get us out of here.”

Shiannis eyes widened at the thought and she drew her limbs back together again. “I can’t!”

“You can.” Caden brushed Shiannis hair out of her eyes. “You can. I’ll be here the whole time.”

“But…” Shianni looked down, suddenly seeming so weary and wan. “What’s the use? Vaughan will just keep coming back until he gets what he wants. Why not just let it be now?”

Caden struggled to keep her face neutral as she took in her cousins words. “Because he doesn’t deserve us.” She said in a measured voice. “Vaughan Kendells doesn’t get to have us. No shem gets to have us. We are in a bad situation right now, I won’t lie to you about that, but we have a chance. It might be our only chance, so we have to take it. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” Caden leaned forward, hands either side of Shiannis face and touched their foreheads together. “I’ll protect you.”

Shianni let out a small sob, but when Caden pulled back her cousins resolve was evident. She wasn’t happy about it, that was clear, but being willing to try was enough. Caden just hoped she wouldn’t let her down. Quickly Caden relayed the basic plan and they got into position.

*

“Help, help!” Caden cried, pounding on the door. “Please someone help!” She rattled the door knob and ducked down to glance through the keyhole again. The guard was startled by her shouts and heading over. Good. “Please, she isn’t breathing!”

“Stand back,” came a command and Caden obliged, allowing the guard to enter the room. He shut the door behind him, locking it again and slipping his circlet of keys back onto his belt.

“Please, I can’t wake my friend.” Caden said, allowing a tremor into her voice as she eye his sword and wondered how difficult it would be to filch. She let the guard walk ahead of her, over to Shianni who was lying face down and keeping very still. Caden knew she was terrified, but she just needed Shianni to hold it together for a moment. As the guard bent over Shianni, Caden dipped into her boot, pulling out her knife. It seemed so small and the shem was covered in plate. “Please, do something!” Caden begged, coming up alongside the shem, hoping his attention was focused entirely on her cousin.

“Maker, I’m not a damn healer.” The guard grumbled. He bent down and touched his hand to Shiannis shoulder. Cadens eyes zeroed in on his neck, extended to look, the peach skin so vulnerable. Cadens hand shot out and dug her knife into that unprotected flesh. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but she sank the blade through his throat and flinched as a fast spray of hot, coppery blood shot out, coating her arm. The guard let out a croak and his hand flew up to the knife, but Caden refused to let go, as if her hand was frozen to the hilt. His hand scratched at hers, but became slick with blood, and he weakened fast, pitching forward. Shianni had sprang up as soon as she heard his strangled gasp and was standing with her back pressed against the wall, far from the bloody mess Caden was quickly becoming. The guard tumbled to the ground, the knife going with him, Cadens fingers finally letting it go and then he was lying in a pool of his own blood unmoving. Caden let out a breath that she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

“I think he’s dead.” She said in a flat voice. She thought she would have felt different watching a man die by her hand, but she felt nothing. Carefully, she stepped closer, her foot sliding in the blood and crouched beside him. She wanted her knife back. Her hand was wet and so was the hilt, so getting a good grip was hard enough and then it didn’t want to come out with a gentle tug. Caden had to pressed her other hand to his head to hold him in place as she wrenched the knife loose. The knife was bloody and Caden couldn’t look away from it as she rose back up.

“You killed him,” Shianni said, and it was hard to tell if she sounded upset or vindicated. Caden turned to her. Shiannis chest was rising and falling fast and her face was pale. Caden decided she was definitely not happy with the situation.

“Do you have a handkerchief?” She asked quietly. Shianni frowned but reached into a pocket to pull out a cloth with a shaking hand. Caden reached over and took it with a murmured thanks, wiping her knife down with the fabric, then sheathing it back in her boot.

“Don’t you need that?” Shianni wanted to know. Caden bent down and wrapped her hand around the hilt of the guards sword, manoeuvring it out of the scabbard. “I guess not.” Shianni remarked. Caden held the sword and handkerchief in one hand as she tugged loose the keys.

“Come on,” she said straightening. “Lets’ get you out of here.”

*

After locking the room behind them to hide the bloody scene of murder that Caden had created, the girls sped down the hall. Shianni wouldn’t let go of Cadens free hand, which was fine by Caden. Apart from the door to their room the rest of the doors were unlocked, so she was able to push them open whilst still keeping holding of her newly acquired sword and if Shianni needed that comfort Caden wasn’t about to deny it for her. They managed to avoid any more guards for a while, but when they pushed into an open hallway their luck ran out. Caden shoved through the door with her cousin to see a trio of guards by what appeared to be the front doors to the large house.

“Damn,” Caden said. She’d hoped to find that door without coming across any more humans, but clearly that was too much good fortune to ask for. Shianni let out a cry as she saw the guards turn to them, shock written across their faces.

“What’s that? A knife-ear with a sword?” One asked.

“These are the pair Vaughan brought back.” Another added. “Don’t let them escape.”

Caden pulled her hand free from Shiannis and shoved her backward with the keys. “Shianni, get out of here!”

The third guard was already jumping forward so Caden couldn’t see if Shianni took her direction as she raised her sword to hurriedly parry the blow. It was one thing to take a shem unawares with a stab to the neck, but these three were fully aware she was there. She had never fought humans before, the best she had managed was sparring with her mother and then after her death, practising against a straw figure she had clumsily built behind her house. They were bigger and stronger. She had to be faster. Caden tried to use her size to her advantage; ducking under a wide swing and slicing the guard in his side as she moved out of his reach. He bellowed, but his armour took much of the blow and now she had to turn swiftly to avoid the next swing from a different guard. Trying to remain aware of each guard and their proximity to her wasn’t easy and as she avoiding one slice, she felt steel bite her thigh as she moved. She bit back her cry and backed up, holding her sword before her. She could still stand, that was all she needed to know and all three guards were before her. Over their shoulder she saw Shianni fumbling with the keys at the door. Thank the Maker she was getting out; now all Caden had to do was survive long enough to get to Vaughan. One guard shouted and raised his sword; that goal would be hard to achieve.

Caden thrust up her sword, the metal clanging above her. If another one went for her, she would have no way to block. The doors opened. That was something.

And then the guard driving his sword against hers yelped and dropped to the ground. The other two guards looked around and Caden, driven by a desperate need to live, took advantage of their distraction to lunge her sword into the exposed armpit of one of the guards. He screamed and fell, almost taking the sword with him, but Caden hauled it back out of his flesh. The final guard turned in shock and Caden let out a bestial cry, swinging her sword as highly as she could, cutting a gorge through the man’s face.

It was only then that Caden caught sight of the person who had taken out the first guard and as she watched with wide, confused eyes, her husband to be finished the guard she had felled with a blow to the armpit. “Nelaros?”

“Caden!” He looked up, his eyes clear in spite of the horror they were in the midst of. The final living guard was howling about his face, staunching the flow of blood with his hand. “I had to come. I had to try!”

“Only you?” Caden asked, knowing the answer. Her fellow elves had made a choice; the bodies of Caden and Shianni for the rest of the Alienage. The elves were sacrificing their virtue and their sanity to avoid the rest of them being punished, which would have inevitably happened had they tried to resist the Arls son en masse. It made sense, Caden could see the logic in the choice, but that didn’t stop it from hurting. They were truly on their own.

“The Grey Warden loaned me a sword.” Nelaros was explaining, hurrying over to her. “See?” He held up the sword and behind him Caden saw the guard swing his towards him.

“No!” Caden yelled, trying to pull Nelaros out of the trajectory of the blade, but it sank into his back. Nelaros’ eyes and mouth opened wide and round, though no sound came from him. He grasped at Caden as he fell forward, but Caden had to let him fall in order to drive her sword into the guard, who fell beside her betrothed.

“Andraste preserve us,” Shianni cried, Caden hadn’t realised she was still here. Caden dropped to her knees next to Nelaros. The light was gone from his staring open eyes. He was dead. Caden clenched her fist. She hadn’t known him long, but he had come to save her and Shianni. He had tried, which was more than anyone else had done. In that moment she felt regret at his death, the loss of what they could have meant to each other, the life they never got to build. She’d been so nervous about marrying him, and now that that had been stolen from her, she felt sorry and sad.

And angry.

Caden reached over and fished in Nelaros’ pocket until she found the rings he had brought for them to wear.

“What are you doing?” Shianni whispered. She stood beside the open door watching Caden, but her whole body was angled towards the outside, as if she were fighting against a tide pulling her out.

“This is mine,” Caden said, sliding the ring onto the correct finger. It felt cold and heavy, like the weight of his death that sat on her now. Caden stood and hurried over to Shianni, pressing the other ring into her palm. “You need to figure out a way to send this one back to Highever to his kin. Tell them…” she glanced back at his prone form. “Tell them how brave he was and how proud they should be of him.”

Shianni looked up at Caden. Fat tears trembled in her eyes. “What about you?”

Caden wrapped her fingers around Shiannis hand, the ring between them. “I’m going to make sure Vaughan can never touch you. Tell them it was me, when the humans come looking for the culprit. Tell them I worked alone.”

“No, come on, come back with me,” Shianni moaned, dragging at Cadens arm. “Come on before it’s too late.”

“Shianni, I love you so much,” Caden said, squeezing her hand and wishing she could hold her. She was too bloody for that. “I’m going to keep you safe.”

She pulled her hand free and went back to Nelaros, to pick up the second sword. It was light and short, easy enough to carry in her other hand. Caden looked back over her shoulder at Shianni, hoping she looked calm and stoic, despite the fear roiling her belly. “Now go.”

Without looking back, Caden pressed forward, heading further into the house. 

*

Her knees were shaky, but she couldn’t stop. If she stopped, she might not start walking again and if she did start walking again after pausing to think about it, she might walk right out of the house. She had to do this. It surely meant her death, either at the hands of Vaughan’s friends or the authorities, but if removing him meant Shianni could breathe easier and sleep at night, it would be worth it. Caden only wished she could have seen her father one last time. Head high she pushed through the fear and pushed through the doors. She managed to avoid a few rooms where guards were eating at a long dining table and slipped into the kitchen where she found a cook and an elf.

“Oi, what’s this?” the cook asked bemused, turning to shout for the guards. Caden’s heart sank—she didn’t really want to kill this man, he was only a cook after all, but if he brought the guards running…

As she hesitated the elf crept up behind the cook and brought a heavy cast iron pot down on his head. The cook crumpled to the floor. Caden offered a mirthless smile to the elf.

“My thanks,” she managed. The elf nodded.

“No problem.” He replied, glancing down at the unconscious cook. “I really need an excuse to hit him. Just once. But just so you know,” he looked up at Caden with defiance. “I’m blaming that on you.”

Caden shrugged. “Go ahead. I’ll add that to my list. But listen, I need to find the Arls son. Do you know where he is?”

The elf frowned, thinking. “I don’t know where he is, but I can direct you to his bed chambers.”

Caden smiled grimly. “That will do fine.”

*

She came across another guard outside Vaughan’s room, who confirmed that her first kill had been discovered.

“You’re the elf they’re all looking for,” the guard warned, reaching for a small horn at his belt. Caden darted forward, slashing both swords at his hand, bloodying it and causing him to cry out in pain. She didn’t need him to call the entire garrison down upon her. Not yet. Not until she had Vaughan’s dead body before her. Before he could recover from his hand wound and grab his sword, Caden drove one blade through his neck. These human men were tall, they were covered in plate metal, but Caden had righteous fury on her side and with her sword reaching their exposed necks was easy enough. He made that now familiar “hrrk” sound as she cut off his airway and let his life’s blood flow. He expired before he hit the floor and Caden tugged her sword back again. Her fingers were shaking as she took the keys and unlocked Vaughan’s quarters. Her adrenaline was wearing off and tiredness was setting in. She’d lost the element of surprise she’d hoped for; the dead guard was rather a giveaway outside the door. Unless she tried locking the door behind her, she wondered. Perhaps they would assume that she’d killed a guard and then been forced to turn back when confronted with a locked door? Caden dismissed the idea as soon as it was born; they knew she had keys because she’d locked her room behind her. Even so she closed the door and surveyed her surroundings.

It was a large bedroom, with an oversized bed opposite the door. There was a window either side and Caden floated the idea of opening one window and making it look like she’d escaped that way. A little blood smear on the ledge and maybe she could pull that off. Then she could hide under the massive bed and shank his ankles as he walked by.

Even as she thought this her plan was interrupted by the door opening behind her. “I thought it was you.”

Caden turned upon hearing Vaughan’s voice. She wasn’t ready, oh Maker, she wasn’t ready. But looking at his face, how he sneered down at her helped find her resolve.

“My, look at you.” He said, casting his gaze up and down her. “Filthy little animal.” He crossed his arms and stepped over his dead guard and in to the room, closing the door behind him. He had a sword at his belt, but was still wearing his regular fancy clothes. Caden held her pair of blades tightly. He was alone and she was twice as armed. What was he thinking, taking her on by himself? She wanted to bite back at his comments about her, but her jaw was clamped shut.

Vaughan took a step closer and she raised her swords. He crossed his arms, seemingly unperturbed. “What am I going to do with you now? You’ve killed some of my guards, not many, but enough to be a nuisance. I could have you executed for murder. Hang you by your pretty neck in your Alienage for all your family to see. That could be fun.” Caden felt a tear dribble out of her eye, but she didn’t dare wipe it away. Her blades shone in the light of the wall scones. “Of course, that would be rather final. Perhaps we can come to a different arrangement.” He stepped forward again, forcing Caden to instinctively step back, cursing herself inwardly for doing so. Vaughan chuckled. “What would you say to bedding me right now, and I’ll let you off with a life sentence? Maybe if you’re very good I could let you serve that sentence right here, as my personal whore? Wouldn’t that be lovely?” He leaned closer, ignoring the blades that were pointed towards him as Caden pulled back again, cowering against the wall. “I’d prefer you washed clean and fresh for me, but I’m sure that once I get your clothes off you’re unsoiled enough.” He chuckled. “For the time being at least.”

In that moment she knew she’d made a mistake staying in the manor. She should have run with Shianni, gathered their things and fled Denerim. Made their way to Highever perhaps. Now she was stuck. She was damned if she would submit to his terms. She would die fighting him off if she had to. Dying suddenly seemed so very close, as if Death hovered over her shoulder. She’d been so sure of herself earlier, probably walking to her death, but now that she could see it before her eyes her courage wavered.

“I can see you aren’t interested in that.” Vaughan nodded. “It makes no matter; I intend to have you before I have you killed, so shall we get started?”

Caden cried out and swung, but he was ready and jumped back, drawing his sword in a smooth motion. She swung again and he easily parried the sloppy blow. He was totally calm and in control, where Caden was letting her fear and exhaustion get the better of her. Maker, please let me take him out before he gets me.

Vaughan wasn’t pushing back, he just blocked her every blow as if this were a casual sparring exercise, rather than a fight to the death as it was for Caden. Caden kept swinging, even as in the back of her mind a voice was telling her to back off, take a breather, regroup. Her arms kept swinging, the blades keep thrusting. It was all driven by fear. You have to be faster.

Vaughan yawned as he blocked yet another swing, but then he came alive, dancing around Caden before she could react. She started to turn, but felt Vaughan’s hand grab her neck, hauling her around and throwing her towards the bed. He had been toying with her. In an effort to brace herself, Caden dropped one sword and tried to catch herself against the bed, stumbling and finding herself on her knees. She hurried to her feet again, but Vaughan was behind her, grabbing her second sword and flinging it out of her hands. She heard another clang as he dropped his, and then he had her under her armpits, lifting her up and tossing her on the bed. She bounced once, hurrying to roll over just as he leapt on top of her. Caden threw up her hands against his chest and he laughed, his hot breath misting her face. She turned her head and pushed, but he was so big and so heavy. She felt his hand on her leg, pushing them apart and drawing her knee up. With a start she remembered her knife in that boot. Like a shock of cold water the memory of her hidden blade cut through her terror and hopelessness. Caden turned her face back to him, as he slid his fingers up her side to her neck.

“It really is a very pretty neck,” he said appreciatively, before wrapping his hand around it and pressing. Caden’s terror was back, clutching his arm with her free hand. The other reached for her boot, pulling her leg closer. He started to laugh and wrapped his other hand around her throat. She knew he could end her right then if he wanted to, but he was still playing with her, hurting but not killing her. She had a moment. She could do this.

Her fingers found the metal hilt and she withdrew the knife from the sheathe. Vaughan liked necks, did he? So did Caden.

With a dart, she drove her knife into the side of his neck, burying the blade into the muscle and sinew, unleashing a torrent of blood, that poured onto her from above. Vaughan’s eyed widened and he loosened his hold, grasping at the knife. Caden shoved and he rolled off her, still tugging at the knife, which he pulled free. He was still on her leg and Caden tried to yank it free as Vaughan bled. His eyes found hers, not scared, not lost, but sharp and angry still, even as he lost so much blood that he must surely be dying. His cold gaze locked onto hers as she tried to pull her leg free, and with his final moments he slammed the knife into her hip. Caden screamed and screamed and was still screaming when the door opened.

Chapter Text

Can’t Cheat Death

I spilled blood in the water, then let the storm roll in

Caden’s hip was in agony and her nose dripped blood as she was dragged by two guards into the city of Denerim. She barely saw it as she was brought to the pillory outside the gaol and deposited; leaning against the wood pole she felt chains clamp around her hands, leashing her to the stake. She was in too much pain to care, too exhausted to do anything else but lean against the stake and shut her eyes. She’d done it. Taken down the monster who haunted her friends’ nights, killed the spectre. He couldn’t hurt anyone again.

Caden heard mutters and calls and opened her eyes a slit to see humans gathering to look at the latest criminal to face the humiliation of the stocks. She caught sight of a pair of elves who exchanged words and hurried towards the Alienage. Her hip was crying out for aid; the guards had hastily stuck a bandage around her side, and another on the thigh of the same leg where an earlier fight had wounded her, but it had been a rushed job. All things considered she had gotten off rather lightly in terms of injuries. She almost smiled at that.

She was outside the walls of the Alienage. It struck her suddenly as a remarkable thought. She rarely ventured outside those walls, being still considered a child, and so unable to seek employment in the city. Caden’s ventures beyond the walls were restricted to being kidnapped and then remaining outside as a criminal. What an illustrious career she was having as an adult. She glanced down at the gold band gleaming on her ring finger. They weren’t married and they never would be now, but Caden knew she was an adult. After what she’d been through in a few hours, she’d been catapulted into that milestone. She had just taken a different path than had been expected.

Time moved strangely for her on the stocks. It was still daylight, probably afternoon. The sun was bright as would befit the weather for Summerday and it shone down upon her in her blood-soaked gown. She probably looked a dreadful fright and indeed some mothers dragged their curious children past her with lightning speed. Caden just stood and rested as her skin burned and she waited. At least her state of dress probably helped keep the shems away; none of them were quite brave enough to approach her or throw anything and she was glad for that. Small mercies.

It wasn’t until the first glimmers of dusk started to cross the sky that she heard footsteps approaching her. Caden opened her eyes from a semi doze and blearily looked up as the captain of the guard walked up to her. As he drew closer, she realised that hahren Valendrian was with him. And behind him was the Grey Warden. She didn’t have the wherewithal to ask any questions, and besides there was dried blood all over her mouth and jaw and she wasn’t ready to face that taste when she started speaking. The smell was bad enough, the coppery tang camped out in her nose as it was.

She realised they were speaking amongst each other and she strained to focus on their words.

“…killed the Arls only son and heir. That’s murder and bad enough, but the Arl will not be happy when he returns from Ostagar.” The captain was saying.

“The girl was only defending herself,” Valendrian replied in a measured voice. “I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, but…”

“Yes, we all know what he was like,” the captain agreed in a low tone. Then he sighed. “I’d grant you that defence for his death, but there were five other guards dead in the estate, plus the cook was assaulted. Those can’t be chalked up to self-defence, not if she tracked through the estate to find him.” The captain caught Caden’s eye and shook his head sorrowfully. “I don’t see how she can avoid the executioner’s axe.”

Caden dropped her gaze to the ground. That was that, as clear as day. She had signed her own death warrant.

Then a new voice spoke up.

“There is one other option.” Caden peered up at the Grey Warden who was speaking now. “I could conscript her into the Grey Wardens. That is what I came here to do, to see if we could find any notable candidates.”

“You want this scrawny elf for your Wardens?” the captain asked jerking his thumb at the slumped form of Caden. She wanted to feel insulted, but she couldn’t argue with his assessment.

“Moral implications aside, she held her own against men twice her size and did not fall.” Duncan assessed. “I don’t condone murder, naturally, but you can’t deny her abilities.”

“You would take her?” Valendrian asked, not sounding at all surprised. It struck Caden then that this might have been a staged idea before they had approached the captain. “Save her from herself and put her to work for the good of the nation?” Oh yeah, that sounded planned for sure. Caden couldn’t form her features into anything mirthful, but she locked this conversation away for later.

“I would.” Duncan said. “I have the paperwork right here, if you would just sign your copy…”

The guard captain was no fool and he let out a sharp bark of laughter as he bent and signed his name on both forms, shaking his head in defeat. Then Duncan scrolled both sheets of parchment up and handed one to the captain, tucking the other into a scroll case at his belt. He gestured to the captain, who shook his head again and fished for the right keys to unlock Caden’s manacles. A click, and they fell away.

Just like that she was free.

Except not quite free, Caden thought standing on shaky feet and looking to the Warden and her hahren. She was leaving one cage for another; she didn’t know much about the Grey Wardens, but conscription felt very final. They’d signed her over to this man, how was this any different to what Vaughan had proposed to her as an alternative to death? Presumably her virtue could remain intact, but other than that…

Caden opened her mouth, eyes struggling to focus now that she was fully upright on her own two, tired feet. “I need to see my father.”

“Sorry,” the captain said brusquely. “I can’t have that. If you’re taking her, you’re doing it now.”

“But—” Caden started, as Valendrian coaxed: “Let the girl say her goodbyes first.”

But the captain was firm. “I can’t. You’ve got to take her out of Denerim right away. Once word gets out that the Arls son was murdered by an elf, do you really think she’ll be safe? There’ll be a lynch mob assembled within moments and I need to keep the peace here. I can’t have her trotting all over the city while she gets herself ready. It’s too risky and, worst case scenario: your Alienage could be purged.”

A shiver ran down her back. Purged? Had she really brought her home that close to being decimated?

“But—” Caden tried again, speaking through her fears, her eyes imploring Valendrian to fight for her. He looked back at her and she could see he agreed.

“I will tell your father what has happened.” He said kindly. “Maker be with you, child.”

“My things.” Caden said abruptly. “They’re at my house, can’t I just—”

“Come, young one.” Duncan said. “We must be off lest you draw a crowd.”

Caden turned mournful eyes on him. She wanted to fight. Wanted to storm off to the Alienage, outrun these men and grab her things, say her farewells. She hadn’t eaten for so long, had worn herself out on adrenaline and bloodlust and so with one step she crumpled, caught by the man who now held papers of what felt very much like ownership. Caden let out a pathetic cry of frustration before the exhaustion finally beat her into sleep.

*

When she woke up, she was being gently rocked, her back pressed against a warm body. It startled her awake; she gave a shriek and almost slipped off what she now realised was a horse. Large arms encircled her holding the reins and did not let her fall. “What…?”

“Awake I see.” She felt the rumble in his throat and chest as he spoke in that deep, soothing voice. Caden twisted and looked up into the bearded face of Duncan, his features shadowed in the gloom. She could smell the sweat on his chest where she had been resting against him.

“Put me down!” She said, at once. This felt uncomfortably close to being held down by Vaughan, the same sense of being too small, too weak to do anything about it. “Please,” She hated the whine that crept into her tone.

To her surprise Duncan leaned back slightly, easing his mount to a halt and let Caden slip from the horses back. Her legs gave way as soon as she landed—it was higher than she’d expected—and she crashed backwards onto her hip, which protested angrily at the sudden pressure. She bit back most of the shout, but she hissed through her teeth at the pain. Duncan dismounted gracefully and patted his horse on the neck. “We need to make camp at any rate. I rode us further into the night than I had intended, but I thought it might be a shock if you woke in a stranger’s tent.”

Caden looked up at him, the moon bathing his face in a silvery glow. “Yeah, probably.” She retorted, in too much pain to drum up much sarcasm. Duncan nodded affably. That irritated her, and Caden rolled onto her knees slowly, feeling her wound ache with every motion.

Duncan turned back to the beast and started unbuckling the straps to loosen the tent and blankets. “For tonight I will erect the tent and begin the fire. But tomorrow I expect you to do this yourself, so pay attention.”

Caden felt around for a pithy response, but her hip was making it hard to think so she pulled herself into a somewhat comfortable sitting position and watched as Duncan first constructed a small fire by digging a shallow bowl in the dirt, lining the rim with stones and finally building the small pyramid with kindling underneath and wood on top. Within a short while the fire was crackling away, shedding better light on the ground where Duncan was putting together a relatively small canvas dwelling. Caden tried to pay attention completely, but he moved so fast and the light wasn’t that great, so it was hard to follow and she found herself becoming distracted. Her hip was still twinging and when she looked down, she realised she was still wearing her wedding dress, albeit underneath a travelling cloak. The sight of the dark, dried blood in the firelight was nauseating, but her stomach was too empty to protest anything more than a few dry heaves. She desperately needed a distraction, but Duncan had finished assembling the tent and had come to sit by the fire, rootling through his pack for rations. He laid out bread, some soft cheese wrapped in leaves and an apple each.

“Hardly fine dining, but it will do.” He said. Duncan looked up at Caden, who was turning the stiff fabric over in her hands. “I have some spare clothes if you would rather change. Nothing fancy, just a tunic and breeches.”

Caden threw him a sceptical look. “I don’t think your stuff would fit me.”

Duncan chuckled, spreading the cheese onto his slice of bread. “You are probably right, but these were collected from your home before I came to find you at the pillory.”

Caden’s eyes widened in shock. “That hardly makes them spare, then. If they are my clothes.” She crossly got to her feet. “Where?”

Duncan gestured to the saddle he had removed from the horse, who was grazing nearby. Caden eyed the beast warily. It was big and looked heavy, and those hooves could probably deliver a painful kick. But the saddle looked far enough away that Caden felt she could safely approach it. She went to it and crouched by the bags, fishing through a sack he had not yet opened to find not only her clothes, but also a stack of letters, tied with ribbon and her three small books. Looking at the letters gave her a strange swooping feeling in her belly. Guilt sat heavily inside her when she thought of Nelaros, how he came to her Alienage and died within the day, slain by shems when he had tried to save her. The books at least were comforting and she cradled them to her, breathing in the scent of leather. Then another thought struck her and she stood and whirled around, startling the horse and causing her hip wound to flare up again. “Where is my knife?”

Duncan looked at her for a long while. “I presume you mean the tool with which you killed Vaughan Kendells?”

“He stabbed me with it,” she countered, ignoring his description. “Right here, right before he died. Where is it?”

“What do you remember?”

Caden placed her palm over the throbbing ache on her hip. “He stabbed me. I screamed. The guards came and took it out, and bandaged me and I fought them and one of them threw a punch.” Her hand crept up to her nose. “Then I was tied up and you came. Where is my knife?” The urgency had left her voice leaving only a desperate sadness behind. “I need it.”

Duncan took another bite of his meal and chewed it, watching her. Caden stood, clothes in one hand, books and letters in the other. When Duncan finally swallowed, he said: “I suspect they took it out and tossed it aside. Chances are it’s still lying in Vaughans bedchambers. Alternatively, a guard pocketed it.” He looked to the fire and popped the last morsel of bread and cheese in his mouth. “Either way, it’s gone.”

Caden stared across the firelight to him. Gone? Her knife—her mother’s knife—lost in the estate of her abductor. It seemed like cruel punchline to a joke that she was the butt of. She clenched her fists around her things, holding back an scream of rage she could feel building in her throat. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair, not being dragged from her wedding at the whims of a shem, not having to turn to killing to make her friends lives safe, not being condemned to death nor being torn away from everything she’d known to join an order she barely understood, with no agreement from her. And not knowing where her knife was, that was the kicker. She turned and went inside the tent, where she couldn’t stand up so had to shimmy out of the ruined dress and contort herself into her clothes. Neither her hip nor her thigh were happy about being twisted into her breeches, but she pushed through the sharp pains and got herself dressed, balling up the dress—her mother’s dress, oh, Andraste, she was ruining every tangible memory she had of her mother—and sat for a moment. After drawing several long breaths, she decided she was too mad to calm down. Spoiling for a fight, she shoved back out of the tent.

“You can keep that bag,” Duncan said when she re-emerged. The wind knocked out of her sails, she frowned. “That one, where your things were being kept. You can have that bag.”

“I… alright.” Caden said, deliberately not saying thank you. She went to it and shoved her dress down into the bag and then piled the books and letters on top. At least her mothers’ boots were still fine, even while missing the knife for the hidden sheath. She could still feel anger coursing through her, even if Duncan had made some kind strides with her. He had brought her clothes and books and food, but he only had to do that because he’d stolen her. Cadens eyes narrowed and she turned, not leaving her pack. “You know this is akin to kidnap?” She glanced up, ensuring that he had heard her. He just watched her over the crackling logs. “That Right of Conscription thing? I take it you have to use it often?”

Duncan just watched her. It was infuriating. No-one was that placid. “Does it make you feel powerful to swoop in and force people to join your army?” She wished she was bigger, that her voice could carry further. She wished she could stand up and tower over him. Maybe he’d take her aggression more seriously then.

Finally, Duncan shifted in his seat and calmly responded: “Actually we find many people who wish to join up, but due to extenuating circumstances we are forced to use the Right in order to convince others to let them leave.”

Caden felt her interest piqued. She moved closer to the fire, sitting down on the ground so that she could better see and hear the Warden.

"Like what?" she asked in spite of herself.

"If we conscript a mage, usually." Duncan explained, taking a sip from his water skin. "Often the Templars do not wish to release them into someone else’s responsibility. I have also had to use it in Orzammar should a casteless dwarf be in the employ of one unwilling to part with them." He gave her a sideways glance. "The last Warden I conscripted was training to be a Templar. I almost had to use the Right, but the Revered Mother acquiesced eventually, allowing me to take him."

"Oh." Caden said quietly. She had never heard of Orzammer and she knew that mages existed, but she didn’t recognise the word Templars. Despite her assertion that she was a fully-fledged adult in the big wide world now, she began to think she was more like a baby adult. With a lot more to learn.

“Eat something.” Duncan said, nodding to her untouched rations. “You’ll feel better.”

Caden did as instructed as her belly was starting to growl. She couldn’t work out this strange human. He seemed utterly impassive and hard to read, but then she had previously only known humans who were very much open about their wants and desires. Either Chantry sisters who preached the stories of the Maker and Andraste, or men who wanted one specific thing. She found herself wanting to continue this conversation as she ate. “Do you often find recruits at Alienages?” she asked after a moment.

“Not often, I have to say.” Duncan said regretfully. “Those we recruit need to already be trained in fighting, in discipline. They need to be strong and clever and we only take the best. Sadly, as you know elves are not often trained in the art of fighting and they tend to be malnourished and weak. Of course, there are always exceptions to be made.” He added with a pointed look at Caden. “We sometimes find the Dalish to be more what we seek, yet on the whole they tend to be reluctant to leave their clans.”

“Wait, the Dalish really exist? You’ve met them?” Caden asked, momentarily forgetting her earlier question.

“Oh yes,” Duncan said with a chuckle. “There are more camps than you might imagine, but they are a secretive people and difficult to track down.”

Caden thought about this as she chewed her bread and cast her mind back to the days when she had first heard of the Dalish. She had been a small girl and overheard some of the elders talking about a group of boys who had left to find the Dalish. She had asked her mother about them and been regaled with stories of tribes of elves who lived free from humans and whom the humans feared, instead of the other way around. It was around that time that Adaia had begun to teach Caden the art of fighting.

Caden sighed at this memory. If Duncan heard her, he declined to push for an explanation.

“Now then,” he said instead. “I’ll take the first watch so you can get some sleep.”

“But I slept on the horse.” Caden protested. “I’m not tired, so I’ll stay up.” She shrugged. “Honestly, you go ahead.”

Duncan nodded. “Very well. I will get some shut eye.” He gestured to the moon and then moved his pointed finger to a new spot. “When the moon reaches that part of the sky, wake me and we’ll swap.”

Caden nodded. She watched him disappear into the tent and then she was alone with the horse. Her mind wandered to the notion of fleeing, but she quickly shut it down. She couldn’t ride, she couldn’t even saddle or climb aboard the damn beast and even then, where would she go? She was in entirely unfamiliar territory and they weren’t even on a road that she could follow. Instead Caden concentrated on the fire, making sure it didn’t die down as the chill picked up. She wrapped a cloak around herself and watched the heavens. There were so many stars scattered above her. Caden felt very small and lost beneath the tapestry of night sky.

The next morning after Caden had been roused at dawn by Duncan and helped pack up the camp, she was dismayed to realise she would have to travel on the horse again with Duncan. There was no way around it, she knew, but she couldn’t help but argue against the close quarters of their ride. Eventually Duncan told her plainly that even cutting through the land as they were it would take at least five days to reach Ostagar and so any arguments delaying their return would mean more riding together. Caden gritted her teeth and climbed up behind Duncan. As she clutched at his travelling clothes and the horse began to move, she asked: “What’s at Ostagar?”

Chapter Text

Vagabond

Tell me where to go from here, so I can rewrite all my wrongs

The sun rose as it always did over the worn battlements of Ostagar and the new morning began again with not enough breakfast cheese. This was the thought that came to the Junior Warden as he sat down at the table in the Grey Warden mess tent and looked gloomily down at his plate. It was never the same when Duncan was away. Warden-Commander Duncan that was. It wasn’t a good idea to be too familiar with the leader of the Ferelden Grey Wardens, but of course he was close with Duncan and that was part of the reason Alistair found himself dining alone. Surrounded by his fellow Wardens naturally, but lonely even so. He was the most junior recruit, only six months in, and while it had been a great honour to be allowed to join, he had not quite expected a war so soon, let alone a possible, honest-to-Maker Blight. He’d barely gotten used to the Grey Warden compound in Denerim before they’d been decamped to Ostagar to await the darkspawn horde.

That was why Duncan was travelling; the Grey Wardens of Ferelden stood at twenty-three strong, which was the highest number in two decades after being allowed back into the country by the former monarch. He had not been the only one to venture forth for recruitment efforts, but he was the only one still in the field. Senior Warden Robert had returned from the North with a knight from Highever who had won a grand tournament. Alistair sighed as he took a sip of his drink. Duncan would not be pleased; Ser Jory had a wife and child on the way, which would usually discount him from Duncans recruitment. He favoured those not in relationships, those who didn’t have responsibilities and lives to leave behind. Still, Alistair had watched Ser Jory and sparred with him for the past few days and couldn’t deny that the man had skill. Wardens Leland and Harris had returned empty handed, the former having been forced to leave Orzammar early after some ruckus involving the three children of King Endrin Aeducan, the latter having been unable to track the Dalish from their last know encampment. There was a time limit for how long they could be away and although Duncan was cutting it fine, Alistair had faith in his mentor. Not only would he have found a Warden-Recruit, but the recruit would be the finest of the small batch.

After breakfast Alistair headed to the training area. The Grey Wardens section of the total camp was large given their number, a direct side effect of the adoration the current king had for the order. He associated the order with glory and valour, which was very nice, but did mean the king often descended into their ranks to watch them train. He wasn’t present when Alistair picked up his training sword and shield and began to warm up with one of the straw dummies.

A short while later Ser Jory arrived at the training area and Alistair nodded him over. It was his job to take recruits under his wing, even if said recruits only numbered that one. Jory favoured a two-handed weapon, so once he’d gotten his muscles warmed up, he stepped over to Alistair with his great sword and the two began to gently spar.

It was good, Alistair felt, to spar against someone with a different skill set to him. Kept things a bit looser and more interesting. The majority of his compatriots were sword and shield men like himself, at least as far as their warrior class went. Additionally, they also counted a handful of archers amongst their numbers, along with their two mages. Jory stood out alone as the wielder of a great weapon.

Alistair brought up his shield to meet Jorys downward swing, then responded with a swipe to his side that struck. Jory grimaced—the weapons were blunt, but could still lead to a bruise or two—and stepped back to give himself more room to build up another hit. That was the thing about great weapons, Alistair mused as he dove to the side. They packed a hefty punch and could be fatal if they hit the right way, but even for a heavily armoured warrior such as himself, there was usually time enough to dodge or block. Alistair had always felt like that, big and obvious, just like the build up to a great sword hit, but ironically did not favour those himself. When Jory tried something clever, a thrust to Alistairs legs, he was only just able to leap over the sword and bash his shield against Jorys chest, staggering him nicely. That was his preference: the shield was protection, but also made a pretty good offensive weapon if need be. Jory stumbled to his knees and Alistair brought his training sword to his throat. He’d won that bout.

The sound of clapping reached his ears, and he turned slowly, certain it wouldn’t be for him, not Duncans Favourite. No, applause for him usually came from him dropping something or tripping over his boots in public. Alistair looked up and his heart sank as he spotted the clapping watcher, the gold-plated armour a dead giveaway. Keeping his face as neutral as possible, he nodded to King Cailan as thanks for his assessment. The skin on the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably as he turned back to the fray, taking on Jory for a second time. This time he was distracted by the watchful gaze of his king and made a sloppy mistake, allowing Jory to hammer him with the flat of his blade. Alistair let out an “oof” as the wind blew out of him and faltered to the side. Jory, to his credit, was most apologetic at the force he’d used and helped the Junior Warden to his feet. Alistair couldn’t help a glance back to where the king was now standing with the Teryn of Gwaren and was saying something to the dour man, whilst still watching Alistair. His discomfort intensified.

Turning away from the figures, Alistair shook himself and readied himself for another bout of sparring with Jory.

*

“The last time I went to your Alienage I almost recruited your mother,” Duncan said as they came back to a walk, following a frankly terrifying canter along a smooth stretch of fields. Caden, who had been clinging to him for dear life, relaxed her grip in surprise.

“What?” She asked. “When.” This was brand new information.

“A long time ago, before you were born,” Duncan explained, scratching the horse’s neck with affection. “I had heard tell that there was a troublemaker in the Alienage who was a menace to every human who entered. Of course, this was told to me by humans, so naturally they would say that and so I took it with a pinch of salt. I still wanted to follow the rumours and they proved rather true when I met Adaia; she greeted me with a level of contempt and aggression the like I’ve rarely seen since.” He chuckled at the memory.

Caden waited, but when no more of the story was forthcoming, she had to ask: “So, why didn’t you recruit her?”

“Valendrian convinced me not to.” Duncan said. “Apparently Adaia was being courted by a handsome young elf by the name of Cyrion and Valendrian believed my taking Adaia away would cause needless misery in both younglings. As we were not in any dire need of Wardens I let them be, and I am glad I did. Grey Wardens have a hard life separated from their families with no true home and I am so happy to see that Adaia found love with your father and that they were blessed with you.”

“My mother taught me everything I know about fighting.” Caden said thoughtfully. “And she told me stories about the Wardens, but she never said she was nearly one of them.”

“I thought that must have been where you learned it.” Duncan said. “I was saddened to hear of her death.”

Caden bit her lip for a moment. She wasn’t sure why, but she opened her mouth and said: “There was a sickness. In the Alienage. Fever and pain. We both got sick, when I was twelve. I got better, but she died. Quite quickly. I was asleep because of my fever and she was asleep with me and then I woke up and… she was gone.”

Duncan didn’t add anything to that, which was probably just as well as Cadens eyes were getting hot and scratchy at this memory. They crested a hill and pressed on until the horse picked up his head, ears forward and alert. Caden gripped Duncan tightly; she didn’t like it when the horse did things like this. She much preferred the thought that the beast would just do as Duncan commanded, without any autonomy of its own. Duncan spoke softly to him. “Whoa boy, what can you see?” Duncan brought him to a stop and peered around. The horse let out a high-pitched whinny that almost made Caden leap off his back in fright, but then there came an answering call. Duncan nudged the horse into a trot and followed the hill around.

“Ho there!” Caden heard Duncan call out. She held on firmly and tried to peer around him. There was a young man on the outskirts of the forest they were travelling alongside. He had dark hair and three horses. That was all she could perceive. Duncan brought the horse closer. “Those are some fine steeds you have there.”

The man looked shifty enough that even Caden could spot it from her terrible vantage point. “Yes, I’ve, er, just bought these horses and I’m transporting them home.”

Duncan stopped his mount. “Really? Interesting crest on the saddle cloths.”

The man stole a glance to the horses. He was standing on the ground which was the only reason Caden guessed for why he wasn’t fleeing over the next set of hills. He looked nervous enough for a sudden flight. While the man considered his response Caden quickly took in the crest Duncan had alluded to. The saddle cloths on the three steeds were all dark blue, with embroidered golden symbols in the corner. She didn’t recognise whatever it was supposed to be, of course, just one more failure in her education, but Duncan clearly did. With a glance to the shifty man Caden could see he didn’t recognise the crests either.

“Yeah, well, I’m going to turn my nose up at horses and their tack.” The man said after a pause. “No matter what the art work is.”

Duncan dropped his reins and in a smooth motion swung his leg over the horses neck, sliding down from the saddle without disrupting Caden much; she had been holding him after all, but she quickly let go when she realised he was dismounting. Now she was sat just behind the saddle on an uncontrolled horse, so she quickly got off before the horse got any ideas about bolting. Apparently, the extent of his ideas was to lower his head to the ground and munch on the grass.

Duncan strode casually over to the man, who stood up tall, though his eyes were wide. Duncan viewed the horses up close, giving the nearest one a pat. “These horses don’t belong to you, young man.” Duncan said firmly. “Do they?”

“No—I bought them…”

“Son, don’t try to fool me.” Duncan interrupted. “They bear the Cousland crest on their tack and they are clearly warhorses. Now I can only imagine two reasons for how they came to be in your keep. Either you assaulted or murdered their riders to claim them as your own, or you came across them along with their deceased riders. So, which is it?”

Caden watched this exchange silently, but she could feel the tension coming off the young man holding the three sets of reins.

“The… the second one.” He said finally. He put all three reins in the same hand and dug into his pocket, pulling out some papers. “I’m not a total arsehole, I swear. Here are the rider’s identifications.”

Duncan looked over the parchment, nodding to himself. “I know these men, or rather I know their commander. Thank you for these, I will make sure they get to Fergus Cousland so he knows what happened to his men.” Caden watched as Duncan added these notes to the scroll case where her own papers sat. “In fact, you can help me do it. These horses do not belong to you, so I need to return them to Ostagar where they can be assigned to other soldiers.”

“But—”

“And despite the riders being no longer on this mortal plain, you are a horse thief, Master…?”

“Daveth.” The man said grudgingly.

“Daveth.” Duncan nodded. “There is a war on and every man and woman should know better than to hoard fine beasts such as these rather than handing them back to king and country. I will have you ride with us to Ostagar, not two days hence. And you can help me track down Fergus Cousland to tell him what you know of the manner in which his men died.”

“Why should I do any of that?” Daveth asked, practically pouting. Caden rolled her eyes.

“Because there is a war on,” Duncan said again. “A Blight in fact and we need every resource we can and that includes Warden-Recruits.”

Daveths eyes went very round as his mouth dropped open in shock. “You… you’re Grey Wardens?” Finally, his gaze flickered to Cadens and she caught his confusion at her presence. “Truly?”

“Truly.” Duncan nodded, smiling. “I take it you’ve heard of us.”

“Oh… oh yes, sir, I have,” Daveth said eagerly. Caden snorted at how quickly he’d turned to fawning. “I would be honoured to join the Wardens. It’s true then? There is a Blight?”

“Yes, it’s true.” Duncan save gravely. Then he turned back to Caden. “Caden, come and meet your fellow recruit. And now you can have your own horse as well!”

Caden trudged gloomily closer. Two of the horses were very tall, the third a delicately slender beast, which pranced as it stood, while the other two ate from the grass like Duncans horse. She didn’t want to ride with Duncan anymore, but she didn’t really want to ride by herself either. She didn’t want to ride at all.

“Daveth, this is Caden.” Duncan introduced them. Daveth nodded to her, while she just stared back, arms folded. At least this shem was marginally closer in build to her, though he was still taller. “I recruited Caden from Denerim.”

“That’s where I hail from.” Daveth said. “We could have been neighbours.”

“No.” Caden replied curtly. Daveth’s brows quirked and he glanced back at Duncan who was back to being totally unreadable.

“Do you have a preference for your ride, Daveth?” Duncan asked. Daveth turned and looked over the horses.

“I’m rather taken with the big chestnut fellow.” He said, running a hand along his neck. Duncan nodded.

“Very well. Now Caden which of the remaining two would you prefer?”

Caden sighed and stared at the horses. She had no idea. “I don’t know. The white one is smaller.” She shrugged. “I don’t fancy falling off that other one.”

“Ah, but this grey mare is built for speed and agility.” Duncan said, taking the reins of the smaller horse from Daveth. “See how she can’t keep still? She won’t want to hold back and she’ll give you trouble. Now this gentleman here,” He took the reins of the last horse, the one that was the colour of mud apart from his legs, muzzle, mane and tail which were black. The horse ambled closer to Duncan, sniffing his arm. “He might be bigger and thereby seem off-putting to you, but often you’ll find the bigger they are, the kinder they are as well. This horse will look after you.”

He held out the reins to Caden and she took them mutely. It felt like she had just failed a test and she couldn’t help but begrudge the fact that if Duncan had had a plan in mind, he really oughtn’t have asked her opinion. Not if he was going to ignore it because he knew best. The horse stuck his nose into her elbow and Caden froze, while he sniffed. Tentatively she raised her other hand and pressed it to the large forehead, brushing aside the forelock and finding a small white splodge of fur underneath. The horse gently nuzzled her side. He was big, but he felt soft and warm. “Alright, fine.” She muttered to the beast. “Just behave for me, please?” The horse raised his head and snorted hot breath on her neck.

“Would you like a boost?” Daveth was asking. Caden turned and glared.

“What?”

“Onto his back.” Daveth gestured. “Or can you get on from the ground?”

Caden looked at the horse. There was no way she was getting her foot into the stirrup and then the rest of her onto his back. She took a deep breath. “Fine.”

Daveth came up beside her and laced his hands together. With her heart hammering unpleasantly, Caden stepped into his hands and let him help guide her up so she could mount the damn horse. It was truly very high on his back, but he seemed unperturbed by his new rider. Caden felt Daveth nudge her thigh and she moved it back, looking down with cutting words on her tongue, but she realised before she could speak that he was tightening the horse’s girth and then adjusting the stirrups for her. The horse’s previous rider certainly had had longer legs. Caden flushed as Daveth busied himself and tried to ignore him. The men both mounted their steeds, with Duncan holding the reins of the grey mare and they began to ride.

Caden gripped the saddle with her knees and hoped Duncans assessment of the horse was accurate. She could see the grey mare throwing her head around a little bit as she walked alongside his horse, so she had to admit he was probably right with that one. She looked over to Daveth, who was riding beside Duncan and apparently giving him his life story, peppered with questions about the Wardens. She couldn’t quite believe how quickly he’d signed up to the order. It seemed worlds away from her conscription in lieu of death.

The horse beneath her walked steadily and sure and she found that after a while she became used to the rhythm of his hoofbeats. It was far more comfortable in the saddle, instead of perched behind it and behind Duncan. While they walked slowly and her horse kept up the gentle pace, she could handle this. She didn’t join in the conversation while they rode and when it came time to make camp, she found herself giving her mount some extra thanks before building the fire for them. That night they had shorter watches as there were now three of them, and thanks to the still intact pack on Daveths horse, they had two tents instead of one. Duncan was in good spirits as they ate their carrot and potato stew and happily took the first watch so the recruits could retire to their tents for the night.

Chapter Text

Come As You Are

Take your time, hurry up, the choice is yours, don't be late

By the time they reached the fortress and the war camp on the edge of the Korkari Wilds, Caden had reached a comfortable alliance with her steed. True to Duncans word he had been gentle with her tentative guiding and easy enough to hang on to when they tried a few faster gaits. His trot was bouncy and unpleasant, but his canter was surprisingly easy to sit to, given how long his strides were. Even so she had been glad that they mostly walked at a quick pace in order to reach Ostagar.

Caden looked around as they passed by the palisades surrounding the crumbling fortress. The soldiers on patrol all nodded to Duncan, aware of who he was. In between these palisades and the outer walls were battalions of tents with soldiers milling about. Different factions were denoted by their brightly coloured banners that flapped in the breeze. To get into the war camp proper they would have to cross a bridge into the fortress, but first Duncan explained that they needed to find the master of horses and hand over their steeds. Caden just followed the two men through the tents until they came to the makeshift stabling and handed over their beasts. Duncan’s was his own and would be stabled with the other Grey Warden horses, whereas the three Daveth had acquired were to be returned to the Cousland section. Duncan exchanged some words with the master and learned that Fergus Cousland was out of camp on a mission, but they would see that his horses were returned to his men when they reached camp again upon completion of their task.

Duncan lead his new recruits across the bridge into the camp, where Caden could spy more bright canvas through holes and gaps in the old walls. It was a very surreal experience and once she was off the horse she was back to feeling very small. Like a young child trailing behind her father instead of an adult who was being recruited into a fighting faction. It was disarming to be surrounded by so many humans in armour, though as they walked, she spotted a small group of what she could only imagine were dwarves. Daveth followed her gaze and had no qualms about asking Duncan to confirm that they were in fact dwarves. It was easy for him, Caden thought bitterly, he would fit in here with no problem. He could have no issue asking questions that she felt would mark her out as stupid. She was running to catch up, literally in fact, as they marched across the bridge. Duncan nodded to Daveths questions.

“They are surface dwarves,” he responded as he walked. “Orzammar have not responded to calls for aid, but then they are only ever called upon when things are terribly dire. They are the frontline defence of darkspawn usually, being the gate keepers to the Deep Roads.” Caden wished Daveth would ask more about them as it sounded interesting, but he got distracted by the sight of a duo of soldiers transporting a fallen comrade on a stretcher.

“How exactly is the fighting going?” he asked, an edge of concern creeping into his tone.

“The kings forces have faced a few skirmishes and won every single one thus far,” Duncan replied easily. “We have yet to see the bulk of the darkspawn army, but this is the best place to face them. Which is one reason why all of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden are currently within these walls, ready for you to join them.” 

Caden was looking back at the dwarves when one raised a hand in greeting. She responded in kind, and found herself suddenly walking into the back of Daveth. She coloured at once and leapt back, annoyed at herself for making herself look a fool. Daveth just smiled at her, then turned his head to the reason the men had stopped in their tracks.

“Duncan!” a golden-haired man in golden armour was greeting the Grey Warden warmly. “It is good to see you again, my friend.”

“King Cailan,” Duncan replied, placing his right fist against his chest and bowing. Daveth hurried to copy him, but Caden was entranced by the wolf face depicted on the front of the kings chest to think on her feet.

A tall, lithe figure at the kings side tutted and as Caden looked at him he sneered down at her. “Bow before your king, elf.” He demanded officiously.

Caden blinked and looked back at the golden man who was beaming at her. “It’s fine, really, I keep telling Duncan not to be so formal all the time. We’re going to face the enemy on the battlefield together after all, we’re not hosting a tea party in this old place!”

Caden frowned. He was a very strange human, especially for the man who was in charge of the country. She glanced warily at Duncan, unsure whether she ought to say something in response.

“Your majesty, this is Daveth Jones and Caden Tabris.” Duncan introduced them.

“Well met, both of you.” Kind Cailan smiled at them in turn. “I look forward to heading into battle with you both and the rest of the Wardens.”

“They have to pass the Joining first, your majesty.” Duncan reminded him, but the king waved a hand dismissively.  

“I’m sure they will.” Cailan said. “Duncan only ever recruits the best of the best.”

Caden looked down at herself, sweaty and dirty from travelling for five days, her skinny limbs weary from getting used to riding. She didn’t exactly feel like the best. She realised she’d not listened when the king phrased a question to her, and she looked up. “Sorry what?”

The tall man tutted again, louder and more pointedly. Cailan just smiled encouragingly. “Duncan said you hail from Denerim, from the Alienage there? Never had the chance to grace the place myself—my advisors seemed to think it unsafe—ridiculous notion! How are things there of late?”

Caden opened her mouth and tried to say something polite, but the tiredness seized her tongue and she blurted out: “Arl Kendalls son kidnapped me and my friend so I killed him before he could rape us.” She froze when she realised what she’d said, clamping her mouth shut with force. There was a stunned silence all around. Daveth even took a step back. The king’s advisor beside him looked shocked, and King Cailan turned to Duncan for clarification.

“It’s true, my liege,” Duncan stepped in for the second time since Caden had been introduced to him. “The elves of Denerim have long lived under the cruelty of the Arls son. I have been advised that this sort of behaviour is sadly uncommon. Caden here was moments from being married when Vaughan descended on the wedding party to steal the women away.” Caden nodded silently avoiding everyone’s gazes. She felt very awkward and foolish.

The kings face set into a determined gaze and he actually placed a hand on Cadens shoulder. She forced herself not to flinch at the touch of his hand. “I swear you now that as soon as we are finished here, I will return to Denerim and set this right. I won't have citizens of my city being treated in such a way, whether they live within the walls of an Alienage or outside of it.”

Caden couldn’t speak for a moment. “I… thank you, your majesty,” she said, finally bowing her head to him in gratitude of this promise. She couldn’t help the niggle of pessimism that suggested that this would be forgotten about in the aftermath of the war, but for now it was something to have the king himself seem to care.

Cailan nodded in response then turned back to Duncan. “I’m afraid I’m expected back at my tent for yet another lecture by Loghain about tactics. No doubt he’ll have gone over my latest plans and be waiting with a list as long as my arm of all its faults.” Cailan rolled his eyes in a decidedly unroyal manner. “I’ve fought three battles with these blasted darkspawn and won every time. I know what I’m doing.”

“Have reinforcements arrived yet? Redcliffe for instance?” Duncan wanted to know.

“Oh, Eamon is standing by, waiting for my summons, but it’s not necessary.” Cailan laughed. “He just wants in on the glory, and why wouldn’t he: fighting alongside the Grey Wardens like in legends of old? I for one can’t wait. All we need now is for the Archdemon to appear to cement this as a true Blight.” He winked at Caden who grimaced instinctively at the overly familiar demeanour. Cailan didn’t notice. “Between you and me I’m not convinced this is a real Blight at all. Anyway, I’ll see you soon, Duncan. Glad you’re back.” The king turned and headed off, trailed by his advisors. The tall one looked back at Caden over his shoulder with a dark look and she had to fight the urge to respond with a rude gesture at him as he went.

Duncan gestured for the two recruits to follow him and headed further into camp. Daveth shot a look at Caden, but she turned her head, unwilling to meet his curious gaze. They weren’t friends and she wasn’t interested in giving him any part of her life story. That he had heard about the most controversial moment was merely an annoying happenstance. He would get nothing more from her, she resolved. Caden just wanted to know what to do next and stretching her legs, which were stiff from riding, was welcomed. She hoped they could complete a circuit or two of the camp to loosen her muscles and then perhaps food and bed would be nice. Daveth gave up trying to catch her eye and sped up to walk alongside Duncan. “So, the king seems confident.”

“Indeed, he does.” Duncan replied.

“So, is it a real Blight?” Daveth asked after a pause. “Like in the stories?”

“King Cailan is correct in that we’ve not yet seen the Archdemon,” Duncan said in a measured tone. “However, I don’t believe we’ve seen anywhere near the extent of the darkspawn forces. With the speed at which the darkspawn are building their numbers, I feel certain there is an Archdemon behind this, just waiting to show up… I can’t spur the king into action on a feeling, though.”

Caden barely heard them talk. She was getting tired, much more tired than she had felt even an hour earlier. She started to fall back, stopped rushing to keep pace with the men who were deep in conversation. A flash of purple caught her eye and she turned her head to the right, spying more tents through the walls, but this was accompanied by literal flashes of purple. Curious, Caden broke off from her fellows and started to follow the bursts of gleaming colour. Her tired feet stumbled over the aged stones as she drew up to find a loose circle of robed figures surrounded another, who appeared to be in some sort of trance. The circled folk were waving their hands and murmuring recitations quietly as purple light swirled around the group, almost obscuring the centred figure.

With a start, Caden spotted pointed ears on one of the robed people and she pressed towards them, heedless of the strange magic that was occurring for a moment. “Whoa there!” came a gentle, but firm order as an armoured chest with a large sword motif moved to stand before her. The order didn’t sound angry, but it was hard to tell for sure as Caden looked up into the helmet that hid the persons face entirely. “We have a mage in the Fade here. They mustn’t be disturbed.”

Caden didn’t know what that meant, but she nodded dumbly and turned around. With a few steps she realised she had lost sight of Duncan and Daveth entirely. Damn.

She peered around, pushing up on her tiptoes to try to see if she could spot the men, but it was all in vain. They'd moved on and she'd completely lost her sense of direction. She searched her brain for the smallest titbit of information about the Grey Wardens section of the camp, to find that she'd either totally ignored Duncan or had refused to keep hold of the details. Well, that's what she got for zoning out on the chatter of the men, she berated herself.

"Are you lost, dear?" Came a voice. Caden spun around, already soothed by the maternal tones, the words a soothing balm on her scattered and tired mind. She found the woman who'd spoken. She was standing on the outside of the mages section, her back against the wall. She wore long faded red and orange robes and she was smoking a long pipe as she surveyed Caden. "You certainly look lost. Can I help at all?"

There was nothing accusatory in her voice, nothing which suggested Caden ought not to be there, in spite of the woman repeating the fact that she looked to be misplaced. Even as a small part of Caden wanted to rile against that assertion, she found the woman’s tone too gentle for someone picking a fight. Perhaps this human woman did care that she was over her head and really did want to help. Wouldn't that be something? Caden took a few steps closer.

"Actually I am." She admitted. "I've only just arrived at Ostagar and I've lost my bearings already."

"It can be overwhelming," the woman agreed, taking a long puff from her pipe. "Is this your first time seeing battle?"

"I..." Caden hesitated. She had almost forgotten the being-at-war part of being there. King Cailan had spoken of the Grey Wardens being on the front line with him. Surely that didn't include someone as green as her? "I guess so."

The woman smiled sympathetically. "You get used to it very quickly. I'm an old hand; a battle mage from the Circle at Kinloch Hold." Caden nodded, but most of those words went straight over her head. The one she did pick up on was mage; so this woman was a magic user after all. It made sense, what with her wearing similar robes to the figures from before, not to mention that she was enjoying her sweet-smelling smoke just on the edge of the mages section. "The name's Wynne."

Caden offered a tired smile. "Caden."

Wynne returned the smile and took another puff. Caden watched her mesmerised as she blew perfectly formed rings into the air that dissipated the higher up they floated.

"You look dead on your feet, Caden." Wynne remarked gently. "Where is it you are headed?"

Caden blinked slowly. "Er... the Grey Warden tents."

Wynne looked impressed. "Ah, a new recruit I take it? Congratulations, I presume you arrived here with Duncan? He is a man not easily impressed, so you have already conquered a tough hurdle. Good luck to you with the rest of your trials before your Joining." Wynne tapped the pipe bowl against her palm. "The Grey Warden tents are not far from the centre of camp, just off side from the royal encampment. Head down that way," she gestured with the long pipe. "then bear right and up the ramp and you should see it. The Grey Warden colours, as I'm sure you know, are blue and silver and their banners should let you know you're in the right place. And look for the crest, the silver griffon." Wynne stepped back and dropped her arm. "You can't miss them, but if you do the royal tents are golden yellow, with a dog sigil. They'll be very close to the Wardens." Wynne ran her gaze over Caden once more, denarrowing her sharp eyes. "Can you make it?"

Caden nodded assertively. "Yes, I'm fine. Just tired. Thank you for your help." She turned away, leaving Wynne to her pipe.

Walking away from the mage, Caden followed the directions she had been given. She walked by a dais on which a Lay Sister was praying over some kneeling soldiers, the Chant of Light melodic in the late afternoon air. She walked by a demonstration on general was giving to some infantrymen as he stood beside a dead darkspawn. So that's what they look like, she thought as her feet came to a stop, rooted to the ground by the twisted sight before her. Caden wasn't sure what she'd had in mind for these creatures, but it looked a wretched thing, rigid in death, its mouth open in a rictus snarl, skin grey and sallow. She suppressed a shudder and walked on, heading for the ramp Wynne had said would be around here.

As she turned, she heard a shout. "You there, elf!" Caden froze at the words. "Yeah, you. Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for my order for the past hour! I ought to box your damned ears.”

Caden turned to see a burly man striding over to her. The feelings of fear and humiliation felt for many years in the Alienage caused by humans like this one came flooding back. With it came the fury and indignation she had always been taught to suppress. The soldiers around them hushed as they looked over at the commotion. Caden fixed cold eyes on the man who was nearly twice her height. Her tiredness fled as the anger surged in her, no longer held at bay. "How dare you speak to me like that." She snapped, angrily. "Do you address every one of these soldiers in such a way or is this treatment reserved for your servants?"

The man stopped mid-stride and his face paled. He held up his hands in a gesture of forgiveness. "Oh, my apologies!" he said quickly. "You aren’t who I thought you were… I must have been mistaken."

"Yes, you must have." She snarled, not willing to forgive this error, thrilled by the fact that she was able to assert herself for once and to have this human apologise. "I would suggest you remember this the next time you speak to an elf with such disdain."

"I will," he muttered hurriedly, before backing away. Caden bit back a smirk. She felt oddly more victorious then than she had done back at the palace in Denerim. The smirk died as the images from that night a week ago flooded back into her mind and she shuddered instead. She gritted her teeth: best not to think about it.

"I think you made him cry," one of the soldiers watching said. "Look, there he goes, off to hide his manly tears."

Caden glared at the man making a joke out of her moment of victory. "Who asked you?" She spat.

The soldier held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "No-one, clearly. Just giving my humble opinion."

"I don't want it," she muttered, the fatigue creeping back in.

"Nobody ever wants it," he said matter of factly. "My opinion is like this Blight; relentless, ever growing and of course, unwelcome!" He didn't seem remotely perturbed by Cadens frown or the fact that she was trying to ignore him. Without making an attempt at politely ending the unwanted conversation, Caden spun on her heel and walked away, heading up the ramp. After a few moments she heard footsteps behind and she looked back over her shoulder as she walked. The soldier looked serene as he came up alongside her.

"Are you following me?" Caden asked with a scowl.

"Hmm, me?" the soldier asked, startling as if he'd forgotten she was there. "No, I guess we're just going the same way."

"I doubt that very much," Caden bit back. The soldier smiled anyway.

"Well, we're both going in this direction, so I guess we are going the same way." The soldier responded evenly, before letting a gentle ribbing tone into his voice. "It's so nice to walk in the company of friends, don't you think?"

As he drew closer, Caden couldn't help but shrink away, lest his swinging arms brush against her. Her fingers itched to reach for her knife, but of course it wasn't there, she remembered with a jolt. "Can you back off?"

The soldier finally looked like he was hearing her discomfort. The easy smile slid from his face and was replaced by a look of confusion. "I'm sorry, what am I doing wrong?"

Caden didn't know how to answer that. It was too overwhelming, being surrounded by all this aged ruin dotted about with splashes of dyed canvas, this place that was built by humans for humans so everywhere was so big and imposing, and then of course it was mostly populated by humans, who were big and wide and broad. Caden had so far been thrust into uncomfortable conversation with who else but the king of Ferelden, gotten lost and now was being shadowed by this man who loomed over her. It was all just too much. She turned and caught sight of the blue and silver crest and stalked towards it hurriedly. She had no idea what a griffon was but the colours reminded her of Duncans clothes so that was good enough for her.

As if thinking of him summoned the man, Caden spotted the Warden Commander walk out of a tent and made a beeline for him. She pointedly ignored the soldier who had annoyed her so much, but out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of him coming up alongside her again as she stopped before Duncan, who smiled.

"Ah, Caden, you found us." He didn't seem cross that she'd gotten waylaid; he just sounded happy to see her. Then his eyes moved from Caden to the soldier and he nodded a greeting. "And you found Alistair as well. That's good." Behind Duncan, Daveth and a man with red hair she didn't recognise walked over to her and stood beside her, facing the Warden Commander as the soldier took his place next to Duncan. "Alistair, this is Daveth and you already know Ser Jory. Recruits, this is our Junior Warden Alistair. He'll be in charge of your mission tomorrow in preparation for your Joining."

Caden bit back a groan and slowly raised her eyes to look upon the smiling face of the soldier Duncan had introduced as Alistair. Junior Warden and the man in charge of taking them someone tomorrow. She felt her heart sink at how rudely she'd spoken to him, even as a fire in her belly reminded her of how obnoxious he had been. She would have to temper those flames by tomorrow. Alistair was still smiling as Duncan spoke to him about how he'd come to recruit Daveth. Caden watched him closely. He would have to stop being so damn cheerful if she was to manage that. Alistair caught her looking and grinned at her, his face beaming so brightly it made her eyes hurt. He would be hard work, she could tell. 

Chapter Text

Far From Home

I feel like I might fade into the dawn

“We need to get what for the Joining?” Jory face was a picture of shock and horror. It was almost funny enough to provoke a laugh from Caden, if her mouth hadn't been full at the time. She was sat beside Alistair with Daveth and Jory opposite them at the end of one of the tables in the Wardens mess tent and on her plate was the largest pile of food she had ever seen. When Alistair had directed them to the cook, she had taken a few minutes for it to sink in that she could actually have multiple slices of pork, carved from the roasting pig, with fresh buttered bread and potatoes, and an apple and an orange from Antiva. It was all for her. She couldn't quite believe it and was eating everything one handed, while her other arm seemingly casually hugged the plate on the table. She was prepared to use her fork to stab anyone who came too close to her food.

Alistair set his drink back down. "Darkspawn blood." He repeated. "It's a vital component for the Joining." Jory did not look placated.

"But... what is it used for?" He wanted to know. His food lay untouched on his own plate. Caden swallowed and replaced her mouthful with a bite of perfectly moist, smoked pork and almost swooned. She chased it with a bite of her apple while Jory waited for his answer. Alistair considered it for a moment, mulling his words over in his head.

"That's Duncans remit, really." He said after a moment. "He'll go into it later. All you need to know for now, is that this is a test of your mettle. It'll be the first time you're facing down the darkspawn. If you can't handle this part, maybe you want to reassess whether the Wardens is for you."

Caden didn't let go of her plate as she snorted. "Oh, so if I take one look at a darkspawn thing and piss my pants, I get to go home?" Alistair looked torn between consternation and amusement.

"Well, we might let you change your breeches first," he joked, but Caden didn't laugh.

"I guess Duncan didn't tell you, but I was conscripted from a death sentence." She said coolly. "I didn't really have a choice about joining up or not and I doubt I'll get to decide for myself if I want to do this. Or not." She tore into her bread, the slightly salted butter melting on her tongue and calming her ire. Alistair nodded slowly, understanding.

"Ah, I see." he said.

Jory seemed to have forgotten his earlier questions as he openly stared at Caden. Daveth failed to hide a smirk as he looked back and forth between them, seemingly now pleased that he was already privy to this information.

"I was led to believe that joining the Grey Wardens was a great honour," the red headed man spluttered. "I had no idea I would be rubbing shoulders with convicts."

Caden rolled her eyes and tossed back the rest of her drink. "Trust me, you won't be getting anywhere near my shoulders." She muttered.

"It is an honour," Alistair insisted. "The Grey Wardens have a long and noble history. We've quelled four Blights thus far and we're preparing to stop a fifth. However, the fact remains that what we do is so vital and so specific that we never turn our noses up at anyone who wishes to apply or," he nodded to Caden, "those who might need a fresh start within our Order."

Caden scoffed, starting to peel her orange and pointedly ignoring him. This exotic fruit was a rare treat back home, only sometimes gracing the table during the Satinalia feast, and even that feast was nothing compared to this meal. Caden dropped the peel on her plate, empty bar her fork and the apple core.

Daveth grinned and leaned back in his chair, dropping one arm across the back and crossing one leg over his other knee, the picture of relaxation. "I was picked up stealing horses." he said gleefully. "Duncan gave me the choice of joining or getting arrested. You can guess which I chose."

Jory gritted his teeth. "So, I am to understand that I am surrounded by criminals?" He glared across the table at Alistair. "And what have you done? Jewel thief? Lyrium smuggler? Laid with a Teryns daughter?"

Caden was watching Alistair and so caught his immediate flush when Jory brought up carnal activities so accusatorily. She remembered Duncans story about the last person he had recruited before her, how he'd almost had to use the Right of Conscription on the trainee Templar. "No, you were a Chantry boy." she said, keeping her intel to herself. She popped a segment of orange in her mouth as Alistair turned to her bewildered. "You can tell by the way he's blushing. Look, his ears are all red."

If anything, Alistair reddened further at this attention. Caden felt a thrill of vindication for feeling stupid earlier when he'd trailed her back to Duncan without telling her why. She could be sneaky, too. Buoyed by Alistairs sudden muteness, she looked back at Jory, not ready to play nicely just yet. "What about you? Did you write letters to Duncan, begging to join this fancy group of religious folk and lawbreakers?"

Jory bristled, but drew himself up high in his seat. "Not exactly. I won a grand tourney back home and impressed the Warden who had come to observe us knights. I was the most decorated participant this year, breaking a record that had been held for almost nine years." He looked so proud of himself that it made Cadens teeth itch.

"Sounds like you had a lot going for you back there." Caden observed. "I'm not sure I buy it; no-one joins something like this, during a war, sorry a Blight, unless they're running from something."

"That's not true," Alistair began, but Jory spoke over him.

"Perhaps you were running, girl," he snapped. "I am doing my duty by King and Country."

"Yeah, if this is a Blight, then there's nothing to be gained from waiting it out at home." Daveth said, suddenly serious. "Someone's got to stand up to the darkspawn." Caden frowned at him. That was unexpected; she hadn’t planned for back up from the horse thief, but she had thought they were on the same page. She recalled how excited Daveth had been when he had learned that Duncan was a Warden. She supposed he was part of the Grey Warden appreciation group after all.

"And when this is all over, I shall return home, back to Highever." That name leapt out at her, causing an unpleasant jolt of guilt in her stomach as she thought of Nelaros. The sight of him expiring in a pool of blood flashed before her eyes and she blinked it away. Not now.

 Jory was still harping on. "Back to my lands, back to my wife and my child who will have been born while I am here, fighting for their future." Jory finished, looking so righteous and important that it made Caden feel sick to look at him. She shoved away her plate. "And what about you? What about your husband? Is he proud of you?" There was an edge to his questions that took the shine off his seemingly polite phrasing.

Caden clapped her right hand over her left, hiding the band of gold too late. "That's none of your business," she hissed through her teeth. She stood up from the table, grabbing her wooden plate and cup. Her blood was itching to fight, infused by adrenaline all at once. "Sounds like you've just told me what you're running from. A real man would stay home and care for his pregnant wife and incoming babe. A real man wouldn't travel the length of the country to hide from his responsibilities."

"How dare--?"

But Caden was determined to have the last word. She turned away before he could finish and headed to the cooks station, where behind him sat a heavy wide barrel filled with soapy water. She dumped her things into it without seeing.

"Thank you, my lady." She looked up, startled that anyone was there to see a young elf washing the dishes with a rag and setting them out to dry. Caden swallowed around the large lump that had formed in her throat. The elf smiled warmly at her, but Caden couldn't speak. She was afraid that if she opened her mouth, all the rich food she'd shovelled in would make a violent reappearance. She just jerked her head at the elf and then took her sense of shame away with her, towards the sleeping tents. She pushed through the canvas into the interior of the much smaller women’s tent, wishing there were solid walls to hide the eruption of noise that was desperate to come out. She stomped over to a bunk and grabbed a pillow, pressing it to her face and screaming long and loud, into the feathery lump, hoping it would dampen the noise enough that no-one would come running. Then she slumped over onto the bunk, holding the pillow like a child would hold a doll, curling her body around it. She had no idea if this bunk belonged to anyone, but she would be damned if anyone were going to move her. She needed a moment to process everything.

She thought it would have sunk in during the long days of travel from the capitol to the camp, but if anything she felt more lost here. More afraid of just how big the world was that she had never seen before. Caden had already decided she didn't like her fellow Wardens, at least not any that she had yet met. She didn't like being plucked from her home, even if it were a home she had spoiled. She didn't like being in this desolate place; no matter how bright the banners were, it was grey and crumbling. She hated it. The smell was damp and pungent, so different to the smells of the city. She didn't like the men she had to work with. And she didn't like knowing that she was part of an order that employed elves as servants. She felt very out of place; all she'd seen were human Wardens. Where were the elves? Where were the other women? They had a women’s tent with four bunks, but did that mean anything or was it just erected on the off chance a woman would wander up and volunteer to join?

As if she had summoned her, the tent flap pushed aside, casting a glow over Caden, with the sun set pouring into the tent. Caden squinted and pushed herself up, not prepared to look so childish to a stranger.

"Oh my goodness, you're her!" The voice was perky and eager and Caden hated it at once. The figure dropped the tent flap, banishing the fierce final rays of sun and then went over to the lamp hanging from the highest point in the middle of the rectangular tent. With a fumble, the lamp was lit, swaying slightly as it was released, making the shadows dance lazily. Now Caden could clearly see the figure who'd intruded on her solitude.

A human woman stood in the tent. She had curly brown hair that was tied back into a low ponytail, and inquisitive blue eyes. Caden remained where she sat, her legs curled underneath her, placing the pillow back on the bunk. "Er... is this your...?"

The woman shook her head quickly. "Oh no, I've been using this bunk." She sat herself down opposite Caden as if to demonstrate that this was indeed her bunk, and pulled off her boots. The woman was dressed in Warden colours, but a casual variation of the armour. No straps or plates here, just a long robe of blue and silver with a griffon on the left breast.

"Are you a mage?" Caden asked, surprisingly herself with the question.

"No, I'm not," the woman replied. "My name is Lyra. I'm the Warden Archivist for Ferelden." She held up a stack of parchment and a quill. It didn't help; Caden had no idea what that meant. "I record the account of what we're doing. I keep the records." Seeing Cadens confusion, she held the parchment out for Caden to take. After a moment Caden did as expected. "See? That's my account of what occurred today." Caden glanced over the words, the smart cursive writing looked very fancy, but wasn't easy to read after the basic print of the books she owned. Caden nodded blankly. "Then I send the writings off to Weisshaupt for the Senior Archivist to record in the books there." Lyra smiled toothily. "Today I wrote about you. Well and the other recruits. You've all finally arrived and the Warden-Commander is back, so it's a big day. Of course, tomorrow is a bigger day really, for you I mean. That's when you're Joining is scheduled for. Are you excited?"

Caden kept her eyes down on the parchment, hoping Lyra would get distracted by something and forget what she'd asked Caden. She seemed like a very over exuberant person, not unlike Alistair. What were they feeding these Wardens and would Caden start to demonstrate this kind of annoying behaviour? Her mind flashed back to the plate sinking beneath the water and the elf thanking her. No, she would never be like the other Wardens.

Lyra, to her credit, seemed to realise she was coming on too strong so she stood, leaving the parchment with Caden. Caden sensed her movement and realised she was shrugging out of her robe, into her undergarments and she flushed, turning her head so she couldn’t even see Lyra out of the corner of her eye. She thought of how she'd teased Alistair before about his reaction to being asked about sex and wanted to kick herself. How was she any different; a full-grown woman blushing at partial nudity nearby that had nothing to do with her. After her mother died, Shianni became the only person who ever saw Caden in anything but her outer garments. What was this stranger doing, disrobing in front of her? Didn't she have any shame?

Lyra placed her things in a trunk at the end of her raised bedroll and sat back down with a book in her hands, but she didn't look at the book. Caden risked raising her head and caught the woman gazing at her with sympathy in her eyes. "I know it can seem overwhelming at first. Joining the Wardens can be intimidating, I do understand. When I joined up it was five years ago and I sought them out. Duncan's told me about your conscription; I know it wasn't your choice to join. That must be tough." She left the conversation open, but Caden did not oblige by joining in. Lyra tried a different track. "I bet you miss your home, but you get used to it. The Wardens... we're more like a family than a regiment. Oh, sure, we fight side by side in battle, but it's more than that. We're brothers and sisters. Well, actually I was the only sister for a while, at least in Ferelden. There are loads of warden-sisters in Orlais and at Weisshaupt. My predecessor, she was promoted, which is why she left to go to Weisshaupt. That was a year ago, so that's how long I've been keeping records."

Cadens held out the parchment to Lyra, hoping she would take it. She did, so Caden pulled back onto the bunk, drawing her knees up under her chin. She didn't want to talk to this chatty woman, but the question slipped out anyway. "Don't you fight?"

"Me?" Lyra asked. Caden resisted a monumental eye roll. Who else would she be talking about? "Oh yes, I do. We all do. I'm an archer, specifically. I don't tend to get into the fray much, but I can pick off the darkspawn before they get too close. I rarely miss."

Caden looked up. There was a note of steely pride in Lyras voice that warmed her to the human. "Archery?" she asked. Lyra nodded. "That's impressive."

"Duncan says you're completely untrained in warfare, but you can fight." Lyra said and Caden couldn't find anything condescending in her tone. She nodded. "That's good. You have the basics and we can teach you the rest. What do you favour?"

Caden was sure Duncan would have told her, given that this woman was responsible for collating all the facts about the Wardens, but she took the bait. "Knives or daggers." She answered, pushing away thoughts of her Mothers lonely knife back at Denerim. "I prefer to have a blade in each hand."

Lyra nodded approvingly. "Smart. Twice the offence and they work for defence if you need it. Good thinking."

Caden felt an odd feeling bloom in her chest at these words and it took her a moment or two to identify it as pride. She dropped her knees, sitting cross legged. "My mother taught me everything she knew. That was everything she knew."

"I can teach you some archery if you like?" Lyra said, suddenly serious. "Once you're done tomorrow and you're officially one of us I can give you lessons."

Caden bit her lip. She was tempted. It sounded like a great opportunity to learn a new skill, but the idea of being 'one of them', a warden-sister made her balk. She didn't want to be one of them. She wanted to be back home. The two sides of her fought it out, the eagerness to learn to shoot arrows vs the desperate need to set herself apart from them. "Maybe." She said finally. Then, without another word, she lay down and rolled over, with her back to Lyra, pulling the rough blanket over her body. Lyra seemed to take this in her stride, but Caden didn't care. She heard Lyra say goodnight and then a rustle as she settled down to read for a bit. Caden could hear the noises of camp outside: voices, laughter, some shouts. Her head was buzzing; she felt certain she'd never shut out the sounds both inside and outside of her head. Her father and Shianni swam into view. She felt an ache in her heart for them both. Caden clenched her left fist, feeling the wedding ring press into her hand. Nelaros. She allowed guilt into her homesick heart and then in spite of everything that was going on, she didn't drift so much as dive into sleep.

*

The next morning Caden woke to the sound of Lyra getting ready. She'd had a bad night, waking regularly with a start at various noises permeating the canvas walls. At one point she'd had a nightmare about Vaughan, surfacing from the dream like a diver coming up for air, unable to catch her breath. That breathlessness had shaken her and she sat up, trying to remember how to properly inhale and exhale. Caden had almost fainted when she felt a hand on her back, until she realised it was only Lyra, roused by Cadens panic. She'd been too out of breath to speak, so had had to endure Lyras gentle back rub until she was back in control and was able to ask her to stop. Lyra hadn't spoken a word about it and had just gone back to sleep, but Caden hoped she wasn't about to try to start a conversation about it now. Or write it down in her damn notes.

Lyra smiled cheerily when she realised Caden was awake. "Better get ready or we'll miss breakfast. I'm starving!"

Caden watched her warily, but she didn't seem to be trying to talk to her. The last thing Caden wanted to do was remember the oppressive feeling of weight on her chest from the nightmare, how in the dream she'd been frozen beneath him as he grew heavier and smothered her completely. She shuddered and got up from the bed. She'd slept in her travelling clothes, which seemed rather grim now in the cold light of day. She hadn't even taken her boots off and so the bottom of her bunk was rather dirty. She grimaced; she couldn't change that now, but she did need to change her clothes. She supposed a wash would be too much to ask for as she grabbed her back that had been left at the end of the bunk and reached inside for any other clothes Duncan might have packed. All she could find was the wedding dress, stiff with blood.

Lyra spotted her dithering. "Do you need something to wear? I have spares; I'm sure they'll be a bit big, but we can figure something out."

Caden flinched and dropped her bag. "No, that's OK." She turned, eyeing the human as if daring her to force the issue. Who cared if she smelled, she wasn't here to impress anyone and maybe she'd get a wide berth from the others. Lyra just smiled.

"Fair enough. The offer stands if you change your mind." Caden wasn't sure how old Lyra was, but she seemed to have an unerring instinct of how to deal with a young, tetchy recruit. She would have guessed her to be in her late twenties, perhaps even thirty. "You'll be measured for armour today anyway. Ready?"

Caden nodded stiffly, following Lyra out of the tent and to the mess tent again. Caden tried to keep her eyes on Lyras back, but she couldn't hold back the glances towards the pot wash. It was unmanned in that moment and she was glad.

Alistair waved as she drew closer and Lyra left to go sit with other wardens. Caden eased herself onto a chair, casting her gaze across the table to the two empty seats. "Where are...?" She managed before trailing off. She didn't feel combative this morning. That dream had shaken her too much. She just felt weak.

"Daveth and Jory?" Alistair finished for her. She nodded. "They've already eaten. I believe Daveth is being fitted for armour and Jory is bathing. You can do both when you've had something to eat." He pushed a plate over to her, the smell of the spiced bread making her mouth water. "Sleep well? It must be a lot easier to get a decent kip in the women’s tent with just the two of you."

Caden tugged the pro-offered plate a little closer and reached for the bread. It had currents baked into it and was still warm and the smell was divine. She spotted another plate beside Alistair that was empty. Had he waited for her with her food? She ripped a piece off and popped it in her mouth. Alistair picked up a jug and poured some milk into a cup. "Here, they go well together. Personally, I like to dip the bread in the milk, but I am told I am disgusting by some less enlightened folk around here." He smiled again, a warm, bright smile as if they were friends.

The bread seemed suddenly tough to swallow, so she took a long drink of the milk. It was different to what she was used to. "This tastes a little strange."

"Hmm?" Alistair pulled the jug over and sniffed. "Doesn't smell off. How is it different?"

Caden didn't really know, so she shrugged. Alistair poured himself a small cupful and drank it down. "Tastes normal. Maybe your palate is more refined than mine." He joked. "Someone told me the other day that the cows get stressed being corralled near a battlefield, as if they know what's coming. Maybe that's what you're tasting. Or more likely I was being gullible, I do that sometimes. Well… many times."

"Cows?"

"Yeah, you know, smaller than horses, bigger than dogs, but you can't ride them or you get told off as a young boy, even though you had it on good authority that it was fine to ride the cows." Alistair frowned, thoughtfully. "The start of my illustrious career of believing the most ridiculous things."

Caden looked down at her cup, seeing the milk a little differently now and ignoring Alistairs waffling. "We only have goats’ milk back home."

"Ah, mystery solved!" Alistair beamed. "What have you got against cows though?"

Caden frowned. She didn't particularly feel strongly about cows and she puzzled for a moment until she understood what he meant. "Goats are more comfortable in the city." She said. "They're smaller. Don't need as much land. We keep them right there in the Alienage." The words tumbled out without thinking, giving much more information that she had intended. All that over a cup of milk. Alistair seemed pleased though and grinned as she started to eat again.

"Do you realise we've just managed a perfectly pleasant conversation?" Caden glanced down at her food. She hadn't meant to. He was still going on: "I guess all you needed was some decent sleep."

Caden looked up into his bright face as the nightmare image of Vaughan flashed before her eyes. What in Andrastes name was he talking about? Caden grabbed the rest of her loaf and stood up, turning away from the table. She caught Alistairs face as his easy-going expression slid into a frown before she started walking away. She heard him call her name behind her. "Leave me alone, Alistair."

Chapter Text

Be Where You Are

Don't look for life in past or future, look right at it dead in the eye

Caden stared daggers at the quartermaster. She said nothing, bit her tongue, but she stared at the man as if she had the power to melt the flesh off his bones. Alistair coughed awkwardly. "You seem to have made a mistake there," he said warily. "Caden is a Warden-Recruit and so needs a set of armour."

The quartermaster frowned, bushy eyebrows almost meeting in the middle. "I could have sworn she was the Teryns servant. Are you sure?" Caden noted that he wasn't asking her. Her rage ticked up a notch, but still she kept it quiet, swallowing the heat of her ire. She wanted armour that fit well and wasn't full of holes and speaking her mind at that moment, she felt, would only lead to getting the armour from the rubbish pile. Alistair shifted from one foot to the other, clearly desperately uncomfortable.

"I'm quite sure." he said finally. "If you would please just fit her for some armour so we can head out...?"

The quartermaster huffed. "Who am I to question the decisions of the Wardens, eh?" And he went inside his tent to rifle through his available armour.

Caden waited until he returned with some scale mail before saying: "Leather would suit me better."

Those bushy eyebrows shot up to meet his hairline, which was something as it was rather receding. He glanced at her in her tunic and breeches and nodded. "Fair enough. Mail might topple you over, I guess. Such a tiny thing. Maybe there's something in the back." And muttering he disappeared from sight again. Alistair threw a nervous smile Cadens way, but she wasn't in the mood to return it. She remained stony faced as the quartermaster returned with a set of small leather greaves and bracers for her legs and arms, and what looked like a tabbard made out of strips of leather woven into a lattice. "This can all go over your current clothes. Try it on and see how you move."

Caden smiled poisonously, an expression of utter disdain dressed up to appear polite and looked over the items. The quartermaster moved off to speak to a squire who had come to collect his master’s sword, and left the Junior Warden and the Warden-Recruit alone. Alistair watched without speaking as Caden checked over each piece, stealing glances at Alistairs own armour as she did as she figured it out. First, she settled the greaves over her legs, fastening two buckles at the side over her boots. The greaves extended above her knees a little, but were secured to her shins, so she had the freedom to move unimpeded. So far, so good. Next, she set aside the bracers for last and found the buckles of the tabbards. The item fit over her head in one piece, then fastened at both sides, tying the front and the back together around her body. It was bulky and shapeless, but it would protect her from the front and back. Her neck was open as were parts at her side, so she knew she would have to remember that if there was fighting, which sounded unavoidable. She recalled how she had found similar exposed points in the metal armour of the guards in Vaughans estate. Wouldn't that be ironic, to be taken down in the same way out here? No, she resolved. She wouldn't give them the chance. Finally, she fitted the bracers over her forearms. Her upper arms were now also open to attack, but she didn't intend to let herself be injured. Once again, remembering her fights at the manor in Denerim; she was smaller and weaker, so she had to be faster. Had to be.

She looked up at Alistair, not wanting approval per se, but then again, he was a more seasoned warrior, so she waited to see what he would say. He nodded at her armour. "Looks fine. You'll get better armour, properly fitted after the Joining, so just live long enough and you can get an upgrade." He smiled wryly to show he was joking. Then he reached over to her tabbard and took hold of one of the buckles. "This could be a little tighter--" he started, but Caden had flinched violently away as his hand brushed her. Alistairs ears went red and he held up both hands. "Sorry, sorry! I was just trying to help."

It was Cadens turn to flush pink under her armour. She had to get that under control, she knew that, but then again, he really needed to learn to tell her what he was doing. She told him as much. "You can't just grab people." She said, trying to remain calm. "Just... say what you're doing, before you do it, alright?"

Alistair nodded. "My apologies," he said sincerely. "I would suggest that could be a little tighter, if you want some help with that?"

Caden nodded, mutely and turned, raising her arm so Alistair could adjust the straps. She felt very hot having his hands so close, could feel the sweat breaking out under her already worn clothes. She really needed to bathe after their sojourn to the Wilds, and to change into a fresh set of clothing, if there were any to spare. Of course, she could always die out on the first mission and then the need for cleanliness and clothes would be null and void.

Once that was sorted, the quartermaster returned and upon request found her two belts to wear in a criss-cross fashion around her torso, so that she could have two short swords in scabbards either side of her. She wanted to ask about a knife so that her boots felt less empty, but she also wanted to be away from this man as soon as possible and although she spotted a knife sitting on a table unguarded, Alistair was hovering so she had to fight the urge to pilfer it.

Together Alistair and Caden walked away from the quartermaster to meet up with the others by the gates.

"I'm sorry about him," Alistair said after a few moments. "Some humans can be idiots about elves."

Caden sighed, but didn't speak. It was hardly anything new. Alistair went on: "You seemed remarkably calm with him. Even when he spoke to you like you were a servant."

"I'm planning to kill him later." Caden deadpanned. "I'll go back under cover of darkness and murder him in his sleep. It's just easier that way." She caught Alistairs face. "I'm joking. Mostly." She rolled her shoulders, feeling the armour shift on top of her clothes. "Let's just see how this armour does. Then I'll decide if he's worth keeping around."

Duncan was waiting at the gate with Daveth and Ser Jory. Caden found her eyes roaming the armour of her fellow Warden-Recruits, eyeing up the fit and quality. Jory had brought his own and it seemed to fit him well to her untrained eye. Daveths armour came from the same place and was similar in appearance to hers, but certainly seemed to fit him better than hers did. Caden bristled underneath it all; none of the armour seemed built for her kind, whether that was because of her female body or her elven stature. It was very frustrating. She tuned out her annoyance to focus on Duncan.

“…additionally, we have sourced a location of a cache that I would like you to find. Alistair has the location so please do your utmost to retrieve the treaties hidden away there.”

“Of course, Duncan.” Alistair said solemnly. Caden resisted the urge to fidget under her armour.

“Nevertheless, your primary focus is obtaining the blood from the darkspawn.” Duncan went on. “Without it the Joining will be delayed and we want complete that this evening.”

“What do you do when there isn’t a Blight?” Caden asked bluntly. Daveth hid a smirk behind his hand. She ignored him; she wasn’t sent here for his personal amusement. “How do you get the blood if darkspawn aren’t running around the Wilds?”

Duncan looked to Alistair to answer this question. He cleared his throat first. “We go to the Deep Roads in Orzammar.” Alistair said. Caden watched him intently; he’d spoken too freely the previous night and was clearly being more cautious now, with Duncans eyes upon him. “The darkspawn live underground so the dwarves are often the first line of defence against them breaking out so Warden-Recruits join the dwarves in holding them back and in doing so we can get blood.”

“And the blood is for…?”

Duncan clapped his hands together. “It looks as though the gates are ready for you to pass through so the best of luck to you all. I will see you on your return for your Joining later.”

*

The Wilds were wet and kind of smelly. That was Cadens first impressions upon leaving the grounds of Ostagar. This was the direction the Darkspawn were coming from, apparently, and so would be the best place to obtain the blood for the three new recruits. They each had a set of vials, lest any should break and Alistair was in the lead. Duncan had explained that Alistair, as a fully-fledged Grey Warden, would be able to sense the presence of any darkspawn and so prevent the small group from being taken by surprise. The thought was niggling at Cadens mind once she heard this, that the very secret reason for needing darkspawn blood might be something rather unpleasant. It didn’t seem to bother Jory or Daveth, or at least if they were bothered by it, they weren’t letting it show, so Caden kept her dark thoughts inside.

Alistair was much less jovial once they crossed into the Wilds, a focus lighting his eyes that Caden had previously not seen. It made his face suddenly a whole lot more interesting, to her at least. Watching him take something seriously was better than his attempts to get to know her or jolly them all along like children. That wasn’t what she was there for. He led the way and had Jory behind, with Caden and Daveth either side of the knight. Daveth, Caden spotted, seemed to have the same weapons as she did, and she wondered if that was the only reason Alistair chose the arrangement that he did.

The sky was slightly overcast and the air held a chill as they traipsed over the damp ground. It seemed a far cry from the land she and Duncan had traversed in their journey from Denerim. There were tiny insects here, that seemed to delight in the taste of human flesh, with one or two taking a bite out of her elven skin and apparently deciding it wasn’t as good. That they seemed to be mostly nibbling on Jory was as much to his dismay as it was to Cadens amusement, though she hid her glee as well as she could when he grumbled about the bugs.

The group had been walking for a while, long enough to have left behind the gates to Ostagar and had yet to find any darkspawn. Alistair stopped them by a lazy river that was snaking its way between the mounds of grass and reeds. “I’m getting a sense of darkspawn over that way,” he said, gesturing away from the muddy path towards a wooded area. The trees had long bedraggled strands of moss hanging from the leaves, giving each tree a slightly stooped over appearance. Daveth swallowed audibly.

“In there?” He asked in a dry voice. “I don’t like the look of that.”

“I would prefer to stay in open ground,” Jory quickly agreed. “It looks like the perfect place for an ambush.”

“Not to mention the witches that could be lurking in there,” Daveth muttered, his eyes darting around. Caden cocked her head to one side as she looked at the pale man.

“Witches?”

He nodded. “The Wilds are rife with witches and Chasind who follow them.”

“Seriously?” Caden asked. This sounded like he was pulling her leg, but he had genuine fear in his eyes that gave her reason to question it. Daveth had turned back to eye up the way into the woods again and did not reply.

“I hear what you’re saying, Ser Jory,” Alistair started, notably not responding to Daveths woes, Caden realised. “But that is our best bet for finding the darkspawn and achieving our task.”

The two recruits shared a worried look, so Caden stepped up alongside Alistair. “In there you say? Let’s go.” And she started for the woods. Within a few seconds Alistair was beside her and then the other two scrambled to catch up behind. Alistair shot Caden a grateful look, but she kept her head forward, scanning through gaps in the trees. In truth, she was not happy to be inside this darkened woodland. The canopy was thick and the light was dim. She hated to admit it, but it did seem like the kind of place people went into and never came back out from. She understood that Alistair had this special darkspawn sense, but in practise it sounded rather far-fetched. She would need to see it in action to fully trust it. Caden stole a look to Alistair as she struggled to keep pace with him. He had that focused look back, as he peered off through the woods. Was he feeling out the darkspawn at that moment? She wondered if he had a tell, and then wondered what it would feel like for her if she made it to the Joining. While she watched, she spotted Alistair look towards a new direction, almost like she had seen watching the rats in the streets of the Alienage; a sudden awareness of a presence, an instinctive reaction to potential danger. Caden turned her head to peer in the same direction as Alistair. Nothing. She looked back at Alistair who was holding up a hand to quieten the other two recruits, and waited. When he dropped to crouch, the others all followed suit without a moments hesitation.

“That way.” Alistair said. “A small group, I think.”

Caden looked. They were on a narrow pathway, but to follow Alistairs plan they would be walking through brush and thickets. Any attempts at being quiet would be pretty much impossible. “Are you sure?” Caden asked. “We won’t be able to surprise them.” Alistair nodded at her words and she chewed thoughtfully on her lip.

“They will be able to sense me, as I am able to sense them.” Alistair said quietly. “It is possible to surprise the darkspawn, especially as the presence of Grey Wardens will be faint.”

“Will they run if they hear us or stand their ground?” Caden wondered out loud.

“If they call more we could be in a very precarious position.” Jory added. Caden held back her grimace at them being on the same page, childishly irritated by his sensible suggestion. Alistair looked torn. It occurred to Caden that they were probably the first group of recruits he had taken to look for darkspawn. Presumably being in the Deep Roads meant lots of darkspawn to fight without having to hunt them down as they were doing. Looking at Alistair now with a critical eye, it was clear to see the slight tic of a muscle in his jaw. He was nervous. Caden took a deep breath. Their leader couldn't be seen to have doubts, especially with Jory worrying about ambushes and Daveth afraid of witches.

"What are you thinking, Alistair?" She asked evenly. He glanced at her and she offered a thin, but encouraging smile.

"I don't want us to get overwhelmed by darkspawn." Alistair said after a moment. "We need that blood, but reports have said that there are plenty of darkspawn groups in the wilds so let’s keep going. We need to find the cache as well, which is this direction anyway."

"Sounds like a plan." Caden nodded, waiting until he rose to mimic his action.

Alistair began to walk, continuing the path through the woods with Caden walking alongside him. He tried to catch her eye again, but she kept her head forward. She hadn't thrown him a lifeline because she wanted to be his friend; it had merely been strategy. They couldn't afford for Alistair, the guy with the darkspawn sense, to worry himself into inaction. She'd acted out of necessity. That was all.

They walked in silence through the woods, the only sound coming from their steps on the detritus on the forest floor. There were few birds scattered about, with a few calls here and there, but no real song. It made the woods feel more eerie in the gloom. After a while they came to an edge and Alistair halted them, peering through the gaps in the trees. Caden focused where he was looking and caught a flash of movement. She glanced at Alistair. The anxiety was nowhere to be seen; he was ready now. Caden felt her heart speed up. That meant fighting. Her first fighting since Vaughans house, her second time fighting for her life. Against monstrous things that were hellbent on destroying her and everyone she loved. She quietly withdrew her swords, gripping the hilts tightly. She was ready. Hopefully.

Alistair nodded to the others, gesturing for the men to fan out, spacing each member of their small party out in a line opposite the treeline. Caden watched the others pull their weapons free and ready themselves. Alistair held up his hand and then they were charging forwards, bursting out of the woodland into the light. Caden winced at the sudden bright light, so bright due to the gloom of the tree canopy, but she quickly adjusted. Before them were a small group of what had to be darkspawn, two about Cadens height, three closer to the men. They seemed shocked by the sudden appearance of non-darkspawn fighters and Caden pressed forward, pushing the advantage of surprise, sinking her blades into the arm and side of the one closest to her. It howled and his foetid breath made her gag as the sorry creature expired before it could even think to draw a blade. Caden yanked her swords free and turned, eyeing up the next enemy. This one was ready, holding a sword, facing her. Caden had to jump back as it swung, much closer than she had anticipated and she let out a hiss of pain as it left her with a shallow cut on her bicep. Damn that armour. The darkspawn let out a roar at her, and in combination of pain, shock and anger, Caden hollered right back, her voice an irritated growl in comparison to the bellow from her sparring partner. It brought down its jagged blade and Caden parried with her good arm, catching the offending sword with hers and slicing with the free sword. She caught it on the thigh and it grunted. Before Caden could stab at it again, the darkspawn let go of the sword with one hand and suddenly Cadens face exploded in pain. She reeled backwards from the punch, already feeling the blood spurting from her nose, she hurried to parry again as the beast advanced on her, swinging wildly. Caden shook the stars from her eyes and feinted left, before darting right and jamming her sword into the darkspawns already injured leg. It yelped again and she brought the other sword down to pierce the skin at the back of its neck, cutting off the scream as she severed its voice with her blade.

Caden risked a glance at the others. Jory was wiping his sword clean, the body of a large darkspawn prone and bloody before him. She looked over to where another body lay, another downed enemy, with Daveth sitting up beside it, wiping blood from his eyes. He had a gash across his head. Finally, Cadens eyes alighted on Alistair as he swung his sword and sliced clean through his foes neck, sending the monsters head flying through the air. The headless body teetered and then crumpled to the ground in a shower of blood. Alistair looked up and locked eyes with Caden.

"Is that all of them?" Caden asked, her chest heaving with the exertion.

"Yes," Alistair nodded. "Let's collect the blood while we have a moment. Daveth, are you alright?" He reached a hand down to the man who clasped it and allowed himself to be helped to his feet.

"They're faster than they look." Daveth said with a shrug and a wry grin. He looked over to Caden, who had set down her swords and was fiddling with the awkward wax stopper of her vials. "Did you take two down?"

Caden didn't look up from her job. Her hands were shaking after that fight and she couldn't get the vial unstoppered. "I guess so." She mumbled. Finally, the waxed cork loosened and she immediately dropped it. Cursing under her breath she dove for the small stopper on the ground and retrieved it.

"That's impressive." Daveth said. Caden ignored him as she knelt beside her fallen foe and considered how to get the blood out of the darkspawn and into the tiny vial. After a moments consideration she held the vial at the opening she had made with her sword in the creatures’ neck and pressed the vial to the blood that was still pouring forth. There was no way to avoid it getting on her hands, so she gritted her teeth and filled one vial after another.

"So, what exactly are these?" Daveth was asking as Caden worked. There was a nervous energy to his tone, making Caden feel glad that she wasn't the only one letting the tension get to her.

"These big fellows are hurlocks," Alistair said, then he crossed over to crouch beside the creature Caden was taking the blood from. Wordlessly she passed him a full vial. He took it and pressed the stopper over the top to close it, then waited for her to pass him the next one. "And these ones are genlocks."

After a short while Cadens vials were full and her hands were slick with blackish blood. She grimaced down at herself, but Alistair stood and offered her a hand like he had with Daveth. Without a second glance at his outstretched hand, Caden pushed herself up from the floor and got to her feet alone. Alistair didn’t say anything as he pulled his hand back.

Caden dithered for a moment, then bent and wiped her hands on her thighs; smearing the blood over her breeches. She was filthy enough and sweating after the fight. What was a little more mess? Alistairs face appeared in her peripheral view, frowning. She opened her mouth to defend her decision to clean herself up on her clothes, but then she realised that he was looking with concern at her face. “How’s your nose?” He asked.

Cadens fingers flew up to touch it, wincing at the sharp pain that elicited. “It’s fine.” She said bravely. She caught the barest hint of a smile on Alistairs face as he clearly didn’t buy the lie.

“Very well,” he said, reaching in pocket for a handkerchief. Caden took it and pressed it to the drying stream of blood surrounding her nostril.

“Thanks.” She dabbed a few times until she was satisfied the bleeding had definitely stopped and withdrew the handkerchief. There was an embroidered crest on the fabric. She was getting used to seeing them everywhere, but while she had expected to find a griffon for the Wardens, instead there was a grey tower upon a hill. She’d stained the fabric with dirt and her blood, but it looked as though the thread used for the hill was itself red. It didn’t look like the Templar heraldry. Was this something from his time before the Chantry? Caden was surprised to feel a small flicker of curiosity for Alistairs previous life. She quashed it quickly. She didn’t need to know his business, just as he had no right to hers. Caden held out the handkerchief and Alistair took it back, stuffing it into his pocket again, apparently not minding that it was just as grimy as Caden was now.

 “Do we have enough blood?” Jory asked. Caden and Alistair looked over to him and Daveth; both had managed to gather some vials, somehow managing to avoid the mess that had befallen Caden she noted grimly.  

“I’ll wager we do,” Alistair replied. “Good work.”

“But we still need to find that stuff for Duncan?” Caden offered. Alistair nodded.

“We do. Let’s press on.”

Following Alistairs directions they travelled across open marshland, battling with insects again rather than darkspawn.

They walked on, slowly trudging through the Wilds. Caden wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but it seemed as though her fellow recruits were fallen back a little. Certainly she found herself up alongside Alistairs while Ser Jory and Daveth ended up behind. She kept her gaze ahead, trying to avoid Alistair catching her eye. Her hair had mostly held fast in its tight knot atop her head, apart from a few wisps that had fallen around her face. As she walked, Caden brushed the strands back up into the knot, tucking them into the cord that held her hair in place. No doubt she was smearing black streaks along the yellow hair.  

"What's that?" Jory asked. The others stopped and Caden looked up from her task, to follow the length of his extended arm to see what he was pointing at. They were coming up to a bridge which was adorned with spikes on which were skewered human skulls. She narrowed her eyes, her skin prickling with unease. Surrounding the bridge was thick hedgerows either side of the river. There was only one way forward.

"I don't like this," Alistair murmured. "I can feel something nearby..." He turned around, seeking out the incoming threat. Daveth and Jory readied their weapons, glancing around.

Caden slowly crept on light feet towards the bridge. Then she stopped.

"I can see traps—it's an ambush." She had barely finished the sentence when genlocks suddenly appeared as if out of thin air surrounding the troupe. Before any of them had time to breathe, they attacked.

Chapter Text

Morrigan

She is death, she is life

Caden barely had time to think before the first sword whistled through the air. She tried to evade it’s slice as best she could, but they’d appeared so suddenly, as if by magic, that she couldn’t get out of the way quite in time, and the point pierced her arm, drawing a line of red until it met her bracers and it was finally deflected. Caden couldn’t help the cry of pain and she continued to back up, away from the advancing genlock until she bumped against someone’s back. A lightning fast glance told her it was a friend, but there was nowhere left to go so she gritted her teeth and braced herself, crossing her twin blades before her as the genlock swung his blade downwards and caught it before it struck her. She grunted loudly as she did the first thing she could think off—she lifted one foot, planted it on the genlocks chest and kicked. It flew backwards, and Caden leapt forward, not giving an inch, ready to be the one in control of the fight having been on the backfoot at the start. As the beast landed, she stopped beside it and drove her blades into his chest. He gurgled as he expired, but Caden was already spinning around to take in the lay of the land. The three men were still surrounded but they had regained ground and she could see it was only a matter of time before they bested their opponents. She looked back to the bridge and caught sight of a larger darkspawn fiend, wielding a stave from which was pouring some foul looking smoke, and which was heading for Cadens companions. Her hackles instantly raised at the sight, so set off at a run, vaulting lightly over the first trap and landing beside the darkspawn. He noticed her and broke the first spell only to turn on her and began casting something new. She elbowed him in the mouth, thus cutting off his recitation, and then swung her blade. He instinctively held up his stave as a shield; her first blade bit into the wood and stuck fast, but she drove the other into his gut and twisted, ending his life in a strangled gasp. He clutched at her as he fell, his clawlike fingers grasping at the neck of her armour. Caden yanked her blade free and shoved him down, not interested in giving him any peace in death.

Caden felt rather than saw the three men run past her scaling the bridge. "Wait, there are traps!" she shouted trying to stop them. Alistair skidded to a halt at once, Daveth saw what she saw and leapt over the trap, but Jorys foot landed squarely on a pressure pad causing the trap to snap shut on his calf. He yelled in agony and dropped his sword, bringing more darkspawn running.

Alistair turned to Caden. "Get him free." He ordered as he and Daveth started to engage in battle. Caden didn't think to argue; she dropped to her knees beside Jory who was still screeching in pain. She laid down her weapons and clutched his leg above where the metal teeth were buried in his flesh.

"Try to hold still," she grunted as he reacted to the pain. His leg was quickly covered in blood and although she tried, Caden could not see his wound. Instead she dipped down lower to inspect the traps spring mechanisms. It was a crudely made thing with the basic concept of a pressure plate releasing the jaws to clamp into a leg, which it had done in this case. It was clamped very tightly onto Jorys calf, but there was a small sliver of space either side of his leg. Acting instinctively, she grabbed Jorys greatsword and slid it into the space, before twisting the weapon in order to prise the teeth apart. She struggled to shut out the noises Jory was making; moans and cries, with the odd word interspersed as he begged her to help him and get him out of his agony. The effort of forcing the teeth out of his leg made her break out into a fresh sweat and her arms shook, but inch by inch it was coming apart. She finally got the sword twisted so that the jaws were separated by the width of the blade, but it was not enough to free Jorys leg. Caden risked a glance to Daveth and Alistair.

"Alistair!" She called out as he felled the last genlock. He hurried over with Daveth in hot pursuit. "I need one of you to mirror what I have done on the other side. Once there is enough space, the other must pull Ser Jory free." Jory gave a long moan as Daveth followed her orders, sliding his own blade into the now wider gap on the other side of Jorys leg. He was faster than Caden and as he forced a greater gap, she was able to move her blade further down to create a gap wide enough that all of the teeth were out of Jorys leg. "Now!" she cried.

Alistair grabbed Jory under his armpits and hauled him upwards and away. They both toppled over onto their backs—Alistair somewhat cushioning Jory who gave a loud howl as he fell. Caden and Daveth both pulled their blades away from the trap, that sprung closed again with a violent snap and then lay still.

Caden quickly moved over to where Alistair and Jory lay prone, and touched Jorys leg. "We need to get your armour off here." She instructed. Jory rolled off Alistair who wriggled out from underneath, while Daveth stood watch over them all, his eyes scouring the distance. Caden quickly began to work loose the buckles on Jorys greaves, but they were slick with blood and her shaking fingers were prone to slipping. It took a good few minutes before she could slide the damaged metal off his leg. After few moments of cursing under her breath, Daveth was beside her with a knife in hand; he cut away the leather and then the padded cotton between Jorys flesh and his armour. He cut it away just below the knee and tore it off, discarding it to one side. His skin was bright red where the teeth had punctured him and was bleeding heavily. The teeth of the trap had all been different sizes of small spikes, clearly hastily manufactured and so some wounds were less dire than others. Alistair handed Caden a wad of cotton which she pressed to the bite marks to staunch the blood flow, lifting his leg as she did so.

"I have bandages here in my pack." Alistair said, passing Caden the aforementioned items. She took them without a word, so focussed was she on the task at hand. When the blood slowed Alistair passed her some wet cloth that he had dampened with his water skin. Caden bathed the wounds quickly, and then wrapped bandages tightly around the leg. Finally, the poultice was complete. Jory had even ceased his crying, but his face looked pale and sickly.

Caden stood up and retrieved her swords from Daveth who had collected them for her.

Alistair stood also. "Can you stand?" he asked Jory.

"I will try." Jory replied, taking Alistairs outstretched hand and pulling himself up. He cried out again when he tried to put weight on the leg and the bandages became dotted with blood after a few attempts. Caden sighed.  "You can’t carry on with that leg." She said bluntly. "You can't stand without support, let alone walk and so you’ll only slow us down."

Ser Jory looked as though he wanted to argue, but could not find the words. He looked down at the ground.

"Well, we have enough darkspawn blood," Alistair said ruefully. "I suppose we can return to camp and someone else can retrieve the treaties."

Disappointment rushed through Caden. She was to fail one of the first tasks set to her as a potential Grey Warden? What in Andrastes Grace was the point of her being dragged away from the only life she had ever known, only to fall at the first hurdle in her new life? It was not her fault that Ser Jory was injured. She had seen the traps and she had shouted a warning—a warning he had not heeded quickly enough. Not her fault.

"No," she said firmly. Three pairs of eyes stared at her in confusion. "Daveth, you can take Ser Jory back to camp. It is a simple path due south east, and explain to Duncan what has occurred. Here," she handed him her containers of blood. "Take these vials back with you. Alistair and I will carry on as I am too short to support Ser Jory back and Alistair can sense the darkspawn. Between the two of us we can avoid any more confrontations and find the treaties we were tasked to retrieve."

All three men looked at her, the elf standing up and taking charge. Caden kept her face firm, though she realised how it must appear. She was a Warden-recruit after all, no different from Daveth or Ser Jory, and yet she was the one telling them all what to do. Would they heed her words, that was the question.

The cry of an animal split the air, causing Daveth to look around the wilds with wide eyes, his mouth drawn into a grimace. Looking back to Caden, he nodded and reached for the vials, slipping them into a pouch on his belt, where they joined his own collection of blood, clinking gently as they settled in.  

Alistair sighed heavily. “Caden’s right.” He said, though it didn’t appear to bring him any joy to say so. “Our Commander wants those treaties found, which means they are important. We need to at least try and we can always avoid the darkspawn.”

“Exactly.” Caden wasn’t quite sure why Alistair felt the need to repeat her plan back to her, but if it made him happy then so be it.

Daveth held out his hand to Jory, who allowed him to sling his arm across the smaller mans shoulder. With Daveths support, the two were able to limp slowly back towards the fortress. Caden watched them go, a mix of feelings fighting for control. She felt around for any sense of jealousy watching them head back to the relative safety of Ostagar, but she found none. In its place was determination. She had a job to do. They had a job. Caden turned to Alistair. “Shall we?”

Alistair nodded, his jaw tense and she fell into step beside him as he led them onwards. For a long while they didn’t speak, other than for Alistair to direct them or to lead them around possible darkspawn. It felt very strange to have gone from actively seeking out the enemy to now avoiding detection as much as possible.

Eventually the marshland gave way to more solid ground and more woodland sprung up around them. "The location of the cache should be through here."

Caden nodded and headed through the trees. Alistair caught up beside her. "You don't usually talk much, do you?" He asked mildly. She glanced at him, saying nothing. Alistair snorted. "Yeah, that was rather an obvious point. Yet giving orders seemed to come naturally to you."

"I talk… when necessary." Caden clarified, even as a voice in her head pointed out that she was happy to talk to Alistair and the others if she saw an opportunity to be unkind. Alistair seemed to be waiting to see if any more words would be forthcoming. Caden sighed. "Have you considered the possibility that I just don't have anything to say to you? I don’t see much appeal for making small talk when we have a job to do."

"I suppose." Alistair replied, not sounding particularly offended. "I wonder, though, if all the effort you put into being antagonistic might be better spent being at least neutral, if not out and out friendly. If you become a Grey Warden you'll be our sister. Wouldn't it be better to start on good terms?"

"I'm an only child," Caden bit back as they began to crest a hill. "I'm no-one’s sister and I don't intend to change that."

Alistair followed up the hill, his long strides meaning that he easily caught up to her. "We're not that bad, are we? Or is it just me? You just can't stand me?"

"I don't know you." Caden said, looking straight ahead, an edge of exasperation slipping over her words. "I don't have an opinion about you."

"You could get to know me--"

"I don't want to." Caden interrupted, stopping at the top of the hill in the shadow of a ruined fort that was in even worse condition than Ostagar and turning to Alistair. "Why can't you accept that? I don't want to know you." For a moment a shadow crossed Alistairs face and a nip of guilt twisted her gut. Caden groaned. "Look, you're a fine leader.” She offered after a moment. It didn’t seem like much. “You're getting this job done; we have the blood and we're going to find that cache."

Alistair looked away, his expression downcast. It struck Caden that for all of his smiles and little jokes, this was serious business and he was probably going to be judged on this by his superiors. By Duncan. How might that be weighing on him, she wondered.

"Ser Jory got injured." Alistair said softly.

Now it was Cadens turn to snort. She stood and crossed her arms over her chest, derision all over her face. "If he'd stopped when I told him to, he wouldn't have hurt himself. You managed to stop when I shouted. Ah, there you are," she offered magnanimously. "I do have an opinion of you: I think you're better than Jory." Alistair looked up and met her eye. "Of course, I think Jory is an idiot, so this is very minor praise at best."

Alistair laughed, suddenly filling the space with a sound of joy that caused a nearby crow to start and take sudden flight. "I'll take it." He said. "You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it really brings people together."

Caden felt the corners of her mouth twitch. She turned away, hiding her smile and they began to walk towards the set of ruins before them. Alistair was a strange human indeed, but perhaps he made better company than the others.

"The cache should be here somewhere." Alistair said as they crossed the space to meet the ruins.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Caden asked. "What's so important about these treaties?"

Alistair hesitated and Caden hiked one eyebrow as she looked over her shoulder at him. "Don't get close lipped now." She chided. "You've been dropping hints all over the place about this mysterious Joining and the blood. You might as well tell me what we're here to find."

Alistair flushed. "Picked up on that, did you?"

"That neither you nor Duncan seem to want to talk about why we need blood to join the Wardens?" Caden retorted. "Subtly isn't your strongest suit."

"No, it isn't." Alistair conceded, though he didn't elaborate on her question. 

"So, treaties?" Caden prompted.

"They give the Wardens the right to conscript armies to aid in the fighting of a Blight." Alistair finally explained and a minute of silence.

Caden frowned. "Duncan already has those conscription rights." She said. "That's how he got me released into his custody."

Alistair nodded. "Yes, but the Rite of Conscription only works for individuals to join the Order of the Grey Wardens. On the other hand, these treaties were signed centuries back to give the Wardens the power to call on whole armies to fight alongside the Grey Wardens. Blights are serious business, but to non-Grey Wardens it can be hard to spot them and sometimes for whatever reason, the encroaching Blight can be denied by those who ought to be sending fighters to aid the Wardens.”

Caden nodded, but she didn't fully understand the need for these treaties. They had an army; the king had assembled more men and women than she'd ever seen in one place, all bearing arms or wielding magic for the cause of stopping this Blight. She decided to keep this curiosity quiet lest Alistair think she was warming up to him and followed his lead as he started to search the grounds around the overgrown ruins. Where Ostagar was crumbling, these ruins were overrun with nature as it claimed the stones back. Caden reached over and brushed moss and dirt from the closest stone. What was once probably white stone was now caked in grime, and growths of vines wrapped tightly around the pillars that still stood upright. At least one pillar was toppled over completely, it's bricks sunken into the ground, where grasses had grown over the white. There was something strangely moving about this site of humanity being pulled back to the earth and reclaimed by nature.

Alistair was stepping into the ruins to search and Caden hesitated. She didn't really want to disturb the peace of this place. It was quieter here than Ostagar, more tranquil than the Wilds they had trekked through. The silence was heavy and still around them, a feeling like snow falling while the world slept. For the first time since the morning of her wedding, Caden felt able to draw a full breath. A flash of dark caught Cadens eye and she turned her head to see the dark feathers of a bird disappearing between the stones.

"Aha!" Caden snapped out of the quiet and whirled to Alistairs shout. "Found it!"

Caden headed over to where Alistair was bent over a mess of cut plants. He'd used a knife to clear away the vegetation and Caden pushed away the pang of regret at seeing how easily he'd bested the flora. More disruption in this strange slice of solitude and nature. There was an old crate under the plants, which looked bruised if not broken. Alistair lifted the lid as his companion drew closer, but before she could look inside Alistair let out a small cry of dismay. "They're gone."

"Gone?"

Alistair straightened up and gestured to the empty depths of the crate. "Damn." he muttered. Caden felt her heart sink. Failure, it seemed, was sticking to her like tree sap and she could see the same disappointment in Alistairs eyes. For once it didn't bother her that they were sharing a moment.

"It's not your fault." She heard the quiet words trip over her lips before she registered that she was even speaking. Alistair was lost in thought and appeared not to have heard her, but when Caden reached out a hand to get his attention and he happened to turn sharply, she flinched away. Whether he registered or not she didn't know, as he walked passed her away from the empty crate and the ruins. Caden hesitated a moment and then followed, casting a last gaze over the ruins in wonder.

She broke into a run to catch up, but almost ran smack into Alistair when he suddenly stopped dead. Caden peered around him. "What's wrong?"

Following Alistairs eyeline revealed a woman standing just outside the ruins, watching them. Caden stepped around Alistair and took in the sight. She was tall and slim, with striking amber eyes and dark hair piled artfully atop her head. Her skin was pale, seeming all the moreso for the dark clothes she wore. They appeared to be stitched together from multiple scraps of leather, cloth and feathers. She looked beautiful and terribly mysterious, like a character come to life from the fairytales in Cadens books.

The woman looked down at them both with a curious and haughty expression. "What have we here?" Her voice was smooth and smokey, mist curling through the trees at dusk. Caden remembered Daveths shaky words as he fretted about witches in the wilds. Was this who he had feared?

“Careful,” Alistair said in a low voice. “She looks Chasind and there might be others nearby.”

Caden wasn’t sure what Chasind meant, whether it was a human term for witches that she had never heard before, or something else, but it didn’t seem like the right moment to ask.

The woman began to approach the duo slowly, her hips rolling with every step. Caden felt her spine stiffen as she tried to stand up straighter, not wanting this woman to look down on her. Alistair shifted beside her, but said nothing yet.

"I've been watching your progress as you wound your way through these wilds like some sort of lumbering, four-headed beast." she said, smiling sardonically at them. "I was amused when you dismissed the others, casting off two of those heads," she said directing her words at Caden. "For a while I thought you might have had an ulterior motive; attempting some alone time with this one." The term 'alone time' was laden with far too much meaning for a seemingly innocuous phrase. Caden felt heat rush her face and she automatically took a step away from Alistair, shaking her head vehemently. Alistair looked equally as uncomfortable. The woman laughed. Caden could help but note out of the corner of her eye that Alistairs hand felt for the pommel of his sword. It did not go unnoticed by the women either.

"Have I frightened you, Ser?" she asked in a laughing tone. "Or touched a nerve?"

“Who are you and what do you want?” Alistair asked sharply.

The woman gazed down at him and her eyes roved over his body from head to toe. Evidently his readying himself to draw a weapon didn’t bother her and she turned from him to Caden, effectively blocking him out. Alistair frowned at her back, which was when Caden spotted the staff strapped behind her. A mage, outside of the circle. Caden felt a rush of interest that overtook her fear; what was this woman doing out here? When the mage spoke next it was directed to Caden alone.

"So, why are you here, picking through a desiccated tower? Scavenging for long lost treasures?"

Caden opened her mouth to reply, but glanced at Alistair. He had his eyes narrowed as he was surveying the woman. She didn’t want to speak for the both of them, but Alistair didn’t appear to be in the mood to talk to her at that moment, so Caden wetted her dry lips and spoke. “We were searching for something.” She croaked out, then cleared her throat. “I, er… that is… well met, mage.” She inclined her head in a nod of greeting. “My name is Caden and that’s Alistair; we are Grey Wardens from Ostagar. The items we were seeking were in once in a chest, but the chest is now empty and so if you happen to have any idea where we might find them, we would be most grateful.”

The mage looked surprised for a moment, but then smiled. "Now that is civility, and glad I am to see it here deep in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan if it pleases you and I do in fact know where the items are at present."

"You!" Alistair burst out suddenly. "You stole them, didn't you? You're some sort of sneaky...witch thief!"

"So much for being civil," Caden said rolling her eyes. "Please, Morrigan, forgive Alistair. He has received many head wounds today and it has somewhat addled his mind." Alistair opened his mouth to argue, but then shut it again and allowed Caden to take charge.

Morrigan laughed. "You are wise, man, to keep that foolish tongue from wagging when there are women talking sense." To Caden she said: "Come, both of you. I will take you to my mother who has been protecting the documents from harm."

Caden quickly hurried to follow, with Alistair trudging behind.

Chapter Text

Chin Up

You think the world's unsafe

"So, she was as mad as a bucket of frogs." Alistair said cheerfully as the gates of Ostagar loomed into view. Caden suspected he had been holding his tongue for some time in order to make sure that Morrigan was out of earshot and therefore unable to overhear his comments about her mother. Caden said nothing, but raised her eyebrows. She shifted her pack onto both shoulders and was glad to feel the weight of the treaties inside there. Success had come to her at last and she was surprisingly pleased with the result. She even found herself looking forward to returning to Duncan with the news. "Well she was." Alistair went on as they started walking. "What was all that about stockings? I didn't want to think about her stockings. Or anything else for that matter."

Caden couldn’t hold back a small smile. While it had been clear that being in the company of Morrigan, the witch of the wilds, and her mother had not been a comfortable experience for him, now that they were in sight of the walls of the camp with the treaties he had brightened considerably. Cadens own pride at succeeding in their mission was lightening her step as well. His chattering, for once, wasn’t bothering her at all.

The sun was heading over the horizon, the sky starting to blush as they headed back to camp. The walk from the ruins to Morrigans home had not been terribly far and notably devoid of darkspawn. Morrigan had just sniffed derisively when asked if they were concerned about the closeness to the horde.

Alistair looked pleased to see her slight amusement at his words. “What did you think about Morrigan?” he shuddered. “Pretty scary and strange, right? Creepy to think that she was watching us.”

“I liked her.” Caden said, with a half-hearted shrug. “She wasn’t terribly friendly, but she did help us when she didn’t have to.

“You liked her?” Alistair’s voice was so scandalised that it almost brought a laugh to Caden’s lips. “What was there to like? I’m just grateful she didn’t cook us in a pot.”

“I didn’t get the impression that she ate people,” Caden gently chided. The question rolled through her mind as she considered her answer. “I don’t know what it is, but I guess I like the idea of living out here alone.” She glanced back over her shoulder at the wilds they were leaving. “It’s not the prettiest of places, but it’s quiet and secluded and there’s something rather appealing about that.”

She turned back after a moment of gazing towards the wilds to find Alistair considering her with a bemused look on his face. “What?”

“I can’t imagine why you’d want to live out here in the middle of nowhere,” Alistair replied. “I can see the allure for someone like Morrigan; an creepy apostate hiding from the Chantry, but you come from a city, don’t you? Wouldn’t you be bored?”

Caden took a few moments to mull his words over, remembering the long days inside the Alienage walls, how she would clamber as high as possible to look out over the city when she could. The market wasn’t far from the Alienage her vantage point gave her a view of colourful coverings over the stalls and the sound of people shouting out about their wares. Fun to watch as a child, but as she got older and the sensation of being trapped behind those walls under adulthood weighed on her and the lustre wore of. Finally, she began to speak with caution. “My home is in Denerim. Yes, it’s a city, but I never saw all that much of it outside of the Alienage so I couldn’t truly compare life in a city to life in the countryside. I guess I just see the appeal of living without people breathing down my neck.” She shrugged, the casual action belying the knot in her stomach as she thought about this. “Out here they are beholden to no-one but themselves. I find that quite freeing.”

That seemed to have given Alistair something to think about as they came to the gates and were allowed back inside by the guards. They made for the Warden section, the tents a far cry from the exit to the wilds thanks to their proximity to the king. As they walked, Caden spied the medical tents and without a word she diverted her course towards them, with Alistair scrambling suddenly to account for her change of direction. He didn’t ask what they were doing, just followed as quiet as a rather heavy-footed shadow could be. Caden shifted the pack again as they crept up a wide ramp towards the healers and their charges. Her gaze swept over the injured men and women, many bandaged up tightly, others lying asleep. Heading towards the tents interior they were met by the odd keening cry and sob as the healers tended to the wounded. Caden stepped inside as no-one stopped her and looked through the lamp lit canvas medical centre. The first two beds bore bodies that had sheets drawn up over their faces and Caden felt her breath hitch at the sight. She’d spent her day hunting the enemy and extinguishing their lives, but to see this vision of lost soldiers hit her much harder. She thought of Nelaros’ eyes when the life left him, how quickly they had dulled with the loss of his heartbeat. A perverse urge struck her to reach for the sheets and draw them back and her hand twitched. She clenched her hand into a fist and turned her head, heading further down the space between the two rows of bunks.

Up ahead she caught a flash of red hair and a shout of pain and she made a beeline that way, to where a healer was checking on Ser Jorys leg. The healer didn’t stop to apologise for causing his flare of discomfort, but she did hand him a vial of shining red liquid, watching as he knocked it back in one swig. She nodded and moved on to her next patient. Jorys eyes alighted on the pair walking towards him.

“How’s your leg?” Caden asked without preamble. Jory looked from her to Alistair, looking surprised to see them.

“Did you complete the task?” He asked, ignoring her and the question. Alistair nodded.

“We did. With thanks to you and Daveth for getting us as far as you did.”

Caden thought that was rather a stretch, but she supposed they had both assisted in the collection of blood at least. “How’s your leg?” She repeated evenly. Jory finally rested his gaze squarely on her.

“It’s healing.” He said bitterly. Caden bristled, suddenly cross for having sought him out at all. She’d only meant to check that he was well and had made it back in one piece. Clearly Jory was still smarting from his injury, but that wasn’t her fault and she refused to feel bad about it. She had shouted a warning.

Jory looked to Alistair again. “I shall be well enough to complete whatever task is next for us. I have already seen the Warden-Commander and discussed this with him.”

Alistair smiled and reached over to clap a hand on the mans shoulder. “Just rest for now, my friend. The Joining takes time to arrange; we can postpone until tomorrow if needs be.”

Caden frowned. That didn’t seem fair. She wasn’t exactly champing at the bit to become a fully-fledged Grey Warden, but to have it delayed by Jorys stupidity seemed rather spiteful to her and Daveth. She held back her thoughts and offered a curt nod to Jory and then turned and stalked out of the tent. Once again, her shadow hurried to catch up, which didn’t take long as even at her longest stride he easily out-paced her. 

“Good to see they got back safely,” Alistair said as they headed away from the healers’ tent. Caden made a non-committal noise. “Are you… alright?” Alistair asked hesitantly.

Caden gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to get into it. She felt annoyed and her skin itched with that feeling. Her instinct was a to snipe at him, but as they were on somewhat easier terms that she couldn’t bring herself to break. So, she kept quiet, going against the urge to take it out on him. She wasn’t even sure exactly what her problem was. She didn’t particularly want to rush to the Joining, but neither did she want to put it off. Much like any other unpleasantness, she would rather it was over and done with.

Alistair sensibly kept his mouth shut and didn’t press the issue. They made their way through the rest of camp, passing Daveth cosying up to a woman who was finishing a shift at the smithy; she had soot streaked across her face and from what Caden could see, a glistening sheen of sweat across her chest. Daveth was smiling and reached out to brush a strand of damp hair off her forehead as they passed. The smith had one hand on her hip and was smirking back at him, evidently not swooning at his suggestive words, but even so she seemed quite relaxed with him. Caden felt a strange swoop in her belly to see them together. There was something so effortless about their conversation. The only people she had ever seen at such ease with one another’s closeness were her parents, who’d been married for a very long time. Seeing two seeming strangers so relaxed with one another was odd to say the least. Daveth caught sight of the Alistair and Caden walking passed and offered a quick wave, before his attention returned to his partner.

“See?” Alistair murmured. “The Blight brings everyone closer together.”

Caden hated that she gasped at what was clearly a joke, but when she risked a glance to Alistair he looked equally as shy about Daveth flirting with the smithy in the middle of camp, as she felt, so Caden decided he was probably teasing himself as much as her. She smiled softly. “I guess so.” She said weakly.

When they finally reached the Grey Wardens tents, they were quickly pointed in the exact direction of Duncan. He was in the main tent, where the Wardens held their own battle meetings and Caden let Alistair lead the way through the canvas opening. Despite the space between them, she sensed his whole body stiffen as they went inside, and it was with great curiosity that she stepped up beside him to see what was making him react like that.

Duncan was indeed at the war table, along with the golden-haired king who Caden had met and already forgotten the name of. Beside him was the taut advisor who had judged her upon her arrival to the camp, and a final man who had never seen before. He was tall like Duncan, but broader, with harsh lines across his weathered face. His black hair was loose and hung either side of his face. He looked every inch the aged general, even before she took in his heavy plate armour. The men were hovered over a map and all looked drawn.

“It’s bad news whatever way you slice it,” the king was saying. His advisor nodded. “So where is Fergus now?”

“South.” Came the reply from the advisor. “Scouting the wilds. There is no way to reach him until he returns.”

“Damn.” The king replied. “Let me know the minute he returns. He’ll want to know the news and with the Teryn and Teryna dead we can’t expect any more soldiers from Highever. Damn.” The king finally looked up and saw that Caden and Alistair were in the tent.

Caden didn’t really know how to greet them properly, so she waited nervously beside Alistair. He raised his right hand and pressed his fist to his left breast plate, bowing his head towards the king. “Your highness,” he said stiffly. Caden only hesitated a moment before copying the move and stood awkwardly until Duncan smiled over at them. “Ah, you have returned. I trust you did well?”

“We did, Duncan,” Alistair replied. Caden was confused; the jovial, easy-going man she had gotten used to was gone and in his place was this stern looking soldier. It was a disconcertingly sudden switch. She swallowed and pulled off her pack. Duncan nodded and came around to collect the items, peering inside when Caden lifted the flap to show off the treaties. Neither Alistair nor Duncan spoke, but she watched them share a look that allowed something to pass between them. She decided to keep quiet; better to come across as knowledgeable, but silent than to display her ignorance to the room.

“Excellent work, both of you.” Their commander said.

“Glad to see that Ser Jory and Daveth made it back.” Alistair said. The king looked over to them, seeming to properly notice them for the first time.

“The tenacity of the Wardens in action.” He said, grinning to the general. “You see why I need them to fight with me? When the Wardens have a task, they see it through to completion no matter what.”

The general looked over at them, clearly unimpressed by the pair. Caden met his gaze and though she wanted to shrink under the intensity in his grey eyes, she kept her back straight. “You, elf.” He said in a gruff voice. Caden felt her eyebrows twitch closer in irritation at being called elf.

“She has a name, Loghain.” The king reminded genially.

“Oh?” The man called Loghain turned to his king. “What is it, pray tell?” But the king seemed not hear him, suddenly very interested in the papers on the table. Caden felt a little better about forgetting her monarchs name now. She glanced at Duncan who gave a barely perceptible nod.

“My name is Caden Tabris, Ser.” She said, trying to keep her voice steady. She was back to feeling so lost and small in the camp and in this close space with so many tall, broad human men. She had almost forgotten how that felt.

“You look like you fought messily today.” He remarked brusquely. “Are you wearing more of your own blood or the enemies I wonder.”

Caden blanched and looked down at herself. She did look a state, with her own red lifeblood mingling with the dark ichor of those she’d killed. In addition to that mix, was her own sweat and dirt from the woods. She gathered she didn’t look anywhere near as seductive as Daveths smithy did wearing evidence of her hard work on her skin and attire.

“It’s theirs.” She replied. “I’m relatively unscathed, thank you for asking.”

“Caden fought well today,” Alistair said and the edge to his voice was clear.

“I have no doubt,” Loghain grunted in response “But some finesse wouldn’t go amiss. Save you getting quite so coated in filth.”

“Nothing a good wash won’t fix,” the king said smiling. “I’d like to see you fight tomorrow,” he added to Caden. “I’ve not had much chance to watch elves fight.”

Caden caught the slightest eyeroll from Loghain that endeared him to her, despite his imposing stature and rude comments. She didn’t really know what to say to the king in response. Duncan came to her aid.

“Tomorrow we will hold the Joining and all being well, you can watch Caden spar with the other Wardens, Cailan.” Ah, that was the name. “You are of course always welcome to observe.”

“Well, then, good luck,” Cailan said. “I shall hopefully see you tomorrow once you have joined the Wardens.” He nodded his farewell and then turned and repeated the move. “Alistair.”

“Your Highness,” Alistair said, eyes down, once again giving a small bow. Then he headed out of the tent, with Caden following behind this time. He marched halfway across their camp before he stopped abruptly. “So, bathing.” He said without dressing up his words. “You do look a terrible mess; I’ll find Lyra and she can take you to get cleaned up.”

Caden flinched. Alistair was being very curt with her all of a sudden and adding that to her embarrassment at just how overdue a thorough wash she was, was making her feel very hot and prickly. Her voice dried up in her throat and she just nodded mutely. Alistair looked around, taking advantage of his height to spy the curly headed archivist.

“Lyra!” he called and headed for her, with Caden slowly traipsing behind. “Can you take Caden to the river? She badly needs to bathe.” Another wince from Caden that Alistair didn’t acknowledge. Lyra nodded, her curls bouncing as she smiled.

“Of course,” she replied cheerily. “Let’s head to our tent first, get this armour off and find you some clothes.” Alistair was moving before Lyra finished talking and disappeared, leaving Caden to continue her silent act with Lyra now. She let herself be corralled to the tent and helped out of her armour. She didn’t even complain that Lyra had busied herself finding a spare set of clothes while Caden was in the Wilds.

The river was fast and thankfully devoid of humans when the women found it. The water was cold and Caden tried to forget that she was in her smalls beside a woman she barely knew, out in a river where anyone could happen past. She shivered and washed the water over her limbs and body, quickly going numb. The water ran brown and pink and black as the dirt and different types of blood and filth sloughed off her and sped downriver. The sun had set and the moon was rising, so she felt almost like she was bathing in moonlight. Far from being a romantic idea, it was icy and unpleasant, but once it was over, she dressed in the too big tunic and baggy trousers, stuffing the excessive cloth around her calves into her mothers’ boots. Lyra had cooed over her hair, which was long when it was loose and the night light had turned the gold to silver. Caden let the numb feeling remain after the chill abated and so let Lyra play with her long locks, plaiting it into a rope that she then wound around itself and pinned atop her head. Caden wanted to cry off dinner, but her stomach protested loudly about that thought, so she found herself back at the mess tent holding a hearty bowl of stew, bread and more fruit.

Lyra saw Caden to her seat and then, smiling, headed off to sit with the rest of the proper Wardens. Caden found herself sitting next to Alistair opposite two empty chairs. Alistair was lost in thought, ripping pieces off his hunk of bread and dropping them into his stew. It seemed like a reasonable way to eat, but Caden noticed that his eyes were glassy and his aim was off; the bread that fell in the stew only did so by accident, not design. Alistair wasn’t even aware that she was next to him so Caden, not knowing what else to do, picked up her spoon and took a mouthful of her food. The meat was goat and with one bite Caden was at once transported back to the Alienage, the smell of the stew differing only by the slightly different herbs in the bowl. Her throat tightened around the meat as she thought of her father at home alone eating a single bowl at their table built for three and she coughed. For a terrifying moment the diced goat remained wedged in her throat, but then it shifted and she was able to swallow, drawing a gulping breath. She inhaled deeply, the breath ending in a sob. Caden clamped her fist over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut to keep any tears at bay. She didn’t need to lose it; she couldn’t lose it right now. And for what? For eating similar food to what she ate back home? The flavour wasn’t exact, her portion was bigger than ever and she had fruit to accompany it. This was nothing like back home. Nothing here was like back home. The image of Cyrion eating by himself flashed back before her eyes.

Despite her growling stomach, Caden shoved the bowl of stew and bread away. She grabbed the apple and got up from the table in a rush. She tripped on the chair, knocking it to the ground, but she kept her feet. Alistair seemed to awaken from whatever reverie had claimed him and he whirled in the chair seeing her for the first time. “Caden? What’s--?”

She didn’t wait to hear him; she clung to her apple and fled from the tent.

*

Caden knew she couldn’t return to her bunk just yet. She wasn’t ready to face people yet, especially not Lyra with her perky attitude and misplaced kindness. The sky was fully dark now and the camp was sporadically lit by lanterns here and there. Caden shivered in the night air, wishing she had a cloak on. She walked blindly through the camp. It looked so different in the dark and she didn’t know her way at the best of times. She rolled the apple in her hands while she walked, if only to give her anxious fingers something to do. It was red and fat, and she was starving, but she didn’t take a bite.

After some time weaving in and out of the ruins, dodging tents and various clusters of people, Caden caught a whiff of wet fur and her curiosity propelled her onwards. She found a small encampment of pens, too small for livestock. She edged closer, peering at the pens to see what animals could possibly call this place home. She heard a whine and looked to the pen where this sorry noise had come from.

It was a dog. A huge beast of a dog by Cadens standards, but even though it was huge and probably had a mouthful of sharp teeth, this creature looked so forlorn that Cadens fears were quelled as soon as they rose within her. The dog was lying on its side, its chest rising and falling slowly. The moonlight picked up the whites of the dogs’ eye, which was the only way Caden could tell it had made an effort to look at her, gazing over the half wall into the pen. Then a noise made her start, as the dogs stubby tail started thumping rhythmically against the floor.

“Hey you,” Caden said in a hushed voice. “You don’t look so good.”

The wagging intensified, though the dog still made no move to get up. Caden relaxed further, resting her chin on her arms on the wall. “I don’t feel great either.” She said. “I don’t belong here, you see.” The dog managed to lift up its head and its mouth opened, the tongue lolling out over the lower jaw. “You look ridiculous.” Caden said with affection. She reached for her apple and took a few bites, crunching loudly in the darkness. The dog sniffed the air. “You want this? Do dogs even eat apples?” She wondered out loud.

A hand found her shoulder and Caden heard her name, but she had already leapt out of her skin. There was nowhere to go, with a hand on her back and her front against the wall and panic shot through her veins like a cold knife. Her hand jerked and the apple flew into the pen. Caden spun as well as she could, knocking her knee on the stones, but she was able to turn and her fist dove upwards and connected with the underside of a jaw. It hurt; her hand went white hot, then numb and her knee was complaining loudly. She heard growling behind her; the dog was up on shaky feet, letting its presence be known.

“Ow!” The haze of fear dulled as the familiar voice cut through. Alistair stepped back a few paces, recoiling at the punch to his face, rubbing his jaw. Caden felt a red mist descend.

“You arsehole.” She snapped her breathing fast and ragged. “I told you not to just grab me, what were you doing, what were you thinking, you can’t… you can’t just sneak up on me…”

Her words stumbled over each other and fell out of her mouth in a heated rush. Her anger was too hot and fast for her tongue to make sense of the things she needed to say.

Alistair looked down at Caden, his hand still tenderly feeling the point where she had struck him She felt a poisonous glee that he was in pain. “Caden, I’m sorry. I thought you heard me.”

Caden was shaking with rage, her distress and fury too fierce to calm down yet. She had told him, hadn’t she? Not to just grab people? Had he really not realised she meant her? What would it take for him to learn?

“This hurts, by the way,” Alistair said, gesturing to his jaw. Caden felt a new spike of irritation at his complaint, but to her surprise he chuckled. “Good arm.”

The unexpected compliment cut through the hot waves of rage and she felt the first signs of it abating. In the pen, the dog had stopped growling and Caden suddenly her the crunch of her apple. She glanced over her shoulder to see the dog with apple juice all over its muzzle. “I guess they do eat apples after all.”

Alistair moved his jaw from side to side, making it click. Caden winced. “That one does at any rate.” Then he sighed. “Caden, I’m really sorry for frightening you. I should be better at this by now. I’m sorry.”

The apology sounded sincere, but Caden couldn’t help but note that it was by no means the first apology he had given her. “Don’t do it again, and I might forgive you.” She warned. She was in no mood to feel any more stupid and jumpy. She lowered her hands, feeling her fists unclench finally. She was still hungry, but mostly she was tired. “Can you direct me back to the Wardens tents?” Caden asked. “I think I’d best get to bed before I get any more lost.”

“Of course,” Alistair replied. “Big day tomorrow. The Joining.”

“I can’t wait,” Caden deadpanned. They walked back to the Wardens tents in the quiet darkness.

Chapter Text

Let Me Live/ Let Me Die

Fear in the dark, all these thoughts have never stopped

It was with an aching head and a growling belly that Caden sat down to break her fast the next morning. Sleep had not been easy to come by, nor keep, and she had been woken by the same crushing feeling as the previous night, with Vaughans face hovering above her in sleep. The one bright side was that Lyra had slept through these night terrors, leaving Caden to take her time to quietly catch her breath and allow her heartrate to steady without the watchful eye of the other woman. The prospect of the secretive Joining was weighing heavily on her and Caden settled into her chair with her bowl of porridge and honey with a glum expression.

Alistair was back beside her and now they were graced with the presence of Daveth again. He was yawning over his drink, but he was grinning to himself when Caden sat down. He spotted her and nodded. “Mornin’,” he said with a drawl in his voice. Caden looked up and blinked. “Wow, you look rough.” He commented without scorn. “Bad night?”

Alistair glanced her way and Caden pressed her lips into a thin line before replying. “Fine thanks.”

“My night was long and hard.” Daveth quipped with a chuckle.

“I didn’t ask.” Caden bit back curtly. He was making her feel quite nauseous with his cheer and double entendres, but she was determined to eat her breakfast. She’d definitely regretted leaving her dinner last night when her stomach had protested after the first time waking up from a bad dream. She had been surprised that her dreams hadn’t contained any of the new horrors she had faced the day before, slaying the darkspawn. It just served to prove that Vaughan had been a monster in his own right, not to mention that he had been haunting her since she was thirteen, rather than something she hadn’t even known existed until recently. Caden dragged her mind back to the present and gestured with her spoon to the empty seat opposite Alistair. “How is Jory?”

“Better, I believe.” Alistair replied. “I’m going to see him later, but I understand his injuries have much improved today.”

“Good.” Caden said and found she meant it. She didn’t like the man, but she would have been sorry to hear he was wounded without the means to recover. “So, when is the Joining?”

Daveth’s grin wiped off his face, replaced with a more serious look as he awaited the answer.

"Soon," Alistair said quietly.

Caden started to eat her food and watched Alistair covertly. There was a small but angry looking bruise on his jawline, which Caden assumed she could take credit for. She hadn’t thought she’d hit him that hard. He still seemed as lost in himself as he had by the end of the day yesterday. It struck her that there was every chance that he was nervous about the Joining, given that these three were his charges. She didn't have the energy to worry about him, not while her insides were in knots. She focused on getting a good breakfast into her.

The elf was back at the pot wash. Caden handed over her bowl and spoon with reluctance, but the elf took it with a big smile. Caden hesitate before moving off, but seeing that no humans were in earshot she asked: "What's your name?"

The elf looked up surprised, but not perturbed by the question. "Me? Salasan, Ser,"

Being titled as Ser gave her an uncomfortable jolt. "I'm not a knight." She corrected quietly. "I'm just a recruit."

"Well, good luck to you then, miss." He said kindly. It occurred to Caden that this young man appeared to be about her age. Their lives were so different despite both being at the Grey Warden encampment. It sat strangely with her. At a loss of anything else to say Caden bid farewell and took off.

She had a destination in mind, no aimless wandering on this day. She remembered fuzzily the route to the kennels and after a few wrong turns she found herself before the pens. The smell of the dogs hit and she approached, looking for her friend. The thump-thump-thump of the tail reached her ears before she clapped eyes on the beast and when she peered over the wall, she was greeted with that same dog smile, and lolling tongue.

"Good morning," she said softly. "How are you doing today?" The dog made no move to stand, but listened as she spoke to it.

"Excuse me, miss?" Caden turned and saw a bearded man approaching her. He had called to her with plenty of space between them and was making his way to her in a wide arc, as if keeping himself in her widest peripheral view. It struck her as a way someone might approach a wary animal and yet it didn't bother her. She almost smiled thinking that she could suggest the same to Alistair, to treat her like a flighty beast. Maybe then he wouldn't keep sneaking up on her.

"Good morning," she said to the human man who had reached the wall with her. "I hope you don't mind me looking at your hound."

"Mabari," the man corrected. "And of course not."

"Mabari then." Caden said. "It's beautiful. I'm afraid it ate my snack last night. I hope that didn't mess with its gut?"

The man’s eyes crinkled with mirth, though his beard didn't move. "What did she get off you?"

"An apple."

"Ah," he chuckled, finally breaking into a small smile. "That won't do any harm." He stuck out a hand. "Farald Mason, kennel master."

Caden looked down at the meaty hand. Why did humans have to be so big? Nevertheless, she reached over and shook his hand politely, heart hammering in spite of the kindness in his face. "Caden Tabris," she replied. "Warden Recruit."

His bushy eyebrows rose sharply. "Oh aye? Well, they're saying this is a true Blight, so it's Wardens we need now more than ever. Glad you're here."

Caden didn't want to point out that she wasn't a Warden just yet, not when his reaction had been so positive. Instead she turned back to the mabari. She was a beautiful creature, but she still wasn't getting up. Farald heaved a heavy sigh beside her.

"She's not right, this one." He said. Caden frowned automatically in response.

"What's wrong with her?"

"Darkspawn." Farald said grimly. "They fight the evil creatures and can't help but ingest the sick blood. Then they get sick. I'm running low on supplies, and her owner didn't make it back from the last fight they were in. Don't have anyone I can ask to go and restock."

"What do you need?" Caden asked, watching the mabari roll over onto her side again.

"A medicinal flower." Farald explained. "They're pretty common in the wilds, but so are darkspawn. I can't ask anyone to go out just for flowers for an owner-less mabari."

"I'll do it." Caden heard herself say. "I've been to the Wilds. I'm sure I could find this flower."

Farald considered her for a long moment. "You would do that?" Caden nodded. "Alright then. It's a white blossom with a red centre and it has a sweet smell, like honey." Caden nodded again, trying to confine that information to memory. "I don't want to rush you, but she could use it sooner rather than later."

"I understand." Caden said sincerely. With a last look at the mabari, she turned and headed back to the Wardens camp.

*

"Alistair?"

He looked up from the armour he was oiling to see Caden looking nervously at him. She always seemed a little on edge, unless she was entirely consumed by nerves. Those seemed to be her two most popular modes, with outright obnoxious a close third. Alistair offered a smile to set her at ease, which worked as well as it usually did. Which was not at all. "What do you need?" He replied.

Caden stepped closer, her arms straight at her sides, but her hands were quietly clenching and unclenching. Alistair wasn't even sure if she was aware of that fact.

"Can I ask you something?"

Alistair set down the oiled rag. He was practically done anyway. "So far you've said two things and both were questions. So, sure, ask away."

Caden hesitated a moment, seeming to consider her words before speaking. "Can you take me into the Wilds?"

Of all the things he would have expected, this was probably the least likely. Alistair furrowed his brow. "The Wilds? What for? Couldn't get enough of the luscious landscape? Eager to kill more darkspawn?" Then a thought struck him and he frowned in dismay. "You're not thinking about Morrigan again are you? I know you said you quite liked how she lived, but you can't just run off to her and her mother."

Alistair watched Cadens face shift from anxious to surprised and then it settled on annoyed. Great, another wrong turn.

"Oh yes, I thought I'd go live with the witches in the wilds." Caden retorted, sarcasm oozing into her words. “Do you think I’m asking you to run away with me? Do you really think if I was going to sneak off, I’d come and ask you for permission first?”

Alistair held up his hands in a sign of peace. “You’re right.” He smiled tiredly. He really wasn’t doing well with Caden, but he had no idea how to talk to her without inadvertently stepping all over his words. It was a special talent of his to always say the wrong thing, but he’d never gotten on someone’s bad side quite as quickly as this. Not when he was trying to get along with them. “So, the Wilds? What’s out there that you want?”

He watched Cadens jaw work as she seemed to rein in her irritation at him. After a moment she swallowed whatever she might have wanted to snark at him. “A flower.”

She was full of surprises. “A flower?” He asked, resisting the urge to make another joke. His mind leapt from one attempt at humour to the next; was she hoping to build a get well soon bouquet for Ser Jory or did she think the Grey Wardens were lacking in floral headgear as part of their armour? None of it was worth trying to make a joke with. For the first time in his twenty years on Thedas, Alistair held his tongue.

Caden nodded. “The mabari I was watching last night? She’s sick and her owner died, so there’s no-one to get her a flower that she needs. The kennel master said it would help…” Alistair watched her trail off, her expression deflating somewhat. She hadn’t approached him with overwhelming confidence, but whatever she had had was now nowhere to be seen.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s just occurred to me that maybe he was just messing with me. Does it… sound stupid to use a flower to heal a dog?” Her face was guarded, but her large blue eyes, he could see, were open and anxious. He shook his head quickly.

“No, not at all.” Alistair lowered his hands to rest on his knees. “Look at elf root; a plain looking plant, but you brew it a certain way and it fixes what ails you.” He shrugged. “Why would he want to mess with you?”

Caden’s head dipped, angling her gaze downwards to her feet. Her hands clenched into a fist again and this time they didn’t relax. She opened her mouth a few times, but no words were forthcoming. Alistair couldn’t help but wonder what she was trying and failing to say, but rather than push her, he decided to jump to the pertinent point. “No time to go to the Wilds today.” He explained simply. “We can’t risk you being late for the Joining.” Her eyes met his and she could see the disappointment in them. “I can promise you that after the Joining there will be ample opportunity to find it, though. We’ve got to train new Wardens on how to use the darkspawn sense you’ll get after and there’s no better place to practise than the place where the horde keep coming from.”

Caden didn’t look thrilled to hear this. It was hard to say whether it was the flat-out denial of her request or the stuff that would occur after the Joining. And, Alistair thought ruefully, she didn’t know the half of it. A stab of guilt caught him unexpectedly. It didn’t seem right to keep everything from the recruits. She might have been conscripted, but even so it didn’t seem fair to hide the truth. Not to mention the fact that she’d caught his stumbles with omitting certain facts about the Joining, so she probably had some idea of what was to come. “Caden…” Alistair started, well aware that he was needlessly talking himself into telling her everything.

“I get it, it’s fine.” Caden hurried to say. Alistair was momentarily confused, until he realised that she of course hadn’t heard his inner conscience talking and was referring to the trip to the Wilds. “It can probably wait. I don’t know, I don’t know how darkspawn illnesses… progress? I would like to get it later if I can though.”

“Caden,” Alistair raised his voice ever so slightly and cut Caden short. She blinked. “I promise we’ll look for the flower as soon as you’re a Warden.” If you survive that is. His heart thrummed with discomfort. “You have my word.”

Caden considered him for a long while, then nodded. “Thank you.” She said softly. Alistair nodded and watched as she backed up, eventually turning and heading away from him. Alistair picked up the rag again and half-heartedly started working the leather again, before he spotted that he was going over a section that was already well oiled. It didn’t sit right, keeping the biggest secrets from them, the recruits. It was Duncans call to make as Warden Commander and he’d kept Alistair and his fellow recruits just as in the dark, but even so. Alistair put away his cleaning implements and headed to find Duncan to see if there was anything he needed from him for the ritual. Anything to pre-occupy his mind.

*

“And so, we come at last to the Joining.”

Caden tried to relax, but her jaw was clenched tightly, her heart racing. She stood, with the other recruits, in a secluded area outside of Ostagar. Alistair had come to fetch her and with Daveth and Jory, now on two legs once again and with only a slight limp, they had traversed the fortress and placed distance between them and the rest of the soldiers. Heavy woodland was their destination and now they stood in a clearing with a few torches burning and trees all around them. The sun was just going down, casting them into gloom.

Duncan was standing by a small chest that he had yet to open. Caden didn't know what was inside it, but she didn't hold out high hopes of it containing something pleasant. Alistair was at his side, with the three recruits facing the Wardens. Caden risked a momentary glance to her right, gazing briefly at Daveth and then Jory. Both were tall and stoic, with no hint of dismay on either face. Maybe it was just her who was questioning her every life choice that had led to standing in this moment right now.

"The Grey Wardens are intricately linked with the Blight, for it was during the very first Blight that the Grey Wardens were formed." Duncan was saying solemnly. "As the darkspawn horde kept growing, it was determined that something radical was needed to quell their numbers and save all of humanity. So it was that soldiers came together to embark on a new journey to victory; they partook of their fallen foes blood and so it was that the Grey Wardens were born. This is what we all must do in order to join the Grey Wardens."

The words were spoken with such reverence, yet were so casual in their explanation of becoming a Warden that Caden almost missed the relevant parts. Jory was much quicker on the uptake.

"You want us to drink their blood?" He blustered. "Darkspawn blood?"

It was to Alistair that Caden looked, torn as she was between disgust and a strange urge to laugh. She knew the darkspawn blood would end up coming back to haunt her ever since Alistairs cagey words and as he met her gaze she could see an apology in his eyes. That quelled any mirth that might have come out of her mouth.

"There are plenty of soldiers back at camp who are dying from taking in darkspawn blood." Daveth pointed out very quietly.

"As our predecessors before us did, we drink darkspawn blood." Duncan nodded. He bent and opened the chest, withdrawing three glass bottles of something that was ominously thick and dark. Alistair stepped forward and took them as Duncan retrieved three silver chalices. They were beautifully crafted drinking vessels and it seemed so barbaric to fill them with that gore yet, and now the horrible giggling urge was back, wasn't that exactly what they were asking them to do with their bodies? "It is the source of our power, though it comes at a cost. Daveth is right that people die from the darkspawn taint, and there is no guarantee of surviving the Joining for any of you." Duncan straightened and looked at each of them in turn, letting his words sink in. "This is not purely darkspawn blood, but a concoction that includes the blood. If you survive drinking it, you become one of us and so become immune to the taint."

"It's how we are able to sense the darkspawn," Alistair added gruffly. "Due to the taint in our bodies."

It made sense, she had to admit. She would never have guessed what the cause for the darkspawn sense would have been, but now that he said it plainly it seemed like the most obvious reason. Caden couldn't seem to look away from Alistair; Duncan was standing and talking and it all seemed important, but Alistairs drawn face was holding her attention firmly. He had led them into the Wilds to gather blood for this ritual that might kill them. He had kept all of this back, kept it to himself. It would have made sense for him to have kept his charges at arm’s length. Caden supposed that was probably what she would have done, but Alistair had been friendly and encouraging and concerned when Jory had been injured. He didn't want them to die. He wanted them to live.

Caden heard Jory and Daveth say something in response to Duncan, and realised they were all waiting for her to do the same. She looked blankly at Duncan.

"Are you ready, Caden?" Duncan repeated.

Caden gave a stilted nod. "If I die," she said suddenly, directing this to Alistair. "Promise you'll get that flower?"

Alistair just nodded back.

If the others were confused by this exchange, they gave no sign. Caden suspected the chances were very high that they were wrapped up in their own thoughts. The feeling in the clearing under the clouds was one of sombre trepidation and Caden had lied. She wasn't ready. Not even a little bit.

"We speak only a few words before the Joining, but they are of great importance." Duncan said. "Alistair, if you would be so kind."

Alistair swallowed then began to recite an oath with portentousness. "Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry out the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day, we shall join you." Caden shuddered as a chill breeze swept through the clearing, causing the flames of the torches to bow and flicker. Shadows danced across Duncan, as he uncorked the first bottle and poured it into a chalice.

"Step forward Daveth."

For a moment there was no movement in the woods. Then Daveth did as requested and stepped up to take the chalice with a shaky hand. He peered distrustfully into the cup, but then, looking a lot more like his usual self, threw out a wan grin. "Whatever it takes." Daveth said, then knocked the cup back, swallowing its contents with ease. He handed Duncan back the cup. "Urgh, that's vile." He turned to stand back with the others, and it was as he turned that Caden felt her heart plummet into her stomach because his face suddenly went pale and taut. His mouth opened in a keening cry, and his fingers flew to his face, where he pressed his nails into his skin and dragged long rivets down his face, down to his neck, where he scratched and tore, his howl barely human. Caden was frozen in her spot as she watched. Was this normal? Was this him becoming a Warden? Or was he dying?

It felt like longer, but before she had even finished her stream of thoughts, the cocksure young horse thief was prone on the ground. Face in the dirt, unmoving.

Duncan sighed and nodded to Alistair. Caden watched him approach the body of Daveth and as respectfully as possible, he dragged him off to one side. Duncan was pouring the next cup, but Caden watched as Alistair took a knee beside Daveth and reached over to close his eyes and tuck his arms over his chest. He had wanted them all to live.

"Jory, step up," Duncan said, holding out the cup. Jory's chest was heaving as he moved closer. His breath was nothing but ragged panting and his eyes were wild. Even so he clasped the cup, but he was shaking so hard that the contents sloshed violently within. As a few drops flew from the chalice and landed on his hand, he reacted as if it were acid, flinging the cup aside in terror.

"No!" He barked. "I can't, I won't!"

Caden looked down as the chalice came to a stop by her feet, a small pool of dark liquid sinking into the forest floor.

"I have a child on the way." Jory was shaking his head. "My wife is expecting, she needs me. There is no glory in this! This was a mistake."

Duncan looked up with great sorrow. "There can be no mistakes."

Jory grabbed his sword and drew it, the edge of the metal glinting in the pale moonlight. He held it out towards Duncan. Caden couldn't believe what was happening. She saw Alistair rise and reach for his own weapon, no doubt his instinct to protect his commander, but Duncan was quicker. His own sword was out and ready, parrying Jorys clumsy, fear driven swings.

"Just let me leave, I shan't speak of this to anyone--" Jory pleaded, but it was too late. His fate was sealed. Duncan made light work of his foe, expertly blocking the panicked strikes until his blade sank into Jorys chest. Caden's blood ran cold as the light faded from Jorys eyes; his frantic fears fading with his life. Duncan pulled back his sword as Jory fell to his knees, dropping his own weapon and then he collapsed like a broken doll, in a heap on the floor of the clearing. Dead.

"Are you alright, Duncan?" Alistair asked. Duncan turned away from Jorys body and wiped his sword clean, without a word of an answer. Alistair hesitated only a moment before moving Jory off to one side, with the same tact as he had shown Daveth, despite the fact that he had watched this man attempt to kill his commander.

Caden stood alone now. Her fellow recruits were dead. It had only been a few minutes since Daveth had taken a sip from his cup, and now she was the only one left. She couldn't stop shivering. How had she gotten to this place?

"Caden, step forward and submit yourself to the taint." Duncan held out her goblet. Was there a steely tone to his voice that hadn't been there before or was she paranoid?

Caden stared up at the Warden Commander, unable to move, unable to speak. Alistair cautiously moved up beside him, eyes imploring her to do as instructed. Duncan gave her a long look. "Caden." There was no mistaking the authority in his voice now.

"You killed him." Caden finally managed. "You killed them both."

"The Joining is not without risk." Duncan repeated his words from earlier. "Step forward."

Caden heard her blood rush in her ears. She was fizzing with every sight and sound that had flashed before her in this clearing that she felt she might explode. It was all too much. "You didn't stop my execution, you just postponed it," Caden said, her voice hollow. "You swapped my head being mounted on a spike, for a secret ceremony in the middle of nowhere. You're giving me a poisoned cup and you're challenging me not to die." Now she laughed and the laughter was strangled and coarse.

"Are you refusing as Jory did?" Duncan asked. He hadn't moved any closer and the chalice remained between him and her, his arm outstretched. "Or will you drink?"

When Caden replied she looked squarely at Alistair. "Will you kill me if I don't?" Alistair looked away.

Without taking another second to think, Caden felt her body regain a sense of movement, bridging the short gap to the cup. She grabbed it, her hands suddenly steady and without pausing she closed her eyes and drank deep.

It tasted like metal. The taste of pricking a finger and sticking the digit in her mouth to stem the blood flow. It tasted like herbs, like nothing she could ever recall having ingested before. It tasted like the smell of a dying genlock. It tasted like salt, like crying into a pillow and feeling the tears dribble into a wailing mouth. Caden waited for the pain that killed Daveth to kick in and take her, too. She opened her eyes to see the men watching her. A moment ticked into the next and again and again. She still drew breath. Her heart still beat in her chest. Maybe this was all it took to Join. Maybe she was alright.

Oh...

Heat blossomed inside her, as if the poison had caught fire. She felt the pain flare up her throat, down her limbs, it was everywhere. Caden doubled over in shock and agony. Her breath was short, it was too hard to scream. The fierce flames consumed her.

She heard someone say her name from far, far away as the darkness dragged her down.

How can I fight darkspawn if I'm on fire? I need water. I need... someone please save me. Sharp spikes in my head, over and over and over and over. Please save me from this, oh please. I'll do anything, just make it stop, make it stop! Take me, I don't care, take me, kill me, end this agony, oh please, oh please...

Where is she? I want my mother, mother, please save me. It hurts. The flames, the fire, the burning. This is…

It's abating...is it? I don't know. Have my nerves been burned away...is there anything left of me?

It's so dark here, but I can hear things all around me...voices whispering. What are they saying? I don't like this...

They're everywhere. All over. They creep around the edges and watch and wait and bide their time. I can feel...Him. I think it's a him. I know what he is.

He knows what I am.

Wait...there are people here...shadows...I can feel them. They're so few, but they stand between me and Him. Some are very far away and some are closer. They feel like...like fortress walls...like wards. The pain is duller now and I can feel them instead.

The light is returning. Warmth and safety. No more fire.

Open your eyes.

"It is done. From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden." Those were the words that greeted Caden as she came to. Duncans face hovered over her. "Welcome, Caden Tabris, Warden-Sister."

Caden pushed him away before she could stop herself. He was too damn close. She scrambled backwards, creating some distance between her and Duncan, and Alistair who was peering over his shoulder.

"Give her some space," she heard Alistair murmur to his commander.

Caden felt dampness on her hand and looked to the side. She was beside Jorys body and when she raised her hand, she saw his blood smeared on her palm. She felt rage rise up and she hurried to her feet.

"Caden?" Alistair asked cautiously. "You survived."

"They didn't." She snapped with a gesture to the corpses next to her. She stood up on shaky legs.

"I know," Alistair sounded raw. "In my Joining only one of us died, but it was awful. I'm glad you made it through." He started towards her, with something in his hand. "I assure you, we don't forget the sacrifice of recruits who don't survive. And here, this is for you." He held out an amulet with a chain coiled in his palm. "We gather some of the blood and put it in a pendant, as a memento of those who didn't make it this far."

Caden stared down at the necklace in horror. "I don't want that," she spat. She thrust her hand out, swiping the amulet out of Alistairs palm and onto the ground. The silver of the necklace flashed in the as it caught the moonlight. She couldn't believe that she had felt sorry for him earlier. She couldn't stand the sight of him now, or Duncan. She whirled on the commander. "Why didn't you say what this took? You kept all of this back, kept it to yourselves. No wonder you have to conscript people; who would want to join something like this if they had a damn choice? You talk of honour, but this is not honourable. This is dumb luck, that I'm alive and they are dead." This was said with a growl and a wave of her hand towards the bodies of Jory and Daveth. Alistair was silent, Duncan patient. She wanted to smack them both. Instead she turned and grasped one of the torches stuck in the ground, wrenching it free and preparing to march off.

"Duncan...?" She heard Alistairs questioning tone, but neither made a move to stop her as she stalked out of the clearing. Before she lost herself between the trees, she heard Duncan call after her.

"Your training begins tomorrow morning, Sister."

Chapter Text

I’m Still Here

Oh, the past it wanted me dead

“Caden?”

Caden remained in the same position, her hands wrapped around her knees, the blanket over her head. A ball of petulance and childish fear. It was over. It had happened. She had not died. She didn’t feel like she could face anyone. She heard Lyras footsteps approach her bunk. A gentle pressure on her shoulder. Lyras hand. Not as repulsive a touch as most humans, but even so Caden was surprised to feel a burst of relief in her chest at this contact. She could feel Lyra beside her, not her body as such, her energy. Like a warm glowing light in the dark. It was this that stilled Cadens ragged heartbeat.

She had come straight back to her tent after leaving the clearing, stumbling through the woods and then through Ostagar until she had found her bunk and curled up alone. Alone until Lyra had come to find her.

“Are you hungry?” Lyra asked softly. “It’s dinnertime. You really should eat; the Joining is a gruelling ordeal.”

As if on cue Caden felt her stomach give a loud rumble. “Come, sit with me.” Lyra cajoled. Caden let the blanket slide off her face. Lyra folded it at the foot of the bed. “You can meet the other Wardens.”

Still mute Caden got to her feet. Lyra was taller, as it seemed was everyone compared to her here, and Cadens sight focused on a silver chain vanishing beneath Lyras neckline. Was that her own pendant, her symbol of the Joining? Cadens insides fought briefly, either protesting starvation or threatening to purge whatever little there was in her belly. Hunger won when Caden tore her gaze from Lyras necklace.

“How was it?” Lyra asked. Caden walked beside the human woman and made no move to reply. “I hear you were the only one who made it.” Lyra said, making Caden frown; why ask in the first place if she knew the answer?

Caden knew they were in the Warden camp, of course, but she was still unprepared for the feeling of walking towards a golden light, a cluster of energy that felt like home. Her father, Shianni, the Alienage all suddenly felt very far away, like a faded painting hidden away in an attic. She gritted her teeth and walked on.

There was a noise, shifting of chairs and rustle of cotton. When Caden lifted her weary head, she was met with a sight of every Warden she had yet to meet standing, one fist pressed to each opposite breast, heads bowed, all towards her. A chorus of voices rose. “Welcome, Sister.”

The feeling like she might throw up was back, but Lyras guiding hand steered her onwards and into a chair at a table she had never sat at. Lyra slipped into the chair beside her and the others sat down, another Warden on her other side. Caden glanced along the table to find the further, smallest seating arrangement. The place she had taken all other meals over the past few days and evenings. Empty chairs at an empty table. She was here, Daveth and Jory were dead and Alistair was nowhere to be seen. Duncan was also notably absent.

“What…” she croaked, breaking off to clear her raw throat. Lyra was filling her cup with wine and smiled encouragingly. “What happens to the others? Their bodies?”

Lyras eyes creased in sorrow. She set down the wine jug. “They’ll be brought over to the healers, the Chantry Sisters. There are rites for the dead and they have means to handle the remains.”

That didn’t seem enough of an answer. “But what happens to them? Where do they go? Into the ground, here? So far from home?” Caden broke off, feeling a prickle at the back of her eyes. No tears. Not now.

Another Warden, a large man with a vibrant orange beard passed Lyra a basket of bread rolls and took up the answer. “We’ll get them home.” He said in a deep voice. “The mages have means of preserving the dead and readying them for transport.”

“Once we’re done here, they’ll be returned back to their homes for interment.” Another Warden chimed in, reaching for the potatoes. “Tombs at Weisshaupt are reserved for only the greatest and most heroic Wardens.”

“Weisshaupt?” Caden asked. She felt like she knew that name.

“Aye, the great Warden fortress,” the bearded man nodded. He had a huge turkey leg in his hands and was surveying the meat, looking for the best place to dive in. “Should we fall in glorious battle, it is to there that we are returned.”

Lyra was busy filling up Cadens plate and the scent of her food wafted into her nose. Caden quietly picked up her food and began to eat. All around her the bustling energy of the Wardens mingled, like being cocooned in a warm blanket on a cold, dark night. Caden couldn’t help but wonder as she ate, whether the sense of the darkspawn would be just as strong, and just how horrible might it comparatively be? That vision she had had during the ritual lingered on the edges of her thoughts, like a vast shadow held at bay by a candle. It had seen her and known her. Was that the darkspawn or was it something worse? She shuddered and sipped her wine, wincing at the unfamiliar alcohol.

The food dwindled, which was remarkable as there was so much available, but it didn’t take long for the Wardens to devour the majority. Cadens belly didn’t seem to fill up, despite shovelling food into her mouth with little pause. She didn’t speak to the others again, but found she didn’t need to; they were eagerly chatting away, joking and teasing each other, so at ease in each other’s company. The bearded Warden even started a song, the noise deafening when the rest of the host joined in. Caden cringed; it was a bit much, but the others didn’t notice as their voices rang out.

“We are Wardens! One and all! Fight for justice, shield for vengeance! Crush our enemies! One and all!”

After some time, when the songs had died down and her plate was almost empty, Caden looked up at just the right moment to espy Duncan and Alistairs return. The latter caught her gaze practically as soon as she raised her gaze and a dart of anger shot through her. Caden pushed away from the table.

“Caden?” Lyra asked.

“I’m full, I’m tired.” Caden hurried to say. “I’m going to sleep.”

“Alright,” she said. “See you in there.”

Caden was already speeding away from the table, back to her tent and the thin blanket that she could pretend was as comforting as the presence of the Grey Wardens.

*

Her new armour was beautiful. It felt like a strange word to ascribe to something she wore, a tool for battle, but then she had always through of her mother’s knife as beautiful. And her boots. That was the only new piece of kit that she had eschewed, preferring to stick to what she knew. What she loved. In the midst of the new and unfamiliar, it felt right to keep the boots. The rest of the armour was similar to what she had seen the other Wardens wearing. A mixture of silver, brown and blue regardless of whether the armour was for fighters or robes for magic users, but hers, she noted, was less metallic than that of the warriors. Hers was blue and leather, though there were some light metal rings interlinking down the hauberk and she wore a similarly light plate over her chest and yet more blue and silver over her arms and neck. Her hips were coated in interlocking plates. There would be no way for anyone to stab her there in this get up. Her hands were hidden in leather gloves that were buckled above her elbow, so they were staying put. Everything felt covered, almost every part of her protected and yet she could move. It wasn’t weighing her down like full metal plate assuredly would and she could still dart and weave. Her own advice from that night in Vaughans estate came back to her as she bobbed and ducked in practise; she would never be stronger or tougher, so she had to be faster. She could be faster in this. Only her face was open, though she had a hood in blue that was built into the arm and neck piece, which was fitted with enough metal beneath the cloth that it would at least help to deflect weaker blows or arrows. Hopefully. Any direct hits to her head would cleave her skull, but she had a helmet she could wear over the hood or without, whichever she chose. And then there were her knees. The Wardens boots came up, like the gloves, up to her major joint and then buckled above it for movement. With Adaias boots she was only protected as far as her shins went. Her knees were open to damage, which would rather hinder her efforts to be nimble and quick.

Caden looked at the boots. She knew what was the better choice. Her mothers’ boots were beautiful and meaningful, but her knees were important. Could she let sentimentality leave her vulnerable to attack?

“I don’t suppose…” she started, looking up at the Warden who had introduced himself as Matthias. He had been a smithy in his former life and worked with the quartermaster to create the Wardens armour. He looked over, a question on his face as he waited for her go on. “Would it be possible to amend my boots somewhat?” She asked, feeling awkward. She knew nothing of how to make armour, would it even be possible to make these changes? “I’d like to keep my own boots, but I like that the Warden boots are more protective. Can something be added to my boots to grant me the same protection?”

She waited, frozen in place. Would he laugh at her or get cross for being stupid, and tell her just to wear the damn boots? She hadn’t had to pay for any of this, which was just as well as she had no money to speak of, and so her manners were urging her to be polite, say thank you and nothing more. Even so, she had to ask.

Matthias came over to her and knelt down to look at her boots. Caden remained in place, still and quiet now. “These are nice. I can see they are well worn to your frame. That’ll help you with sneaking around, but you know the darkspawn can sense us just as we can sense them so I can’t see where you’d need that in the battle.” He straightened up, not looking annoyed as such, but he was rubbing his jaw, thinking. “I could probably fashion you some greaves. They’ll go over your boots and come up to here,” he gestured to a space above her knee and Caden worked on not flinching away. He wasn’t anywhere close to touching her after all and he was thinking purely of armour. Focus, she told herself.

“I should be able to get to that. Might not be quick though.” He said after a moment. “I’d suggest you take the boots, they’re yours after all, and practise with them. I’ll sort you out with some greaves.”

“Thank you,” Caden said, trying to effuse all her gratitude into those small words, very aware that it probably fell far short. She was touched at his offer to help and that he’d taken her query seriously at all. She grabbed for the Warden boots and swapped them with Adaias. They fit brilliantly, just as the rest did. Feeling a sense of relief and pleasure for the first time in a while, she hugged her mother’s boots, said her goodbyes and hurried to stash her old boots under her bunk.

*

In addition to the armour, Caden now had a pair of shiny short swords. It was a bittersweet feeling, like all her Satinalia gifts rolled into one glorious bundle, yet it meant she really was a Warden, really was no longer the girl from the Alienage. She shrugged off the sense of loss she was feeling to focus on what she had gained. Her hands gripped the sword hilts of the practise swords she had traded her sharpened blades for and she dug her toe into the dirt beneath her to test the ground. She waited, exhaling slowly.

“Begin.”

The call came and Caden was a blur; she kept herself low to the ground and darted to the right. You have to be faster. She dodged a sword swing above her head, but felt a glancing blow against her shoulder from a shield bash manoeuvre. She rolled her shoulder to try to take the pain, and kept on course. She got behind him, and skidded on her knees – thank goodness for this armour – slicing her blades across his ankles. A cry and he was down, but Caden wasn’t done, scrambling to her feet to finish the circle around him. She leapt, coming down on her knee into his belly, causing an expulsion of bitter air from his throat. Her blade was at his neck.  

“Yield.”

Caden heard the call, but it took her a moment to relax her muscles enough to lower her arm and climb off him. Alistair made no move to get up. Caden leaned over him; she hadn’t actually hurt him, had she? They were using training swords with dulled edges, there was no way she’d actually sliced his tendons. Was there?

He opened his hazel eyes and glared up at her. This was their third bout and she’d felled him each time. Maybe he was sore after all. Caden stepped back, giving him space to slowly get himself to his feet.

“She winded you good and proper!” came a laugh from the barrels that made up a make-shift arena. More laughter joined and Caden flushed. Should she offer Alistair a hand? She doubted she could have helped him up, not in his plate armour and he was so big. She stood back and waited, keeping her gaze averted.

“Alistair, are you ready to go again?” Duncan called from his position on the main path, higher up so he could look down at the fighters.

Alistair nodded and readied himself. Caden took her position opposite. Was he angry? Then she pushed that thought away. She wasn’t exactly thrilled with him or Duncan for keeping back so much about the Joining. Who cared if he was mad?

“Begin.”

Caden’s blood sang as she launched into another run. You have to be faster. She ran. A flash of metal. She dove aside, right into the path of Alistairs body. He’d feinted and then planted himself in her course. Damn it. Caden saw the shield and knew it would hit hard. She didn’t think, she dug her foot into the ground and jumped. The shield hit, as expected, which hurt, as expected, but her trajectory was such now that Alistair had to adjust his stance, the shield tipping back, allowing Caden to roll over the shield, minimising some of the pain, but not all. Not by a long shot.

The move was graceful, but her landing was for shit, Caden reflected as she took a face full of dirt. Her swords were gone and Alistair gave no quarter, standing over her as she rolled onto her back. His sword was pointing down at her face.

“Yiel—” Duncan began, but Caden wasn’t done yet. Her blood still raged. Get that away from me.

Without a thought for her new gloves, she swept her elbow against the dull blade, getting it out of her face. Alistair, expecting the call to yield, was caught unprepared, letting the sword be pushed aside. Then Caden bent her knee and thrust her heel upwards. Alistair made a noise of great pain as Caden found the perfect spot on the man to cause the most immediate hurt, and he staggered backwards. She barely heard the sympathetic cries from the other men around the arena. Caden scrambled to her feet, grabbing a sword from the ground and darting for Alistair, kicking his leg, dropping him to his knees, clutching one hand to himself. Caden thrust her blade out, pressing it to Alistairs neck again.

“Yield!” Came the shout from Duncan, this time with a hard edge to it. Caden once again took a few breaths to calm the blood frenzy before moving away. There was no laughter this time.

“Alistair, switch out please.” Duncan said. Alistair stood up, this time glaring at her with venom she would never had expected from him. When Caden turned to glance up at Duncan, she could see he’d been joined by King Cailan and Loghain. A swell of something like embarrassment made her belly swoop uncomfortably. She hadn’t realised they had an audience.

“Viktur, you go,” Duncan commanded and a burly man picked up the training sword and shield Alistair had dropped and came to face Caden.

“Begin!”

*

“Are you alright, Alistair?” Duncan asked quietly as he limped towards his commander. Alistair grimaced.

“Just fine.” He grimaced. Alistair looked up and realised that Cailan and Loghain were also in attendance of his failure. Great.

“She fights like she doesn’t believe anyone will yield.” Loghain remarked thoughtfully. Alistair glanced at him. He was watching Caden narrowly avoid a hit to the face and stab at Viktur with her sword. His hand rubbed along his stubbled chin as his hooded gaze remained locked onto Caden below. “She does realise this is merely a training exercise?”

“It’s quite exciting, I think,” Cailan enthused before Duncan could reply to the Teryn. “I’ve never seen an elf fight; do they all fight like this?”

“Elves don’t fight.” Loghain retorted darkly. “Not Alienage born elves. The Dalish are another matter, but elves like her don’t fight.”

“And yet there she stands, blades in hand like she was born with them there.” Cailan asserted watching Caden whirl and parry Vikturs blow, stumbling slightly on her uneven footing.

“Caden was taught to fight by her mother,” Duncan said softly. Alistair’s ear pricked up. “Adaia Tabris almost joined the Grey Wardens when she was around Cadens age. It is true that most Alienage elves do not have the means or opportunity to learn to fight, however Adaias family has always been the kind to balk tradition.” Alistair waited to see if Duncan would elaborate, but his attention was back on the fight. Alistair looked down at the pair. Viktur had lasted longer than he had, but now he watched as Caden barrelled into him from behind, toppling the tall man and thrusting her blade at the back of his neck. That seemed to be her preferred striking point, Alistair mused, rubbing at his neck where she had caught him hard once or twice. “Yield.”

Caden did not move immediately. Alistair had always been trained to freeze when it was clear who was the winner in a bout and then to break away after the call to yield, but Caden didn’t do this. She must have heard the should to yield before, but she hadn’t backed off; she’d doubled down and retaliated harder. When she did back off, it was slowly. It occurred to Alistair that she was like a different person when she fought. Vicious, that was the word for it. Alistair shifted where he stood, still uncomfortable. Duncan called to begin again and Caden burst forward. She would need to learn to conserve her energy in real battles and her stance wasn’t always powerful enough to withstand blows. Alistair leaned forwards, watching her form. If she just put that leg a few inches back, turned the foot to brace herself better she wouldn’t have been staggered by that swing.

“She fights like an alley cat,” Loghain sniffed. “All claws, no prowess. No skill to speak of. Hopeless.”

“And yet she killed darkspawn despite having never even seen them before fighting them,” Alistair cut in sharply, annoyed that the Teryn was vocalising something that rang truthful. “And she’s beaten every man she’s gone up against in this arena. Seasoned fighters.”

Loghain raised one brow very slowly. “Does that not reflect poorly on the Grey Wardens that this untrained girl can best them?”

“Caden fights dirty,” Alistair rebutted, the realisation suddenly hitting him, a soothing balm on his bruised ego. “We’re sparring with rules and decorum; Caden is fighting as if we’re her enemy.”

“Yes, that’s it,” Cailan nodded enthusiastically. Alistair shrank back, annoyed that he had forgotten himself and spoken so freely in the presence of the king. “She doesn’t fight to win; she fights to stay alive.”

“Yield!” Duncan called. Caden glanced up at them, tiredness starting to show on her face.

“I wonder,” Cailan tapped on his chin with one finger. His royal signet ring shone in the late morning sun. “Alistair, get back down there. She fights so hard to protect herself, I want to see what she fights like on a team. See if she’ll protect you just as hard.”

Alistair grimaced, but nodded with a look to Duncan, who gazed back mildly. Alistair limped back down the slight hill, his manhood still tender after the direct hit from earlier. “Hold up.” He said. Caden looked at him. “They want to pair us up for the next bout.”

“I’m fine, I don’t need help.” Caden retorted between pants. “I’m not tired.”

Alistair gave her a look. “Well, you are, but that’s not why. They want to see you work in a team.” Cadens face fell and Alistair couldn’t resist teasing her. “Come on, I promise not to make you look bad.”

“Were you limping just now?” Caden asked, sceptical of his ability to help. Alistair smiled grimly.

“I was. I am. You kicked me.” He explained curtly.

Duncan directed two more fighters into the pit, fresh warriors, full of vigour. Alistair stood beside Caden who looked like she could really use some water and a sit down. She sniffed and rolled her neck. It occurred to Alistair that there was a chance that Caden’s refusal to yield could get her killed in the real world. She had to learn her limits.

“Begin.”

Alistair started forward, trying to avoid the twinge of pain shooting down his thighs. Caden had rushed past in a flash and was paying him no heed whatsoever. So much for team work. Alistair faced down his opponent, Reuben. They were more or less evenly matched, though Reuben had several years on Alistair and no distraction from a previous injury. Alistair lifted his shield to stop Reubens sword, and braced himself against the blow. Alistair swung his own blade at Reubens side, but he deflected it and threw his weight behind his shield to rush at the open Alistair. There was no way to block it; Alistair felt the impact and flew backwards rather ungracefully. He rolled aside to avoid Reubens sword and started to get to his feet as quickly as possible. He looked up and caught a blonde blur again as Caden dove between the men, slamming her fist into Reubens jaw. She’d lost one of her swords, but as Reuben staggered, she kicked him hard, catching him unawares and landing him on his side. Her remaining blade was held before her, subduing Reuben. Alistair stood up straight, catching sight of their other duel mate, sitting in the dust looking shell-shocked.

“Yield.” Duncan called. Alistair looked up to see Cailan talking animatedly to Loghain and Duncan, gesturing from Caden to him and nodding. None of it brought him joy to see. Alistair reached forward to grasp Cadens shoulder, but her words leapt into his mind. You can’t just grab people. He paused, arm outstretched. He watched her shoulders relax and she lowered her weapon. Alistair pulled his hand back.

“Caden?” she turned. “Are you alright?”

Her eyes were hooded. For a moment she looked lost, but then she blinked. “Saved you.” She said quietly.

Alistair frowned. That felt like an oddly unkind thing to say given that it was she who had given him his handicap. She looked up again, more focused now and seemed to see him clearer. She stepped away from him, her face blank. It niggled at him, but Duncan was striding down now, so Alistair quashed it and turned to the commander.

“Interesting fighting, Sister.” Duncan said to Caden. She looked up at him, seeming neither concerned nor proud of this assessment. She just looked a weary now. “You have much to learn before the battle. You clearly excel at skirmishes like these, but Alistair, I’d like you to give Caden some advice on facing down a regimented army.”

“Of course, Duncan,” Alistair replied.

“Good.” Duncan smiled. “That’s all for now. Have some lunch, then the king wants to see us in his war room later.”

Caden carried her training swords to the weapons rack, swapped them for the real set and left without another look back. Duncan glanced at Alistair pointedly. “Oh, right.” Alistair hurried after the elf.

*

Caden stood awkwardly in the tent. She mumbled her thanks to the king as he effused his congratulations over her joining the Wardens. She noted he didn’t mention either of the recruits who didn’t make it, and given the secrecy around the Joining, she couldn’t help but wonder if he knew the facts or if Duncan had spun some story to cover their deaths. Or perhaps he didn’t even know they had died. Then again, Caden thought darkly as Cailan began to elucidate on the glory of riding into battle with the Grey Wardens at his side, perhaps he would forgive them any transgression due to his hero worship of them.

Duncan allowed the king to go on at length, but after a while Loghain became impatient, dragging Cailans attention back to battle planning. Caden caught the king’s frustration in his face and felt a rush of warmth towards him; she could see the sense in being prepared, but it was all the general seemed to think about.

"Well then, as you have more pressing matters to discuss we shall leave you to it," Duncan said eventually and made to lead his Wardens out of the tent, but the noise of shouting came through the canvas. Cailan and Loghain looked up curiously. The tent flaps shook and Caden heard one of the guards outside give a yell. Another disembodied voice clamoured in response "I demand to see the king! This is of vital importance, get out of my way!" and then the tent was breached by a large man with light red hair and a similarly coloured beard. He was wearing armour in the colours of his house, copper and red, and although his hair and beard were peppered with white hairs, his skin heavily lined, lived in, when his face came into view Caden felt her heart stop.

"Vaughan..." she breathed, her sight narrowing to a tunnel, greying out her surroundings, focussing entirely on the large man at the tents entrance. Her knees buckled and she shrank backwards, the memory of his hand on her thigh, moving her legs apart, his breath on her face, his hands around her neck. It is a very pretty neck.

"What is the meaning of this?" Cailan was asking, his voice sounding muffled, like Caden had plunged her head into a barrel full of ice water. "Urien?"

Urien.

What?

Caden blinked slowly. Of course, it couldn't be Vaughan. She had killed him. She had felt his blood on her skin. He was dead. He couldn't hurt her again. Even with this small flicker of sanity, her vision and hearing felt wrong. Everything was cloudy. A face swam into view.

"Caden?" Alistair sounded concerned. “Are you alright?”

Get it together. She blinked again raising a hand to her temple. Her head hurt. "I'm fine." She murmured thickly. Alistair didn’t look convinced.

"Majesty, I have received news from Denerim." Urien was saying. Why was his voice so loud? Caden felt it penetrate her skull like knives. She winced. "News from my estate."

Cailan stepped around from the war table. Caden felt her vision clear as she watched him walk. He shared a glance with Duncan, but did not look at her. Caden realised her vantage point then, obscured somewhat out of Uriens line of sight. She stepped quietly to the side, hiding her face from view behind Alistair, who looked confused for a moment, but was already more focused on the king again.

"What have you heard?" Cailan asked steadily. Loghain was moving around the table to stand a little to the side of Cailan.

"That some knife-eared bitch slaughtered my son." Urien barked. "My liege, I apologise for the manner of my entrance, but I had to tell you. The Alienage is filled with these duplicitous elves. No sooner was I away, they murdered my boy. I am certain they mean to overthrow the humans in the city."

Caden frowned. That wasn't right.

"I want that knife-ears head. I want it now." Urien spat, slamming his fist into his hand, spittle flying from his lips. Caden swallowed. Would they hand her over to placate him? He was the Arl of Denerim; clearly he was close enough to the king to feel that he could barge in here and make demands. Her heart was racing. She felt very unsafe and he was blocking the only exit.

"Now, Urien, listen to me," Cailan said, his hand outstretched in a calming manner. "I am sorry for your loss, I am. But the elf who killed him had her reasons." Caden stiffened. Was this a defence from the king? She peeked around Alistair, eyes wide. "And even so, she's a Grey Warden now. You know the law. Once conscripted there is no further action to be taken with regards to criminal behaviour."

At this Duncan stepped forward. "My lord, the young woman in question will serve her time under my guidance."

Urien whirled on him. "That is not good enough!" He roared. The guards at the entrance reached for their sword hilts in readiness. "I want her dead and I want the Alienage purged."

No!

Caden hadn't realised she'd cried out loud until Uriens gaze landed squarely on her. His eyes shone with grief and rage, but when he laid his sights on her, she saw that flicker and fade into shock. "You." He said, his voice hollow. "Adaias daughter."

Caden was so surprised by his sudden change of expression that she just nodded dumbly even though it had been a statement, not a question. "You can't purge the Alienage." She said shakily, stepping around Alistair on trembling legs. "Please don't punish them for my actions."

The air went very silent and very still in the tent, even as it filled with unspoken questions. Caden knew the brave thing to do would be to walk, to walk up to the man and walk on past him, but she couldn't move her legs. She didn't want him to get her, yet she had just waved a huge red flag over her position.

"Urien," Cailan said, suddenly sharp. "Let her leave."

Caden couldn't tear her eyes from Urien, but she desperately wanted to look at the king. For the first time she felt a wave of loyalty to her monarch, a trust in the promise he had made her to fix the broken Alienage she hailed from. She also wanted to get out, but her feet wouldn't move her closer to Arl Kendalls. Alistair turned to her and leaned in. "Come on, Caden. We are expected elsewhere.”

They were? Caden nodded jerkily, still keeping her eyes on Urien, but when she felt Alistair start to walk, she managed to follow.

"Where is my justice?" Urien snapped. Duncan started to speak, but Urien let out a howl and suddenly his hand shot towards Caden as she tried to pass him. She cried out in fear and pain as his fist clenched around her forearm, squeezing.

"Hey!" Alistair yelled.

She heard more shouting, but her world narrowed back down to her and him and Uriens face was inches from hers as he hissed at her. "What did you think you would get, elf? What did you hope to gain from killing my son? Was this her plan all along? Train you up to kill my boy?"

Caden yanked, but he had her fast. Phantom hands clutched at her, Vaughan was on top of her, she couldn't breathe.

"No..." Not again. She groped blindly for her sword. She could hear yelling all around her, if only she had her mother’s knife, she had to get away. How could she be faster if she was held tight? She heard the draw of a blade.

"No!" She cried again; her voice magnified by the same shout from Alistair as he tried to get between them. A hot spurt of blood struck her cheek, burning like acid. Eyes tight shut, she turned her head. Uriens howl ceased all at once as his resistance snapped and Caden felt herself flying to the ground, landing hard on her back. Within seconds a hefty weight landed over her and she panicked in earnest, shoving at the body on top of her. It was lifted off her in one motion and a hand grasped her arm, hauling her to her feet, not letting go. Cadens head swam, but she felt Alistairs presence and that stopped her from bolting. She looked up into his angry face and then across the tent to see Teryn Loghain wiping his bloodied sword and sheathing it. Urien lay dead at his feet.

"Are you alright?" Alistair asked, releasing her arm as he saw her come back into focus.

"What...?" She croaked.

"Are you hurt, my liege?" Loghain asked of Cailan. The king stood with his clean blade still drawn.

"Is he dead?" Cailan asked firmly. One of his kings guard checked Urien over and confirmed his status. Cailan sighed. "A great shame. He was a good man. Well, usually. What were you thinking, Loghain?"

"I was thinking that he was a threat to everyone in this room, to my king no less." Loghain retorted mildly. "He was a danger and I took care of him."

Duncan had already re-sheathed his sword. "My apologies for this, your highness."

Cailan sighed and straightened up. "It can't be helped." He said regretfully. "It is done. Are you well, Warden Tabris?"

Caden started as he directed his attention to her. "I’m… sorry."

"It is done." Cailan said again. "Well, I think that brings this meeting to a close. You and Alistair had better be off while we sort this mess out."

Alistair didn't need to be told twice apparently. He tapped Cadens arm lightly and nodded to the exit. She followed him, numb.

Chapter Text

Battlefield

I will be your sword & shield, your camouflage, and you will be mine

Alistair led the way into the sunshine. It was such a sudden, strange change of circumstances to be out in the light and air after the dim, enclosed canvas war room. Alistair blinked in the light and looked back to make certain that Caden was still following. She was. Her eyes were glassy, her legs moving on their own accord it seemed as she placed one foot in front of the other, marching clumsily along behind him. Alistair slowed his gait to allow her to catch up. She walked on, not seeming to notice this. Alistairs stomach swooped. He had no idea what to do. He’d half expected Duncan to come along with them, to help him navigate this strange situation. A rush of panic set off a spark of anger. He had no idea what to do! Duncan knew of the circumstances that had brought Caden to Ostagar, not him. He knew nothing of what had transpired with Caden back in Denerim, only that it would have led to her execution. Well, murdering an Arls son… that would do it. He glanced at Caden again. Had he not seen her fight earlier in the sparring arena he would never have believed it. She was so tiny, he felt that if he wanted to, he could have picked her up and carried her off with no more difficulty than it would take to carry a sack of potatoes. He reddened and looked away as his Chantry upbringing kicked in: not that he would want to carry her off. He wasn’t safe from putting his foot in his mouth, even when he was thinking his stupid thoughts without speaking out loud.

But he had seen her fight. How had Loghain put it? Like an alley cat. She fought to survive. Now he had a good idea as to why that was. What terrible things had occurred for her to wind up killing a man? He felt certain that there must have been extenuating circumstances. Yes, she could be unpleasant, but that didn’t make her a stone-cold murderer. And then there was the way she reacted to unexpected touches. With a start he realised how often he had seen this in their short time together. Alistair looked at her again, a long, searching look while she walked on blindly. “Caden, are you alright?” he asked softly, wondering if this time she would answer him. His hand twitched, wanting to reach over and place his hand on her arm, but he held back. “Caden?”

She gave no sign that she had heard him and he stopped, watching her stumble onwards. With a sudden change of direction, she veered down an alley between tents and out of sight. Alistair started towards her and heard the sounds of retching. He stopped. Waited.

She re-appeared, wiping her mouth, but looking more present. She was pale and shaky, but she was back.

“Are you…?”

“I…” she began, voice hoarse. “Please don’t ask me.”

“Alright,” Alistair nodded. He didn’t know where to begin anyway, and did he even want to know? She gave him an out and he took it gratefully. “What would you like to do?”

“Not be here.” She said softly.

Alistair chewed thoughtfully on his lip for a moment or two. “I have an idea. Come on.”

*

“Thank you for taking me to find this,” Caden said, holding up the flower. It really did smell like honey. It was the first time she’d spoken since Alistair had led them to the gates and out into the Wild, out of the oppressive fortress, placing much needed distance between her and her ghosts. She was pathetically grateful that he had let them co-exist in silence, him speaking only to ask what direction they needed to go in next. And it was he who had spotted the flower. She was touched that he had remembered.

Alistair sheathed his sword. “That’s not entirely why we’re out here.” He reminded her, kicking over the crumpled body of the genlock. “So, how was it? Sensing them?”

Caden shuddered reflexively. If Alistair beside her felt like morning sun streaming through a window, the now expired darkspawn had felt like creeping darkness. Thick, oozing horror, the nightmare that slid over the mind and seeped into every crevice. Like never being happy again, a deep, dark pit of despair. “I felt them.” She said finally. “I guess that’s something.”

This was good. This was better. Talking about the darkspawn, about the task they were completing, was safe. She was still struggling to look him in the eye, her reminder of the Alienage too fresh in her mind to fully relax around a human, even this one who was, she reflected, better than most.

Alistair was looking at her with sympathy. “You’ll always be able to feel them without trying, but it’s not always precise like that. It’s like… when you know you’ve forgotten something, but you can’t remember what so you put it out of your mind. “You’ll get better at tracking them with practise.”

Caden nodded to the corpses at their feet as a small glimmer of irritation blossomed. The feeling was oddly comforting, like re-treading old ground. “I found them, didn’t I? Or,” she narrowed her eyes. “Did you set me up to ‘find’ them? You thought I might need an easy win after the duelling today.” If she never mentioned Urien in the tent, maybe it never happened. She could do this. Irritation and rudeness. She could cope with those. Her mouth quirked. “Oh wait, I kicked your arse earlier, so it’s not me needing an easy win.”

She watched Alistair’s face slowly change as he took his time figuring out that she was joking. Almost. “That was a low blow.” He said. “Which you apparently are very good at.”

Now there was no denying her smirk. “Yeah, well, I’m mad at you.” She said without fire. “You never once said anything about the Joining, nothing real. You let us go in blind.” Her voice rose an octave as the emotion she was trying to hold back crept in. “The others died.”

“I know.” Alistair said softly. “And for what it’s worth I’m very sorry they died.” His hand went to his belt pouch. “I still have the pendant, if you want it. We call it Warden’s Oath.”

Caden looked down. “Oh. How does it go again?”

Alistair started walking and Caden fell in step once more. As they went, he began to recite. “In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice.”

“It’s evocative, I suppose.” Caden sighed. They walked quietly onwards, back towards the gates. After a while Caden stopped and held out her hand. “Alright. I’ll take it. They deserve to be remembered.”

Alistair dug for the necklace and dropped the amulet into her open palm. He set the chain gently into her gloved hand. “You know, I like you better when it’s just us two. You seem more agreeable away from crowds.”

“Doesn’t mean I like you,” Caden retorted. Alistair laughed, even though it wasn’t clear if she was joking or not.

Leaves rustled nearby. Twigs snapped. Thundering feet were coming their way. Both Wardens looked up, frozen, listening. Caden reached out with her mind, feeling for that horrible sense of darkness, but none was forthcoming. “Not darkspawn.” Caden asserted. Alistair nodded.

“Nor Wardens.” Alistair said. “So, it’s… something else.”

“Helpful.” She griped, tucking away the pendant and drawing her blades. Alistair was ready nearby.

The bushes parted, from the shadows of the trees came a trio of scouts in the colours of Denerim. “Hold there, what’s going on?” Alistair called when he caught sight of their armour, denoting them as friends.

“The horde, Ser,” the first one panted. One of his friends had spun to face the direction they had come from and was holding a notched arrow; ready should an enemy appear. The third was bent double, resting her hands on her knees, gulping in large breaths. “It’s coming.”

“Coming?” Caden asked. “We know that much.” Wasn’t that the whole point of barricading themselves in this fortress?

“But soon.” He said urgently. “It’s bigger and it’s quicker than we thought. It’s been coming, like a slow tide. Well, the tides changed.”

“We have to get to camp and warn them all.” The woman said, now having caught her breath enough that she could speak. She straightened up. “Will you come with us, Wardens? Help us from being surprised by any of their hunters?”

“Of course,” Alistair said, sheathing his sword again. Caden hesitated, but then followed suit. Her heart was racing, the adrenaline pumping. What did this mean? Alistair caught her gaze. He looked serious. “Seems like the battle may have found us sooner than anticipated. You might have to practise warfare on the job after all.”

“Oh,” Caden said as they started to jog back towards camp. Well, she had hoped for a distraction from this afternoon’s dramatics, hadn’t she? “Great.”

*

“Duncan!” Alistairs shout rang through the camp. Lyra and Viktur looked up, their attention firmly on their Warden-Brother. “Where’s the commander?”

“With the king,” Viktur replied.

“What’s going on?” Lyra asked. She looked from Alistair to Caden, who wasn’t sure what to say. They were still accompanying the scouts they had met in the Wilds though they paused to speak to the Wardens and Lyra’s gaze slid to them.

“News from the Wilds.” Alistair replied. “We’re heading to tell Duncan now; if he’s with the king that’s convenient.” Lyra and Viktur nodded and put away their things, their faces stern.

Alistair started on, but stopped when he realised Caden was still standing. “Caden?”

“You go on ahead,” she said hurriedly. “I need to get this flower to Farald anyway, so…” She reached into her pouch for the flora in question as if to prove her point. The scouts were already moving on, but Alistair hesitated to follow them. Instead he nodded.

“You’re right, that is important.” He said. Caden met his gaze and tried to play it cool. “No need for both of us to go. I’ll find you here, afterwards.”

*

The small group carried on through the camp towards the Kings war tent and Alistair paused to explain to the guards that they needed to let them in. The guards looked from the Warden to the scouts and grimly stood aside.

The grouping was the same as usual; King Cailan, Teryn Loghain, Warden-Commander Duncan, though now there was additionally a tall man in mage robes and another woman in Chantry garb.

“Yes?” Cailan asked as the group entered, making the space feel very tight.

The lead scout stepped forward and bowed. “Your highness, we have news of grave importance from the Wilds. The horde has turned; it’s heading straight for us. It’s bigger and faster than we had previously thought.”

Alistair watched the faces of the assembled as they took in this news. Each one took on a grim façade, though Cailan was the first to recover, standing straight and clapping his hands together. “Well, we knew this was coming. Sooner than we thought, but even so.”

“How long before they reach us?” Loghain asked.

“Hard to say exactly,” the woman scout advised. “I would imagine by nightfall we should see the first of the forward army.”

A sombre silence fell. They would be fighting in the dark, in a few hours’ time. This was not the most ideal circumstance and Alistair felt a shudder run through the tent as they all took it in.

“That is dire news indeed.” Duncan said.

“We’re prepared.” Cailan said, the voice of reason, though Alistair doubted that reason was where this was truly coming from. Far be it for him to judge the king, but he found Cailans attitude towards the Blight to be downright foolhardy. “We have our plans; we’ve been over them countless times.” He looked around the room. “The day of glory is upon us. The Blight stops here. Tonight.”

They began to talk about the plans again, each member chiming in when their moment came up. The Revered Mother refused to entertain the idea of the mages lighting a beacon, which would signal part of the army to come at the horde from behind.

"I will lead the charge just as soon as I see the lit beacon." Loghain instructed. “I will station a small score of men who will get the beacon lit at the right time.” Cailan paused, his handsome face mottling with a frown.

"Right...well, as it’s such an important job, I think we should send our best," Cailans gaze flickered to Duncan's impassive face and then to Alistair. "I want you and Warden Tabris to take this duty. It is not difficult, but it is vital."

Alistair felt his throat prickle with the fierce retort he wanted to say and instead forced himself to speak evenly. "Your Highness, surely if it is that simple, it would only take one of us? I feel I would be better suited to fighting alongside the Wardens in the battle."

“No,” Cailan replied, looking briefly to Alistair and back down to the table. “I’d rather the two of you handled this. I know you will watch each other’s backs should there be any trouble. There’s safety in numbers and greater assurance that one of you will get the job done.”

“Of course,” Alistair said thickly, turning to leave.

“Alistair?” He looked back at his king. “May the Maker watch over you.”

“And you as well.”

*

Farald had been pleased that she had remembered the task and that she had successfully retrieved the correct blossom. She warned him that the battle would be upon them sooner than expected and he got to work at once fixing the draft for the mabari. Caden gave her a last look and turned to get back to the Wardens camp.

As she drew closer, she heard a raised voice and was shocked to identify it as Alistairs.  

“It’s not right, Duncan, I won’t stand for it!”

Caden flinched as Alistair’s tone rose. His voice was so filled with disgust, she shrank back and stayed out of sight for a moment. It didn’t seem like something she wanted to intrude upon. Not yet.

Duncan was calm in the face of this outburst.

“Alistair, I understand you are upset,” he said calmly, evenly. "But this order comes from the king himself. There is no getting around that fact."

"I know that," Alistair began pacing back and forth. Caden could see him moving back and forth, every footfall hard, gesturing with his hands. She was aware that she didn’t know him well, but this seemed out of character for the man she was getting to know. His anger was loud and chaotic. "I'm not some dullard. I know the order came from the king and I know we can't change it."

As he sniped Caden could hear the fight drain from him slowly. He started to lower his voice to a more reasonable tone. "I should be with you in the battle, Duncan, not running errands. I should be with you all."

Caden risked a glance at him. He looked wretched now, not angry. She had no idea what could have gotten to him to rile him up so much. What kind of errands was he talking about? Surely there wasn’t time to get much done before the fight.

“Alistair, lighting the beacon is the key to the whole battle.” Duncan said, stepping towards Alistair and placing both hands on his shoulders. The older man looked kindly into his younger charges face. “And as the Junior Wardens you are ideally suited to this task. There’s nothing to stop you from joining the battle once your task is complete.”

Caden stayed as still as possible, listening. So, this pertained to her as well? She was more junior than Alistair; was that what was concerning him? Did he think this was beneath him, babysitting her?

“This is because…” Alistair said quietly, trailing off. Caden saw him sigh and lower his head, mumbling into his chest. She couldn’t make out what he was saying. At any rate, she had had enough of hiding in the shadows and if this was a task that she needed to prepare for she felt she had better hear it. She took a deep breath then strode towards them where they stood. Alistair looked up and blanched at seeing her.

“Caden, you’re back,” he said, clearly flummoxed, glancing at Duncan with a frown. Caden set her mouth into a line and drew up to them. She knew she could have set his mind at ease, let him know she hadn’t heard their chat, but let him sweat, she decided. If he was tired of minding her then she wasn’t going to rush to make him feel better. She didn’t ask for this either. “How’s the mabari?”

“Fine, hopefully.” Caden replied. “So, what’s the plan?”

*

Run.

Cadens lungs were burning, her legs pounding each step on the stones as she pelted down the bridge, following Alistair.

"Come on," Alistair shouted over his shoulder. From their point on the bridge, high above the battlefield they could see the initial clash of armies and hear the clatter of metal and the cries of anger and pain. "We have to get to the beacon." Caden set her mouth into a thin line trying to block out the distracting sounds and stench of death that floated up towards them.

They didn't look down, they just ran, heedless of the rocks that were being hurled up at the bridge to counteract the ballista's firing heavy wooden spikes down below. One rock crashed into the wooden contraption sending metal joints and deadly splinters of wood everywhere. Caden threw herself to the ground instinctively, holding her arms over her head, making herself as small as physically possible. When the shower of debris ended, she scrambled to her feet. In front of her lay the body of a knight whose body was punctured with splinters across his chest. Blood spurted from each wound. Caden ran around him and tried to forget the look on his frozen face.

A fireball burst before her, enveloping a soldier in front of her who screeched in agony and she skidded to a halt, throwing up her hands to shield her face. The fire scorched her arms until Alistair grabbed her arm and yanked her backwards, away from the flames. The smell of burning flesh hit her nostrils making Caden sob out loud. She turned and retched. Oh Andraste, I can't take this, someone get me out of here, I'm not a knight, I'm just a girl, help me, please! Her mind was filled with desperation. Alistair clasped her arms and steadied her on her feet, bringing their faces close together.

"Caden, come on!" he shouted, his voice drowning out the voices in her head. "No time for this. We have to reach the beacon!"

Caden nodded dumbly, swallowed her tears and they ran.

Run.

The tower. There it was, thank the Maker. Cadens knees were shaking, her systems overloaded with fear and adrenaline and nowhere for it to go. She ran behind Alistair, and nearly slammed against his back when he suddenly stopped. She moved around him. Was it fighting time now? The sick feeling of something bad was eating away at her.

“What’s going on?” Alistair was calling to a soldier running towards them.

“Are you Grey Wardens?” the soldier asked.

“We are, what’s going on?” Alistair pressed.

“The tower…” the soldier looked over his shoulder. A woman in robes wove some magic and cast a burning spell at two darkspawn, wreathing them in flames. Caden gasped. She hadn’t ever seen magic in action and then there was the fact that the darkspawn were there, in camp, not out on the battlefield where they were supposed to be. “It’s fucking full of darkspawn.”

“What?” Caden blanched as she heard the waiver in Alistair’s voice, but then it was gone, replaced by determination. “We have to get inside, darkspawn or no.”

“Are you mad, Ser?” the soldier cried. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“We have a job to do. You can run or you can stay and help.” Alistair ordered. Caden glanced up at him. His eyes were stern and focused. How he must have hated to be lumbered with her, she thought. Her knees were shaking, her breath short. She was terrified. How was he able to concentrate on anything besides fear?

The mage hurried over to them. “I’ll join you.” She said.

“Ah, fuck.” The soldier said, wiping his wrist across his mouth, smearing a gash of red as he did so. “Fine.”

Alistair turned back to Caden, his eyes softening only slightly. “Are you alright?” He murmured, mindful not to let their new companions overhear. Caden nodded shakily. “Sure?”

“Let’s get this over with,” Caden said in a voice no higher than a whisper. Alistair nodded.

“Let’s go.”

Run.

Her blood sang. Darkspawn ichor flowed. Cadens blades were coated in the mess, the smell. The sensation she had felt in the wilds, the feeling of being close to the horde was nothing compared to this. This was an onslaught, this was everywhere. The tower was heaving with darkspawn, facing off against two Junior Wardens, a soldier and a mage. Caden was sure it would never end. This was it, this was death, and she was charging towards it over and over again.

They made their way up the tower, Alistair leading the way by virtue of his longer stride, flanked by the soldier; Caden and the mage bringing up the rear. Having never seen a mage in action, Caden couldn’t help but wonder how she’d ever done without the aid of magic. She wished she had time to stop and watch the primal forces the mage commanded, watch the way she spoke some words and suddenly she was inside the genlock and hurlocks heads, driving them to insanity long enough for Caden to slash their throats. It was barbaric and beautiful.

Alistair was becoming more and more agitated as they climbed higher, certain that they would miss their signal. Caden fed off his panic and used it to fuel her steps.

“Up here,” Alistair directed them, heading through a doorway at the top. Then, “Maker’s Breath!” he dove to one side. The others hesitated, but Caden shoved past them both.

“Alistair!” She cried, entering the room at a leap and casting her gaze around for her fellow Warden. She saw him getting to his feet. He sighted on her, then his eyes rose and he yelled for her to look out. She barely had time to turn before a vast clawed hand swiped down at her. She yelped and dropped to a roll, feeling the scratch of one claw scrape against the back of her armour.

“Caden!” Alistair bound forward and brought his sword down hard on the beasts arm. It howled as Caden scrambled up.

“What is that thing?” Caden panted.

“Ogre.” Alistair replied bitterly.

It was tall and wide, pale grey skinned, with huge hands and wickedly curved horns. Its mouth was filled with rows and rows of sharp teeth and when it roared the stained glass in the windows shook. Caden took a deep breath. You have to be faster. She ran.

Treading a nimble path around the beast was easy enough as the other three distracted the creature with slices and spells. Caden swung her blades in unison, sweeping them in an outward motion and slicing at the ogre’s ankles. She was going for tendons, just as she’d practised, but the skin on the thing was too damn thick. Her blades barely dug in. She hissed a curse and tried again, this time stabbing at the back of the knee. Anything to make it fall. It raised one leg and Caden watched helplessly as it kicked behind itself, catching her in the chest and pelting her backwards. She felt her breath shoot from her mouth and she landed hard on the floor, rolling once. She gasped for breath, thankful that she hadn’t loosened her grip on the blades. The creature was turning, seeing a fallen foe and it thundered over to her as she tried to push up from the ground. Her chest hurt; each breath felt like a stab wound. She just wanted to lie down. A shadow fell over her and she looked up to see the underside of the ogre’s foot lifting over her body. She didn’t think. She rolled onto her back and thrust upwards, first one sword, then the other. The foot was already lowering onto her fast, but that only helped to penetrate through the tough sole of the foot and into tender flesh. The ogre bellowed in pain, pulling back it’s foot, taking the swords with him. Empty handed, but alive, Caden got to her feet, pushing through the pain.

The ogre stumbled back against the wall, tugging with its stubby fingers at the swords, loosing them one after the other and tossing them aside. Caden ran to follow their trajectory, struggling for breath. She felt a blast of lightning shoot past her, making her skin tingle and her hair rise from its tight bun, but it stopped the ogre against the wall long enough for Caden to retrieve her swords and turn to get back into the fight. Alistair advanced on the ogre, shield up to deflect a rock the ogre tore from the wall and flung at him. Caden ran, placing herself between the ogre and Alistair, going for the knees on the thing. The leathery hide proved too tough to pierce once again and this time it reached down with one hand and Caden suddenly felt the floor disappear beneath her. She rose through the air, her chest compressed by one thumb. She heard her name below her. Then a grunt and a bash and the ogre was staggered, dropping her. Her ankle twisted and agony shot up her leg. She winced, gritting her teeth against a scream.

The ogre lumbered over to her, roaring again and Caden was enclosed in hot, damp breath that smelled of fresh blood. She turned her head and shut her eyes reflexively, but no sooner had it paused for breath did she begin running around it, ankle protesting with each step. It made to follow her but she was small and nimble and it was giant and lumbering. Suddenly ice crystals formed over its rock like skin as the mage hit it with a spell. Alistair leapt forward and using his shield as a blunt weapon he bashed the ogre about the head. It rocked backwards, but did not fall. The ice began to crack as the potency of the spell wore off and the beast burst out of the icy casing. The mage was busy muttering a new incantation, so Caden ran in front of the ogre again to draw on his attention. It bellowed again and as it raised its arms to pound down onto her, she jumped forward between its legs and rolled out from under them behind it. It turned sluggishly, confused by her quick stepping and once again Alistair threw his weight behind his shield to whack the ogre in the side. It stumbled again and threw back its arms to right itself against the wall, and Caden used this moment to take a running leap up at it. The mage finished the recitation and power exploded from her staff, encircling Cadens blades in fiercely burning fire that felt cool to her. The ogre rested, momentarily stunned against the wall and Caden dove for its chest, her enchanted blades finally digging through its skin as though it were made of butter. She found herself crouching on his body, her swords sunk into its chest up to the hilts and it cried out in pain. Not stopping to catch her breath, she pulled free one sword, tacky with ogre blood and swiped it across the width of its throat. More blood gushed forth from this wound and the ogre ceased to yell. He started to fall, the light fading from its large eyes.

She yanked out her other blade and jumped backwards off its chest where she collided backside first with Alistair. They both hit the ground hard, Caden yelping with the pain from her ankle and ribs, and for a moment were both winded. Caden rolled off Alistair and swallowed in huge gulps of air, then coughed and retched as she inhaled ogre blood with it.

"Sorry," she grunted as he gasped for breath himself.

"It's alright," he said, thinly. "My own fault for deciding you might need catching."

He got to his feet and offered her a hand, which she took. Her grip was slippery, but sure and he was able to haul her to her feet.

"The beacon is over here," Alistair said leading the way. "We've surely missed the signal, but we have to light it anyway. I don't want Duncan or Cailan to go without their back-up any longer."

The kings words came back to her and Caden looked up at Alistair. “Wardens see tasks through to completion.” Alistair nodded grimly. "But, I'm soaked," Caden continued regretfully gesturing to her blood drenched body as she dripped onto the stone floor. "Can you...?"

The mage hurried forward. "If I may?" Alistair stepped aside and the mage performed some quick finger work over the paraffin drenched wood and quickly the fire caught. The beacon took only a moment to gain intensity and the three stepped back.

"There, it is done." Alistair said with relief. Caden turned from the flames and cast her eyes around the room. The ogres body was slumped against the wall in a pool of blood and on the other side of the room was the soldier who had accompanied them bravely. She limped over to him; she hadn’t seen him fall. Her focus had been on the ogre and her pain, mostly. She really did have something to learn about teamwork, she reflected grimly, crouching down, lightly closing his eyes and sending out a thought of gratitude to him wherever he now was. She turned her head and saw Alistair watching. He briefly inclined his head in reverence to what she was doing and gave her a small smile. She found herself returning it without thinking.

“What now?” Caden asked.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” Alistair started, heading over to her, sheathing his sword as he went.

The mage suddenly gave a cry of alarm and both Wardens looked over startled. The mage had an arrow through her throat and even before Caden could fully rise, another pierced the mages chest and she fell to the ground. “Wha—?”

Alistair reacted, diving before Caden, his shield up to protect them both as more darkspawn poured into the room. Caden gripped her blades. “There are too many.” Alistair said. His face was inches from hers. Caden nodded. There was only one option.

“Run.” She ordered him. Then she forced herself to run, ignoring the ankle, heedless of her thin breaths, she bolted across the room, seeking to draw their attention to her, giving the one of them with a shield a chance to escape. She heard arrows whistle through the air, felt one nick her shoulder, but she sped on, digging her swords into the first two that she reached. They fell, but there were far too many more coming. She spun, blades out, hoping to take some down as they tried to get to her. She heard Alistair shout her name. Why wasn’t he doing what she said? Caden stopped, bodies at her feet and parried a swing. She turned her head slightly to yell to Alistair: “Run!”

A blade thrust through her shoulder from behind, spurting her own blood across the room. Caden gasped, looking down at the metal protruding through her flesh. Another shearing pain and she had another blade from behind, this one lower, through her side. The air rushed out of her lungs and she fell to her knees. She had faced it, danced with it, dodged it, but here it was. Death. The darkspawn who got her yanked his blades free. She grunted with the new pain, turning to look upon the face of the thing that killed her. It didn’t care to wait, it was already heading away from her, his task complete.

At least she took some down with her, she thought as she fell forward. Her name rent the air. A scream of pain. A thud.

The darkspawn were leaving. To join the battle or to flee, she never knew. Caden was on her knees, bleeding. Her hands were going numb. Metal clanged. Her hands were empty. She turned her head, surprised at how little that hurt. She could see Alistair crawling towards her, leaving a trail of red in his wake, three arrows piercing his back.

“Are we dying?” she asked. The ground smacked into her and she was on her side. She could still see Alistair dragging himself, why weren’t his legs working? “I’m sorry.”

“Caden…” Alistair coughed, blood spraying from his lips. She could see his teeth, they were stained red.

Caden blinked. It was a long blink, almost like falling asleep, but her eyes did open after a short while. The smell of death was all around the chamber. She looked at Alistair. He was lying still, one arm outstretched to her. His eyes were closed. Oh no…

Caden’s head was spinning as she tried to slither across the floor to him. She couldn’t feel her legs now. One arm in front of the other, she had to reach him. She blinked and now it was Nelaros on the ground in a pool of blood. Not again… Another blink and Alistair was back. She tried to say his name, but no sound came out. She heard a noise. More darkspawn? Everything was blackness, she couldn’t feel out the horde anymore. Or perhaps she was in the horde, drowning in darkness. They wouldn’t take him, too. With her final moments of strength, she lay herself over Alistairs body. He had shielded her. She would shield him.

The darkness fell and Caden closed her eyes.

Chapter Text

PART TWO - The Wilds and Lothering

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 Ache

Don't know how much my heart can take

A rush of air shot down into her lungs as Caden sat up too fast causing her head to spin. She held herself up, braced against her arms and rode out the waves until she could start to crack open her eyelids. It wasn’t bright, exactly, but even the dim light burned her. The world stopped lurching. Caden opened her eyes fully and took in the strange sight before her.

Minutes ago, she had been facing darkspawn and blood and death.

Now she was sat on a lumpy bed gazing around a small wooden hut. She blinked, trying to force her vision to clear and show her the truth of where she was, but nothing changed. Caden winced as she pushed up into a full sitting position. Her chest was sore, her shoulder ached, but it was bearable. She slowly swung her legs out from under the blankets and carefully found the floor with her bare toes. Caden stood, warily. Her body was protesting, but weakly. Quietly enough that she could stand.

The bed was in a small space where the sides of the roof met. There was an assortment of things scattered about the place, on the floor, along the walls, even in the roof. At the foot of the bed was a trunk with some extra blankets folded on top. Sweet smelling flowers hung from the rafters, dried out.

Caden took a step and the world stayed on one level. So far, so good.

There were stranger things. Also hanging from the wooden rafters was a long perfectly intact piece of snakeskin. There were reed baskets stored in the beams and more piled on the floor. Peering into one Caden could see a collection of eggs, all varying sizes and colours. She turned and felt bones brush her face. Flinching she followed the sight to dangling skulls, strung through with string. Some with beaks, others without. Birds and rodents, she guessed.

Caden found a ladder and touched her hand to the cool, smooth wood. Could she brave the climb down? Her head was no longer swimming, but she felt light, like she hadn’t eaten for days. She knew that feeling well and for a moment she was back at the Alienage in the darkest, coldest winter weeks. Weeks when food was so scarce that getting one meal a day was considered a good day. Caden shook her head. She wasn’t at the Alienage. She wasn’t at Ostagar. So, where was she?

She turned and slowly reached her foot to the first rung, focusing intently on the climb. One rung after another and after a short while she was on the floor. It was warmer here, a crackling fire on one wall with something delicious bubbling in a pot hanging over the flames. Caden lurched for the smell, any questions about her location forgotten. There were things hanging here, too, but things like wild garlic and familiar smelling herbs. A rabbit swayed gently by its legs. Caden reached the pot and she stretched her hand towards the lid. One touch and she yelped, sticking her fingers into her mouth.

“Do be careful; I spent many hours stitching your body back together.” Came a voice from behind her. “I would hate to see it ruined again so quickly.”

Caden turned, her loose cornsilk hair brushing over her shoulder. A woman stood behind her, familiar. “Morrigan?”

"Tis I." Morrigan replied. "I am glad to hear that you have not forgotten. How do you feel?"

“Thirsty,” Caden croaked. Morrigan wordlessly busied herself with pouring water into a clay cup and then she placed it on the table. Caden made a beeline for it at once, gulping down the cool liquid in three swallows. Morrigan watched her set down the cup and then refilled it without being asked. Caden finished the second cup and offered a shaky smile. “Thank you.”

“Twas nothing.” Morrigan said dismissively. “Mother wanted me to practise my healing magic and you were there, badly broken, so it worked out. Truthfully, I do not think she believed you would make it through, otherwise it’s likely she would have worked on you herself. Still, here you are.”

“Thank you,” Caden said again, too hungry to focus on the dark side of those words. “I mean it. Thank you for saving my life.” Despite her weariness, her hunger, her aches and pains, she forced as much sincerity into her words and that ferocity gave Morrigan pause.

“I… you are welcome.” Morrigan replied, not sounding as though gratitude was something she was used to hearing.

Caden turned back to the pot. “It smells good.”

“It is almost ready.” Morrigan said. “Why don’t you sit down.”

Caden almost fell into a seat beside her at the command. She didn’t know how long she’d been sleeping but she felt more exhausted than ever. “How long was I…?”

“You slept for almost a week.” Morrigan said from the pot. Caden watched her use a cloth to lift the lid, spilling wonderful smelling steam into the room. She lifted a wooden spoon and gave the food a stir.

“Is this your home?” Caden asked.

“It is.” Morrigan said, not turning around. “The pot in the centre of the table. Eat some.”

Caden frowned, but turned to look on the table. There was indeed a clay dish with a lid sitting before her. She reached for it and slid the lid off, revealing a loaf of dark bread. Mouth-watering, Caden pulled off a piece and stuffed it into her mouth. Though the bread was not what she was used to, with a much chewier texture, Caden could taste some familiar spice. Not familiar from the Alienage. More recently familiar. She remembered the small loaf Alistair had—

“Where’s Alistair?” Caden started, choking slightly on her mouthful and easing it down with water. “Is he… he’s not…?” He wasn’t moving the last time she saw him.

“He is better than you,” Morrigan said bluntly. She reached for some bowls made of the same clay and started ladling stew into each one in turn. She nudged the first bowl towards Caden along with an uneven spoon. Caden picked it up, but in spite of her roaring stomach, she did not eat as she waited for more information. Morrigan came to the table and huffed. “Mother tended to him. A few arrow wounds, but mother is well versed in the ailments of man and how best to treat them. Your injuries were far more severe.” She gestured with her spoon. “Just take a look.”

At this point Caden became aware of just how little she was wearing. A light cotton shirt covered her torso, the hemline just skimming her thighs. Her pale legs were covered in bruises, but nothing too bad. She tugged at the neckline and peered down at herself through the gap. Where the daggers had cut through her there were jagged starbursts of red. The wounds were a week old and the surrounding area was slightly swollen, but they looked like the deep cuts through her body been closed for a while, scabs fading. On her other side was a large blue bruise rising and falling over her ribs. No wonder she was sore. She dropped the shirt and looked up to find Morrigan observing her.

“You see?” the witch said.

“You said you practised healing magic on me?” Caden asked. Morrigan nodded, blowing gently on her spoonful of stew. “I’ve never had anything like that before.”

“Well, there is a first time for everything I suppose.” Morrigan replied drily.

Caden gripped her spoon tightly. “But Alistair?”

“Not as bad,” Morrigan repeated. She started speaking in a slow voice, pausing between each word as if Caden was stupid. “His wounds were fewer, mother is better at fixing people, eat some food.”

“But where is he?”

“Out.” Morrigan snapped, her patience fraying like old rope. “He recovered in a few days, but waiting for you to wake up was apparently too dull for him, so he started spending his days out. Hunting mostly. I expect he and mother will both be back soon. Now eat and be quiet.”

Caden nodded, cowed. She lifted her spoon and started feeding herself. She didn’t recognise half the ingredients in the bowl, not the meat, not the vegetables, but it was the nicest thing she’d ever eaten and she polished off her bowl, scraping the morsels of broth from the sides with a piece of bread long before Morrigan was done. The witch smirked and nodded to the pot, indicating that Caden should help herself to another portion. It was an easy to accept invitation; Caden stood and went to the pot, remembering how Morrigan had used the cloth to protect her hands and she carefully dished up some more, replacing the lid.

The door opened and her name made her startle: “Caden!”

Caden turned, gripping the bowl tightly. Alistair was standing inside the hut, shadowed by the daylight streaming in around him, until he stepped in further and let the door close behind him. Caden ran her eyes over him, checking that he was indeed well enough to be traipsing through the countryside, not that she would know better. He was dressed in unfamiliar clothes, a shirt not unlike the one she wore, trousers and boots, with sections of leather armour strapped over his arms and legs and a chest. It was all piecemeal, none of it appearing to be part of one set, but it clearly got whatever job done that he needed it for. He lowered a sack to the ground, the lumps inside indictive of a successful hunt she supposed. His eyes were wide, taking her in, and she could see stubble across his jaw and chin that she had never seen before. A healing cut stretched along his cheek starting by his ear down to his mouth. Caden felt a rush of warmth at the sight of him, in part due to the sensation of feeling another Grey Warden nearby. That heat and light that surrounded him in her mind.

“Alistair,” she replied, her brain too fuzzy to form any more words. But she felt glad at the sight of him.

He suddenly blanched and averted his gaze. Caden frowned, then remembered that standing by the pot she was half naked before him. “Oh!” she said, still holding the bowl that was now warming her fingers to an uncomfortable level. “Er…”

“Trunk behind you,” Morrigan said, not looking up from her bowl. Caden dithered a moment, before darting to the table to set her bowl down, then back to the trunk Morrigan had suggested. Inside were breeches and she grabbed one pair and jerked them on. They were clearly made for someone much bigger, but they covered her up and she held them to her, tugging the laces at the front as tightly as they would go. She returned to the table and sat.

Alistair looked momentarily sheepish, but stepping towards the table and sitting down beside her, his expression changed to something more astonished. “I thought you were dead.”

Caden could see up close how haunted his gaze was. “I thought the same of you.” She said quietly. “You weren’t moving.”

“I can’t believe you survived,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. He shook his head to show his disbelief. Then his eyes narrowed with focus. “You told me to run. Why did you do that?”

“You had a shield,” Caden said as if it were obvious. There was an edge to Alistairs voice that unnerved her. “You had a chance to escape, I thought if I drew their attention, you—”

“Did someone tell you to do that?” He interrupted, sharply. “Did someone tell you to throw your life away for mine?”

He was definitely angry. Caden shrank back in her chair, noting that Morrigan was suddenly very interested in their discussion. “No,” Caden said. Alistair eyed her suspiciously. “Alistair, no. I just thought you could get away if I got you some space to escape.”

Alistair didn’t look wholly convinced, but backed down, his face relaxing from the hardness it had taken on for his questions. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been sleeping well. Not since Ostagar.”

“What happened?” Caden asked. Alistair turned his hooded gaze back to her.

“Loghain.” He said. “He never led his charge. Left the soldiers on the field utterly defenceless.”

Caden’s mouth was a round O of shock. “What are you talking about? We lost?”

“We never had a chance.” Alistair said bitterly. “It didn’t matter that we got the beacon lit, Loghain let our armies be overwhelmed by the horde. They—” his breath hitched suddenly. “They all died.”

Caden couldn’t make sense of it in her mind. Everyone? “Who?” she asked, stupidly. Alistair looked annoyed again.

“Everyone, Caden. Maker’s Breath, do you want a list?” he snarled. “Everyone. All the Wardens besides us, which means Duncan. Everyone in the king’s army, including Cailan. We have no leader anymore, not the Wardens, not Ferelden. And the darkspawn are just going to keep coming, sweeping across the land, killing everyone in their way and we have no way to stop any of it. We’ve lost.”

“My, what a dour assessment.” Caden looked over to the door again, her unexpected tears spilling over her lids with the movement. She hastily wiped them aside. Morrigans mother strode into the room and helped herself to some stew. “Might as well give up now. I almost wish I hadn’t bothered retrieving you both from that tower.”

Caden glanced at Alistair who was flushing red. “I’m sorry,” he said, hollow. “It’s hard to look at that as a mercy given our circumstances. I spoke the truth; we’re out of leaders. What are we to do now?”

Morrigans mother sat down at the table and started eating, ignoring Alistair’s questions. She gave her daughter a look and with a sigh Morrigan stood and portioned out some stew for Alistair, shoving it roughly across the table at him and tossing him a spoon. Caden tried to eat another mouthful, but her stomach turned over at the smell. She set her spoon down. “Thank you for saving us…?”

“Call me Flemeth.”

That name meant nothing to Caden but Alistair sucked in a shocked breath beside her. Caden pressed on. “Where are the darkspawn now?”

“The majority are still at Ostagar.”

“What are they doing there?”

“Do you really want to know?” Flemeth asked giving Caden a long look. 

Caden replied “yes” at the same time as Alistairs “no”. Flemeth glanced from one to the other and set her gaze on Caden. Alistair pushed up from the table and moved away as she answered.

“Feasting.”

Alistair covered his face with one hand, making a noise of quiet anguish. Caden took in the one-word answer combined with Alistair’s reaction. Feasting on what would have been her next question, but she felt it best to stay silent on this one. Besides, it struck her suddenly, she knew what they were feasting on. “Oh my…” she said softly, head down.

“They’ll be travelling on soon enough,” Flemeth said. “When they are sated.”

Caden felt her jaw constrict. Was Alistair right? Was there really nothing they could do? “Where will they go?”

Flemeth made no move to answer her, helping herself to some bread instead. Morrigan stood, gathering her bowl and spoon and taking them to a wash basin. Alistair turned and Caden looked up to him.

“Can’t say for sure,” he said sitting back down and half-heartedly sliding his spoon through the stew. “There’s a few places north of here that seem likely.”

“Morrigan.” Flemeth said. Caden didn’t understand, but Morrigan clearly did; sighing loudly again and heading to a basket filled with scrolls, tossing one onto the table. Flemeth pointed with her spoon. “Map.”

Alistair pushed his bowl aside, unfurling the parchment. Caden peered down. “Is that all of Ferelden?” She asked. Alistair nodded. “It’s big. Where’s Denerim?”

Alistair weighted each corner down with the items on the table and then pointed to a point at the far right of the paper. Caden gazed down at it, seeing the small script now and managing to decipher to tight cursive as Denerim. Her home. “Where are we?”

Alistair patiently traced his finger across the map from the capital all the way down to the bottom of the parchment, almost in the centre. Cadens eyes widened as she took in the distance. He wasn’t pointing to a specific town or fort now, though Caden could see a marker for Ostagar above where he was pointing. “I guess your home isn’t on the maps?” Caden asked of Morrigan and Flemeth.

“Indeed it is not.” Morrigan sniffed. Caden peered down at the lines and drawings. She tapped her index finger against the biggest blob north of where Alistairs finger still lingered.

“Lothering,” she sounded out carefully. It was difficult script for her to read. “What’s that?”

“Large town.” Alistair said, finally spooning some food into his mouth. “I would hazard a guess at the darkspawn heading there first. They’ll go wherever the closest opportunity for fresh meat is. Everywhere else is off-road trekking and much more effort to get to.”

“They really think like that?” Caden asked. “They have common sense?”

“You saw them.” Alistair said darkly. “They can set traps, lay ambushes… they may be bestial, but with intelligence enough. And besides, the Archdemon is leading them.” He looked up at Flemeth. “You say you definitely didn’t see a dragon on the battlefield.”

“I did not.” Flemeth said, sounding as though she had already answered this question. “Perchance the Archdemon is biding his time. Lying in wait. This was a battle, not the war.”

“A devasting battle.” Alistair countered.

Flemeth gave him an arch look then got up and went to the basin with her daughter, leaving the two Wardens alone. Caden was still scanning her eyes over the map. “We have to warn them.”

“Who?” Alistair seemed surprised she was even speaking, as if he’d forgotten she was there.

“Lothering.” Caden tapped on the name again. “There are people there, if it’s a town. People who need to get out.” She looked up at Alistair. “If the darkspawn are occupied then there’s a chance we could get there faster. Wait, could we organise a stand there? Muster whatever armies still live and hold them back?”

“No.” Alistair shook his head. “The majority were at Ostagar.”

“But not all.” Caden pressed.

Alistair looked sympathetically into her eyes, his hazel pair sombre. “Caden, there’s nothing to be done. The horde would slaughter the remaining men. They’d be outnumbered.”

Caden pushed away from the table, dejected. “So, what then? We go home? Wait for the horde to get us?”

“No…” Alistair searched for the words. “We could go to Orlais. Raise the alarm to the Wardens there. They’re our closest allies after all and it’s only Wardens who can stop a Blight.”

That sounded like a plan. “Alright, where is Orlais?” She watched Alistair move his finger along the map, heading west until he reached the wood of the table. Off the Ferelden map. “About here.”

Cadens heart sank. “You want us to go all that way? What happens to Ferelden in the meantime?”

Morrigan cleared her throat, suddenly beside Caden. The elf watched as the witch touched her finger to the map, at Ostagar. A moment, a mutter and then a spark flew from her finger tip. Alistair yelped and pulled away from the magic. The marker for Ostagar caught fire and as Morrigan pulled the map up, freeing it from its weights, Caden watched the parchment burn up into ashes. Cadens heart plummeted.

“My daughter has a flair for the dramatic,” Flemeth said drily. “Fortunately, we do not want for maps.”

“You’re saying,” Caden started hesitantly. “that if we leave, Ferelden will be destroyed?”

“I am.” Morrigan nodded. “Can you live with that?”

Caden caught Alistairs eye. He looked deeply uncomfortable to have brushed so closely with wild magic. But he met her gaze and she could read resolve in those eyes. “No.” She said. “I can’t.”

*

After supper, the two witches went outside and left the Wardens at the table to discuss things further. The matter had been dropped initially, moving onto the ongoing care for the two walking wounded and more mundane things such as the meat Alistair had brought back and what else the women would need for the new few weeks. Caden had thought about the map going up in flames and thought about the horde reaching Denerim. Her family would be overrun easily. No-one in the Alienage were fighters and just like her they were not worldly and had never seen the darkspawn before. They would be hemmed in, slaughtered like cattle. It couldn’t happen. She would destroy the entire horde before it came to that. Somehow.

“Alright, so we don’t have many men,” Caden began as if they were in the middle of a conversation, not right at the start of one. She started to twist her long pale hair into a knot and secured it atop her head with a strip of fabric. Alistair looked over, interrupted from his own inner monologue. “We have some.”

“Yes,” Alistair nodded reluctantly. “Arl Eamon, for one. His army wasn’t at Ostagar. And there are others besides, but honestly Caden it won’t be enough.”

“I hear you,” Caden said. “We’d have to find more forces to bolster the soldiers.” She thought back to her brief time at Ostagar, the people she’d met. The Wardens were gone, and with a start she realised their servants were probably also said. She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking of Salasan, the elf manning the pot wash. Her mind brought up face after face; Farald Mason, the kennel master, the quartermaster who’s name she hadn’t learned. Those dwarves who had waved at her when she had first arrived. Likely all dead and fodder for the horde. She shuddered. Then she remembered Wynne, the kind woman smoking her pipe. “What about the mages? They weren’t in the thick of it, were they? Couldn’t we go to wherever they live and summon them? That doesn’t sound right, but if we ask them to help, they surely will, right?” Alistair gave her a strange look, his eyes widening, his face lightening. Caden frowned. “What is it?”

“Caden… that’s it!” Alistair exclaimed, looking almost joyful. “The treaties!”

Caden scrunched up her nose in thought. Slowly it came to her. “Those papers we got from Flemeth before the battle?”

“Yes!” Alistair enthused. “Those treaties allow Grey Wardens to recruit from armies that don’t serve under an Arl or a Bann. Or a Teryn,” he added, his mouth forming a distasteful moue as he thought of Teryn Loghain. “The mages are one such army.”

“Who else?” Caden asked. She got up and went to the selection of scrolls and picked one up, hoping Flemeth was right when she said they had plenty of maps. She unfurled it and glanced at the names. Ostagar, Denerim, Lothering. This would do.

“The dwarves,” Alistair was saying as she placed it down before them. “The Dalish.”

Caden brightened at once. “The Dalish?”

Alistair nodded. “Don’t get too excited. We know the Ferelden mages are here at Kinloch Hold,” he pointed to a small icon of a tower above a drawing of a lake. “and the dwarves are here,” he pointed to a spot in a mountainous region on the far west. “But the Dalish could be anywhere.”

Caden surveyed the map, chewing on her lower lip. “That’s alright,” she said. “we’ll find them. Where is your Arl Eamon?”

“Here,” Alistair pointed and Caden read out the name of Redcliffe. It was easier to read this less flowery printed script.

“That’s not far from the mages.” She observed. “We could start there and then go up to the Circle. Is he friendly?”

“Eamon?” Alistair asked. “Yes, he’s loyal to the crown. He’s… that is he was Cailans uncle. And I know him well. I grew up in Redcliffe, actually.”

“Oh?” Caden asked. Alistair was fidgeting with the edge of the map, avoiding her gaze.

“Yes, I… my mother worked in the castle,” Alistair went on. “When she died having me, I was left in the care of the Arl.”

“Oh. So, you grew up in a castle?” Caden asked. She didn’t mean to let that small sliver of envy creep into her voice, but there it was. She forced herself to remember that he said his mother died giving birth to him. “I’m sorry about your mum. Mine died when I was twelve.”

“I’m sorry.” Alistair said, raising his head to meet her gaze again. They sat in a moment of companionable quiet, feeling the sorrow of being a pair of motherless children. “Adaia, right?”

Caden flinched hearing him speak her mother’s name, wondering how he could possibly know that. Then she remembered hearing Urien back at camp. Adaia’s daughter. She nodded mutely and swallowed. “She…” she cleared her throat to speak. “she gave me a knife before she died. So, I could protect myself. Only I lost it before I was conscripted.”

“That’s sad.” Alistair remarked with compassion. “Sad to lose something that meant so much.”

“Yes,” Caden nodded. “I still have her other gift, I—” Caden suddenly felt a wave of nausea hit her and she stood up from the table all of a sudden. Alistair looked on, concerned, but mostly confused. “Oh Andraste, oh no…”

“What’s wrong?” Alistair asked, rising with her.

“Her boots,” Caden said. “My boots. Oh, my letters from Nelaros! My dress. Oh… oh no, Andraste, it’s all back at camp.” She clamped her hands over her mouth, tears welling. Her heart was a panicked bird in a cage again and the sensation of guilt over losing her most precious, her only possessions, almost made her bring up the stew.

Alistair nodded sadly as if he knew what she meant. “Yes, everything’s gone.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Caden said, frantic. “Everything that mattered was there. My mother’s boots were there, the letters, my books… we have to go back.”

Alistair balked at her. “Caden,” he said sternly. “Don’t be crazy. The horde is there. Whatever got left behind is gone. You have to accept that.”

Caden was shaking her head, her breathing short and haggard. “No, I can’t—”

“Caden, people died.” Alistair snapped coldly. “They are what matters. Not things.”

“They weren’t just things!” Caden shouted. “My mother gave me those boots and I’ve lost them? No! Nelaros wrote me those letters. Don’t you see? He was a person; he was a person who died and those letters kept him alive! It’s like… like they killed him again!” Her voice broke on the last words and she sobbed loudly. “They’re dead.” And it was like they had died all over again. Caden sank down to the floor, her legs simply folding beneath her. Her body wracked with aching sobs, causing pain along her bruised ribs. She sucked in air, crying too fast to breathe normally. They were dead and it was her fault. Caden was the one who got sick first, who gave the disease to her mother, but then Caden got better. It wasn’t fair. She brought death into the house and then her mother was taken away. And Nelaros, he had been the only one to come and save her and Shianni and he had died for it. Another check on Deaths list. Wasn’t she just a fine little accomplice? Now she had lost the things that kept them with her. Left them for the horde to desecrate. Caden pressed her face into her hands and bent down, curling in on herself kneeling on the floor, ignoring the pain from her side.

A scrape of the chair on the wooden floor and a rustle of fabric and then she sensed Alistair kneeling down before her. “I’m going to touch you now, if that’s alright.” She nodded automatically, momentarily shocked out of her grief by Alistairs refusal to touch her without her say-so. His hand reached out and then came down upon her shoulder, giving her a light squeeze. When she didn’t balk at that, he applied a little more pressure. It was unexpected, but this wasn’t a rough grab, he wasn’t manhandling her. His hand on her shoulder was an anchor when she felt the agony might break her apart. He was warm and he felt like light and miraculously Caden felt herself start to calm. She couldn’t stop crying, but she could breathe and she felt her heart slow to a more normal state. She was, beyond all evidence usually pointing to the contrary, being comforted by a shem.

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked after a while. Caden nodded. He let go. Caden looked up, tear stained face grateful and surprised.

“Thank you.” She said. “I’m sorry, I don’t ever do that, I swear. I’m fine.”

“People died.” Alistair said again, much softer now. Much more grief stricken, she now saw. Was that the reason for his mood swings, his capricious anger with her? “It’s normal to be upset.” His face crumpled and he lowered his head, a tear dropping onto his lap. Caden reached over and grasped his forearm, squeezing tightly, determined to pay back his kindness, especially if her sorrow had triggered his own grief. His voice was choked when he said: “I can’t believe Duncan’s gone.”

“I know.” Caden said. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

“We’ll do our job and get it done.” Caden promised airily. As if she could promise any such thing, but he nodded. “For everyone we’ve lost.”

Chapter Text

Heavy

Are you feeling sad 'cause you did a bad thing?

“Everything you had on you is here,” Flemeth said, letting the Wardens into a small hut beside her home. It was dim inside night having fallen by now, but they had a lantern to cut through the darkness. "There wasn't much, but if it was on your person, then I brought it here."

"Thank you," Caden said. The old witch nodded once and let the door shut behind her as she left. Caden turned to Alistair. "I guess we start looking."

Alistair returned her look, mouth set into a grim line. He moved the lantern towards the middle of the room and set it down. Caden walked around it, brushing against the wooden walls as the size of this hut was not great. Their armour lay scattered at the back.

It was a sober sight. Blood and gore had dried on both sets of armour, deepening the colour on the leather and staining the metal brown. A few flies buzzed around the smell of this blood and other matter. Caden reached her fingers out without thinking and peeled a chunk of dried darkspawn ichor off her bracers. It had a soft feeling, congealed like dried fat and it smelled horrible. She dropped it, suddenly not wanting it anywhere near her bare skin, on the ground where it landed with a quiet splat and did not bounce. Caden shuddered and spotted what looked like grains on the hut floor. Peering closer she saw they were fat, dead maggots instead. She recoiled in horror and Alistair looked over, concerned. "What is it?"

"Dead worms." Caden said, feeling queasy. Alistair came over and looked at the ground. He nodded darkly.

"Nothing can survive on tainted darkspawn flesh or blood." Alistair explained. "These insects are no different."

Caden had turned and was taking some deep breaths to steady herself. Alistair watched and waited for her to turn back. "Sorry. Just caught me unawares. Let's keep looking."

Alistair nodded and they resumed picking at the armour, searching for the various small packs they had had on them during the battle. They worked in silence at first, only communicating to reach for the lamp, or hand it back.

“Why didn’t you look for these treaties before?” Caden asked as she picked up the water skin she had had on the night of the battle. It was half empty with stale liquid and she was tempted to just upend it over the armour to try to wash it down. She wasn’t exactly sure of the effect water would have on the leather and metal so she re-stoppered the skin and placed it back.

“Oh, well…” Alistair sighed. “Honestly it didn’t occur to me. I didn’t make any plans. I woke up and then I waited for you to do the same. Not very dynamic. I’m sure Duncan would have been disappointed in me.”

Caden heard the tremor in his voice and resolutely continued to search. She couldn’t turn around and face him; it had been hard enough facing him after her small breakdown and his tears earlier.

“What would you have done if our places were reversed?” He asked suddenly. She froze; was this a test of some sort? Still rifling through her belongings, she considered her answer. The truth was that she felt she probably would have packed up and headed back home, hoping to leave him and her new responsibilities behind. She had no doubt Duncan would have been twice as disappointed in her, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“I don’t know,” she lied. “I guess we’ll never know, so what does it matter?”

Caden picked up a small pouch that closed with a catch, which when released allowed the leather to unfurl like a page. Strapped to the inside of the leather band were three small vials of red liquid. Caden traced one finger over the glass. "I didn't realise the armour came with built in medical aid." She thought back to the blows she had taken in the fight. Of course, it was ridiculous to think that any of these vials could have helped her in the final stand-off, but it would have been nice if someone had actually explained to her what she was carrying.

Alistair seemed to track her line of thought; it must have been written on her face. "There was so much we didn't brief you on." he said quietly. "Everything about your start with the Wardens has been so upside down."

Caden shrugged. "I guess that's what happens when you come in at the end of a story." She rolled the leather back up and closed it, slipping it onto the belt Morrigan had furnished her with after remarking that she was going to lose her trousers with the first step. 

Alistair was still, his expression revealing that his thoughts were probably very far away. "This isn't the end of the Wardens." He said softly, a note of determination filtering through. "Not while you and I still draw breath."

Caden peered through the pockets of her old armour, finding a glint of silver. She pulled out Warden’s Oath, the necklace that remembered the dead.

"What were the words you said at the Joining?" Caden asked. "The bit about dying?"

"Should you perish," Alistair said in a choked voice. "know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten." He trailed off to barely a whisper by the end of the quote. Caden looked up and met his gaze. She could see ghosts in his eyes and knew he was thinking about the brothers and sisters he had lost.

"I bet you can't believe you're stuck with me," she said with a bitter taste in her mouth. "The newest Warden who doesn't know anything and has never travelled and can't even light a stupid beacon on time."

"That wasn't your—wasn’t our fault." Alistair retorted. "And you know it wouldn't have mattered anyway. You go into battle shoulder to shoulder with your fellow soldiers and you trust that they each have your back. You trust that your generals are honest and that everyone will follow through on the plans. If someone abuses that trust..."

"I get it," Caden said, reached for her boots. The Warden boots. She felt that oh so familiar swell of guilt. "I just feel... responsible. If I hadn't frozen on the bridge, if I'd been a seasoned soldier instead of... of me and if we'd lit the beacon on time, maybe Loghain would have been compelled to follow through. Maybe our delay caused him to make a choice then and there, to go instead of stay and fight."

"Caden you fought remarkably, despite your newness." Alistair said, suddenly impassioned. It took her by surprise, so Caden shut up and just watched him speak for a moment. "I’ll be honest with you: didn't want that mission. I wanted to be on the battlefield with the other Wardens, but I accepted the importance of the mission. Then to find the tower overrun... I don't know what I expected of you in that moment, but you weren't going to turn away no matter how afraid you might have been. I saw that in your face." He took a shaky breath and ran his hand over his hair, taking a moment to pause and gather his thoughts amidst the still very fresh memories. "I admit that being paired with anyone else might have felt easier at first. A soldier, like you say. Someone who'd seen war." Caden nodded. She couldn't fault him for these feelings. She also wished he'd been with someone else and that she'd never been conscripted and that she was at home right then, helping her father wash their dinner plates. She swallowed, battling a sob and tightened her grip on the boots. "But that wasn't the hand I was dealt and in the thick of battle I couldn't have asked for better. You took down that ogre after all." He almost managed a real smile at that. "I was proud of you, Warden-Sister."

Caden felt her hackles raise. Maybe it was her mind being miles away in that moment, back at the Alienage with her dad, or maybe it was the uncomfortable thrum of the golden light when Alistair called her Sister, but she felt her mouth pinch at the idea. "I appreciate what you're saying, Alistair." she said tartly. "But I wish it hadn’t been me in the tower with you. I wish I'd never been in Ostagar. I wish I'd never met any of you." She met his gaze, saw hurt in his eyes. "I wish I was back home."

She saw a muscle work in Alistairs jaw, but she turned away and began to search through the pieces of armour in earnest, not caring what smeared across her hands as she did so.

"I used to make wishes, too." Alistair said evenly. Caden set down the boots and picked up the chain-link of her chest piece. "But I stopped making wishes and learned to accept what was real when I grew up."

Caden, her back to Alistair, clinking the metal rings as she lifted it, felt a strange punch of satisfaction. So, he could get snippy? Good. Perversely she wondered just where his breaking point was. Could she push him even further? "Funny, I thought you said you preferred it when it was just you and me? That wasn't my wish."

The moment the words left her mouth, no matter how obnoxious she was feeling, she regretted them. The poison in her words hit him sharply and she looked up in time to see him physically wince. Alistair was looking through some bags and she watched him grip what he was holding, the lamplight bouncing off his white knuckles. Caden felt very horrible and petty. She opened her mouth to say something, but anything she could think of died on her tongue. She couldn't take it back.

Then the moment passed without her saying a word. Alistair glanced down at the papers in the pouch. "This is them." He said dully, then turned around and walked out of the hut letting the door fall loudly closed behind him. Caden jumped at the sound. He'd left her the lantern, though whether that was intentional move due to his good manners, or she had bothered him so much that he had simply forgotten it she didn't know. Caden stood in the hut, holding her piece of soiled armour and wearing her shame.

*

She didn’t see him again that evening. For a tiny hut in the middle swampland surrounded by forests, there seemed no end of space for the four people to sleep comfortably and most importantly, apart. Caden was directed to the bed she had woken up in, Morrigan had her own room on the opposite side of the house in a similar rooftop nook, Flemeth and Alistair were content in rooms off the main downstairs section. Caden couldn't help but marvel at the way they all fit in the small home as she curled up under the woollen blanket. It was better than dwelling on what had occurred in the storage hut.

She had gone too far. She knew that. Anyone would have been able to see that. Alistair had lost everything and had only ever tried to guide her and be nice to her. Maybe even be her friend; there were moments when she felt as though he actually liked her. At every turn she had rejected his kindness, relying on indifference towards him at best, outright hostility at worst.

Caden had never fit in properly in the Alienage. Too rowdy, too smart mouthed with the shems who ventured inside. The elders had clucked their teeth and her peers had hushed her, told her to mind herself or she'd get them all in trouble. They all existed with bowed heads and she had tried it that way. She really had. But she had also grown up on fairy tales, reading about girls who had been stolen or tricked or locked into battles of wits with monsters and men. Girls who had stood up for themselves, who had demurred when it mattered and cut when the chance arose. And although these were typically human girls fighting this fight, Adaia had invented plenty of elves for her to idolise. Elven girls who'd run away to live in the forest with the Dalish, elf queens who commanded armies, old elven women who had the trust of and could communicate with animals and trees and the weather. Caden might have lived in desperate poverty and hunger, but Adaia had seen fit to place stars in her eyes. Dreams and hope in a land where it did not usually reside. When Adaia died those feelings were poisoned at the roots, twisting into something darker. In place of hope, rage. Where she had had dreams, now lingered despair. And the stars in her eyes had burned into a thirst for vengeance. As Caden lay on the bed in the woods in the home of real live witches and reflected on her past, she knew this was no fairy tale and it was time to face up to reality. She had been so damn scared to wake up in Vaughan Kendalls estate, but those twisted roots had been glad. Deep down she had known she was being given a gift. Adaia had trained her well; she had fought her way to Vaughans chambers after all, and with her mother’s final gift she had faced down the monster and slain him.

Her peers had been right; she had invited trouble. Courted it recklessly and her actions had had consequences. Her actions led her to the Grey Wardens and to Ostagar.

Alistair had done nothing to deserve her or her walls or her need to strike out like a cornered animal at the slightest hint of familiarity or when she felt stupid. Yes, she wanted to go home. She felt as though she would always want that, but she couldn't go back. Not now, maybe not for a long while. Her actions had consequences and through chance and good fortune she had not died. She was alive and so was Alistair and they were it for the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. As she had asserted downstairs at dinnertime there was no way she could turn her back on her duty. They had the treaties and they had a plan and course to follow. She had to see it through as far as she could. If she was existing on borrowed time as she believed she was then she had to take down as many of the enemy as she could, keep Alistair alive, keep as many Fereldens alive as she could. Her ribs still ached and her wounds pulsed dully with occasional reminders that she was not whole and healthy, but she knew getting to Lothering before the horde was vital if she could save anyone.

At some point in the night, amidst her unhappy thoughts, she fished out the pendant with the locket of blood inside. Holding it in the palm of her hand she remembered the two times Alistair had presented it to her. The first immediately after she came to during her Joining; she’d slapped it aside, too disgusted to look closely at it. The second was after that terrible meeting with Urien, when she’d feared for her life and had been saved by the thrust of Loghains sword. The traitor, her saviour.

I thought you liked it best when it was just us two…

He had given her the necklace then and she had taken it. Absentmindedly she opened the clasp on the chain and reached behind her to fasten it. The cool metal lay against her skin. As she pulled her hands away, her finger tugged the chain, momentarily tightening it across her neck. It is a very pretty neck…

With a strangled cry, she gripped the pendant and yanked it, feeling it taut on her skin, feeling fingers, pressure, her breath cut off, before the chain gave. She clamped her hand over her mouth, holding back a sob. Andraste preserve me.

Caden dropped the necklace to the floor beside the bed and then rolled over onto her back, blinking in the darkness at the small scattering of stars that she could see through a loose board in the roof. It was very possible that her mother was looking over her shoulder as she made it through the world and so if nothing else, she would make that a focus. Act as though Adaia was watching her every move. Caden didn't feel like a nice person, Alistair had called her obnoxious. She would try harder. Apologise first thing the next day and take it from there. Turn over a more pleasant leaf. It wasn't fair on Alistair otherwise.

Caden tossed and turned in the small cot for another hour before sleep finally claimed her.

*

This time the dream was different. Caden was having the life squeezed out of her, with Vaughan on top of her, two hands on her neck, more hands on her legs, her body, tangling in her hair. She couldn't breathe and she couldn't get away. Her knife was out of reach. He was killing her.

Then his grotesque, laughing visage started to split. His mouth, so impossibly wide, peeled back, skin flaying away from his face and in its place was the ogre from the tower. It roared and Caden felt its claws digging into her flesh. She wanted to scream, but she had no voice, Vaughan had taken it from her before he changed into the ogre. Caden knew with nightmarish certainty that she was trapped and she was dying.

The ogre roared right in her face, another oh so wide mouth, filled with rows and rows of teeth. Caden shut her eyes and suddenly she could breathe. She opened her eyes to find herself floating in darkness, all alone.

No, not alone.

An enormous dragon was perched atop a rocky outcrop, surveying a cavern filled edge to edge with a heaving swell of darkspawn, all crying out and screaming in a cacophony of sounds. She looked down and couldn't see a space, they were shoulder to shoulder, hurlocks, genlocks, ogres and others besides that she had never seen before. Caden felt panic overtake her and then the sense of something looking at her. With dread, she raised her head and came face to face with the dragon, its blazing eyes burning into her.

I... see... you...

Caden screamed.

*

"Caden! Caden!" She lashed out before she was fully awake, hearing her palms slap against flesh, before she felt warm, calloused hands encase hers, gently but firmly. "Caden, wake up."

She opened her eyes, the blue darkened by fear. She could feel a chill on her skin, sweat cooling on her body, hair plastered to her face. Her chest heaved as she gulped down air, able to breathe again, nothing compressing her. She focused on the face beside her bed, connected to the arms that held her hands. Alistair. Even with only the dim light of the moon through the slats she could see concern in his eyes. She tugged her hands free and scooted up her bed, pulling herself into a sitting position.

"What was that?" she panted. “That was like the darkspawn were right here in this room.”

Alistair eased up off his knees and perched on the end of the bed, leaving plenty of space as Caden had her knees drawn up to her. His gaze felt heavy when he met hers. "A dream. Sort of. One more gift from your new blood." He said flatly. "The darkspawn don't really seem to have a language as such, they just roar and bellow at each other and somehow all end up going in the same direction. Like ants."

"Ants?" Caden frowned, clasping her legs and hugging herself. She thought of the black scurrying insects and tried to reconcile them with the monsters.

"Yeah, you know, they all follow along a line, like something's in their heads telling them where to go." Alistair elucidated, in the same monotonous tone. "Darkspawn have the Archdemon in their heads telling them what to do and we can tap into that sometimes, thanks to the taint in our blood." He dropped his gaze to his hands, fingers fidgeting in his lap. "Duncan was supposed to tell you this. He was supposed to tell you everything."

"So that dream was actually me hearing the Archdemon?" Caden asked, in disbelief. "That huge dragon? That's the Archdemon?"

"It is, although whether it's truly a dragon or not remains to be seen." Alistair said. "Some of the older Grey Wardens used to claim they could understand it, but I don't know about that. I've never understood it."

Caden shivered in the chill night. "It saw me." She murmured. "I know it did. Just like in my Joining."

She looked up as Alistair winced. "Ah yeah, another thing. They say the dreams are worse if you Join during a Blight and well... you did."

Her heart sank. It was just bad news after bad news. "Alistair, what else do I need to know? Am I going to start resembling a damn darkspawn?"

Alistair gave a half shrug, a wryness creeping into his voice. "I don't know, maybe only if you don't get enough beauty sleep."

Caden stared. "Cute." She snapped. "You know, I was lying here feeling bad about what I said, but you keep doing this. You keep holding things back from me. I'm beginning to think the Wardens are a cult with all the secrecy and lies. I need to know if any more horrible stuff is going to happen." She leaned forwards, dropping her legs, dipping her had to try to catch Alistairs downward gaze. "Alistair. Please."

He turned abruptly, causing her to flinch away and he began to rattle off things on his fingers. "Dreams of the darkspawn, as well as the ability to sense them, though of course that means they can sense you. An increased appetite, though I'm not sure you'll notice a difference given that you were helping yourself to thirds before you Joined. And not forgetting that you won't live as long as a Warden. You get about thirty years, if you're lucky and that's it. Then you hear the Calling," Alistair paused and glanced at her. She stared back unable to look away. "At some point at the end of the next three decades if you survive that long, you will end up down in the Deep Roads, facing down the horde until your death. That's your eventual destiny and that's only if we can stop the Blight." He broke off, his gaze intense. "And frankly I would say the chances of us reaching the Archdemon are slim to none if we can't work together. I'm half convinced you'll stab me in my sleep one night, given how much you seem to loathe me."

Caden felt awash with conflicting emotions. The gut punch of hearing this influx of hard to stomach information was one thing, but then her guilt rose up again over treating Alistair so consistently badly. She breathed in deeply, her arms trembling, fingers working the blanket in agitation.

"I'm... sorry." She said in a very small voice. "I regretted what I said as soon as I said it. I wish--"

"Don't start with the wishing thing again," Alistair cut through with a wave of his hand, though with no malice in his tone. "Let's not waste time on wishes."

She nodded. "Alright. Just please don't keep anything else from me. I've been trying to be nice--"

"That was you being nice?" Alistair interrupted, his expression one of incredulity. "Maker's Breath, Caden, how bad are you to people you don't try for?"

Caden looked down. He was right. She had been a horror. "Well, I wouldn't stab anyone in their sleep." She tried a small joke, a wan smile on her lips. "But you have the general idea."

Alistair let out a half-hearted snort of laughter. "I guess it's good to know you'll kill me in an honourable manner at least."

"I don't want to kill you," Caden said, serious again. He knew she had human blood on her hands already, so suddenly the joke wasn't so funny anymore. "I don't loathe you. I could give you excuses for my bad attitude... I miss my family, I didn't have a choice about joining the Wardens, I was not prepared for war..." She raised her shoulders. "They're all just excuses. I know how I am. I know I've been unfair to you. And I am sorry." Her shoulders dropped again, face bent downwards. "I... did Duncan say anything about me to you? About my life before the Wardens, or how I came to Ostagar?"

Alistair went quiet in thought and Caden thought she felt a change in the air between them. It wasn't pleasant, like any moment she would say the wrong thing and spoil everything. "Not really. Of course, I was there when Arl Urien stormed into the kings tent.” He glanced at her. “It was true then? You killed his son?” When Caden didn’t reply, he gave her a reassuring shrug. “You wouldn't be the first Warden with a past and we don't dwell on those pasts in the Wardens. What matters is your devotion to the cause and your willingness to stand with your Brothers and Sisters, ridding the world of darkspawn."

Caden met his gaze, not feeling all that comforted. "I guess I owe Duncan my life, but I can't see being a Warden as much of an alternative given everything we've been through and what you've told me tonight. Still. I didn't really want to be executed."

"I can't imagine anyone would." Alistair said, hiking one eyebrow.

"Fair enough," Caden nodded. Her mouth was dry as she thought of those men she'd cut down on her way to Vaughan. She blinked and without pausing to catch herself she heard her voice saying: "My husband died." That wasn't exactly the truth of course and she frowned at her choice of words, but Alistairs face was changing again with sympathy. It felt like she'd stolen it. “He was murdered.”

"Oh Caden," he said softly. "I am so sorry." She saw his hand reaching across the bed and although her nerves were screaming to pull away, she forced herself to stay still and see what happened. If she was going to manufacture his empathy then she ought not throw it back in his face. His hand dropped over hers, lightly pressing, but not smothering. Caden could feel her pulse skip at the touch her instinct still to flee or fight from the feel of a human man on her skin and that dream fresh in her mind. Instead she froze and let him try to offer her comfort. She could feel the cool gold band between their hands.

“Anyway.” Caden said simply, hoping he would release her soon. “Thanks for checking on me I guess.”

Mercifully Alistair took his hand back. “I was awake anyway and heard your start to thrash about. I figured you were probably having darkspawn dreams. I thought you might like to know you’re not alone.”

Caden nodded dumbly. She was touched. She’d been so unkind to him, yet he had put that aside to make sure that she was alright. It was unnerving, having someone who was still very much a stranger be so invested in her well-being. “You didn’t have to…”

“I did.” He replied insistently. “Everyone else is gone. Maker’s Breath, if you quit on me now and I had to do this by myself…” He dropped his forehead into his palm, elbow resting on his knee. “Well, let’s just say we might as well just hand the keys to Ferelden over to the darkspawn right now.”

“I’m not going to quit.” Caden said in a small, but fierce voice. “I want to go home one day so I need there to be a home for me to go back to.” She took a deep breath and sat up a little taller. “We have to do this.”

“Yes, we do.”

*

The next day was spent cleaning up their armour. It took some doing, but after brushing the dried blood off, then wiping the leather with warm water removed the worst of the mess. Caden and Alistair sat side by side outside, the only noises coming from the breeze in the trees, the insects in the reeds and the occasional fish surfacing in the pools of water nearby. Flemeth and Morrigan were able to provide oil to rub into the leather sections of the armour. Caden found the task oddly relaxing, seeing her armour gleam after her work gave her a thrill of satisfaction. It was mindless work and they didn’t speak, which was just how Caden wanted it. At one point she’d looked over to see Alistair polishing up his griffon embossed breast plate with a coarse sand mixture and a brush, only to see his head bowed and a tear running down over his nose, dripping down onto the plate. Caden had swallowed and returned to her own work. It didn’t feel right to intrude upon his grief.

The rest of the day could have been just like any other day at Ostagar, with Caden and Alistair in the Wilds. Just the two of them in the woodlands in makeshift armour—their Grey Warden armour sitting aside back at the hut after their cleaning—it was almost like the day they had carried on after Jorys injury. This time they weren’t hunting for treaties, but game. Alistair was not an expert by self-admission, but he knew enough of the basics to pass on. Caden was reminded, as she nocked an arrow and drew back the string of her bow, a rabbit in her sights, of the offer from Lyra to teach her archery. Her shot went wide and her quarry fled. They returned home with one pheasant and far fewer arrows than before, but Caden did manage to find a small clump of the honeyed flowers she had retrieved for the kennel master before the battle. She thought of the sick mabari and wondered if she had recovered before the darkspawn had breached the fort. She hoped the dog had not suffered as she picked a small handful. The flowers were very pretty and she hadn’t seen that many in the Alienage. It was nice to have something beautiful during this horrible time.

They didn’t return to Ostagar. They knew where it was of course; the horde was there and the concentration of darkspawn, Caden found, was easy to tap into if she tried to reach for it with her mind. It would have been easy to scout up to the walls and survey the area, but neither suggested it. Caden knew that if she got close enough, she would be compelled to enter and foolishly seek out her belongings. She didn’t know what Alistairs reasons for avoiding the place were, but she could guess.

That evening they ate a previously caught rabbit along with dandelion leaves and marsh samphire, both of which grew in great number around the hut and discussed the next step of their journey. It had already been agreed that they were to be heading forth for Lothering, the horde showing no desperation to leave Ostagar until their voracious appetite for carrion had been sated. What came as a surprise was the store of provisions Flemeth was willing to part with. She had some self-penned, leather wrapped notes on the basis of foraging that she apparently knew by rote so was willing to part with. She had quite a store of mens clothing, only mens, and none small enough for Caden, but with some needlework they had been amended to fit more or less and these were packed for both Wardens to take. A bedroll each and one worn, but clean and whole canvas tent. From the witches pantry there was dried meat, some of the dark bread and plenty of cheese and apples and blackberries to take, which would see them through until Lothering. Each pack held a length of thick hemp rope. They were permitted to keep the bows they had used that day and the remainder of the arrows, which was a small number, but ammunition enough providing Caden practised and improved her aim. Caden was overwhelmed by the help being given by Flemeth and the sheer number of provisions they were being gifted with, but by far the most surprising was the final offer.

Caden glanced at Alistair, a mouthful of rabbit preventing her from speaking for the moment.

“You want us…” he started, then coughed to clear his throat, “…to take your daughter with us?”

Morrigan, who had been gaping at her mother, apparently just as thrown by her idea as the Wardens had been, now snapped her mouth shut and focused a glare in Alistairs direction. “I have a name, Warden.”

Caden swallowed her food. “Well, Morrigan, we’ll be glad to have you…” Morrigan turned to her, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Over her shoulder Caden could see Alistairs bewildered frown. She turned to Flemeth. “If you’re sure? I mean...won’t you be worried about her?"

Flemeth laughed. "You'll be taking her off my hands, don't you worry! I am more concerned about how you will fare without her assistance. She can be very useful in a pinch and it will no doubt give her the chance to practise her healing abilities some more." Flemeths face became serious and she leaned across the table towards Caden lowering her voice to a solemn tone. "Do you understand, Warden, that I give you that I treasure above all things?"

"I do," Caden nodded. "She won't come to harm with us." In the back of her mind she fretted about having a third mouth to feed, a further person to worry about besides herself and Alistair. Alistair opened his mouth and then shut it again. Morrigan crossed her arms, narrowed her eyes and pouted sullenly.

"Good," Flemeth said clapping her wizened hands together with glee. "Everyone's contented then!"

Chapter Text

Shake

Kinda lost my way you see

The silence was palpable. They had set out after an early breakfast meal, Morrigan turning and walking north, away from her mother without so much as a word of goodbye. Caden had shared a glance with Alistair, both darkly confused. She was certain Alistair was feeling the same as she was; a chance for a goodbye was not something to be refused so lightly. That was the last time she had exchanged anything with Alistair for the rest of the day. Instead Caden watched him retreat into himself, eyes never quite in focus. It was frustrating; their relationship was rocky, but Caden had hoped that they had reached a better, more companionable place. The trouble was that she still didn't know him well and so she didn’t know how to draw him back out. She left him to his ghosts and thoughts.

Their route out of the wilds was not a simple, straight line north. That way Ostagar lay and they had to avoid it. Flemeth had projected that this diversion would add a good two days’ worth of travel time to their route towards Lothering, not something Caden relished whilst walking with the two sombre humans. Her boots squelched in the mud that seemed to linger on every path, the air buzzed with those biting insects and there was a constant smell of brackish water. At first, they had an accompaniment of birdsong, but as they drew closer to their berth around the fort, that petered out and stopped entirely. Even the insect’s presence waned and Caden had no doubt that a seasoned tracker would have noted a lack of other animal life, too. As for her, she just chewed on the jerky they had brought and felt glad of their provisions if fresh meat would be hard to come by.

The ground began to take on a darker tone as they walked. Their goal was to circumnavigate Ostagar on this first day as best they could, all the better to make camp as far away from it as possible. Caden stretched out with her mind, feeling for the horde and she found it. North west of their location, closer and louder than before. The oozing feeling of wrongness slid down her spine.

The ground was dark and the plants were rotting. That was the sight that met her as they pressed on. At first, she had thought it was the sun starting to find its way beneath the horizon causing long shadows and tricks of the light, but the trees were drooping and the plants were shrivelling. It had been hours since anyone had spoken, so Caden had to cough and wet her throat with a drink before she could form words. “What’s wrong with everything?”

Morrigan, seeing that Alistair was making no move to hold back for their shorter companion, turned and glanced to where Caden was looking. “Blight.” She said simply.

“I know there’s a Blight,” Caden replied. Morrigans raised eyebrow made her feel all kinds of stupid.

“What do you think a Blight is?” Morrigan asked, not quite falling in step with Caden.

“This.” She answered. “The darkspawn and everything being awful?”

“It is called a Blight because a blight is a wrongness that spreads, like a disease.” Morrigan explained. “It might just as well have been called a Scourge or a Plague. Do you understand what I mean?”

Caden nodded. “I think so. There have been outbreaks of sickness in the Alienage from time to time. The kind that makes everyone ill, whole households sometimes.”

“There you are then.” Morrigan said. “The Blight is like that, except where sickness might target only people, this will infect everything. Look above you.” Caden obliged and was met with a sky that was grey and covered in clouds that blocked out most of the sunlight. She had been so distracted by the plant life and absence of animals that she hadn’t even thought to look up. “This is all due to the Blight.”

At that, Morrigan strode on ahead, the matter resolutely closed. Caden hurried to catch up to her and Alistair, both of whom were making far lighter work of the journey than she was.

They pressed on without speaking once again, until Morrigan spotted something. She halted their expedition and then directed them due east. Alistair hesitated, but Caden followed without question. Her feet hurt after a day of walking and she just wanted to sit down. After a moment Alistair followed the women. Morrigan was following some path that neither Warden could see, but after a few twists and turns through the trees and rocks, she brought them to a dead end. Rocks shot from the ground to the sky, jagged ends pointed vertically. It was a solid wall of what appeared to be an old pile of large stones following a landslide down a rocky hill. Caden stopped and frowned. There was no way around it unless she expected them to climb. Her heart sank at that prospect. But then Morrigan dipped her head and disappeared between two rocks. Caden blinked and immediately lost where Morrigan had entered, the rocks appeared to be too closely packed to slip through. Alistair stopped beside her.

“Where did she go?” he asked, voice rough from lack of use.

Morrigan’s head appeared again. “This way, come on.” Caden didn’t think, she just followed. As she drew closer, she could see the small gap where Morrigan had entered by. A small bloom of light appeared, guiding the way. Caden shrugged off her pack lest it get snagged, and carried it carefully through.

Inside the rock fall was a small cavern that Caden could just about stand upright inside. Morrigan had a lantern lit and Caden walked the few paces towards her that the small space allowed. This would be cosy.

It got a lot more cramped as Alistair entered, his stature bowed and seeming to take up more than his fair share of space. Morrigan had removed her pack and set it on the ground, so Caden set hers down as well, choosing an arbitrary spot against the far wall. Alistair, back bent, looked around with discomfort.

“Am I to take it that you mean for us to stay here tonight?” he asked. The tone of his voice suggested quite how ridiculous he found this idea to be. Caden glanced from one to the other, saying nothing.

“Indeed we are.” Morrigan said, crouching to go through her pack. “I admit it is not a large space, but given our proximity to the darkspawn it is far preferably than a tent out there.” She nodded towards the exit. “By all means pitch your tent and take your chances, but this place is watertight and difficult to find by passers-by. The choice is yours.”

Caden looked back to Alistair, biting her lip. He glared back, not pleased and she shrugged helplessly. Alistair huffed and dropped his pack without venturing further inside, carefully lowering himself to the ground in defeat. His annoyance smouldered like the last coal in a fire as he unbuckled his scabbard and pulled off his shield, to set them beside him. Caden followed suit and sat down, clutching her pack to her, slipping off her own sheathed swords. She grabbed her water skin and took another swig, only for something to do. Morrigan finished searching through her pack and withdrew some apples and hard yellow cheese, carving off a segment of apple and eating it with a slice of cheese.

“No fire tonight,” Morrigan instructed between mouthfuls. “This place should be warm enough with three bodies inside.”

“That’s smart.” Caden said stiltedly. The pressure inside this place was unbearably tense, as Morrigan ate and Alistair glowered. Caden looked from one to the other, not sure what to do.

“I’ll take first watch.” Alistair said abruptly. He reached into his bag for some of the dried meat and tore a chunk off with his teeth. “I’ll eat, then you two can sleep.”

“Alright,” Caden nodded meekly. She busied herself with her own light meal, wishing they were back at Flemeths eating something hot and delicious again, but as they were not her food had to be enough. She chewed on the bread slowly, hoping to trick her stomach into being satisfied by her small morsel. It was a method borrowed from the Alienage, but it turned out that Alistair had been right about the extreme appetite. She finished a roll and started looking for something else to take the edge off her still growling belly.

No-one spoke for a while. The Morrigan nodded to Caden. “No nightmares tonight.” She ordered out of the blue. “I don’t want my sleep disturbed unless there are true darkspawn bearing down on us.”

Caden opened her mouth to reply, a bemused frown. Surely, she wasn’t serious about that? Caden could hardly control what went on in her sleeping mind. But then Alistair spoke up.

“It pains me to say it, but she’s right.” He said thoughtfully. Caden’s mouth snapped shut. “We’re so close to the horde, although it’s unlikely the Archdemon is with them. Flemeth didn’t report seeing him, and you saw him underground in your last dream, so that’s where he probably still is. Even so, we’d better be cautious or you might draw them to us if you reach out for them in your dreams.” He looked over at Morrigan, for the first time without a disparaging expression. “Do you have anything she can take to keep away dreams?”

Caden was shaking her head slowly; were they really discussing her as though she weren’t right there? Morrigan picked a small pouch out and tugged it open.

“Take some of this with water and you should be out like a light.” Morrigan said offering the pouch to her. Caden stared down at it and didn’t move.

“What is that?” She asked quietly.

“Templars carry it with them,” Morrigan said. “Mother and I have often seen fit to liberate them off their items when they have gotten too close.” After that brief information she apparently did not see fit to explain further so Caden looked over to Alistair. He was frowning at Morrigans clear glee at having stolen things from Templars, but instead of complaining about that, he instead picked up the line of explanation. 

“It’s nothing, just some herbs.” He said. “It’s used on travelling mages to keep them from the Fade in sleep so demons can’t try to possess them outside of their Circle.” He shrugged, like it was no big deal. “It should work on you by keeping you asleep, but not dreaming.”

Caden held out her hand and let Morrigan upend the pouch, tipping out some crushed, dried leaves into her palm. Caden eyed it warily. She had no idea what this was, but if mage hunters used it to subdue the sleeping magic users it seemed like it must be a heavy- duty drug. She looked up at the others; Morrigan was putting the pouch away, Alistair had pulled out a cloth to wipe his already clean sword. “Is it safe?” Caden asked into the quiet, once again feeling foolish.

Alistair looked up, surprised at the question. “Of course.” He said easily. “It’s just an herbal remedy. You’ll sleep better than anyone, I’m sure.”

Caden grimaced, but uncorked her water skin and tipped some liquid into a cup from her pack. Morrigan gestured to her to add the concoction, so she did, swirling it around with her finger. The crushed leaves dissolved, turning the water a murky green. Caden didn’t stop to think, she just tipped the contents down her throat. It was bitter and left an unpleasant aftertaste. She looked over to Alistair but he was already vanishing out of the cave. She put her things away, gulped down some more water, then wrapped herself in her blanket and rolled onto her side, facing the stone wall. The ground was cold and hard. She felt like she’d never get to sleep, with or without herbs and she was still afraid of what her nightmares might bring. Even so, listening to Morrigans steady breathing and the light patter of rain that had begun outside allowed her to drift off into a deep sleep.

*

Sleep was not restful. She might have staved off night terrors, but only because it felt like she had submerged beneath the surface of a lake to avoid them. They were there, noises and feelings and sights all around her, but she couldn’t focus on them and they sounded murky. Like there was a barrier between them, though she knew they were there. Darkspawn and Vaughan, even his father was there. The Wardens dying on the battlefield. Remembering how it felt to wake up after her fever broke to find Adaia had died. It was all there around her, but with no way to escape any of it.

When she woke, Caden felt as though she had been running all night long. Alistair said something to her, but the words were fuzzy around the edges, as if she were still dreaming. She blinked slowly, his face swimming in and out of focus. Morrigan appeared, checking her over with what had become her trademark curt assessment. They pressed food into her hand and she started to eat, but after two bites she forgot what she was holding and so forgot to continue her meal.

Another long blink seemed to jump her ahead in time; one moment she was in the cave, the next she had her pack on and was stumbling through the woods again. She couldn't remember packing her things or getting going. She lifted her hand and found an apple in her grasp, the bites having browned in time. She took another bite on instinct. Alistair's voice floated over the breeze to her, but he might as well have been speaking another language for all she understood.

The next time her focus returned, she was knee deep in water. The cold shocked her alert and she looked down. Tiny fish were darting away from the intrusion into their world. Caden dropped something, causing a small splash and she watched the apple core bob up to the surface again and wend along the path of the stream. When had she eaten that? Her stomach growled. A hand took her arm and tugged firmly; she was too numb to register her usual complaint to being touched like this and she allowed herself to be pulled out of the brook. "Maker's Breath, Caden," Alistair complained. "Look where you're going."

Caden couldn't see his face; her eyes were narrowing to try to focus on the sun shining on the plates over lapping over his upper arms. The dappling light was hypnotic. She heard him say something, but the beams were too transfixing.

A sharp stab of pain and Caden was on her face in the dirt. The sound of the stream was gone and she was lying awkwardly on her forearm, where it was twisted beneath her. She rolled onto her side and pulled it free of her own body, registering the pain, but from a distance. A growled voice spoke: "What in the Maker's name did you give her?"

"'Twas nothing more than a simple herbal concoction, which you requested for her."

"That was before I knew it would render her utterly useless."

Caden managed to hear both speakers in full, her mind not wandering off halfway through a sentence. It struck her as strange to hear them speak. Alistairs hands were on her again, pulling her to her feet. She forced herself to squint up at his face. There was a mixture of concern and irritation on his face. "Are you alright?"

She felt the world lurch again, but kept her feet rooted to the ground. Her tongue was furry and stuck to the roof of her mouth when she tried to speak. Alistair thrust her water skin into her hands, only to find it was empty, so he reached for his own. She drank deep, as if she hadn't touched water in days. "Can you hear those birds?" She asked when she was sated.

"There aren't any birds," Alistair said. "Caden, I need you to focus, please." Caden nodded, her head heavy. "Eat something." He rifled through his pack to find some bread and held it out to her. She smelled the spices and remembered eating a similar loaf one morning with Alistair. That more than anything cut through the fog, and before she knew it, she'd eaten the whole offering.

They were walking again, this time Caden was being led by Alistair, him slightly ahead, his arm bent backwards with his hand clasped around hers. It felt oddly nice to be in the care of someone else. Her head hurt.

By the time they stopped to make camp, the stars were out. They'd pressed on through the darkness for as long as possible, Caden realised as she looked up at the sky. "Where are we?" She asked, feeling a little more herself.

"Are you back with us?" She looked back to Alistair who was unfurling her bed roll for her. "Truly?"

Caden turned back to the sky. "The stars make shapes." She said, entranced. She heard him huff in disappointment at her lingering stupidity. 

"Yes, those are constellations." He replied.

"No, look, there are pictures," she said, pointing at the scattered lights on the navy background of the heavens. "Look, see?"

Alistair stood up and went to her side, humouring her by following her fingers direction. "I see them." He said, his tone placating. "You need to get some sleep."

"I have more herbs for her," Morrigan said from across the way. "She's rather amusing like this, don't you think?"

"No, actually, I don't think." Alistair snapped back. "I think we're lucky we didn't meet any darkspawn today, because like this Caden would have stood no chance against them." Caden frowned at this, hearing Morrigan snicker. Alistair tugged at her elbow. "Come on, Caden, while there's clearly still some of that medicine in your system, you should take advantage and get to sleep. I'll stay on watch right here, alright?"

Caden looked back up at the sky. "How many stars are there?"

Alistair sighed. "I don't know. Why don't you try to count them as you fall asleep?"

"What do you think they are?"

"Caden, I don't know," he said, an edge to his calmness now. "Lie down and think about it."

Caden complied, lying against the ground on the blanket, wrapping the rest over her. She lay on her back, eyes fixed on the sky above her, that she could see through the treetops. Alistair sat down a little way from her, his back against a tree truck. "They make me feel small." Caden said quietly.

"Me, too." Alistair replied. Morrigan let out a derisive snort, but then mercifully went quiet. Caden blinked and watched the stars, as if expecting them to do something. Her gaze wavered and bowed as she drifted in and out of focus, the stars blooming into pale splodges, like paint on a canvas. Eventually Caden stopped seeing the stars and fell into a deep sleep.

Her mother was there. Caden could see her, and hear her, but she couldn't seem to catch Adaias attention. She realised she was a tiny child, short toddler legs too small to catch up to her mother as she weaved in and out of the other elves. All the elves were wearing blue and silver and there was music, like a party was happening. Caden heard her baby voice calling for her mama, but she did not turn back. She ducked and dove in between legs, that were suddenly as tall as trees, and just as unmoving. She realised the elves were gone and she was in a forest. Her mama's laughter echoed ahead and she tried to run, calling for her.

The laughter encircled her and Caden found she couldn't move any further. She turned around and there was something in the way. Walls all around her, grey and crumbling. Ostagar.

The noise began to rise and it wasn't laughter anymore, it was shouting, yelling, a clashing of metal and screams. So many screams. The walls were burning, the ground shaking and an ogre was bearing down on her.

Caden awoke with a start, sitting up with her blanket clutched to her chest. She gulped in the night air, her heart beating wildly. As if the past day had suddenly caught up with her, she knew where they were. "Alistair?" She asked into the darkness. She looked to the tree where he had been sitting and he was gone. She turned around, searching through the gloom. "Alistair?"

"I'm here," she turned again and there he was, walking towards her. "I was checking the perimeter of our camp and heard you." He reached her and crouched down beside her. "Are you alright?"

"I guess so," she replied, unconvincingly. Alistair lowered himself onto his hip and sat down next to her, knees up, arms lazily draped over his legs. The moon was shining down on them and at this closeness she could see his face. He was waiting patiently for her to go on, apparently aware she was not being entirely honest. She sighed. "Strange day."

"That it was," Alistair nodded. "Do you remember anything about it?"

"Just that I kept losing time," Caden said with a frown as she recalled what she could. "It was like being in a dream, jumping throughout the day as if only a moment had passed." She shivered. "I didn't like it." Now she raised her head and looked Alistair straight in the eye. "Do I have to keep taking that stuff?"

He hesitated. Caden bit her tongue, refusing to beg, though she knew with total certainty that she would plead with everything she had if he insisted on her continuing with the remedy. "Last night you slept through." Alistair said after a while. "We couldn't wake you for your watch. That was unexpected and rather concerning. Today you were awake but out of it for most of the day. As much as I don't want your nightmares to draw the enemy to us, I was not happy to have to watch you so carefully today either. If anything had attacked us, I'm not sure what would have happened." He broke off and shook his head. "I'd rather have you with us than drugged."

"Me, too." Caden agreed quickly. "I'll get a hold of myself with the dreams, I swear it.” A thought struck her and she leapt forward with it. “You have them under control, right? Teach me."

"It's not that easy." Alistair admitted. "It's not something you can be taught, it's just something that comes with time. I've said it before, you Joined at the worst possible time and it's all going to be much harder for you. We just have to live with that."

I have to live with that, Caden thought, but she kept that to herself. Now wasn't the time to bite Alistairs head off, not now she knew the witch had the power to dull her mind. A cold chill washed over her; they wouldn't do that, surely? Keep her compliant if she acted difficult? She had a sudden horrible image of what those herbs could do in the hands of someone like Vaughan Kendalls and she felt her stomach heave unpleasantly. Holy Andraste, would she always react so viscerally to the thought of that man? Would she ever be able to leave him behind her?

"Look, I'm awake now," she said, forcing those thoughts away. "Why don't you get some sleep. I need to make up for being so useless." She thought back to the phrase she'd heard Alistair use that day. "Utterly useless."

Alistair looked a little guilty, but mostly she could see gratitude on his face. He was exhausted. "I'll just shut my eyes for a moment." He said and minutes later, she heard his gentle snoring. Caden copied his earlier position of resting against a tree and settled down, fishing for a snack as her belly protested at its emptiness.

*

The peace couldn't last, and although they made excellent time and managed to increase the distance between them and the horde by the next night, Caden woke from a nightmare after taking her turn on watch. Both Alistair and Morrigan insisted in their own way; her forceful, him regretful, on Caden taking another dose of the herbs. She pleaded, eyes shining with tears, but although Alistair had to look away, they both agreed it was the best—the only—course of action. The only concession was that the dose be halved to try to combat the fatigue the following day. Caden took her bitter pill and slept through again, and then spent the majority of the following day combating blocks in her memory. It was rotten and she felt like a liability every time she came to and remembered what was going on and where they were.

By that evening the herbs had worn off, so she was given another half dose to sleep and this time she didn't bother trying to persuade them against it. She knew they had to be tired, taking all the watches between them, but neither suggested that Caden skip a dose. It became an inevitability, despite the fact that they were nearing the end of the wilds and almost on the road to Lothering.

On the fifth day they finally reached the road, their winding curve around Ostagar and the horde having come to an end. Caden sluggishly felt the ground beneath her feet change from marshy woodlands to actual stone. The trees fell away and the sun shone down upon them again. They were out of the Wilds. That thought pierced her weary mind and woke her up again. They couldn't expect her to take the herbs anymore now, could they? Or at the very least she could argue against it now that they were further away from danger. She resolved grimly that she would not let them convince her to take any more herbs.

As the sun crested the sky, they headed up the empty road. No-one was travelling from Ostagar and this road only went between the fort and the town. They had it all to themselves. Until they didn't.

Caden was fiercely keeping her grasp on the present, refusing to let time slip away from her, when she heard a yelp from behind them. She whirled around, squinting back on their road. Something was coming. She reached out with her mind. Not darkspawn. That horrible sensation was nowhere to be found.

"Be careful," Alistair warned, scanning the road, looking in the same direction as her. They had had the sun at their backs and now, turned around, they were hampered by its glow. Caden raised her hand to block the sun, casting a shadow over her face. Another sharp cry, this time coming not from directly behind them, but rather off the road. Caden turned and suddenly barrelling into view came a sizable brown and black creature on four legs, teeth bared. Alistair gave a shout, but before Caden could react she felt two sizable paws impact on her chest, knocking her off her feet and onto her back, which was carrying her pack, so she ended up leaning back against it, backside firmly skidding across the stones. Hot breath warmed her face and her gaze focused on sharp fangs. Caden winced back, but there wasn’t anywhere to go and then the beast attacked.

A rough, hot tongue slathered over her face, coating her in saliva. Caden tried to protest, hands reaching up to brush against short fur as she shoved the animal off her. Her shove worked and the animal backed off, but only enough to give Caden the chance to sit fully upright, face to face with the open mouth of the mabari. She could have sworn it was smiling. "Hello you," Caden murmured. Alistair hovered behind, seemingly unsure of protocol when ones fellow Warden was being assaulted with love, rather than enemy fire. Morrigan was further back, her staff in her hands, looking more suspicious. Caden scratched the mabaris head, slipping down to work her ear. The dog leaned into her hand, short tail thumping happily. She stank, but then Caden mused, so did she. And now she smelled worse, covered in dog spittle. She used her free hand to brush the back of it over the dogs head, swiping at the dampness. She suspected she made it worse. She didn't mind. For the first time since Ostagar she felt a sense of peace in the simple joy of fussing a dog.

"This is the sick mabari, right Alistair?" She asked from her position on the floor. The dog leaned further into her, turning around and sitting between her legs, letting Caden use both hands to scratch down her spine. "The one I got the flower for."

"I... wow, I guess so." Alistair said, coming closer now. "By the Maker, I didn't even remember you did that. She's done well to survive by herself."

"Are you sure it isn't feral?" Morrigan asked darkly. "Infected with the taint?"

"No, she's fine," Caden said, breathing in the smell of filthy dog as if she smelled of the sweetest roses instead of muck and moisture. "She's all better now. But what I don't understand is how she found us."

"Found you, you mean." Alistair remarked. "Mabaris are clever and loyal; I'll wager she's remembered what you did for her."

"Really?" Caden was bemused. She had never really known dogs before, other than the fancy looking things sometimes accompanying ladies walking through Denerim that she had spied through the Alienage walls. This was a beast of war, a loyal companion to soldiers. Could it be that she had somehow made an impression on this hound that she wanted to walk beside her? "We have to take her with us." she asserted.

Alistair cracked a small smile at this. "If you say so. You'll have to name her. And get up from the floor at some point."

Morrigan rolled her eyes and turned away, one arm on her hip. Caden shared a glance with Alistair at Morrigans reluctance to have the dog join their small party. It was a relief to feel like she had someone in her corner after several nights of feeling like the outsider, the difficult one with the problems. Alistair offered her a hand and she took it, nudging the dog off her thigh before she stood. The mabari stood with her and looked ready to go. Caden gave her a last pat then happily set off again, her new companion at her heels.

Chapter Text

Prey

You'll just keep it inside, Probably tell me that you're alright

Caden held her breath for a moment, and another. In one motion she exhaled and released the string, the arrow propelled forward with the release of tension, spinning through the air, whistling across the distance until it sank into the neck of a young buck. It barely had time to feel the surprise of the strike, before a second arrow sunk beside the first and the creature expired, legs folding underneath him. Caden lowered the bow and flashed a grin at Alistair, who was mirroring the motion. "We did it," she said, pleased with herself. Her first successful hunt.

"Nice work." Alistair nodded, heading over to their kill. "Let's get him back to camp."

Together they retrieved their arrows, and between them lifted the still warm body of the deer. He was heavier than he looked and Caden had to brace herself to haul him up. She saw Alistair watching her as she shifted her hold on the beast; no doubt he could have carried the buck by himself over his shoulders, but he said nothing as she adjusted her grip and they started walking.

This was the first time they had made what felt like a true camp since leaving Flemeths hut. In the Wilds they had kept a much lower profile, but on this day they were further away from Ostagar and from the threat of being found by the horde, so they had moved off road and set up their two tents. Morrigan was building a fire when they returned and her eyes rounded ever so slightly at their prize, the only sign that she was vaguely impressed or pleased.

The Wardens set down the buck, Caden grateful to be able to straighten up fully again now that she was divested of the heavy body. She watched as Alistair wordlessly started gathering supplies and arranging the kill a little way away from their camp. He propped the head of the beast upright using rocks, while the body was moved onto its back. Cadens mabari padded over, sniffing wildly. She set her hand on her head to stop her in her tracks. "Soon," she murmured to the dog, for the first time wondering what she had survived on in the Wilds, given the notable absence of wildlife.

Caden looked over to Morrigan who was finishing stacking the wood. Where Caden had expected Morrigan to reach for flint, she watched Morrigan merely perform some hand gestures and mutter something under her breath and the wood pile blossomed over with flames. It was still a surprise and a strange delight to see magic up close. She hadn't seen Morrigan fight yet and was oddly looking forward to it. She wondered if she would see a difference in her style to that of the mage who had accompanied her and Alistair to the Tower of Ishal, the way that fighters had unique discipline and styles with their blades.

Alistair had a knife in hand and Caden continued to stroke her mabaris head while he tore carefully through the skin, opening the body of the buck from top to bottom. Caden looked down just in time to see a strand of drool hit her boot. "Thanks, girl," she said drily, wiping her foot on a grassy tuft. The dog smacked her lips.

Alistair finished pulling out the internal organs, the entrails glistening in the evening light. "Do we need those?" Caden called over. Alistair looked back at her, Morrigan looked to the entrails and wrinkled her nose. "No need when we have the rest of the carcass." He said as Morrigan shook her head. "Do you want them?" he asked Caden.

"Not me," she nodded to the mabari who was holding herself back by Caden with everything in her. Alistair couldn't help but smile at the clear eagerness of the hound and how well she was behaving herself in the face of such a feast.

"She's welcome to them." He finished propping open the empty body with sticks and then dragged the canvas onto which the entrails had been gathered further away from the body. "Will you give me a hand with this?"

Caden nodded. "Ok girl, don't gorge yourself." The mabari licked her lips and then bounded over to the body parts, digging in.

Morrigan's frown deepened. "That," she said imperiously. "is disgusting."

Caden shrugged. "Maybe, but she's so happy." She went to Alistair, who had cleaned out the cavity as much as possible. "What's next?"

"We're going to hang him up on a tree and allow the body to drain." Alistair explained. "Can you pass me that rope?"

Caden complied with the request and together they strung up the carcass, levering it up onto a strong branch of a tree, so the beast could hang down. They secured the rope tightly. "Now what?" Caden asked. The entire process was oddly fascinating to her.

"Now we wait," Alistair said. "Shouldn't take too long; those shots to the neck hastened the blood loss so I'll check it in an hour."

"Alright." Caden nodded. She clenched her hands into fists and released them. Suddenly she didn't know what do with herself. "How do you know how to do that?" She asked as they walked back to the fire.

Alistair lowered himself down, wiping his hands on a cloth. "I've been on a few hunts. Back when I lived at Redcliffe, before I was sent to the Chantry and then again after joining the Wardens. I may only have been small at Redcliffe, but Eamon was keen to take me along. This was before his son was born, of course. And later, King Cailan was always eager to invite the Wardens along to join the Royal Hunt," Alistairs face became shadowed as he thought of this. Caden sat down so that she could see him and so she could still see the mabari out of the corner of her eye. "Wardens are expected to go all over the country on various missions and sometimes for recruitment purposes. We're taught the basics in survival; how to hunt and dress our kills, what constitutes a healing herb, what is to be avoided, how to forage. Can't have a Warden dropping down dead after ingesting something deadly, after all; we're all that stands between the world and the Blight." His voice wavered; Caden could read anger in those words and yet his tone was edged with sorrow and stress at being the last two Wardens in Ferelden and the pressure they were under. All Caden could think was that she missed out on so much more than she had thought. There was still so much she didn't know.

"I want to learn," Caden said softly. Alistair looked from the fire to her, surprised. "Any vital Warden lessons I missed... I want to learn them all. If... if you don't mind teaching me that is. I learn fast."

Alistair shrugged. "Well, that was lesson one, I guess. You seem pretty light on your feet, I bet you could sneak up most animals, but that's never been my strong suit. My trick of sitting and waiting for something to cross my path often means going hungry. I certainly didn't expect that big fellow to wander along, and position himself so nicely for a kill; I was hoping for a rabbit or maybe a pheasant. We got lucky today, so please don't expect venison for dinner every night." He chuckled lightly. "I've probably reached the extent of my skills when it comes to hunting: sheer luck and a good shot. Other Wardens stuck to trapping their prey, but I've never gotten the hang of that." He lifted his left hand and showed Caden the profile of his fingers. His middle finger was the same height as his ring finger, missing the top part where the nail sat. Caden raised her eyebrows. "Me and fiddly traps? Not exactly friends."

Morrigan snorted from her position on the other side of the fire. Alistair shot her a withering look and tucked his hand out of sight again. Caden felt a warm body lie down beside her and she reached down to stroke along the mabaris fur. She was evidently sated, licking her feet and her chest clean after her meal. Alistair glanced over at the dog.

"Have you thought of a name yet?" he asked, keen to move the conversation away from his loss of fingertip to anything else.

Caden looked down at the brown and black creature beside her. "I don't have any ideas." She confessed. "I've never named anything before, so I'm at a loss."

"Oh, it's easy enough," Alistair said. "You just look at her and see what suits. Or you pick something you already love and give it to her as a name. Eamon once let me name that year’s batch of foals. He told me that it was because I knew them best as I was living in the stables at that point, but really I think he just wanted to help me feel important." He smiled at the memory. "There were five foals born that year and it wasn't until the fourth that they realised I was naming them all after types of cheese." He laughed softly. "There weren't any complaints at first; I gave them all the best names available." Alistair grinned as he reminisced. "Applewood was the first one, which I thought was the least obvious. Hafter Blue, I think they thought he was being named after the river, not the cheese. Honnleath Hop, got a few raised eyebrows. It wasn't until I got too bold and named the fourth foal after a more local cheese that I was rumbled. Redliffe farms make a fantastic Red Sage, but no Redcliffe cheese store would be without it, so I was found out."

"How old were you?" Caden asked, not quite comfortable enough to bring up his casual mentions of how he was overlooked, hidden out of sight and then finally sent away by the nobles in charge of his care. It seemed horrible to her, but Alistair made it sound normal. It was bizarre to think of shems being so casually unfair to their own kind, but maybe it was in fact totally ordinary.

"This was right before I was sent to the Chantry, so I’d just turned ten." Alistair replied. "I mean, what did they expect giving a kid the chance to name a whole herd of horses? What else was I going to name them?" He shook his head fondly. "What would your ten-year-old self have come up with?"

Caden started at the question. "I don't know. Not cheese." She knew that much. "I guess I would have given them names from one of my books."

"So, why not stick with that for your dog?" Alistair suggested. Caden wrinkled her nose at the thought. Those books were children’s fairytales, none of which seem appropriate for a war dog and besides, those books were all back at Ostagar. She didn't really want the reminder of how she lost them and the other items. She stopped stroking the dog and pressed her hands beneath her thighs on the ground, tucking herself together.

"No, I don't think so." She said finally. Alistair was watching her with what looked like sympathy and she didn't care for it. "Is it time for the next part?" She asked nodding to the hanging deer carcass. Alistair went to check.

"Sure, why not. Do you want to help?"

Caden got to her feet, ready to work.

*

It was late afternoon the next day when they crested a hill on the road that led into Lothering. The air took on a chill as they approached and Caden tugged her cloak a little closer. Alistair was carrying extra weight on this final trek to the village, having packed up the meat and hide of their previous days kill. They had left the bones for scavengers, except for one which the still unnamed mabari was carrying in her mouth, already half chewed.

Caden ran her hands along her matted hair, and pulled up her hood. The heavens had opened and a light rain was falling down on them. The dog stopped and shook, spraying Cadens leg with water from her coat. Caden couldn't help but smile. On their final push towards the village, they came across some herbs growing along the roadside and despite the weather, Morrigan insisted on picking some. Not wanting to pull out the book that Flemeth had given her and risk the water damaging it, Caden instead sidled up to the witch to be quizzed on the plants. She managed to correctly identify elfroot, and Morrigan schooled her on the name of the tall flower with a red blush at the centre. "Embrium." Morrigan explained. "The scent has some healing potency and you can brew it up with elfroot to make healing potions."

"Wow," Caden said, genuinely impressed. That these plants had such valuable properties seemed bewildering to her. If they knew about this back at the Alienage, if they'd cultivated a garden of herbs and had someone with the skill to brew them... how many elves would still be alive today? Before she could dive into gloom, thinking of Adaia, Caden moved over to some bright white flowers with a vast quantity of thin petals overlapping each other and plucked a few. "What about these?"

Morrigan scoffed at the sight. "Those are weeds. Leave them there."

As the witch moved off to collect some moss from a nearby tree, Caden frowned down at her handful of weeds. They looked so pretty and clean out here. While Morrigans back was turned, Caden opened a small, empty pouch in the pocket of her Warden armour and slipped the flowers inside. The pouch beside it held the flowers she'd gathered from the Wilds, the honey smelling ones. Those might have had healing value, but to Cadens eyes they were all equally beautiful and therefore worthy of collection. She patted her belt as she stood, catching Alistair's eye and looking away at once. She didn't need him to think she was being stupid over flowers of all things. An urge gripped her, to upend the open pouches and scatter the blossoms to the wind, but she held firm. She was keeping them.

The way towards the village looked empty at first glance, but as they reached the first structure and entered a covered gateway, men appeared on the road before them. Caden looked across them, searching for heraldry, announcing them as being guards of the village, but instead she saw a motley group of men, all wearing different, patchwork armour. She frowned and Alistair leaned in close. "Be careful."

One man stepped forward. "Good afternoon to you all." He said, jovially. "Oh, are you an elf?"

Caden glanced at Alistair, who was glaring back at them with narrowed eyes. "Um, yes. Who are you?" she replied after a moment.

"We are the self-appointed protectors of this here village," the man went on, speaking boldly and spreading his arms wide to display the village behind him. "We can't let just anyone in. There are bad sorts all over the place don't you know?"

Caden shrugged. "So, we've heard. We come with dire news from Ostagar."

"You and all the rest," the man said, a shadow crossing over his eyes. "That's why we're here; the Arl took his men and rode north. Refugees flooding the town, not enough space, not enough of anything. There's no-one here to protect them or keep the gates preserved. And we need funding for that."

"Are you saying you're toll collectors?" Alistair asked, his tone incredulous. The man chuckled and his hands dropped to rest oh so casually over his sword hilt at his hip.

"If you like." He said. "10 silvers to pass."

Caden pulled back, not dignifying that with a serious response. "No." She said simply, as if the very idea was preposterous. Her mabari growled low beside her. Morrigan deftly slipped her staff off her back as if to lean upon it, but Caden knew she was readying herself. Caden slipped her hood off, pushing the cloak further over her shoulders, ready to draw her swords at a moment’s notice.

"We are Grey Wardens," Alistair said, stepping up beside Caden. "On official business. Please move on and let us do our duty."

A ripple of unease spread through the men before them, the bandits. Caden watched as the leader zeroed in on her again, his gaze stony. "I don't care who you," he said through gritted teeth. "Everybody pays the damn toll."

In one movement he had pulled his sword free from its scabbard, as the rest of his men sprang into action. Caden dove forward, her eyes fixed on the leader, her mabari at her heels. To the left she felt the billowing heat of flames as Morrigan used her magic to set a pair of men alight. They screamed as Caden brought up her swords to parry the downward swing of the bandit leader. Her dog pounced, burying her teeth in the mans thigh. He bit back a scream and Caden pushed her swords up, sliding his sword off, unbalancing the man, while his attention was on the wound being inflicted by the war hound. When an opening appeared, Caden kicked his other leg, dropping him to the ground. Behind him one of the other bandits flew a short distance, then crashed into a barricade of barrels they had erected. The barrel broke, seeping the bitter tang of pickled fish onto the stones. The bandit leader howled as the mabari ground her teeth across his bone. The smell of the contents of the barrel hit Cadens nose, causing her to reel back, but she kept her sword on the leader, stamping onto his wrist and kicking his weapon away when he dropped it.

To her right Alistair used his shield to bash another bandit to the ground. Caden stayed still, her and her dog standing over the man on the ground before her. It felt good to fight again instead of hide. She could see the mans pulse jumping in his throat, his eyes widening as the mabari growled around his flesh. His gaze met hers, desperation evident in the dark irises.

"You wanted 10 silvers, right?" Caden asked. The fight was over already and the other bandits, those that were not dead or unconscious, were pulling away from the Wardens and Morrigan. "How many people did you steal from on their way through?"

"I... er...."

"Where's the money?" She barked, casting her gaze around the various crates and boxes on the bridge. She looked back to his belt, where pouches and purses hung. She dove into a crouch, the bandit leader moving swiftly to cover himself, fearful of attack. She threw him a withering look, wholly uninterested in the contents of his smallclothes, and placed down one sword to tug at the belt pouches.

"Hey, stop... come on, let's talk about this." The bandit started. The mabari growled louder, drowning him out. Caden ignored him and successfully freed the small sacks from the belt. She tucked them into her belt. “Those are—"

"Those aren't yours." Caden said, standing. Spitefully, having been given the idea by the man himself, she waited until he pulled his hands away from his crotch, then dug her toe into his sensitive flesh and made him howl. "Be grateful we aren't going to kill you as well."

"I never made such an agreement." Morrigan said archly. Caden glanced at her. The witches amber eyes were shining with malice. She held out her free hand, fingers curved upward and a spark of flame burst in her palm.

"Well, then." Caden said taking back her sword and stepping back. The mabari released the bandit leader and came to stand beside her mistress. "Leave your weapons and start running."

The bandits glanced at each other, none quite sure what to make of this. "Quickly," Caden snapped, her voice rising. "Before she finishes casting her spell." The corner of Morrigans mouth twitched and she started muttering under her breath. Now the bandits picked up urgency, hastily unbuckling straps and dropping swords and bows on the floor. Caden watched the bandit leader stand, wincing as he put weight on his leg. He glared back at her as he tugged out a dagger from his boot and tossed it to her feet. The evening sunlight winked off the blade, reminding her so much of the knife she'd lost. Before the leader had made a move to leave, she reached down and picked it up. Her boots had no place for this knife, but for now she tucked it into her belt, feeling its hard shape against her hip.

Morrigan shot off a warning flare and the bandits bolted, falling over each other in their haste to leave. Soon all that remained were the slightly crispy bodies of the bandits Morrigan had fried and another two unconscious men. Caden stepped over them to reach the boxes, pulling off the first lid to peer inside. "This is food." She said, moving to the next box and opening the next. "Food." She carried on going, opening every crate, every sack. "It's all food. They've been hoarding it here and forcing people to pay their toll." Anger blazed through her and Caden turned, driving her heel into the face of the nearest bandit, out cold on the stones. "You bastards!"

"Caden!" Alistair, having just sheathed his sword and replaced his shield, started forward, reaching his hand for her. She snatched her arm away from him and kicked the defenceless bandit. "Stop!"

"They've kept food back," Caden exclaimed, her eyes wild. "From people who need it." Alistair looked down at the target of her ire. The bandit was bleeding from fresh wounds; a smashed nose and a split lip.

"I know, it's awful," Alistair said, his hand up, palm open. "But you can't just take it out on him. He can't fight back."

"Nobody can fight back when they're starving," Caden countered, her voice cracking. "That's why they do it."

Understanding and empathy altered Alistairs expression, but Caden had to turn away from it. "We have to get this to the townsfolk." She said quietly.

"How?" Morrigans question cut through the embarrassment Caden was feeling for her loss of control. The witch was surveying the masses of crates surrounding them on the bridge. There was no way all three could carry it all back. Caden felt a stab of dejection as she realised this fact.

"I...don't..."

"We'll tell the town," Alistair said assertively. "They can come and get it. Alright?"

Caden nodded, patting her thigh so her dog pressed against her as she walked into the town.

*

Caden, her dog and her fury headed into Lothering. Every footstep was an angry stomp, but that ire started to wane as she took in her surroundings. The location of the town was pretty enough, but everywhere she looked there were tents, people crowded around each other, with their belongings in sacks and boxes nearby. This wasn’t a town of residents; this place was full of the displaced. Alistair stepped beside her. “I guess they know what happened at Ostagar.”

Caden turned to him. “Why are they all here? Where did they come from?”

“Probably from the various farms and villages surrounding Lothering.” Alistair shrugged. “They didn’t feel safe with the horde running around unchecked so they came to the closest, biggest place in the hope that they would find a safe place.”

They continued to walk through the town. Down one side street Caden spied a woman handing out bowls of soup to a line of children. The children were hurrying back to adults once they had their bowlful, but Caden watched one set of parents decline the offer of a spoonful from their child. It was a sacrifice she had seen before and her heart clenched. She started forward, but Alistair stepped between her and the soup woman. She glanced at him, curious and annoyed. “Let’s find whoever’s in charge to tell them about the food stores, alright?”

Caden peered around him at the woman who was smiling down at a pair of twins as she ladled their broth into waiting bowls. She needed the food Caden and her companions had secured; that soup looked more water than substance. Alistair nodded his head towards the town square. Rather than argue, Caden mutely followed.

“That bandit seemed to think the Arl has fled.” Morrigan pointed out as they walked. She was looking around at the townsfolk with curiosity rather that outright sorrow or anger as Caden was feeling. “Who do you suppose we should hope to find in charge as you say?”

Alistairs shoulders tensed at her questioning. “I don’t know, but there will be someone.”

“Not someone with the means to dispose of bandits.” Morrigan remarked. “Or else we would not have had to do that.”

Caden watched Alistairs jaw tighten. “Let’s just find out, shall we?”

They walked on towards the town square. They passed a tavern with a swinging sign that read Danes Refuge. Camped outside was what looked similar to the healers tents back at Ostagar, and with a glance Caden could see people tending to injuries for yet more refugees. It seemed highly fitting that the pub was named so.

At the centre of town there was an open space shadowed over by a Chantry building. It was that building that Alistair made a beeline for, with Caden and Morrigan bringing up the rear with much less enthusiasm. As they drew closer the sound of cries pierced the air. The mabari whined and Caden peered through a small gaggle of folk clustered around the sound of the noise, which was coming from a dishevelled looking man in battered armour. He was yelling, arms gesticulating wildly. Caden broke away from Alistair and Morrigan and with her dog beside her, she approached the crowd.

“Listen, I beg of you all!” the soldier cried. “It’s too late! The horde approaches like black death!”

“Please, hush,” a woman beseeched, clutching a pale child to her. “You’re frightening the children.”

Caden pushed through the people watching the spectacle, their expressions veering from terror to weary acceptance to outright fury.

“I cannot be silenced!” He went on, heedless. “The children need to hear this, too; your parents cannot save you, none can now! The horde killed everyone while I watched and it would be kinder to bash their brains in now than let them suffer!”

A shuddered cry rippled through the crowd. Caden felt her eyes harden as she took in the frightened image of the children, and she shoved through, heading for the man. “Hey—!”

Caden began to speak up to interrupt his diatribe, but before she could reach him, a fist dove out of nowhere, driving into the face of the soldier. He crumpled to the ground as a soldier in different garb stood over him, glaring down at him. The woman shook her hand and looked at the crowd. “Annoying guy.” She said, with a sniff, wincing. He nose looked broken and there was a bloody bruise across the bridge, a gash of bright red over the womans dark skin. Caden looked up and met the soldiers gaze. The woman narrowed her eyes back at her. “Grey Warden?”

Momentarily frozen by the action of this solider, Caden just nodded mutely. The woman raised one eyebrow, then took her tender fist in hand and stumbled away from the group. Caden watched her go, but then Alistair nodded towards the Chantry, where a small group of Templars were spilling out, and the woman was gone.

Chapter Text

Soldier

Quiet now, you're gonna wake the beast

While Alistair directed the Templars and knights to the food cache they had recovered and Morrigan secreted herself somewhere unseen to Cadens eye, the elf Warden was drawn instead to the soldier who had laid out the raving man outside the Chantry. She found the woman sitting beside a barrel, one arm in a sling and with her good hand dipped into the chill waters within. Caden nodded towards her arm, disappearing into the wooden container. “How’s your hand?”

The soldier gave a wry grin. “It’s been better.” She said. “Mind you, it’s a nice change of pace to focusing on my damn nose.” Her dark eyes crossed briefly and she winced. “Or my stupid shoulder. Or the other aches and breaks and bruises and cuts. All thanks to the darkspawn.” She shook out her hair, the riotous tight curls contained into tight braids along her scalp before bursting free at the back of her head.

Caden felt a twinge of interest. “Wait, were you at Ostagar?”

“I was,” she nodded, pulling her hand out of the water and shaking the drops off. “I was with the kings army.” Her face darkened as she flexed her hand into a tentative fist, testing its soreness. “I guess it’s a small mercy that I took a blow to my pretty face early on; meant I missed a lot of the horror show that battle must have been.”

“But…” Caden pressed gently. “You got away?” Until that moment Caden hadn’t even considered that there would have been any survivors from the battle. She had gotten the impression from Flemeth that the slaughter of the men and women at war had been absolute.

“Yeah,” the soldier nodded. “Me and some others. I woke up to find the battle was over and we were all on the menu.” She grimaced in a way that had nothing to do with physical aches and pains. “Fucking darkspawn. Thankfully they were too focused on their mealtime to pay much attention to me as I made a break from the field. Made it back here, to my family.” She looked up; her eyes distant. “Not many got that chance.” She sighed and looked back to Caden. “So, Warden, I’m surprised to see you here. Didn’t think any of your lot made it.”

Caden shrugged. “We were charged with lighting a beacon.” She explained, gesturing back towards the line of men and women lead by Alistair bearing food crates. “Me and Alistair. But we’re all that’s left.” She added sombrely. “Just us.”

The soldier considered this, cocking her head slightly as she took in Cadens words. “I know that feeling. My squadron was one hundred strong before the battle and now...” she shook her head sadly. “Could be only me left. I’m not even all that sure if anyone got away before I properly came to, or after. I hope they did. Failing that I hope they didn’t suffer.”

Caden didn’t really know what to say to that. She knew the fate of those left dead or alive on the field from what Flemeth had said, but to speak to someone from that particular nightmare situation was not something she had thought she would need to prepare for. She felt wholly unsuitable to hear this; what was this soldier after? Some sympathy or words of wisdom? Caden had none. But she did have questions, even if a voice in the back of her mind told her it was insensitive to ask. “Did you see what happened to the King?”

The soldiers eyes slowly panned back to meet Cadens gaze. She didn’t look angry to be asked. She didn’t really look like she was feeling anything; she just looked hollow. “I didn’t see him die, but I saw his remains.” She replied after a moment. “It was bad.” She gave a sniff and stood up from her seat beside the water barrel. “Anyway. Fuck it. Do you fancy a drink?”

A sudden snort of laughter fell out of Caden and she clapped her hand over her mouth in shock. The soldier didn’t seem to care, her mouth quirking at the edges. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting that.” Caden said hastily. “I, er… maybe later? We came from the Wilds, to tell people to get out of Lothering. I feel like I should probably actually start telling people before I sit down with a drink.”

“Sensible.” The soldier replied. “I’ve been telling them to go and some have, but some remain. Stubborness, disbelief… some just have nowhere to go. I figure it can’t hurt to have another voice from the battlefield to push some more folk out, but listen, Warden,” the soldier leaned down suddenly intense; Caden was struck by her tallness, her broad shoulders, “some folk won’t leave no matter how compelling your argument. I don’t want to dissuade you, but don’t spend energy on those people. Find the people who are going to listen or who are on the fence about going. Forget the others. Sometimes people will plant themselves in the path of a raging fire and you cannot move them.” Caden swallowed and nodded, moved by the force in the soldiers words. She clapped her hand on Cadens shoulder. “I’ll be in the pub.” She made to leave but Caden called to her before she disappeared into the tavern.

“Hold on,” she said. The soldier turned back, interested. “Can you point me in the direction of the Alienage here, please?” The soldier nodded and turned, extending her finger Westerly.

“No Alienage here, we’re too small.” The soldier said. “But the elves tend to stick together and they’re down that way.”

“Thank you.” That was interesting. Elves living in a town without an Alienage. “I’m Caden.” Inwardly she considered her lack of manners, shoving the introduction at the end of her interaction with the soldier.

The soldier smiled toothily, then turned to the pub, throwing back over her shoulder: “Call me Hawke.” And then she pushed into the Danes Refuge, leaving Caden with the choice of seeking out Alistair or pursuing her gut and heading to her people. She found herself heading west though the village.  

*

Alistair set down the last crate and brushed his hands with a sense of great satisfaction as he straightened up. This food was badly needed and he had helped bring it to the people. It was a good feeling indeed. Ser Bryant, the Templar who appeared to have taken charge and had seemed the most aware of the bandit activity, was surveying the haul. He turned to his small group of helpers, some in Templar armour, many more dressed in plain clothes. “We’ll store this here in the Chantry for now,” he declared thoughtfully. “I think that’s best so there is one location for it all. Get the word out; let the people know where to come for rations and we’ll portion it out accordingly. I don’t want anyone coming with proprietary complaints. There’s no way to verify if any of this previously belonged to anyone, and they all have to eat, so as of now this food is the property of the whole town.” Alistair found himself nodding along with the words of the senior Templar. It seemed sensible, and that was most important during these dire times. “Those who are ready to leave, we’ll help package up their portion.”

Alistair was pleased to hear that there were plans in place to those ready to evacuate. To his eyes, the village seemed to be firmly rooted, with no-one looking to leave. He had impressed upon Ser Bryant the urgency of getting the refugees and residents to move on as soon as possible, though notably without assistance from Caden.

He’d almost yelled out when he realised, she had drifted off somewhere. That Morrigan was nowhere to be found didn’t bother him and in fact seem to make sense, that she wouldn’t hang around as an Apostate, but noticing Cadens absence had hit him. It hadn’t seemed like a necessity to drive into Caden the need to stick together. It had just felt like common sense, but apparently Caden hadn’t stopped to consider that.

Or maybe she had, Alistair wondered, rubbing his forehead wearily. Hadn’t she been quite upfront about the fact that she was willing to learn what to do from him? Perhaps that was on him that she hadn’t stopped to think before going exploring.

Alistair watched the small team of helpers head out and followed them to the wide open Chantry doors, taking a moment to lean against the frame and look out to the sunshine bathed streets. His mind was still on his fellow Warden as he watched the inhabitants scurrying about the village, piecing themselves together as best they could. Alistair felt very unequipped to take her under his tutelage. It was, of course, expected for the most Junior Warden to take on the new recruits and he had done so willingly. His tasks of bringing them into the wilds to obtain the darkspawn blood, which felt so long ago, had been simple enough. Keep the recruits alive, let them draw the blood, give them a chance to see the darkspawn up close. Going through the Joining as a Warden had been tougher; watching Daveth die from the taint, seeing Ser Jory struck down. Even watching Caden successfully join the Wardens had been more gruelling to watch than he had expected. Everything had been so much simpler, even with the threat of the battle looming, but of course he had had Duncan.

To shoot from Junior Warden to the most Senior Warden in Ferelden after one horrible night had been unexpected. Losing Duncan… nothing compared to that. Now Alistair was in charge and he was not ready. A swell of sorrow welled inside him, and he blinked several times in quick succession to fight the tears that were threatening to spill.

Was he doing the right thing with Caden? Was she learning all she could learn with him? He felt a sharp stab of unease as he thought of her stumbling through the Wilds, half gone after taken those herbs to prevent darkspawn dreams. It felt like a misstep, perhaps done for the right reasons, but had he broken a fragile trust in doing so? Maybe that was asking too much already, that she trust him. They were getting somewhere in their strained relationship, but they were by no means friends.

Alistair sighed. This was quite a comedown from feeling satisfied by a job well done. He wished he hadn’t started reflected on his failures instead of basking in that sense of accomplishment. He pushed away from the doorframe and peered back into the dim light of the Chantry.

"Alistair? Is that you?" He turned about, searching for the owner of the voice. His eyes took a few moments to adjust and then his gaze settled on a familiar looking fellow in armour.

"Ser Donall?" Alistair asked, only mostly confident he had the right name.

"That's right," the knight nodded, reaching for Alistair and clasping his hand with a firm shake. "It's good to see you alive and well; I heard about the Wardens. Just horrible."

Alistair nodded grimly. He didn't particularly want to discuss that. Instead he decided to take advantage of the fact that Ser Donall came from Redcliffe. "What are you doing out here? I thought you would be with the rest of your forces at Redcliffe."

Ser Donalls eyebrows flickered together for a moment in confusion. "Haven't you heard? Well, I guess you've probably not gotten much news where you were. Not lately at any rate. Arl Eamon has taken ill."

"What?" Alistair felt his chest constrict. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nobody knows." Ser Donall explained. "But the Arlessa has sent us out on a mission to help him. We're pretty scattered right now, so I hope you weren't expecting to find an army at Redcliffe."

Which of course is exactly what Alistair had been hoping for. That and to sit down and discuss everything with Eamon. It was one blow after another. He gritted his teeth and sighed. "We're heading there. I suppose it's better to be forewarned about this. How bad is he?" Alistair only hesitated a moment before asking that loaded question. He wasn't sure he wanted the answer.

Ser Donall looked grim. "Well, he's not doing well. I'd... not linger here if I were you."

Alistair swallowed as he nodded in response, unable to speak. First Duncan and the Wardens and now...? It didn't bear thinking about that the man who raised him as a boy might be dying. He couldn't let that happen, not before they'd gotten a chance to speak at least. He nodded to Ser Donall again, then turned and headed out of the Chantry. He had to find Caden and get a move on.

*

Caden and the mabari walked down the path, almost out of the village entirely. There were no walls containing the elves of Lothering, but neither were they fully part of the village it seemed. Her heart grew heavier with each step. Was it like this everywhere? Better, arguably, than Denerim, yet never entirely without fault? Separated in some way from the rest of whatever location they were at? The mabari snapped at the air, trying to snatch a bothersome fly that was buzzing around her head. Caden absentmindedly dropped her hand onto her head, giving the dog a scratch.

A burst of sound came from between two houses as a flurry of small children ran out, giggling and shouting. Caden stopped sharply so as not to run into them, but one little girl wasn't paying attention and as she ran she looked back over her shoulder, yelling some taunt to her chasers and she ran right into Cadens legs. Caden stayed upright, but the girl tumbled back onto her bum on the ground. "Are you alright?" Caden asked. The mabari cocked her head.

The girl looked up, her laughter frozen on her face, before it slid away to be replaced by wonder. "You... are you a Grey Warden?"

Caden looked down at herself, impressed that this armour marked her so obviously as one of the order and nodded. "How did you know?"

A boy who looked a little older than the girl, but very similar in looks walked up beside her, helping her to her feet. "They passed through a few weeks ago, on their way south. Stayed in the village." He explained. "They all wore stuff like that. But..."

"But what?" Caden pressed gently.

"They were all humans." He finished. "I've never seen an elf grey Warden."

"Well, now you have." Caden replied, announcing her title with pride for the first time to these awed children. "I'm Warden Tabris, but you can call me Caden. It’s nice to meet you." A chorus of greetings returned and the girl who'd run into her got to her feet. "Are you alright?" Caden asked her. She nodded.

"Sorry." the girl said. "I wasn't looking."

"Too busy playing?" Caden asked with the start of a wry smile spreading. The girl grinned back. "Don't let me stop you. But, listen, where are the elders? I need to speak to them."

The girl turned and pointed to one house. "They're having a meeting. They have a lot of those lately. Can I pet your dog?"

Caden blinked at the sudden question. Her mabari sat down as if she knew what the question meant and she opened her mouth to pant, her tongue lolling over her teeth in what looked like a goofy grin. Caden chuckled softly. "Sure. Don't try to ride her or pull her around and I'm sure she'll be fine."

"What's her name?" the girl asked, as the kids as one descended on the mabari with pats and scratches.

"Don't know," Caden replied, heading for the house. "She hasn't told me yet."

*

"Caden!" Alistair exclaimed, awash with relief as he spied her walking towards him over the bridge. "There you are!"

She looked up, bemusement on her features. Evidently, she hadn't been looking for him all this time. Somehow that didn't exactly come as a surprise to Alistair. "I've been looking for you all over." He said, unnecessarily. That was almost certainly obvious. She stopped before him, the dog standing alert beside her. It seemed as though that dog had always been at Cadens side, rather than a road side stray she had recently adopted. "Where have you been?"

Caden turned and pointed back the way she had come, which was vastly unhelpful as Alistair could clearly tell what direction she had appeared from, but he bit back the grimace and the sigh he felt. "What's that way?"

"The elves." she said simply.

Of course, she had sought out her own people. It should have been obvious, and yet he had to ask: "Lothering doesn't have an Alienage, does it? I thought it was too small?"

"No, they don't. but the elves stick together and generally live that way, a little on the outskirts." Caden explained patiently.

"I would have thought they would want to integrate a little more." Alistair mused. "Given they don't have to live in an Alienage here." He glanced down at Caden and watched as a glower sparked in her eyes. Damn.

"We didn't have to live in an Alienage back at Denerim," she said, sounding like she was speaking through gritted teeth. "But on the whole it was safer to live within those walls."

Alistair nodded, but that just seemed to continue to annoy Caden. "Humans still came into the Alienage and treated us badly. I was kidnapped from there. Nelaros died." She paused, letting that sink in. "So just imagine how much worse it would have to be to live outside for me to say life was better in the Alienage." She shifted where she stood, her hands balling into fists. The mabari picked up on her shift in stature and stood to attention, casting glances at her mistress. Alistair watched Caden bristle, physically appearing as though her hackles were raising, as if she were the hound. He kept his mouth shut. "And before all that there were the taxes on living there. And if we had moved out, to be closer to jobs or whatever, nobody wanted to rent properties to us. I knew friends who tried life in the city outside the Alienage and who ended up back with us, up to their eyeballs in debt." She sighed harshly. "I can see why they stick together here. I wouldn't want to live out here, away from my kin. No way." Caden didn't seem to be speaking to Alistair anymore; she seemed to be sounding out injustices as if they were obvious, which they were to her. This sounded like an inner stream of conscious spoken out loud. One thing stood out however.

"Was Nelaros your husband?" Alistair asked. Caden snapped her eyes to his face, shock writ on her face. Ah, so she hadn't meant to give that morsel away. She bit her lip and nodded jerkily.

"Yes." she admitted quietly, the fight draining from her. Alistair hesitated for a moment before seizing the moment and pressing on.

"Look, I understand that the humans you've had experiences with all your life have been horrible." He said carefully. Speaking with Caden always came with risk and he had no idea if he would set her off again. "And I'm really sorry for your loss. I promise that to me you are an equal team mate, a fellow Warden. And just because you're an elf and I'm a human, doesn't mean I'll treat you any differently than I would have treated any of my previous..." his voice caught and he coughed to clear the sudden lump. "the others. The Wardens. I won't be like the other humans you knew. I promise."

"I know." Caden said, wearily rubbing her palm over her face. "You're trying and I appreciate that.

I do."

Alistair was momentarily lost for words, something he had little experience with during his lifetime. As relieved as he was not to have spurred Cadens ire further again, this was unexpected. Would he ever have a conversation with Caden where he wouldn't feel wrong footed at any given opportunity? Still, he wouldn't complain about the direction this was going in. He gathered his thoughts and nodded towards the pub. "So, I don't suppose you've seen Morrigan at all? I was thinking of heading to the tavern. I don't suppose they'll have rooms if there are people camped out, but we can see." They started walking towards Danes Refuge and Alistairs thoughts kept coming, as if he were making up for the brief silence before. "I found an armoury in the village dropped off my shield to collect tomorrow. The damn strap broke in our fight with those bandits, so that'll be good to get fixed." He dropped his tone. "We really should be heading out tomorrow as soon as I've collected it really; I've spoken with someone I know and he reports that Eamon is unwell, so best not delay here."

Caden said nothing as they walked. They came to the gate to the garden surrounding the pub, devoid of any visible plant life; it looked as though the only crop the garden was yielding was displaced folk in tented accommodation. Alistair cast his gaze around the tents. "Poor sods. I suppose that's an option for us if we can't find space in the pub, though I was really hoping for a bed if I'm honest. How about you?"

He turned back to Caden. She looked up at him with dark blue eyes that gave nothing away. "As long as I don't have to take any herbal concoctions, I don't care where I sleep."

Alistair felt his face flood with shame. He couldn't blame her for being unhappy about that; he had hated that they had to do it, but it had been crucial to their survival in the Wilds. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he tried to find the words to tell her that, but she moved on, heading through the gate. The sun was starting its descent, turning the light around them orange, casting shadows where before there had been none. Alistair swallowed and headed after Caden. "So, ah... you still have the money, right?"

It was intended as a light joke to temper the mood. It was a throwaway comment really, not a serious concern. And yet.

Caden turned back her brows knit in confusion. "No." She said. Alistair blinked.

"Wait, what?" They were at the pubs doorway now, but both were frozen on the threshold, neither reaching for the door. "Where is it?"

"I didn't think we needed it." Caden said slowly. "I gave it to the elves."

"Why in the Makers name did you do that?" He barked in reply, watching her hold very still as if she were fighting the urge to flinch.

She opened her mouth, but for a moment or two nothing came out. Her eyes were focussed and firm, though her lip quivered, belying her assertiveness. "We’ve got food and supplies and a tent to sleep in. They needed to get out of Lothering and they didn't have the means." She finally said, evenly. "I gave them the money so they could get to Highever."

"Highever?" Alistair exclaimed. "That's probably the furthest place you could have sent them. What was wrong with Redcliffe or South Reach? Or Den--" He broke off realising why not there.

Caden took a shaky breath. "They needed to get as far away from here as possible and Highever was the only place I know of where elves don't get such a bad deal."

Alistair closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Caden, honestly... I let you keep that money because I assumed you would look after it. Not give it away to the first people with a sob story. My shield's at the armourer. Without funds, I can't get it back. You can't just give that money away; it didn't belong to you."

When he opened his eyes he could see something at war in Cadens. "That money didn't belong to you, either." She spat, each word punctuated by a harsh breath. Her chest was rising and falling with speed and there were spots of colour in her cheeks that he could see in spite of the fading light. "I gave it back to the people it was stolen from, people it would help. Nobody else would think to aid them and I could. And you didn’t let me keep that money; I’m the one who took it back from the thieves!"

Alistair gritted his teeth. His patience was practically non-existent with his hunger and fatigue dragging him down. He didn’t need this. "Yes, well, that's very noble of you, but if we don't fund this mission ourselves, nobody will get any aid at all, will they? If I can't get my shield back and I get hurt on the road to Redcliffe, that's bad. If we can't feed ourselves, that's bad. If we can't afford healing potions, that's bad. Do you understand?" He knew his tone was verging on condescending, but he was just so worn down. He knew she didn't know how the Wardens worked and had never travelled before; that didn't make it any easier to deal with a crisis like this, and he didn't have the patience to talk her through it any kinder than this right now.

"I thought the role of the Grey Wardens was to help people." Caden bit back sarcastically. "I helped."

Alistair felt himself tip over into frustration. "You have to look at the bigger picture." He burst out. "We're it. You and me, that's all Ferelden have to rely on. Without us there is no more Ferelden, so we have to put us first sometimes. Don't you get that?"

Caden looked like she very much wanted to hit him, but instead she broke eye contact and turned to the door of the pub. "I get it. The greater good is more important than helping vulnerable people evacuate. The greater good means drugging someone half out of their mind. Oh, and don’t forget about killing people who have doubts about Joining in the first place." Her lips were drawn back over her teeth as she spat these words. "Such a noble order."

Alistair felt a sharp jolt of fury at her words, each one cutting deeply, but she was pushing the door and disappearing into the pub so he followed her, a red mist fogging his view. "Caden, wait. Just stop!"

His shout drew attention and before they'd walked a few paces through the busy pub, he heard the scrape of chairs on the wooden floor. Caden hadn't appeared to notice that a number of soldiers had stood up and were watching them with intense faces. Alistair glanced from one to the other; they bore the heraldry of Gwaren. Logahins men. A cold feeling of dread slipped down his spine. He suddenly missed his shield very much. "Caden, wait," he murmured, quieter now, wanting to reach for her, but holding back. She whirled on him, still angry.

"What? You want to tell me again how stupid I am, how little I know?" She snapped, but she cut off her tirade as she took in his worried expression. "What?"

"Gentlemen," Alistair nodded cordially to the knights, though his blood was rushing with adrenaline and righteous fury. These were the men who'd abandoned their king and fellow country men and women to die on the field. He felt an unfamiliar urge to exact brutal revenge on each and every one of them.

"Ho there, Grey Wardens." One knight said. "Everyone take a look here and see the last of a dying breed."

Alistair frowned. He itched to reach for his sword, but held fast. Waiting. Caden stepped a little closer to him, eyeing them warily. Her mabari growled quietly, sensing the tension.

Another knight walked around his table, oh so casually. "We've been looking for you. Just the two of you is it?"

"It is," Alistair said carefully. "We made it out of Ostagar, but barely."

"Shame." The first knight said. "You should have died with your brothers on the field. Died with the rest of the traitors."

Alistair felt a heavy ball of horror drop into his stomach. "What?"

"You heard me." The knight snarled. "Traitors to the king, every one of you."

Before either Warden had a chance to respond, the first knight yelled: "We're going to rectify that oversight tonight boys. Death to the Grey Wardens!"

Alistair braced himself, one hand reaching for his sword as Caden pulled her blades free, but the blow never came. Instead a woman in Chantry robes stepped out, standing between them and Loghains knights, arms raised in a peaceful gesture.

"Gentlemen please," she said in an accented voice. "Now is not the time for fighting."

Chapter Text

All That We Get

If I know anything, it's nothing goes as planned

"Can we all just take a second and calm down, please," the sister said.

Caden tightened her grip on the hilts of her blades, but made no move to leap into the fray; she wasn't about to cut down a holy woman in order to reach her enemy and besides she had questions for them. "What do you mean the Grey Wardens are traitors?"

The knight, his hand also apparently stayed by the presence of the Chantry sister, growled at her in response. "You betrayed the king, you and your kind. He trusted you!"

Caden felt Alistair's rage before he even spoke. The edge of anger in his voice raised the hairs on the back of her neck. "How dare you. The Grey Wardens died on the field defending the king. They died awaiting the aid of Teryn Loghains men. Men who never arrived."

"The Grey Wardens did nothing to bring harm to the king," Caden chimed in, her voice smaller compared with Alistairs.

“Teryn Loghain was forced to quit the battle due to the actions of your Wardens.” Another knight spoke up angrily.

“Loghain never lead his charge, how do you explain that?” Alistair snapped. “Did he suddenly remember he had an urgent engagement elsewhere I wonder? Where is he now?”

The sister turned to him, hands still up between the two groups. “Teryn Loghain indeed claims that the Grey Wardens betrayed the king. He has returned to Denerim to the queen, to ostensibly aid her in ruling.”

“How convenient for him.” Alistair spat.

Caden’s head was spinning as she tried to make sense of it all. “So what? He’s acting king? And telling people that we’re to blame for King Cailans death?”

“There’s a bounty on your heads.” The first knight snarled, then he addressed his men: “Take them into custody. We’ll drag them back to the capital for trial.” He glanced from Alistair to Caden. “And execution.”

Caden laughed. She couldn’t help it; the noise just erupted, tinged with hysteria. Back to Dererim and back to her head on a block. Hadn’t she come so far? The knights frowned at her reaction.

“There’s no need for trouble,” the Chantry sister tried, her tone soothing, but the knight’s voice rose above hers.

"Step aside sister," the knight spat. "I will drag this pair out of this tavern in chains, so help me, and I will cut down anyone who chooses to stand in my way. Chantry or not."

"Looks like we will have to give them a fight after all," the sister murmured so only Caden could hear. "Are you ready?"

Caden clamped her mouth shut, the laughter silenced at once and nodded. The sister stepped aside allowing Caden to leap forward, darting her blades at the nearest knight, who fumbled, but blocked her swipes. The fight exploded all around her with a riot of noise; clashing blades, screams from the patrons who scrambled outside or out of the way, shouts from the tavern owner to stop. It all faded to just the knife edge, the sharp glint of her blades as they swung and jabbed. Her dog barked and snapped at the legs of the knight she was locked in combat with. Out of the corner of her eye there was a flash of colour as the sister joined the fight.

Caden saw a blade heading for her and parried without thinking. She was quick enough to block the first two swings, but the third caught her; the blade nicking her forehead, the knight being clearly unused to fighting someone significantly smaller than him. It was time to push that advantage and so she ducked under the arms of her assailant and as she spun around behind him, she thrust outwards with her blade, piercing his armour and slicing his side. He howled in pain and she twisted her blade until he dropped his. Then she kicked him off balance so that he fell face first to the ground. Now she could see the fighting—the bar patrons hurriedly heading up the stairs behind the bar. Caden could see the sister whirling with two blades and spattering the blood of the foes who were foolish enough to assume a Chantry sister knew nothing of fighting. In spite of herself, Caden was awed by the Sisters clear skill with her blades, not least because although she spilled her assailants’ blood, she merely dealt deep enough flesh wounds to stun them, rather than going in for the kill. The sheer beauty of her fighting form paled in comparison to that exact control she exuded over her blades. It was not something Caden had been taught, nor something she had much practise in so far. When she swung her swords it was always with death in mind.

The knight had struggled to his feet, but as he turned to face her again, Caden stabbed a blade into his thigh and her mabari pounced, clamping her strong jaws around the knights sword arm causing him to drop his weapon.

"Please, no more," he yelped in pain. "I yield!"

The sister was the first to sheath her weapons. "Good, now that's over and we can all stop fighting."

"I'm not so sure I can accept his surrender, Sister," Caden said darkly as she walked over. Alistair threw a look her way, but she ignored him. "That was an unprovoked attack and if he lives he will run right back to Loghain to tell him about us. We’ll be overrun by his men within the day if there truly is a bounty on our heads."

"No, I won’t!" the knight said quickly at the same time as the sister spoke again.

"Please, he has surrendered." She said beseechingly, her light blue eyes boring into Cadens with a compelling intensity. "Shed no more blood this day."

Caden opened her mouth, but something in the Sisters’ face halted her words. Perhaps she could learn a lesson from her about when to stay her blade.

"Very well," she said drawing herself up to address the knight. "You have this Sister to thank for your life. I expect you to remember this the next time to decide to, what was it? 'Cut down anyone who stands in your way'."

"Yes, yes of course," he sputtered, unable to look at the Sister. "Please, tell your hound to release me."

"Well, the thing is," Caden said, casually scratching at her chin. "I've only just met this dog, really. I’ve known her for about a day or so and I don't know her name or anything. You see… she might not want to let go and I might not be able to persuade her."

"Please try," he pleaded. Caden couldn't help the thrill that ran through her at the sound of a shem begging her. She did stop the smile that played on her lips and her mind flashed to making him beg for mercy again. A bloodthirsty side to her reared it’s head and it was with some difficulty that she shoved it aside.

"Hound, if it pleases you release this shem." She said calmly. The mabari growled and ground her teeth along the man's arm, seeming to get some final gratification out of the knights howl of pain, then let go and went to stand before Caden. "Good girl." She said, stroking her head.

The knight stood up shakily cradling his arm, his supporters rallying behind him.

Alistair sheathed his blade finally and then thrust his pointed finger in the face of the leader. His neck was flushed and Caden could see his pulse throbbing. If she thought she’d seen him angry before, she now knew he hadn’t even been close. It was an oddly comforting realisation. This was who desired his true rage. “Leave this place and go straight back to your false leader.” He ordered, his voice steady, but humming with rage. “Tell him the Wardens still remain and we’re not afraid of him.”

Caden stepped up beside Alistair, finding a moment of solidarity with her fellow Warden. She felt a pulse of his energy as it met hers and although she was certain no-one else could see it, they could feel it and that was all that mattered. “Tell him we’ll be harder to kill than he thinks. Doesn’t he know what we’ve survived? He’ll have to try much harder than this.”

“Tell him we know what really happened at Ostagar and that I swear by the oath I took as a Warden that Loghain Mac Tir will answer for his crimes and for the deaths of the king and all who fought beside him.” Alistairs eyes shone in the light, blazing with authority and the memory of his fallen comrades. Caden looked up at him, feeling the intensity of his presence as a Grey Warden heighten. If the feeling of being near a Warden was a visible thing, she reckoned he would have had a halo of golden light around him in that moment. She felt warmed by it as if they had never shared a cross word between them. She turned back to the knights, wiping her face with the back of her hand, reopening the shallow wound and smearing hot red blood over her forehead. She smiled sweetly.

“Tell him to watch his back."

The knight nodded then swept out of the pub followed closely by his supporters.

A stillness settled over the tavern and in it Caden didn’t know what to do next. It was always so clear when battle was the focus, but now they were stood alone in the middle of a cleared-out room with the fearful eyes of the patrons upon them. She stole a glance at Alistair, who was drawing a shaky breath and didn’t look quite present again yet. Caden, not knowing what else to do, sought out the gaze of the tavern owner as he rose from behind the bar again. “Sorry about that.” She offered. The man just stared back. She shrugged and turned to Alistair. “Hey, Alistair,” she murmured. He blinked, still unfocused. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Alistair said softly. “Bad enough the Wardens were killed, but now Loghains pinning the slaughter on them? On us? It’s not right.”

“I know.” Caden sympathised. “We’ll make it right.” Alistairs gaze snapped to hers, surprise evident in his eyes. “We will.”

The Sister appeared at their side; her face strangely cheery. Big blue eyes watched them and she smiled broadly. “So glad that is over with.” She said. “Fighting can be so tiresome. You two are Grey Wardens then? Truly?”

Caden looked at the Sister, then to Alistair and then back again. Alistair seemed just as bewildered by her presence as Caden felt. “Er, yes we are.” She offered. “I guess thanks are in order…?”

“Leliana.” The Sister introduced herself. “And you?”

“Warden Tabris.” Caden replied, surprising herself by using the title. The interwoven strands of Grey Warden presence were still strong, wrapped around her like a blanket warmed by the sun. “And this is Warden… um…”

“Cliffe.” Alistair filled in the blank with a rueful expression, eyes downcast. Caden realised she’d never asked for his family name. Leliana nodded, her eyes crinkling in sympathy, which only confused Caden. She’d missed something and she frowned at Alistair who sighed. “Of course, you don’t know.” He muttered, though there was nothing malicious in his tone. “That’s the name given to bastards from Redcliffe.”

Cadens eyebrows shot up. “You’re a… oh.” She wrinkled her nose in thought. She supposed it made sense, but she had never really considered the idea of humans being born out of wedlock. Her sum experience of bastards in the Alienage were those born to girls who had been taken, used and returned. Girls that she could have joined the ranks of, had she not killed Vaughan. A shudder ran through her and she realised she probably ought to say something kind to Alistair. They had been so angry before entering the pub, but now they were at a strange impasse and she felt compelled to let Alistair know that being a bastard was by no means something she would judge him for. “Alistair…”

She blinked as a burning drop of blood dripped over her lash and into her eye, making her wince and thrust her palm over her face, trying to wipe away the rest. Through her good eye she saw Alistair frown at her wound. “We should sort that out.” He said raising his arm. Halfway up, he hissed and pulled back, a bloom of blood appearing over his bicep.

“You’re hurt.” Caden said, stupidly, her hand still covering her left eye.

“Yeah,” Alistair said, pressing his arm over his own wound. “Not used to fighting without my shield. Foolish of me not to practise without, but…”

“Come on, the pair of you,” Leliana ordered briskly. “Follow me to the Chantry and I shall get you both cleaned up.”

Caden met Alistairs gaze with her one eye; the left was still stinging, tearing up to purge itself of the thing that was hurting it. He looked torn but then shrugged with his good shoulder. “Alright.”

*

“…and so the Teryn has returned to Denerim and is ruling alongside the queen.” Leliana finished as they entered her small room and she busied herself collecting water and other supplies. There was a small cot in the room, some drawers and a single chair. Alistair headed for that, leaving Caden to perch awkwardly on the bed. Her mabari hopped up beside her and Leliana threw the hound an indulgent look. “I cannot imagine all of the nobles are happy with this arrangement. Many of them have questions regarding the death of the king and I do not believe they have been answered satisfactorily.”

“That’s where we come in,” Alistair complained bitterly. “Dead men and women can’t argue their case so why not throw them to the wolves?” His arm was still pressed to the wound on his arm, but his free hand balled into a fist that he pressed down harshly against his knee. “I can't believe he would do that—the Grey Wardens have only been allowed back into Ferelden for the past thirty years. We've re-built our reputation, but who knows who will believe us over him: the hero of the River Dane." Alistair looked mad enough to spit.

“Why is the queen allowing this?” Caden asked, taking her hand away from her eye, which was still streaming with tears, but the cut on her head had ceased bleeding. “Surely Cailan was her husband so she’ll be grieving?”

Leliana stepped over to Alistair, who waved his hand. “No, I’m fine. Deal with Caden first.”

“Shut up Alistair,” Caden retorted. “I’m fine, as you can see Sister—”

“Leliana,”

“… Leliana.” Caden said. “I just need to wash my face now.” She said, blinking a few times to clear the last tears. Leliana seemed to agree and waited patiently for Alistair to take his hand off his arm. She assisted him removing his bracer, and the plates on his arm until they could roll up his ripped shirtsleeve. The cut was to the inside of his arm, that uncovered, vulnerable flesh and it was deeper than Caden has expected given how stoic Alistair was being.

“The queen is Loghains daughter.” Alistair said over Lelianas shoulder to Caden. “Cailan was her husband, but I’m sure her loyalty is to her father.”

“Oh,” Caden replied. “I suppose that makes sense.”

Alistair winced as Leliana pressed a wet cloth to his cut, but held still. “This will require stitching.” Leliana remarked as she got a better look at the cut. “Warden Tabris, would you mind assisting?”

Caden swallowed. “Um… alright.” She got up slipping off her sword belt. “What do you need?”

“In the drawer,” Leliana nodded and, following her directions, Caden found a candle and tinder, creating more light for Leliana to work by. “Now, keep him distracted. This will hurt.”

Caden’s eyes widened at the sight of a hooked needle that Leliana was lifting and holding to the flames with a set of small tongs. “Oh… er…”

“Talk to him.” Leliana prompted, her focus on the implements before her.

“It’s alright,” Alistair said, looking away from the sight. “I know how much you dislike small talk.”

The needle was glowing red hot with flecks of soot on the surface. Leliana removed the needle and reached behind the drawers to retrieve a brown bottle that she held out to Caden to uncork. The smell of strong whiskey wafted to Cadens nostrils and Leliana poured a small amount over the needle. Alistair was still looking away as hard as he could, his bad arm resting up on the drawers beside him, fist still clenched in preparation of the pain. His chest rose and fell with great speed, his jaw was firmly set. Caden set her mouth into a determined line.

“My best friend in the whole world,” Caden began, in a clear commanding voice. “Is my cousin Shianni. She’s a year younger than me, almost, and she’s always been my closest friend. We might as well be sisters for the way we lived in each-others pockets.” She couldn’t help the smile that curled over her mouth. Leliana nodded to Caden so that Alistair couldn’t see and rested her hand on his arm, making the tense muscle jump in response. Caden stepped closer to Alistair and met his eyes. “For my birthday last year Shianni surprised me by growing flowers in one of the allotments. Now, space is really limited in the Alienage—” Alistair hissed again as the needle pierced his flesh, but Caden spoke a little louder, maintaining eye contact. “—and the allotments are only meant for food, nothing as frivolous as flowers, but Shianni snuck some seeds into a corner. And she tended to the them and cultivated them. I don’t know exactly how long she was growing them—” Alistair winced again, keeping his arm still. A sheen of sweat broke out over his forehead. “—but by the time my birthday came around she had grown a beautiful bouquet of blue and white flowers for me. I tried to dry them, but I got it a bit messed up and they pretty much turned to dust. Silly of me, really…” She trailed off, grasping for more to say, but distracted by the memory. Of the flowers in their glory, tied with a hair ribbon and of the failed attempt to preserve them and how they had both laughed at her mistakes. Leliana was focused on her work. She had to keep going.

“You… should have… pressed them.” Alistair managed through gritted teeth.

“What?”

“Pressed them… in a book.” Alistair explained.

“He’s right,” Leliana said, although her focus was still on the task at hand. “Lay the flower inside the pages of a book and then lay a heavy weight on them for around a month.”

“I didn’t know that.” Caden said. “I guess you learn something new every day.” Her mind wandered to the flowers in her pack.

“Didn’t your mother teach you?” Leliana asked absentmindedly. Alistair met Cadens gaze again.

“No,” he answered for Caden, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin. “Caden’s mother… taught her… fighting not… flowers.”

“How did you know that?”

“Duncan.” Alistair said simply. “When you were… sparring.”

Caden coloured at the memory of kicking Alistair before he’d gone to stand with their late Commander. “Of course. Yes, that’s right,” she launched back into talking, back on track for her task of distracting Alistair from the pain. “My mother was not the type of woman to sit idly by when an injustice was occurring and well, we lived in an Alienage. There was no shortage of injustices. Our hahren would get so frustrated with her for causing this problem or that, but she saw it as standing up for the little people who were being pushed around. I saw it that way, too.” Her eyes shone with pride and loss. “My father is a good man, but he toes the line. My mother and he only ever argued over me and how best to raise me. He wanted me to keep my head down, to keep me safe, but mama knew differently. For us, safety was an illusion and it was important to always have a back-up. She tried to teach Shianni to fight, but it never took. My friend Soris had a few lessons with us, but he didn’t keep it up either.”

“How often did you train?” Leliana asked, her hands moving faster now.

“Every day.” Caden said. “Any chance we got. Until she died when I was twelve and after that I trained by myself. I snuck up on rats, not to hurt them, just to practise sneaking.”

“You can… hunt the food…from now on then.” Alistair suggested.

“Alright, it’ll be rat for dinner every night then,” Caden joked and was oddly pleased when Alistair laughed through the pain. If she focused too hard on what was happening, that she was spilling her past to a stranger and a problematic human man, she would certainly clam up tight again. But as it was, she was doing him a service by chattering inanely. And it was actually pleasant. Speaking to Alistair about her friends and family was nice. Warm. Companionable. “I’m sure Morrigan can cook rat so well you’d never know what meat it was. That is, if she’s not got people on the menu, right?” Alistair chuckled again and the same thrill shot through her. He wasn’t wincing any more, though it no doubt still hurt. Perhaps it wasn’t her and he had just gone numb. “I wonder where she is.”

“Scaring… children?” Alistair suggested.

“All done.” Leliana straightened and gather her things. Caden stole a glance at the neatly stitched lines of skin pulled back together on his arm. “You did excellently, Warden Cliffe. Very still.”

“Please, call me Alistair.” Alistair said, carefully rolling his sleeve over the cut.

Leliana smiled and wetted some gauze, turning to Caden. “Your turn.”

Caden flinched as the hand rose up unexpectedly, but pulled herself back together quickly. “I don’t need…?”

“No stitches.” Leliana confirmed, apparently not perturbed by Cadens reaction. Nor did she call any attention to it. “Just a wash and a clean.”

“Here, sit here,” Alistair stood offering the chair. Caden took it feeling shy once again. Alistair went over to the bed and sat down beside the dog, giving her some fuss with his good arm. “Does she have a name yet?”

Caden shook her head before Lelianas warm gentle hands held her still and dabbed the cloth at her forehead. Leliana clicked her teeth. “A dog must have a name.”

“What were those flowers your cousin grew for you?” Alistair asked as the mabari rolled onto her back and he rubbed her belly. “Who’s a good girl?” He murmured. “You are, yes you.”

Caden thought back to her birthday and Shianni standing with the flowers and a beaming smile. “The blue ones were cornflowers.” She replied.

Alistair shook his head. “That won’t do. We can’t call you Corny, can we?”

“The white ones were something like anan…annie…mon?”

“Anemone?” Leliana offered. Caden nodded.

“That’s no good if we can’t even pronounce it.” Alistair put forth.

“In Orlais where I grew up,” Leliana began, rinsing the cloth. “Anemones are called nemorosa.”

“Nemorosa.” Caden tried out the word on her tongue. “It’s a bit of a mouthful.”

Alsitair shrugged, as the mabari clambered onto his lap, snuffling at his neck. “Could shorten it to Rosa?” He suggested.

Caden closed her eyes as water dribbled down her forehead and the steady, comforting hands of Leliana tended to her so kindly. “I like that.”

Chapter Text

But sometimes my faith feels thin, Like the night will never end

“Do you believe in the Maker?”

Alistair looked over from the bed to see Caden open her eyes slowly. She looked like she had been half asleep as Leliana tended to her shallow wounds and cleaned her face. It was quite remarkable how still Caden had sat, far stiller than he had ever seen her with someone placing their hands upon any part of her body. Furthermore, her face was entirely dirt free. Her hair was tied back, matted and coated in filth and from her neck down she wore her newly bloodied armour, but her face was almost sparkling, the candlelight casting her skin in a warm glow. She had a fresh cut on her forehead, but although it had bled profusely it was no longer a cause for concern. Her left eye was still a little red from the stinging trickle of blood, but as her large blue eyes looked up at Leliana, Alistair could almost have confused Caden for another person. Not a Grey Warden, not a soldier. Just a regular person who suddenly seemed very young. It occurred to Alistair as he watched her now that he did not know how old she was and, in this moment, in this light, she seemed to barely be old enough to have left home at all, never mind being faced with the task of recruiting an army to stand against the Blight.

He realised he had yet to speak and Caden seemed in no hurry. The pause appeared to agitate Leliana, whose hands shook as she moved over to the dresser, her implements rattling slightly. “I know it might seem a strange question.” Leliana said softly, not looking at either of them. “We are taught that the Maker has left us and He will not return until we are all believers.”

Cadens gaze slid to Alistairs and he gave a helpless shrug. Caden chewed on her lip for a moment before replying. “I grew up following the teachings of Andraste.” She said. “I do not believe the Maker watches over us anymore, but as far as I’m concerned She does. She freed the elves after all.”

Leliana turned, with a small smile for Caden. “I was training to be a Templar.” Alistair finally said. “I believe in the Maker well enough, though I wouldn’t call myself devout. I was rather thrilled when Duncan arrived with his fancy papers to bust me out of there.” He chuckled and stroked Rosas back.

“Why do you ask, Leliana?” Caden wanted to know. “If your help was conditional on us being believers, you really should have asked us first.”

“Oh, no,” Leliana protested hurriedly. “Not at all. I helped, because I knew I could.” Something like that could have sounded insincere, but somehow Alistair couldn’t help but put stock in her words. Leliana seemed genuine.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Caden asked, her previous question forgotten. Alistair watched the shine in her eyes as she asked this, the way she half rose out of the chair, so eager to hear the reply. Typical that fighting would pique her interest. “I’ve never seen it’s like.”

Leliana looked down, but Alistair caught the pride in her smile. “I wasn’t always a Chantry Sister.” Was all she said. “I am glad I have impressed you, though, as I have a request to ask of you. Of you both.” She added, looking to Alistair.

“After the assistance you provided today, how could we refuse?” Alistair replied, wary of what exactly she wanted of them. But she had fought beside them and she had patched them both up afterwards. Perhaps they did owe her.

Leliana straightened her spine, though her hands were joined before her, fingers fidgeting as she spoke. “I would like to join you on your crusade.”

“Oh.” Caden said with a frown. She met Alistairs gaze, but once again he returned the look blankly. “Well, I didn’t expect that.”

“We aren’t necessarily looking for companions,” Alistair explained, mindful to tread with care. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, especially after she had helped them. “We already have one who was kind of foistered upon us, so we’re all full up really and it’ll be dangerous, our quest. Lots of travel. Long walks. I’m already getting blisters. And don’t you have work to do here?”

“Not once the village is evacuated.” Caden put forth before Leliana could reply for herself. Her expression was sombre, but her mouth set in a determined line. “Which is why we’re here.”

A pinch of annoyance twisted Alistairs gut. “We’re here to advise people to move on, but mostly we’re here for some rest and replenishment.” He retorted. “If we can scrape enough money together to do so that is.”

The look on Cadens face was murderous, but Alistair found himself staring back with daggers of his own. The loss of the coin still smarted and evidently, she was no closer to admitting fault than she had been an hour or so ago. “I would be interested in travelling with someone who clearly knows what she’s doing with a blade and with a healers kit.”

The sigh Alistair let out was long and drawn out. Just when he felt they were finding a comfortable footing with each other, she had to go and be belligerent. It wouldn’t have surprised him to learn that Caden didn’t even want Leliana to join them; just that she couldn’t pass up an opportunity to fight with him. His knuckles cracked as he worried his hands together, trying to think of a way to argue against taking on another stray without offending the very woman who was still standing between them in the room. “Why do you want to go with us?” He asked after a while. That was the only way he could think to argue against having another mouth to feed, another set of footsteps to quieten, another person potentially getting in harms way.

“The Maker told me to.” Came the reply.

There seemed to be a joint moment of realisation from both Caden and Alistair as they took in Lelianas earnest face. At least now they were on the same page; Alistair hid a bewildered laugh in a cough as Caden tried to settle her features into something resembling politeness.

“Did he really?”

To her credit Leliana seemed to understand how bizarre it sounded and she sighed lightly. “I realise it sounds crazy, but I believe I had a vision from Him. A great darkness was coming and that He wanted me to help fight it. I’d really like to accompany you and help in any way I can. You’ve seen my skills in battle, so judge me on that. I am also adept at mixing poultices and tinctures, as well as fixing traps and lures. I am an excellent cook, if I do say so myself, and I have yet to discover a lock that I can’t pick.” She cast a sidelong glance at Caden. “These are all skills I would be willing to teach.”

“Oh?” Caden asked, her shining eyes belying her casual tone. “I was rather taken by your fighting style, I must say. Would that be something you would be willing to share as well? I’m a fast learner.”

Alistair felt his heart sink as she uttered the same words she had used to press him for lessons. The battle was won; from what he knew of Caden there would be no chance of her passing up an opportunity to learn more creative ways to get the upper hand in a fight. He recalled their bout of sparring back at Ostagar. The memory of the kick to his privates was still a sore point. What was interesting was the way that Leliana had seemingly pinpointed Cadens weakness after spending so little time with them.

He expected Caden to answer right away but, to his surprise, Caden looked to him. Leliana was waiting for a response, but Caden wasn’t replying. Was this because of the two of them he had seniority? Or had he shaken her confidence by haranguing her about the money? Alistair opened his mouth, looking to Leliana, who was waiting patiently, her face unreadable. The polite refusal that he was forming in his mind, was not what eventually came out, and he couldn’t say why that was. “Alright, fine,” was what he said. “If the Maker has willed it, who are we to refuse help.” He smiled to show that he was happy with this arrangement, even if it wasn’t quite true, but then he caught Cadens expression. She was beaming so brightly that she had reverted back to that young girl once again. His own smile broadened at the sight, turning genuine in response to her face.

Then Caden’s gaze locked onto his and the smile vanished, replaced by downcast eyes and a slight tremor in her voice as she stood and said: “I’ll go and see if I can find Morrigan anywhere. Let her know about recent decisions.”

Alistair got to his feet, as Rosa hopped off the bed to go to her mistress. “Are you sure that’s wise?” He asked. “I hadn’t expected to meet danger from Loghains army. Perhaps we should both go.”

“No, it’s fine.” Caden said. “I’ll have Rosa with me.”

Alistair hesitated. He wasn’t keen on the thought of Caden being outnumbered by knights, if there were any more in the area, even if she had her mabari with her. Caden looked up hurriedly.

“Honestly, it’s fine.” Caden patted her thigh. “Come on Rosa.”

“Alright then,” Alistair agreed, though it seemed hollow. Why would she await his decision one minute and then be struck with a sudden desire to do her own thing the next? “I guess I’ll find us somewhere to sleep tonight.”

“I can help with that.” Leliana smiled. “Come, let us visit the Revered Mother and discuss where you can find sanctuary for the night. Caden, why don’t you come along as well?”

“No, it’s alright.” Caden said, her hand on the door. “I know where to find you, but Morrigan doesn’t.”

Caden vanished out of the door with Rosa, leaving Alistair alone with Leliana. He plastered a smile on his face. “Well, then.” He said. “I guess we’ll go see the Revered Mother.”

Leliana nodded and lead the way out of the door and towards the back of the Chantry. “Who is Morrigan?”

“Where do I begin…?”

*

Caden walked under a heavy cloud of a bad mood. She hadn’t realised it would be dark when she left the Chantry and within a short distance from the doors she felt the weight of her tiredness press down upon her. She wanted nothing more than to curl up on a bed, a real bed if possible, and sleep for years. It would be her first night without any of the herbs in her system, so the appeal of sleep was marred with the fear of what dreams might come to her, but even so the urge to sleep was strong. But she couldn’t turn around and go back to the Chantry. Not yet. Not after making her exit so recently. No, she needed a good hour to pass before she could think about returning.

It was all so stupid, she thought with a pang. Her discomfort ought by now to be secondary to the common sense of sticking with her small, but growing group. Alistair had learned to stop reaching for her without her knowledge or consent, so he was trying, but the way he talked to her sometimes still left a lot to be desired. Like she was some stupid kid who couldn’t think a single thought for herself. And yet in truth, Caden knew that the worst thing was that he was only parroting the sensible voice at the back of her own mind. The voice that was appalled when she wounded an already unconscious man, thief and bandit notwithstanding. The voice that advised her to keep back some coin for them before handing the rest to the needy. The voice that protested that she wasn’t one woman alone, but one of a pair of Grey Wardens who needed to work together on this mission. So why then was she so viscerally opposed to a few moments ago when, pleased that he had made a decision in her favour, they had shared a joyful glance?

Caden walked over the bridge and through the village, patches of light on the path from the houses either side that were lit up from within as families closed their doors to the night.

Alistair had sat so still while Leliana wove the needle in and out of his skin, pulling the gash together to heal. He’d been focused on Caden, on the story she told him. It had been nice, but a thought niggled at her: Duncan had talked to him about her mother back at Ostagar. That might not have been such a problem, but she couldn’t help but wonder what else might have been said. She began to list the things Alistair knew about her. He knew her mother died when she was young and that she had taught Caden to fight before that. He knew that Caden had murdered Vaughan Kendalls and that she had been kidnapped from the Alienage. He knew that Nelaros was dead, though as far as she could tell he did not suspect that she had lied to him about her marital status. Pausing down a side alley she lifted her left hand, peering down at the thin golden band. Was it terrible that she wore this? That she perpetuated the lie via assumption, that she was lawfully wed and widowed? She wished she knew what Nelaros would have thought about that, but her brief relationship with him was nowhere near substantiated enough that she could have guessed any of his opinions.

She couldn’t say the same of Alistair. She’d known Nelaros for longer, but she had a better grasp of Alistairs character, or so it felt. His character, but not his past.

It washer own fault. He had offered her the chance to get to know him, had tried to get to know her on her own terms. She’d been the gate keeper to any kind of friendship, safe in the knowledge that she didn’t have to know him, that he would just be another Warden and that if she’d wanted a friend after all she could have turned to Lyra or maybe one of the others. Wardens who were now dead and gone and of course, the one she’d pushed away so stubbornly was the one remaining.

Caden’s throat tightened sharply. Lyra had been a thorn in her side, a person to share space with and nothing more and yet, Lyra had also cared for her in spite of Cadens bad attitude. Caden hadn’t spared a single thought for Lyra or the other Wardens since their deaths. Had not mourned them because she had not really known them. She thought of the bow that had met her when she passed through the Joining ritual and sat with them for dinner. Not a single cross word about her, only acceptance.

The rough stone wall scraped against her back as she slid down it, burying her face in the scruff of Rosa, who sat very still and allowed Cadens arms to wind around her. “I’m the problem,” Caden murmured into the fur. “I’m the horrible one.”

“Horrible is a relative term,” Caden looked up sharply, into the face of Morrigan staring down at her. She hadn’t heard her approach. “Sometimes the wisest course of action is to appear unpleasant. Wear it like armour and it can keep undesirables at bay.”

Caden scrambled to her feet, glad she hadn’t made more of a fool of herself with tired tears or the like. “I came to find you.” She said.

“Well, here I am.” Morrigan responded, crossing her arms over her front. “What do you wish of me?”

“Wish of…?” Caden frowned. “Oh, no, I don’t need you for anything. I wanted to make sure you were alright. Where were you?”

Morrigan arched her brow slowly. “I am quite well, of course. I have been present, but out of the way. I am still a free mage after all.” She pursed her lips. “An apostate, as your Templar friend would say.”

“Alistair isn’t a Templar.” Caden corrected gently.

Morrigan didn’t see fit to argue, though her expression clearly displayed how she felt about Alistairs one-time career path. Caden almost felt the need to push the issue; protest that Alistair wasn’t a blind Chantry follower, able to make his own decisions about mages, but she didn’t expect that line would take her very far. Morrigan and Alistair did not exactly get along even when they agreed on something, so she doubted Morrigan would care.

“I presume lodgings have been acquired for the night?” Morrigan suggested. “Hence you’re desire to find me and bring me in out of the dark like a cat without a bell?”

“Well…” Caden shifted from one foot to the other. “Kind of. We ran into some trouble with knights loyal to the man who abandoned the fight at Ostagar.” Caden spent the next few moments relaying all that had happened in the tavern with Loghains men, up to Leliana performing first aid on her and Alistair and finishing with the news that the Chantry sister cum fighter cum medic would be travelling with them. Morrigan watched with an impassive expression until Caden came to the end. “So, I’m not really sure where we’ll be sleeping but there’s a chance we could be bunking at the Chantry, I guess.”

“I,” Morrigan said imperiously, “will not be sleeping in a Chantry building.”

Caden held back a sigh. “I don’t know if that’s a definite.” She said cautiously. “The village is pretty packed with refugees, so I gather space is tight. If we do have a place in the Chantry, would you put up with it just this once?”

“No.” Morrigan replied and Caden gritted her teeth. Before she could ask any further questions, Morrigan saw fit to elaborate after all. “The Chantry believe anyone in possession of magical ability must be corralled like cattle into one of their Circles, overseen by those known as Templars. There is no such thing as freedom for a mage. I, and my mother, live free lives because we have never submitted to the shackles of beliefs which we do not follow ourselves. Would you have me take refuge in a place that see my kind as lesser? As untrustworthy due to innate abilities I did not ask for?” Her amber eyes bored into Caden. “Would you expect me to feel at peace within the walls of an institution that would sooner chain me than offer me sanctuary?” Caden broke eye contact, her gaze dropping to the ground. “No, I did not think you would expect that of me.” Morrigan said. “I suspect this is yet another gap in your education caused by your sheltered childhood. I am happy to fill in that gap so that you may understand.”

“I understand.” Caden replied gruffly. She lifted her face again. “I’m sorry Morrigan, you’re right that I wasn’t aware of all of that. Of course, I don’t want you to be somewhere that would cause you such discomfort.”

“I cannot imagine your Templar Warden would see things that way.”

Now the sigh escaped. “I know you and Alistair aren’t seeing eye to eye, but I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to be put in that position—”

“This is the same man who insisted on dosing you with an herbal remedy against your wishes in the name of the greater good?” Morrigan let that sit for a moment, watching Cadens face fall. “I do not disagree with that decision; however, you must be well aware of the person you are travelling with. Do not give the benefit of the doubt to those who have proven to put their own interests above your comfort.”

Caden just nodded, unable to muster up the energy for any kind of fight. Besides, Morrigan was probably right. “What will you do?”

“I will be perfectly settled elsewhere.” Morrigan said. “Do not spend time fretting over my own sleeping arrangements.”

“Alright.”

*

Alistair stepped back and appraised his work. Erecting his tent in the dark was not his idea of a fun challenge, but with a combination of the half moon and two lanterns hanging from a tree in the Chantry gardens he had succeeded in getting it up and what’s more, it was staying up. Under normal circumstances he and Caden would have shared the tent, one after the other, in keeping with a watch pattern, but would they need to keep watch enshrined in the Chantry gardens? The walls were high and the only access was through the Chantry itself. He doubted Loghains men still lingered after they had been so readily dispatched in the pub, and after they had retrieved the stolen food for the town, he doubted they would be any danger from the townsfolk.

“Nice work.”

Alistair turned to see Leliana coming into the garden on quiet feet. In her hands she held two steaming cups of something that smelled sweet and fragrant and she offered one to him. “Tea with honey.” She explained as he took it and gave it a tentative sniff. It wasn’t a brew he recognised, but it smelled very fancy. “From my private rations: I buy it from travelling merchants who come in from Orlais.” Leliana smiled over her cup and took a sip. “A small home comfort.”

The cup was hot against his hands and felt small in his grip, but he cradled the cup and absorbed the warmth into his chilled fingers. “Thank you, Leliana.” He surveyed the gardens by the lantern light. It was sparse, with a few well used herb bushes and an area he suspected were for vegetables. They looked to have been plucked clean. “Has the village suffered that badly already?” Leliana followed his gaze to the depleted stocks and sighed.

“The refugees quickly overwhelmed the town.” She said sadly. “We could have managed, but when the food stores went missing it sowed mistrust between the locals and the displaced. Now we know they were stolen by bandits, but it was fraught for a few days.”

“I’m surprised the Bann didn’t step in.” Alistair said.

“Well, he had already gone.” Leliana made a sound of disgust with her teeth, like sucking air. Her pretty face scrunched into a moue of displeasure. “The moment it got difficult, and he left everyone to their own defences. Of course, we did what we could here, gave out our own food and tried to keep the peace, but it has not been easy.”

Alistair nodded sadly as a thought niggled at him. “I don’t want to take food from you or the Chantry. We have our own provisions and I want to give something back as you’ve offered us shelter, so please allow me to share what we have with you.”

Leliana smiled brightly. “Why thank you, Alistair. The Revered Mother understands the value of a gift given in kind, so I’m sure she will be very grateful to take a portion of what you are offering.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice a jot, as if there were any danger of them being overheard. “We have an understanding about the tea, though, so please keep it to yourself before everyone wants a try.” She moved back with a wink. Alistair chuckled, somewhat nervously.

He couldn’t quite figure the Sister out. For all of her apparent sweetness, she was clearly deadly with a blade, assured with a needle and quite possible entirely insane if she believed the Maker was sponsoring her expedition to travel Ferelden with two wanted Wardens. Alistair didn’t know what else to do so he blew gently on the tea and took a sip. It was a bit like drinking flowers dipped in honey and he coughed in surprise, forcing his face into a smile. “That definitely tastes… Orlesian.”

Leliana beamed at this assessment.

Alistair took another sip and almost winced at the floral flavour. “So, tell me again how the Maker told you to join us.”

Leliana took a deep breath. “I will do you one better. Let me show you.” Leliana reached down one of the lanterns and gestured for him to follow her. She began to explain. “Do you ever have dreams that feel more like a message than a mere collection of images?”

“More than you know,” Alistair replied grimly.

“I had one such dream,” Leliana went on, unperturbed. “A dream of a great, all-consuimg darkness. I could see Ferelden and watched it swallowed up by this terrible void, while an ungodly sound rang out. I realised it was not just Ferelden then, it was Orlais, Antiva, Tervinter even. It was all of Thedas and it was lost beneath the black.” She visibly shuddered at the memory. “I woke up in a cold sweat. To clear my mind I brought a cup of tea to the gardens, just as we have now. And I found this.”  

Mildly alarmed, Alistair let himself be lead across the garden to a dark corner where the walls met. Growing up those walls was a climbing bush that had seen better days. The bush was more thorns than anything else and didn’t look like anything could have grown on it at all. And yet…

“You see?” Leliana handed Alistair the lantern and reached for the single bloom, cutting through the dead plant with such vibrancy even in the dim light. Her fingers brushed the velvety petals of the red rose. “This dead and decaying plant produced this single rose the very morning after my dream.” Leliana turned her head, fixed her gaze onto Alistairs. “What else could this be but a sign?”

“A sign of…?”

“No matter how dark the night gets, no matter how great the threat to Thedas,” Leliana explained, her voice becoming more animated with every word, “there is always hope. I believe that you and Caden are that hope. And I want to help in any way that I can.”

She gave the rose a final gentle touch before pulling back and sighing. “It may not make sense to you, but to me it is as clear as day.”

“No, I…” Alistair faltered, his words unexpectedly thick. “I understand. I just hope we can live up to your belief in us.”

Leliana just smiled. Alistair drained his cup to dislodge the lump in his throat and held back a gag at the cloying sweetness. She took his cup and hers and nodded, saying goodnight and turning, heading back to the Chantry with the empty cups, leaving him alone in the corner of the garden. He could feel the weight of the presence of the rose before he turned around to view it again. It was a truly perfect bloom, without blemish or fault to his untrained eye. He moved the lantern closer and crouched, pressing his finger and thumb to a petal. It was softer than Rosas muzzle and smelled a lot better. He splayed his fingers around the blossom, struck with the sudden sense that he was holding the tangible hope of every man, woman and child in Ferelden. He swallowed.

“Alistair?” At Cadens call he jolted in surprise, the thorns piercing the meat of his thumb and he instinctively yanked his hand back. With dismay, the thorns held tight and the brittle bush yielded its single prize to him. Alistair looked down to see the perfect flower in his hand as the bush shivered and dropped dried leaves and ash to the ground.

“Oh, damn.” He uttered.

Chapter Text

Swap your dull gray thoughts, For fierce demands you can stand up to

“What are you doing?” Caden frowned. Alistair was leaping to his feet, a flower clutched in his hands. “What’s that?”

“It’s a rose.” Alistair said, using his other hand to unpick the thorns from his skin without jostling the bloom too much. “Don’t tell Leliana.”

“It’s for Leliana?” Now she was more confused. He was gathering a rose for the Sister? Was that even allowed?

“No!” Alistair flushed, gingerly holding the rose stem between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s her sign from the Maker.”

“That rose?”

“Yes, basically.” Alistair replied, flustered. He looked at her, his eyes pleading. “She had a dream and the dead bush bloomed and we’re the rose. To her, we’re the hope for the whole world and that’s all symbolised in this flower. And I just killed it.”

Caden took in his panicked ramblings, sliding her gaze from his face to the rose and back again. He looked bereft. “I don’t believe in signs.” She said after a moment. “No-one could have forseen what happened at Ostagar. No-one could have known you and I would be the only two Wardens left to fight the darkspawn.” Caden shrugged. “I’m supposed to be married right now, back in Denerim. Who would have known I’d be here instead, standing in a garden watching you lose your mind over picking a flower?” She saw Alistairs brows perform a confused jig as he lurched from further panic to sensing she was teasing as she let a slow smile break. “It almost makes it all worthwhile.”

“Don’t jest,” Alistair said, though the corners of his mouth were raising. “I’m really worried I’ve dashed Lelianas hopes to pieces.”

Caden rolled her eyes, though she was smiling as she moved closer and held out her hand. “Give it to me. I’ll say I did it. I didn’t know better and you and Morrigan can both tell her how much I love picking flowers.” She watched Alistair freeze, the blooms petals gently waving in the night air. Then he slowly placed it into her open palm. “If she takes it really badly you can just forgive me for giving all that money away. That’ll make us even.” She said, her jaw tensing even as she reached for another joke. Alistair dropped his hand.

“Caden…”

“I’m sorry,” Caden cut in before he could get going. Her eyes were fixed on the ground before her as her words tumbled out. “I should have thought before I acted. I’ll figure something out tomorrow with the smithy, I’ll get your shield back. I promise.”

She clutched the rose rightly in the hand, feeling the slight scratch of the thorns, though they did not break her skin. Into the small patch of lantern lit ground shuffled Alistairs boots. “Caden? I’m sorry.”

Now she looked up, confused. That wasn’t how she had imagined this conversation to go.

“I was too hard on you,” Alistair sighed, running his hand over his hair as he grasped for words. “I’ve been too hard on you, more than once. I’m not handling this whole thing very well. Being the most senior Warden in all of Ferelden… I’m ill-equipped for it. I shouldn’t have let it get to me or taken it out on you. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

Caden nodded, not quite sure what to say. She looked down at the rose, touching her hand to the bloom and inhaling the scent that was released by her fingering it. “I’m glad you’re here.” She said in the softest murmur. “If it had to come down to two of us and one of those had to be me, then it’s a good thing it also had to be you.” She let out an awkward laugh at herself. “I mean, I don’t know anything, so by myself I’d be no good at all. It’s good you’re here to steer us right. I really do have so much to learn.”

“Caden…” Alistair began again, his tone tender, gentler than she’d know it to be so far. She looked into his face and offered a shaky smile. She was trying. He looked away, taking a deep breath and reaching down for the lantern. “Come on. We should get some sleep.”

Caden felt a rush of gratitude that the awkwardness was over with and yet, as they walked back, she felt a little something else brush up against that relief. It was a strange new thing and she didn’t like the sense of it so she pushed it away. Reached for humour again instead. That seemed safest. “Let me just break it to Leliana that I’ve plucked her Fate Rose first. I wonder if she’ll cry?”

Alistair chortled nervously as they headed for the Chantry.

*

The next morning broke over Lothering, waking the Warden and dog outside in the tent, but not the Warden who had bedded down on the floor of Lelianas room. One Warden woke to the sound of birdsong and the snuffling of a Mabari as she made it clear she needed to step outside to relieve herself. The other Warden was already upright on her bedroll, dark circles under her eyes.

Caden was clean, dry and warm, that much was on her side. Leliana had insisted on sharing her room and as the alternative was sharing a tight space in a tent with Alistair, Caden had agreed. Leliana had gone into mother hen mode, bustling Caden out of her armour and into a warm bath. Heated tubs were a luxury not afforded to this holy house, but Leliana had done her best with a fire and a small copper tub beside it. It wouldn’t have mattered if it was tepid; the clean water on her skin was worth any mild temperature discomfort. Leliana had pressed some tea into her hands as she sat, knees up out of the water, which had been scented with some fancy oils. Leliana, it seemed, had a secret stash of all of her favourite Orlesian things and was more than willing to share.

The fate of the rose had not disconcerted the Sister at all. She hadn’t bought Cadens ruse that she had picked the flower and truthfully Caden hadn’t tried hard to sell that line, but Leliana had not pushed. The rose was currently in a small glass of water on the dresser for the time being.

After her bath and change into a large shirt she had been given from Flemeths house and was at least clean, if oversized, Leliana had brushed out Cadens hair, remarking on the length and colour with effusive tones. It was strange, Caden had mused to herself, that the soft touches and strokes and sweet words evoked a recent memory at camp. For a moment it felt as though Lyra were back tending to her hair and being so enamoured by it, rather than conjuring the image of her mother. Adaia had been the one to care for her hair for the duration of her pre-teen childhood, helping Caden to keep it clean and tangle-free. Adaia would brush the long, straight locks of gold by the fireplace after a bath, singing softly to her and employing deft skills to braid it. Braids like she had worn on her wedding day as placed atop her head by Shianni. Strange that her actual family were not the ones she recalled as Leliana tended to her, but instead the Wardens hands were what she remembered.

Perhaps that was why the dreams were so bad that night.

That pull towards the Wardens, that link to the taint that flowed in every Wardens blood perhaps was to blame for the nightmares that plagued her in the dead of night. Without meaning to she had taken a step closer to the Wardens, towards accepting her role facing down the Blight and maybe that brought on the same strength in her connection to the horde. This time, her mind fully unleashed from the shackles of the herbal remedy, her sleep opened up to an image of the feasting at Ostagar.

She watched the horde from a strange position that she could not figure out at first. The bodies of the fallen warriors were up close, the smell of the decaying flesh in her nostrils. She heard a wrenching sound but she couldn’t turn her head. Her arm moved into view, tearing something loose. It gave with a disconcerting pop, and she realised it was a leg, coming free from the hip joint. She did not gag, had no reaction to the visceral sight. It was right before her mouth clamped down into the withering, sun bleached muscle of the human thigh that she knew she was seeing through the eyes of a darkspawn.

Another genlock grabbed the ankle of the leg and pulled, snarling and Caden felt the body of the thing she was a passenger of respond in kind, hissing and spitting blood. A tug of war established over the limb. Caden tried to close her eyes, turn her head away, anything to avoid the view, but she was locked into position as the genlock swiped a clawed hand at her. Dropping the leg, she moved on to find more food.

The ground was a cluttered mess of death. Many of the dead were in various states of bloated decay or had collapsed into wet mulch; there were piles of bones picked clean already dotted about. Food was growing scarce. A hunger roiled inside her. They would need to move on soon. Find more man flesh to fill their bellies.

She raised her head and sniffed the air. North. They would go north.

Soon.

It was fortunate that no scream forced its way out of her throat as she rose from the nightmare. Leliana had continued her light snoring, but Caden had not dared sleep again that night. She wished she had been allowed to keep Rosa inside the Chantry, but after the Revered Mother had met the war hound, she had decreed that she must sleep outside. Caden yearned for the warm body of her dog.

There was no window in the small Chantry room, but after some time had passed Caden had pulled on a pair of breeches and made her way quietly outside. The empty Chantry was eerily quiet, but fortunately Caden had spent many an afternoon sneaking up on rats in Denerim so she had avoided waking anyone who was still sleeping as she had padded on bare feet towards the back for the garden. Dawn had not long broken and as Caden crossed the dewy grass she sensed movement from inside the tent. A muffled grumble as the ties were opened and then the canvas flaps were disturbed by an arm. Rosa came out of the tent, spying her mistress at once and bounding over to her. “You better not be chasing squirrels—” Alistairs words floated out of the tent as his head appeared, joining the arm. “Oh! Good morning Caden.” He dipped back and then his whole body emerged from the tent. He was clad in a similar shirt and cotton breeches to her, though his fit a lot better.

He stood and stretched, a popping sound in his back wrenching the dream to the forefront of Cadens mind. “I had a dream.” She said.

Alistair lowered his hands, resting them lightly on his hips, watching her expectantly. Rosa made her way around the tent, sniffing up to a tree and then squatting to relieve herself. The morning breeze teased the strands of hair that had escaped Cadens long braid during her sleep. The silence went on until Caden tentatively broke it. “Alistair, I think the horde will be coming this way before long. They’re… running out of food.”

She watched his face turn grim. “Dear Maker…” He murmured, pressing his palm to his mouth. They both knew what she was inferring with her vague words. “Well, I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later.” He said, his voice hollow, putting his hand back on his hip; a casual stance despite his heavy words. “Did you see… what did you see?”

Caden felt her hands clench. “No-one specific.” She replied tightly. She had a sense that was what he was really asking. “I was… inside a genlock I think? It was like I could see what he saw. I don’t know how to explain it, but it felt so real.”

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked, taking in her haunted expression.

“I’m fine.” Caden lied. “Alistair, we have to get the people out of Lothering.”

“We will,” Alistair said with such assurance that she almost believed him. “Later, when the village wakes up. You look tired.” His change of tactic with a sympathetically cocked head, warm eyes appraising her drew the truth from her lips before she could stop it.

“I woke up a few hours ago, I think.” She said blinking blearily. “I didn’t want to go back to sleep.”

Alistairs nodded, as if he had suspected that much. “Are you tired? You’re welcome to the tent; you can curl up with Rosa and get some more kip.”

“Oh, I…”

“I’ll be on guard.” Alistair hurried to add. “Out here. No-one will disturb your sleep on my watch. I promise.”

The lure of restful sleep tugged at her and she ended up gazing with yearning at the tent. Rosa came over and butted her head against her hand so she stroked her automatically. Alistair was giving her an encouraging look. Her protest twisted into acceptance before she realised it. “Thank you.”

Alistair stood aside and let her crawl into the tent. She couldn’t bring herself to lie inside his bedroll, but curling up on top with Rosa beside her, she felt more peaceful than she had in a long while. The scent of her Warden-Brother lingered and mingled with the smell of the mabari to create a surprisingly pleasant and comforting aura. Caden breathed deep and with the golden sense of Alistair outside the tent, she drifted into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

*

Rosa sneezed in her face and that was how she woke after a few extra hours of sleep, and that was preferable to almost every waking since her traumatic wedding day. Caden reached her hand up and wiped the moisture from her face as the dog wagged her stumpy tail. “Thanks Rosa.”

The mabari got up and headed outside leaving Caden alone for the moment. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, her dream feeling very distant at first, but slowly it came back. She sucked in a breath as the images hit in a flurry inside her mind and her hands gripped the bedroll, her Warden sense reaching instinctively for the nearest Warden and not finding anyone in the garden. It was strange how clearly that came back to her, like how bats knew not to fly into buildings. Alistair wasn’t there. Caden scrambled outside, calling to Rosa as a means of making noises declaring her being awake, without actually calling for Alistair, like some child lost in a market.

“He is inside.” Caden whirled to the sound of Morrigans voice. She was leaning casually against the tree, ignoring the interested mabari at her feet.

“Morriagan!” Caden exclaimed, then frowned. “I thought you didn’t want to spend any time in the Chantry?”

“I can abide this garden for a time.” Morrigan replied coolly. “I have been keeping myself busy but I checked in from time to time with the lumbering Warden and now with you.”

Caden felt a moment of annoyance on behalf of Alistair at being termed lumbering, but it was overruled by her interest in the witch and her coy answers. “How exactly have you been doing that?” She wanted to know, her gaze drifting to the high walls around the garden. There was no way Morrigan had snuck through the Chantry, she suspected. “Can you fly?” Caden eventually asked with a chuckle.

“Yes, actually.”

There was no time to hide the astonishment and intrigue that burst out of Cadens face, so she took a closer step and with awe asked: “No… really? How?”

Morrigan rolled her eyes, but stood up straight from the tree and after a few moments finger work and muttering, Caden watched as a dark sheen sprouted from every surface of Morrigans skin, as she shrank down and emerged from the puff of feathers as a jet-black crow. Caden’s mouth dropped open and she watched delighted as the Morrigan-Crow let out a harsh caw and took flight to the tree. Rosa had jumped back at the strange magic, but now she stood beneath the tree and barked upwards. The crow gave another caw, somehow in a tone of voice that was just as authoritative and haughty as belonged to its human counterpart. Caden dove for her dog, and shushed her, hauling her back so that the crow could fly safely back down and shake off the magic, reforming her long limbs, pale skin and imperious look.

“Wow!” Caden breathed, letting go of Rosa, who now had no desire to harass the human form of Morrigan. In fact, Rosa had had quite enough of all of this, and turned tail to head off to another part of the garden. “That’s incredible, Morrigan. Is that normal magic? Can any mage do that?”

“They could,” Morrigan said, her offhand tone at odds with the touch of pink in her cheeks and the slight smile on her lips, “had they a mind to learn. Sadly our magic, mine and my mothers, wilder magic is not taught in those ghastly Circles. In amidst the wonders of magic, shapeshifting is deemed ‘unnatural’. Tis only because it is old magic, less easy to control.” She shook her head as she spoke, with a tsk. Then she turned to Caden and folded her arms before her. “And what do you think of me? Unnatural?”

“No.” Caden shook her head hurriedly, the plait swinging. “No, I think that’s amazing. I wish I could do that.”

Morrigan’s eyes narrowed as she assessed the truth in Cadens words. “Sadly you are not built for magic, else I would endeavour to teach you. But… I am pleased to hear that you are not bothered by my skills. There are those—” here she huffed towards the Chantry— “whose minds are closed to the wonders of magic and for those skilled enough to wield it.”

“Are you talking about the Revered Mother or Alistair?”

“Either. Both.” Morrigan surprised Caden with a warm, low laugh. “Alistair.”

Caden couldn’t help her smile, though she bit back an urge to chide Morrigan about demonising Alistair. She hadn’t seen enough evidence to believe that he was against mages, though of course his Templar training, from what she knew, wasn’t exactly a point in his favour there. “Are you coming inside for some breakfast?”

“No.” Morrigan didn’t bother to elaborate; she slipped forms from woman to crow and took flight without another word. Caden watched her go, wildly jealous of magic users and bewildered that anyone would think that trick was anything but remarkable.

Back inside the Chantry and the place was wide awake. Caden walked to Lelianas room to retrieve her boots. The rose was there, sitting quietly on the dresser as if its birth had not inspired a religious woman to take on a pilgrimage of sorts. Caden slipped her boots on then wandered over the to bloom, touching it gently with the tips of her fingers. She couldn’t say she’d ever seen a flower she had not liked, but this red rose was truly elevated above any she’d seen in its perfection. The red was so deep as to be almost scandalous, bringing to mind the sort of gift given from one lover to another. Something private shared between two people given in tangible form in the shape of this rose. She wondered if Nelaros would have ever have brought her flowers had they made it past the wedding day. She had mentioned once that she found flowers pretty and then regretted it as soon as she’d sent the letter containing that frivolous titbit of information. It had seemed so silly to write about something as trivial as flowers and surely he wouldn’t have cared, though she recalled he had written of the flowers at Highever, which had to be hardy to grow by the sea. Those seemed like flowers worth writing about, flowers that bloomed in adversity. Caden dipped to take in a quick sniff of the scent, felt it wash over her and then she turned away and went to find Alistair and formulate a plan to evacuate the village.

*

“The horde will not be contained for much longer. They will head north soon and Lothering is the next stop on that route.” Caden watched Alistair talk, his hands out to quieten the murmurs and occasional heckles. She hadn’t pictured this obstruction to what seemed like common sense words. “What happened at Ostagar was a blow, but the darkspawn suffered losses, too. Without the means to sustain themselves, they will be forced to return underground to recover. We must enable that to happen. None should linger here.”

“This is our home!” one person yelled. Cadens eyes darted to the old man, his grey hair falling limping into his eyes. “You can’t make us leave!”

“No, we can’t,” Alistair gave. “But we beseech you to pack up and head out.”

“Where are we supposed to go?” A woman asked, her arms full with a toddler, with two more children clutching at her skirt. “My whole family is from here; I’ve no-one else to call on.”

“I, that is we, recommend taking stock of how many there are in the town, then splitting you up into groups.” Alistair said, and Caden could see the droplets of sweat at his temples as he recounted what they had planned between them, with Lelianas assistance. “If anyone does have family who live in other Arlings, they can be sorted into groups to head to them. Anyone without can bolster numbers for smaller groups.”

“Where would we be going though?” The mother asked again.

“Er… we thought Redcliffe, South Reach and Denerim, mainly.” Alistair said. “Once you make it to those places and see the Arls in charge I’m sure they can distribute you further into the towns in their Arlings. It’s… really the best we can do.”

“Who’s going to protect us?” A young man piped up. “I can fight well enough for myself, but if I’m escorting my parents with me, I can’t defend us all and our livestock. We have sheep that we don’t intend to leave here.”

“No, of course not!” Alistair hurried to add. “You must take your livelihoods with you.”

“My livelihood is that windmill, lad,” an older man said, gesturing beyond the Chantry behind Alistair. “Can’t carry that. Can you?”

“Where will you be going?” Another voice chimed in. “Are you going to lead us away from our homes?”

“Well…” Alistair faltered as voices rose up. “The Templars might…”

Caden watched the sea of frightened faces turn to an easier to access emotion: anger. They were scared, they were pissed off and they were turning on the person who was trying to help. The trouble was that help equated to turfing folk out of their homes, ripping them up by the roots. She could empathise; wasn’t that almost what Duncan had done to her? Of course, her home still stood, unchanged, just went on without her. This place would be overrun by darkspawn before within a matter of days or weeks. They couldn’t stay and they couldn’t waste their energy on yelling. Caden felt her feet stomp along the ground towards her Warden-Brother.

“Hey! Hey!” She cried, her voice taking on a resonating tone she’d never heard come out of her mouth so loud. “Listen to me.” And miraculously they hushed. Caden didn’t stop to wonder at that, keeping the momentum going. “Look, we feel for you. Leaving your homes is… well, it’s awful. You belong here,” her gaze swept over the oldest folk in the crowd, “watching your children and your childrens’ children continue your legacy here. Whether that be toiling in the fields, or selling your wares on market day. Your futures were all planned to happen here.” She paused for a moment, watching their faces. “But you don’t have a choice. Your legacies end with you right here if you stay. I’m so sorry that the Blight was not defeated at Ostagar. We tried to stop it’s spread; all the men and women at the battle tried their hardest. I’m sure many of you feel that loss.” She glanced at the mother with the children, watched her oldest child nod and peer up at his mothers teary face. “I swear to each and every one of you that those lost will be avenged. I swear to you all that my Warden-Brother and I will not rest until justice is served.” A brief ripple of assent began, a few faces turned towards her with renewed fervour. “But you cannot help that cause by remaining here. This is the path of the floodwaters and we cannot defend against the tide that is rushing in. If we could, believe me we would.” She sheathed her sword again, taking a deep breath. The words were flowing so easily from her. “I left my home in Denerim a month ago. It was not my choice. I do understand the wrench of leaving Lothering to be swept away, but if you stay you will die. If you leave, you survive. You live on and so, too, does Lothering. Bricks and buildings can be broken, land may be blighted, but the people live on and through you Lothering continues.” Caden planted her feet firmly before the crowd and felt the weight of every pair of eyes on her. “We will help as much as we can, but we can’t make this choice for you. Only you can decide for yourselves and for your town. I implore that you make the right one.”

Her words ran out. Caden stood and kept her spine straight, her chin raised. It suddenly occurred to her that many of the folk in the crowd were looking down towards her face, some at the back probably couldn’t even see her. If she couldn’t be seen by all, she had made her voice loud, her words carefully targeted like arrows. She hoped someone had listened.

Just as the silence was about to turn awkward, she heard some clapping from one side and she turned towards the sound. Hawke was clapping as well as she could using her good hand to slap against the open palm of the arm which was in a sling. “Hear, hear!” Hawke called.

“Thank you, Hawke,” Caden said with a nod. The applause remained solely in Hawkes hands, but a few others took up the cheer. Caden hardly expected a massive outpouring of joy from a group who had been told to uproot and turn tail, but she was pleased to see the set in many of their eyes as they readied themselves for the sad task of packing up their belongings. Before the crowd could disperse, Ser Bryant stepped up and began to take up the charge of calling to folk to line up and speak with his men to inform them of any preferences in where they might be sent to. Caden felt it appropriate now to slip away and so she did, heading over to Alistair and Leliana where they stood with her dog. Leliana was beaming.

“I think you really got through to them,” she said in a low voice that was brimming with pride. “They’ve not really been listening to us tell them to evacuate before.”

“Well, I’m sure I was just the tipping point,” Caden said uneasily. “You all laid the foundations.”

Alistair was looking at her with a strange look in his eyes, that was just as unnerving as the praise being heaped on her by the Sister. “What?” Caden asked after a moment, her stomach swooping uncomfortably.

“Where did that come from?” He asked in an awed tone. “I was dying out there, but you… you commanded them.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I think they really listened to you.”

“I hope so.” Caden murmured, looking over the crowd. They were gathering into lines, speaking to Templars with quills and parchment. A change was happening. She permitted herself a small, satisfied smile.

“I vote you do all the important speeches from now on.” Alistair declared. Caden rounded on him with a glare, but he only laughed. “You do them so much better than I do!”

“All the more reason to practise.” Caden shot back, but she was teasing. They were all a touch giddy with relief that their task in Lothering seemed to have gathered movement.

“Excuse me, miss?” Caden turned around again, looking down into the face of a small boy. “The Revered Mother asked me to give you this.” He held out an iron key in his hand and Caden took it, bemused. “She says you have the respect of the whole town, so who better to know what to do with it.”

“What’s it for?” Caden asked, but the boy had already disappeared into the crowd and away. She looked at the key, then to Alistair who was just as perplexed as she was. Leliana let out a brief sigh. “Leliana? Do you know what this opens?”

“I have a suspicion in mind.” Leliana began. “Oh, the Revered Mother has a sense of humour after all.” Another sigh. “Well, come on then. I had best introduce you to the Qunari.”

She began to walk away. Caden shared another bewildered glance with Alistair. “What’s a Qunari?”

Chapter Text

Don’t put your life in someone’s hands

Caden and Leliana were stood before a great cage. Alistair looked past them both to the towering figure caught inside and wondered just how much stranger his life could become. “So… that key opens that lock that unleashes that man who killed five people?”

“Six.” Alistair glanced at the Qunari in the cage who had corrected him on the number, but was otherwise staring impassively outward, gazing at some distant point above all their heads.

“Six, then.” He amended, then muttered under his breath: “That makes me feel a lot better.”

Caden had her arms crossed and seemed to be considering something with a furrowed brow and thin lips. It was a familiar look; she was angry and for once, not with him. “He’s locked in a cage that barely holds him. He can’t sit down or lie down and when the darkspawn come, he’ll die.” Her eyes were dark. “He may be an accused murderer, but that is a cruel punishment.”

“You call me accused,” the Qunari said, directly to Caden. “I am a murderer. I do not contest this. This is the punishment that has been decided for me. I accept that.”

Alistair scratched his chin. He needed to shave; his stubble always irritated him too much to grow it into a full beard. He didn’t want to be here, standing before this giant man, listening to his cold self-assessment of his crime and the justice being served for it. It did seem an unusually unkind punishment to leave a man to rot to death, but that was what the Revered Mother had decided for him. Grey Wardens were not supposed to get involved with business not directly relating to darkspawn or the Blight, certainly no Chantry business or politics, and yet she had given Caden a key that was probably made for the lock on this cage, at least according to Lelianas theory. Looking at Caden now he felt his heart sink. She was holding the key in front of her now, looking at it, really looking.

“Leliana?” Caden asked without looking up. “You say you believe this will open…” she looked up. “What was your name?”

“You can call me Sten.” Sten replied, watching her curiously. Or at least Alistair thought he looked curious. The Qunari was hard to read.

“I could let you out.” Caden said, clutching her fingers tight around the key. It was quite large in her small hands. “If this key opens that lock, then I could let you out.”

“That is possible, yes.” Sten retorted.

“Caden,” Alistair started forward, coming up beside her, wishing Sten wasn’t standing right there. “Murdering six people isn’t something that happens by accident. That’s serious. Maybe…” he darted a glance at Sten, who was there but didn’t overly seem invested in their conversation about him. “maybe we should leave him where he is.”

When she turned her face up to him and he felt the full weight of her quiet condemnation of his words, Alistair felt his voice die in his throat. Somehow this was worse than her being cross with him. “Alistair, I know what it feels like to have someone important murdered in front of you so I understand the reason for punishing him.” Her voice was soft, but laden with the same command he had heard from her with the townsfolk. “I watched Nelaros die. I know loss and I also know revenge.”

“I know,” Alistair reminded her. “And I understand why you did it, but six people, Caden?”

He watched her face change, her eyes softening, her lower lip gently trembling as she replied with a brief moments’ hesitation. Her gaze dropped to his chest, unable to look him in the eye any longer. “I killed around that many.” She said in a murmur. “I think. It’s hard to remember the exact details of those who died before… before I got to Vaughan.”

Alistair forced himself to stay very still even as his heart leapt in his chest. His instinct, contrary to what he would have believed it would be, to hear a confession such as this, was to reach for her. She looked so sad and it was everything he could do not to pull her into his arms in that moment. She might have just told him she had ended the lives of several men on her wrathful journey to Vaughan Kendalls, but all Alistair could think of was how much he wanted to comfort her. He pushed it aside; they were on good terms and she was trusting him with this information. He couldn’t mess that up.

“We don’t focus on what’s gone before as Grey Wardens.” He said after a few moments, and it sounded so pitiful that he almost wished he hadn’t spoken. The silence grew and he felt a chill of cold sweat on the back of his neck at his own inability to say anything worthwhile.

Caden opened her hand, the key lying across her palm. “The Revered Mother gave this to me. She must have wanted me to use it. Why else would she give it?” Alistair watched as Caden stepped away from him and the chill intensified. Had he made a mistake, said the wrong thing? Not said enough? Or did she just not want to discuss it further? “Leliana, why do you think the Revered Mother gave it to me?”

Leliana, who had been wordlessly standing by with Rosa as the two Wardens had conversed, ruminated for a moment. “I never believed the Revered Mother felt comfortable with this sentence.” She said after a while. “That the man should die, she agreed, but this display was not her normal suggestion. The Bann had already fled, so it fell to her to pass judgement and the village demanded blood. There were children amongst the victims.”

Alistair sighed and turned away; this was a step too far. In fact it was many, many steps over the line. Children…

He heard the tremor in Cadens voice as she spoke to Sten again. “Is that true?”

“It is.”

No hint of emotion in those words, Alistair reflected. It did not feel him with joy to hear that.

“Children.” Caden repeated, and Alistair could hear how that affected her. He turned back, but just watched without speaking. She was feeling the weight of the iron key in her hand. Thinking. In that moment Alistair knew he would defer to her; this would be no snap judgement; this would be a decision that she alone bore. Perhaps that was selfish, to allow her to take this on alone when he kept impressing on her that they were a team. He had a strong sense, following her speech to the village, that she was taking the responsibility of every inhabitant of Lothering seriously. Responsibility that extended to this self-confessed murderer, responsibility hitched to her by the Revered Mother. A bite of annoyance nipped at him, that the woman who had passed the sentence should then pass it to Caden, but then how was that any better than him standing aside and letting Caden decide alone?

“Leliana, you said you knew how to pick locks?” Caden was asking. Leliana nodded. “And that you were willing to teach this skill?” Another nod. “Very well. Sten, I offer you a chance. I will go back to the village with my companions and practise the art of lockpicking with my teacher here. I will return in one hour and if I can succeed in picking the lock, I will free you.” Caden squared her shoulders. “Do you accept this proposal?”

“Very well.”

“In the meantime, Alistair?” His eyes snapped to hers at once. “Would you find Sten some food and water please?”

“I, er, of course.” He stammered. Caden nodded and turned away, heading back to the village with the others following behind. Alistair hurried to her side. “How did you come up with that?”

Caden glanced at him sheepishly, the stern expression fleeing at once. “It was adapted from one of the fairy tales I used to read. I didn’t know what else to do. I can’t leave him like for the darkspawn to find, despite what he did. And I guess it doesn’t seem fair for some of us to get second chances and not others.”

Alistairs mouth twitched and he struggled to hold back at smile at these words. Of all the things he had imagined running through her mind… “What if you can’t pick the lock?” He asked.

Leliana smiled and led them towards the Chantry. “I am a great teacher.” She said with assurance. “I’m sure Caden will be a master in no time.”

A short while later Alistair returned to Sten with some bread, sausage and a jug of water. The Qunari was so still that he appeared not to have moved an inch since they had departed. He refused the food, claiming that Alistair could leave it by the cage and that he would eat if and only if he was freed. Otherwise, he claimed, why delay the inevitable? Alistair shrugged, not sure what else to do and set the things down. Turning to leave Sten spoke again and compelled him to turn back: “You let the small elf girl dictate your path?” His impassive eyes bored into Alistair. “I find it unusual.”

“She… you should be thanking her.” Alistair remarked lightly. “She’s going to save your life. How long has it been since you were locked up?”

“I am unsure. Twenty days perhaps.” Sten replied.

Alistair gaped. “Twenty days? Makers breath. You might end up owing her a lot then when she frees you.”

“You seem remarkably confident in the untested ability of a small elf girl.” Sten replied.

“Don’t call her that.” Alistair chided. “At least not to her face. She’s small, but she can be vicious.”

“Are you not the leader?” Sten asked. “Why do you follow her orders?”

Alistair fumbled for a moment as he grasped for words. He hadn’t exactly expected to get into conversation with the Qunari on his brief mission. “She didn’t order me to do anything, she asked.”

“Why do you comply then?”

This answer came to him easily, and he replied without a moments pause: “Because she’s my friend.”

*

The tools seemed strangely familiar. Caden couldn’t imagine where she’d possibly seen these items before as she unfurled the leather wrapping hiding these items. Part of her mind was whirring with the possibilities for why Leliana happened to have lockpicks, pliers and small hooks. What life had she left behind to join the Chantry, the life that taught her how to cut without killing, mend as well as wound and come to have these well-worn tools? The story behind it all was too thrilling to discover, much like that old, old feeling of sitting down with her mother for a new story. It struck her then that Adaia had a leather roll similar to this and she had had small hooks. For crochet, she seemed to recall, though where they had ended up after her death was a mystery that hadn’t plagued Cadens mind until this moment when the smell of leather hit her. She touched her finger to the wooden handles as they sat in their individual pouches.

“Alright, I’m ready to give this a try.” Caden said, rolling the leather back up and binding it. She looked up; the cage was built in such a way as to place the lock right atop the cage, so that even if Sten had the means to break himself out, he wouldn’t have been able to reach his hands up and through the top of the cage to reach it. She could see the practicality in that, but knowing what was coming, it just seemed cruel again. It also posed a problem. “How am I supposed to get up there?” She wondered outloud.

“I thought perhaps Alistair might give you a boost.” Leliana put forth helpfully. Caden spun, heat rising in her cheeks. “He is very tall.”

Alistair was flushing just as red as Caden suspected she was going as she hugged the tools to her chest and wished she could sink into the ground. Morrigan, who had done a reappearing act as they congregated around the cage, chuckled. “I am so glad that I am here for this.”

“Shut up Morrigan,” Alistair snapped. Caden winced at the harsh tone in his voice; she would have to find her own way up if the idea of helping her was so awful.

“It’s fine.” Caden said hurriedly, turning to the wooden stake that held the cage fast. The cage rested on the grass, but the wooden pole beside it crept up and over the top and that was where there lock was. Her eyes ran up the length of the wood. The cage looked like it was sturdy enough, weighed down by the Qunari. She could climb up, she was almost certain. She’d climbed the walls to sit on roofs at the Alienage, to spy the city beyond the walls in her youth. She tested her boots on the ground, rubbing her toes into the dirt. They weren’t Adaias boots but they would do. Hopefully. Or else she would fall on her face and humiliate herself and probably lose any respect she might have gained from her companions. So she couldn’t fall.

“Here,” Caden held the tools out to Alistair, who took them with a confused frown. “Hold onto these for a moment, will you?”

Morrigan shifted where she stood, her casual demeanour momentarily slipping. Leliana just stood and smiled, her pretty face giving nothing away.

No theatrics, she decided. She hadn’t done this in a while and certainly not with an audience, not since she, Shianni and Soris had been children. No running jumps, no leaps. She had to be sensible or it would end in tears.

She stepped up to the cake and wrapped her hands around the iron bars. No, that wouldn’t work. She could already feel nervous sweat on her palms, making them slick. She bent down and collected some soft dirt, coating her hands. She replaced her grip; that was better. With careful placement, she lifted her foot and planted it sideways on the wood. Pressing against the wood, she took a deep breath and lifted herself, so that her other leg could step over the first. Shutting out the others, she took a moment to check her grasp, then in a quick dart of speed, she reached one hand highed up the cage. If anyone was speaking, she didn’t hear them, not while her blood roared and her chest burned with the effort. She could feel the old wound from the Tower of Ishal on her ribs complain as she forced her body to hold itself together as she slowly, excruciatingly climbed as a spider would up the cage, until she could haul herself bodily on top of the thing.

Caden let out the breath she hadn’t meant to hold, and for a moment remained as still as possible, righting her sense of balance and trying to stop from shaking. She wasn’t quite secure above Sten on the iron bars for a few embarrassingly long moments and she didn’t want to fall.

“Alright, pass me the tools,” she said after a while, reaching slightly down and extending her arm. Alistair, eyes wide, recovered and laughed appreciatively as he held the leather wrap up to her.

“You’re mad,” he said and it didn’t sound like a slight. Caden met his gaze and grinned self-consciously.

“I used to climb everything when I was younger.” Caden explained, suddenly shy. It occurred to her with a jolt that it might have looked like showing off, when really it was just the only way to avoid the crisis of letting Alistair pick her up. Another more unpleasant sudden shock had her clasping the cage in a panic as she remembered the sensation of flying through the air, to land on Vaughans bed. “I climbed my house all the time.” She forced the words out and blinked, hard, to shake the bad memory that had forced its way into her mind.

“Of course, you did.” Alistair grinned. “I’m not even surprised. Duncan really knew what he was doing when he recruited you.” His soft laugh petered out and, in its place, grew a sombre frown. Caden felt her face match his; she didn’t know what to say to that.

“As amusing as this is,” Morrigan drawled from the side, “I fail to see the point. Are you intending to recruit this person into your little gang of misfits or to release him to the wild, to potentially kill again?”

Almost as one both Alistair and Leliana made sounds of protestation: “Hey! Who’re you calling misfit?” Was Alistairs comment, while Leliana wondered aloud: “If the Maker wills it…”

Caden had unfurled the leather and was perusing the tools having first surveyed the heavy lock. It did seem odd to do this when she had the key in her possession, but doing it this way felt like Lelianas rose; like leaving it up to chance rather than making the choice herself. And yet, as she pulled out the first tool, she felt a thrum of confidence. She had practised for longer than the promised hour and under Lelianas skilful tutelage she had picked up enough to get by.

Sliding the pick into the lock, testing the first of the pins inside she knew she could do this. If she didn’t, if the lock jammed or the pick broke off inside, rendering the key useless, she would find a way to free Sten. No-one should die without the means to defend themselves.

“I might.” She replied to Morrigan after a long moment passed. She didn’t look away from her task as she spoke. “Is that what you want, Sten?”

“Let us see if you can release the lock first.” Sten replied, stoically facing forward and not looking up at her above him.

Alistair, nudged by Rosa into crouching down and fussing her, seemed to be bravely pushing through the wave of grief that had hit him before. “So, you fight with sharp knives, you climb roofs and cages, you get all silly over flowers, you seem to have an abundance of lives and you swipe at anyone who gets too close.” He listed, a wry smile on his face. “I think I’ve got you all figured out, Caden. You are a cat.”

Caden snorted, but didn’t reply. She inserted the next pick and began to manipulate the pins into the correct position. Hunched over the lock in the bright sunshine, her tongue slightly protruding, she concentrated and twisted and felt for every slight movement. Leliana had launched into some story about a lady in Orlais with what she claimed was the most pampered cat in all of Thedas and how she met her match, but that faded away as Caden worked.

“… and then in trying to get away from the new puppy, she slipped and fell right into the bath!” Leliana giggled at her own punchline. “She was one bedraggled looking cat after that!”

Caden tossed the lock down to the ground, where it did not bounce, but toppled onto its side and lay still. Leliana and Alistairs faces rose as Caden scrambled down from the top of the cage, accidentally copying the lock by landing awkwardly on her foot and tumbling onto her hip. Rosa pounced on her with great affection.

“You did it!” Leliana clapped.

“You did it.” Alistair echoed, surprising across his face, but he was nodding with new respect. “Good job.”

“And now the murderer is free.” Came Morrigans dour assessment.

Caden looked up as the cake swung open and a shadow fell over her on her backside on the grass. Sten peered down at her. “What now Sten?”

The Qunari stretched his neck from one side to the other, harsh popping sounds shattering the quiet. “My thanks to you.” Sten said with a deep incline of his head. Caden got to her feet, but he still towered over her. Sten seemed to consider her for a moment. “My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens. Their unmatched strength, their vast skill. You do not look strong, though you have proved to posses some skill. Perhaps there is some merit to those legends. I would like to investigate further and perhaps I can be of some aid to your quest.” His voice, for the first time, took on some emotion as he dropped his gaze. “Perhaps I might find my atonement.”

Caden smiled. She knew that feeling all to well. “I’m glad to have you with us Sten. I hope you find what it is you seek with us.”

*

It became clear over the next hour that releasing Sten had the effect of rendering the Wardens and their group unwelcome with the townsfolk. His tall, imposing figure standing behind Caden before the townsfolk only caused them to cower away. Even when the Revered Mother herself came forward to declare that she had allowed the Qunari to be released into the Wardens custody, it wasn’t enough to assuage the people of Lothering. They didn’t try to hound them out of town, but equally they made it clear that they needed to leave. It was agreed they would get their stuff together and get going; they offered to help escort those who were heading to Redcliffe, but this offer was hotly declined. The Qunari was a pariah and he had tainted the others by association. It was a source of some amusement to Caden that Morrigan elected to hide no longer, as if she knew that barely anyone registered her presence while a literal figure of their nightmares stood by. Furthermore, the idea of having the town shrink away from her due to the Qunari felt ridiculous. She was already tainted; her blood ran with darkspawn ichor and she was a killer, yet these were invisible to onlookers. It was a weirdly powerful feeling.

She was able to wield this newfound power quite by accident when she approached the armourer to see if she could figure out some arrangement to procure Alistairs now repaired shield for him, despite her lack of funds. Caden had warily stepped up to the man, fingering her wedding ring, the only item of any value she held and which she could live without. Yet with her looming shadow behind her – Sten electing to remain with her after she had been the one to break the lock on his cage – the armourer wasn’t interested in bartering. He thanked her for what she and her companions had done for the town and thrust the shield at her, stammering that no payment was necessary. It wasn’t until she had returned to Alistair that she had realised just how helpful Stens presence had been.

The one person Caden did seek out and who did not flinch from her gaze was Hawke. Despite the town turning their backs to her group, she was concerned that they would drag their heels and not make a hasty retreat, but Hawke assured her that she would stay. “My family are here, this place was my home, but I’ll not see anyone fall to keep the village standing.” Hawke told Caden, out of earshot of the bustle of activity as wagons were packed with belongings and livestock was wrangled. “My father told me once he owed a great deal to the Wardens for helping him get out of the Free Marches with my mother, so it feels right that I should help you. He died a few years ago, so I stepped into his role.” She looked around the people moving around, calling to each other and corralling children. “I’ll stay until they’re gone. You can count on that.”

Caden nodded. “Thank you, Hawke.” She didn’t really know how to impart just how grateful she was. “Where will you go? We shall be at Redcliffe if you make it out that way.”

Hawke wrinkled her nose, the wound healing into what looked like it would be a permanent scar and she chuckled softly. “It all comes full circle. My mother reckons we should head out of Ferelden, back to Kirkwall. She has family there. I can’t say I’m enthusiastic; I fought in Fereldens army… well, for about five minutes before I fell.” She gave a self-deprecating smirk. “Still, I stood by the king and it feels… it feels a little like turning my back on my home.”

“You should go,” Caden said. “If you have family who can shelter you, that’s something. You’ve done your bit for the war effort after all.” She shrugged one shoulder, with a wry smile. “You go: I’ve got this.”

Hawke burst out laughing and clapped her hand on Cadens back, nearly winding the elf. “Alright, Caden. I’ve got a good feeling about you, so hey, don’t let Ferelden go down without a fight.”

“I won’t, Hawke.” Caden said, with more sincerity than their gallows humour exchange. Hawke sobered and nodded.

“Liv,” Hawke offered.

At first Caden thought Hawke was giving her to order to not die in the quest to save Ferelden, but then it occurred to her that in fact she was learning Hawkes name. “Alright, Liv. I hope I see you again.”

“Maybe you will.” Liv said, extending her hand for Caden to shake. “Someday.”

“Someday.”

Chapter Text

How long will I blame it all on past life tragedy

Alistair had a shield on his back again. The metal shone in the afternoon sunlight as they walked the weight of it brought him great comfort. He did need to start training without it, lest he find himself without again and vulnerable, but for now he was just glad to have it back. He’d managed to squeeze in a bath and a shave before departing and he rubbed his chin, feeling the smooth skin, albeit with a small nick where the razor blade had slipped. The wound he’d sustained in the Tower of Ishal lingered on in the form of a silver scar line down his jaw. He wondered if it would fade away entirely someday or if that battle would be etched on his skin forever. He cast a sideways glance at Caden who was laughing at something Rosa had done. She seemed to have come away relatively unscathed from their doomed quest to light the beacon, though he was certain that wasn’t the case at all. He remembered the aftermath of the ogre fight with difficulty, could remember her running towards the darkspawn in what he now knew had been a gallant effort to grant him the chance to escape. He remembered falling and trying to get to her. Nothing after that. She’d been cut down by the darkspawn, but the details of that moment were lost to him. Besides, he mused as his feet crunched on a twig across his path, some scars ran deeper than those that were visible to onlookers and he was sure she carried enough of those.

Some of his own past worries were bubbling to the surface of his mind. They were heading for Redcliffe, finally, which was a blessed thing in many ways. Returning to the place he had called home from birth to aged ten, the place where he had known horses as his companions and named their offspring after cheeses. The place he had played with other young boys, servant’s sons from the castle and a few from the village. He’d fished from the lake with them, chased them, played hide and seek. Yes, there were many joyful memories.

He sighed quietly as the less than pleasant thoughts took over.

Redcliffe was the home of the man he had, for a time, believed to be his father. Nobody had misled him, but small children see the world as is presented to them and if the other children had fathers and mothers, and nobody had told him he had neither, then he had looked for his and his sights had landed on Eamon. It made the most sense to a boy looking for someone who embodied a parent; wasn’t he the man who ran his home, who ate meals with him, who taught him how to shoot a bow? Just like all the other fathers did. Eamon had been kind when he had explained that no, he was not Alistairs father, but that he had known the mysterious man and that he had been a good person and that was why Eamon was caring for his friends son. Alistair had been less forgiving when further information came to light, which to him proved that Eamon might not have been acting purely out of the goodness of his heart. There were orphans enough in Redcliffe and none of them had been taking in by the Arl after all. It wasn’t long after that, that Arlessa Isolde had decided in her wisdom and with the apparent support of her besotted husband, that Alistair might feel more at home with the horses he loved.

Looking over at Caden again, Alistair felt his stomach flip flop with anxiety. She wasn’t one for asking personal questions, unlike him. Given the chance he would have loved to sit down with her and pick her brains, get to know the woman underneath the ferocity. The brief insights into her past that she had shared were filed away neatly in his mind, drawing a smile from him as he watched her briefly dart off the road to the bushes and emerge with a small posy of yellow flowers.

His urge to share didn’t work both ways. He was in no hurry to talk to Caden about his father’s identity no matter how much he wanted to learn about her. He had never actually had to say the words out loud; everyone who mattered who knew him already knew why he was a bastard and exactly what breed of one he was. Arl Eamon, Bann Teagan, Warden-Commander Duncan. King Cailan had known as well, though Alistair had a hard time considered him to be someone who mattered. Someone who was complicated, sure, and who evoked difficult feelings from Alistair, yes, but not necessarily someone who mattered to him.

Caden, admittedly by default at first, but as the days wore on by design, was becoming someone who mattered a great deal.

Alistair had meant his words when he had told her that if she were to quit on him, he might just lie down and await the coming of the horde. There was strength in numbers, even if that number only went as high as two and there was comfort in feeling the burden of Fereldens future shared by both Wardens.

Rosa came bounding over to Alistair, forcing him out of his deeply mired thoughts and eliciting another smile as he reached to pat her. Caden had stopped for a moment and so he and the dog caught up to her and then she fell into step beside him. He marvelled at her ability to keep the pace with him, given his longer stride, but perhaps by now she was used to keeping up. It occurred to him he possibly ought to slow down instead and match hers, but when he tried that he found she quickly walked ahead of him so he reverted to his normal pace. Better to make good time after all; they had left after lunch and so had much less daylight to work with that he would have preferred.

The two Wardens maintained the lead, with Leliana and Sten walking behind, he ignoring any attempts by the now leather armour clad Sister to draw him into conversation. Morrigan was, it turned out, skilled in taking on different forms, so she was flying ahead as a crow. That had been a fun surprise, Alistair thought wryly. Of course, Caden had known. Yet another moment where sharing might have been appreciated.

“How far is Redcliffe?” Caden asked as they walked. Alistair frowned slightly. She’d asked that before they left a couple of hours ago. She surely hadn’t forgotten, so was this an actual attempt by her at making polite conversation with him?

“That depends,” Alistair said in a light drawling tone. “Are you asking how far by horseback, by foot or…” he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his mouth tugging at one corner into a smirk, “as the crow flies?” There. That would be the test of whether they were getting better at being friends or not.

Caden walked on beside him, her eyes forward. For a dreadful moment Alistair had his heart in his throat, certain he’d made a fateful error after all. But then she spoke and it wasn’t to ask the distance to Redcliffe again. “If you could turn into any bird,” was what she said, thoughtfully, “which would you choose?”

Alistair almost laughed out loud in relief and in bemusement at her question. He decided to push his teasing a little further. “Well, I would never possess such skills because if I were a mage, I would be a well-behaved Circle mage and I would never learn such banned magic.” Caden made a small tsk sound of chiding, but she let him waffle on unopposed. He tugged at an itch on his ear as he thought. “I guess I would pick a useful bird. Something that can aid people or the war effort, like a raven. They carry missives and letters, so that’s what I’d do.” Alistair said decisively, but then a new idea popped into his head and shoved out his whole useful bird idea. “No, scratch that, I’d be an owl. I’d get to fly around at night-time all silent and swoopy and majestic.”

“That makes sense.” Caden nodded. “Have you ever seen a baby owl? They’re basically balls of feathers with huge eyes. I can see that about you.”

Alistair laughed, but pretended to be offended. “You wound me, my lady, with your assertions of me being anything other than mighty!” He puffed out his chest and pounded one gloved hand against it, the clang of metal on metal ringing out.

Caden rolled her eyes, with a smirk of her own. Alistair smiled again, pleased to see her good cheer. “How about you? What obviously far superior choice would you pick?” Gauntlet firmly thrown.

“A sparrowhawk.” Came the reply, clearly something she had served up ready to go when she asked the question in the first place.

“Alright, and why?”

“I used to watch them in the Alienage.” Caden explained. “They’re small, but fast. I’ve never seen one caught and they’re really tough. I once watched a mama bird take down a whole pigeon and she barely had a scratch on her.” She seemed to notice the look on Alistairs face. “What?”

“I should have guessed you’d pick something vicious, with little bother about fighting something bigger than itself.” He joked. “No fluffy birds for you.”

Caden shrugged a slight tinge of self-consciousness pinking her cheeks. “The other elves used to try to shoo the sparrowhawks away so they could catch the pigeons themselves, but I liked them. That mama bird had four babies to feed. She needed that pigeon just as much as we did.”

“Ah, so it’s not the wicked beak and talons that appealed to you?” Alistair asked. “It’s the nurturing side of that bird of prey that drew you to her?”

Now Caden let her eyes narrow at him. “Oi. This is my game and if you tease, I won’t let you play.”

Alistair chuckled, holding up his hands in defeat. “I give! My apologies for my lack of good sportsmanship. Is it my turn to ask a question?” She nodded and so he frowned in thought. “Alright, then, if you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what type of cheese would it be?”

*

“That wood is too damp.” Caden looked down at the pile she’d just dropped. Sten had barely even glanced at it before giving his dour assessment.

“It felt fine to me.”

“No.” Sten said, continuing to build a boundary of rocks around the bowl he had scooped out of the earth. “It is too green.”

“You said damp before.”

Now Sten glared up at her. “The wood is green with youth and the bark is damp underneath. This is not my opinion, it is a fact.” From her spot by the packs where she was pulling loose pans and going over the vegetables they had brought, Morrigan glanced towards the elf and the Qunari with a smirk.

Caden dipped down to see for herself; it still looked fine. Sten reached his long arms over and plucked a thin branch, bending it. “It bends, but does not snap.” The bark shifted and finally a break occurred, not quite in two, but exposing what seemed like the inner flesh of the branch. It was green. “This is healthy wood, not long felled. In time it may prove useful as firewood, but as it is it will produce too much smoke as it burns, if it burns at all. Do better.”

Caden stood with a huff, her eyes burning. She gave her pile of wood a childish kick, scattering the sticks before stalking off in the direction of the forest surrounding the clearing off the road they had found, Rosa at her heels. The mabari sniffed through the undergrowth, the ferns and small shoots. Caden shoved her bad mood aside in favour of riling up the dog. “What can you smell, girl? Is it rabbits? You want to find a rabbit?”

Her excitable tone did the trick and Rosa started bounding around, ears pricked, tongue lolling. It roused laughter from Caden. Sten and Morrigan were making camp, while Leliana was hunting something for them to eat and Alistair was refilling everyone’s water skins from a brook slightly out of sight, but not out of earshot of their small camp. It had left only collecting firewood for Caden, a task she had been sure she would complete with ease. Evidently not. Rosa stopped, head up, before bouncing off. Caden let her go. She didn’t imagine she would lose Rosa; she seemed too at home with the group to think about bolting. Of course, Caden could have been wrong about that, too, she thought crossly as she searched for better wood.

She came across a fallen tree, its roots exposed to the air, with a hole in the ground where it had once stood. Caden climbed up on top of the large trunk, enjoying a greater vantage point of the forest around her. It was quiet here, the light slowly turning from blue to gold, but there was birdsong. She didn’t know what bird was making which sound, although the fast tapping of a woodpecker reached her ears. She walked along the trunk, before reaching those dead roots and peering over into the hole. It was much deeper down here than anywhere else, the hole a deep well of dirt. There was nothing in there which looked interesting, so she turned and padded along the trunk again finding her way to what once was the top of the tree. There were branches here, some half snapped off. That was her goal, but she was distracted en route.

Along the trunk were some growths that she recognised as fungi. As for what type or whether they were edible she did not know, but she knew how she could find out. Hurriedly, Caden collected the fallen branches, yanking off those which hung by a thread, pleased to see they were all white and brittle inside and she headed back to camp.

“Here you go.” She announced, dumping the second pile of wood beside Sten. He nodded once, but Caden had already turned to head for her pack. The others were back now, including Rosa, who was muzzle deep in the belly of a rabbit. “Good girl,” she said with a brief pat on her rear as Caden walked by.

Leliana was plucking the feathers out of a grouse with two more slung up behind her. Caden was caught by an urge to stop and ask for archery lessons next time they needed fresh meat; the well-worn bow that Leliana had worn across her body during the walk had been put to good use, but Caden was on a mission now.

Alistair was standing by the single tent they had, hands on his hips. As Caden walked by he called to her: “One tent between five will make for very cosy bedfellows, eh?”

Caden dove for her pack, rifling through it without responding. Alistair turned towards her to watch her search. “I suppose you and the other women can take it. I’ve got my trusty bedroll for some lovely outside sleeping.” Still she searched; it would be right at the bottom of the bag. “Mind you it also depends how we break up the watches overnight. Do you think we should switch out more often and take shorter watches, or let two people sleep all night and keep to three watches?” Ah, there it was. Caden grabbed the foraging book given to her by Flemeth and stood.

“Caden?” She blinked, had only been half listening to Alistair. “Did you hear me?”

“Um. No.” She replied truthfully, holding up the book already heading away. “I’ll be back shortly; I just want to check something while I still have the light.”

“Do you want some company?”

“I’m fine.” Caden said, not breaking her stride as she headed back to the fallen tree. “Back soon.”

“Oh… alright.” Alistair answered. “Be careful.”

“I will.” She had already started rifling through the pages, searching for the relevant pages.

The tree wasn’t far and the light was fine for what she needed it for, though she knew it wouldn’t be long before the sun was gone. She flicked to the page were the sketches of flat mushrooms were. Her finger traced the descriptions as the drawings were inked, but not coloured. The words accompanying the sketch mirrored what she was seeing; a slightly curved reddish cluster of mushrooms peppered along the tree trunk. The writing went on to say that this particular fungus grew almost exclusively on the Elder tree. Naturally she had no idea what they looked like, so she flicked back to see if there were any descriptions for trees and found none. Considering it briefly, she grabbed a leafy twig off the tree so she could ask Morrigan back at camp if these leaves looked right, then she pulled out the dagger she had stolen from the bandits and carefully sliced the mushrooms away from the tree. She was able to stack them up as she’d forgotten to bring a bag with her, and then she clamped the book under her arms and turned.

A noise in the bushes froze her solid as she watched, eyes narrowed for any sign of danger. A small orange face appeared out of the undergrowth, followed by the rest of the body, ending in a bushy tail. Caden kept still, excited to see the fox in its natural habitat. It looked at her and held itself in place. They regarded each other for a while, before the fox turned tail and headed away, not rushing, seemingly aware it was in no danger. Caden smiled after it, then headed for camp.

As she came in sight of the treeline and the now flickering light of a roaring fire, with a tripod and a pot hanging over the flames, Caden heard her name. Just as she had before at the sight of a wild animal, Caden’s feet took root and stood fast. She held her bounty tight and listened.

Alistair was handing Leliana something as she stirred the pot, Sten was sitting perfectly still, gazing into the depths of the flames. Morrigan was still by the packs, slightly away from the two talkative members of the party. It was them discussing her.

“…I assumed as much.” Leliana was saying. “I saw the ring after all.”

“Yes, very sad story.” Alistair nodded. “Obviously I don’t know the exact circumstances as it happened before Caden joined the Wardens, but her husband was killed. Murdered in fact, I believe.”

“How awful.” Leliana clucked sympathetically. “I always wonder what trials lead folk to join up with the Grey Wardens. She must be carrying a lot of pain.”

“Not that she would show.” Alistair went on. “I don’t think she likes looking weak; she did break down after Ostagar when she realised her belongings were still at our old camp, which means they’re lost. She said she had letters from Nelaros, that was his name.”

Cadens hands clenched as rage heated her blood and her fingers dug into the velvety side of the mushrooms with a soft pop. What in the name of the Void was he doing? Talking about her, telling her private life to the others without even consulting her? That she had cried in Flemeths hut after the battle was nobody’s business. She hated that Alistair had been there to witness it, but she would never had expected him to gossip about that moment like this. Cheapening it. Humiliating her.

The sound of Nelaros’ name on Alistair tongue shot a bolt of fury into her heart. Her feet would not move so she was forced to endure more.

“Duncan, our Commander, he recruited her,” Alistair was saying, his voice softer now as he dealt with his own ongoing grief. “He told me how he had conscripted her right off the pillory. He saved her life basically.” He sighed. “Duncan was a great man. I wish he were here to guide us.”

Saved her life? Caden felt her skin prickle with cold anger. With great shame, she felt moisture on her cheeks. She tried to wipe it with her shoulder, but the mushrooms almost fell. She couldn’t stand there forever.

With a deep breath she stomped through the trees emerging into the clearing. Several pairs of eyes lifted to her face and she avoided them all. “I brought these.” She said, hating the tremor in her voice and setting the mushrooms down. “I used your mothers’ book.” She directed this at Morrigan without fully turning to her as she waved the book. “It said they grow on Elder trees, but I don’t know what they look like, so I got a twig. Can you tell from the leaves?” This was fine, talking about the mushrooms was fine. It was all fine so long as no-one asked her how she was feeling or the hot ball of fury and sorrow would explode out of her.

Leliana reached for the twig and touched the leaves. “This looks right to me.” She smiled, but Caden kept her gaze averted. “Thank you Caden. These will go nicely in the stew.”

“Caden?” Alistair asked, a note of caution in his voice as he half rose from his seat. “Are you alr—?”

“What else do we need?” Caden cut through quickly. “Do we need more water? I can get some.”

“I got it earli—”

“Oh right, of course.” Cadens mind frantically cast around for something, anything else to get her away from there. She heard Rosa whine, perturbed by her mistresses’ suffering. Caden really couldn’t look at the dog; if ever there was a sure-fire way to break the dam of tears it would be the mabaris sweet, dark eyes. “Was the wood alright? I can get more?”

“It will suffice.” Sten replied, characteristically to the point.

Shit. “Fine, well, Rosa needs to stretch her legs, so come on girl,” She started for the opposite edge of camp, patting her thigh to call the hound to her side.

“Caden,” Alistair’s imploring tone was touched with guilt or perhaps that was her imagination. Caden didn’t stop to talk, she brushed through camp and headed out of the clearing.

*

She was by the stream. Even in the dim light just after sundown he could see her form sitting by the water, her dog sitting at her side. She had her arm slung around the mabari, her face turned into the fur. Rosa peered around as he drew slowly closer, her tail thumping once, twice only, but otherwise making no move. Alistair swallowed. She didn’t move, but he was certain she must know he was there; he wasn’t a light-footed elf like she was. He stepped closer, eventually coming to a stop on the other side of Caden to the mabari. He dropped down to sit beside her. Her back was turned to him, her face still buried against Rosas side.

“Caden?” He asked softly. The sound of the stream would have been relaxing under normal circumstances, but the air felt heavy with tension. “Talk to me.”

She turned then, releasing Rosa and fixing him with a pained expression. Her eyes were dark and stormy. “Why? You were talking enough for the both of us.”

Alistair frowned. “If I’ve done something wrong, I’d like to know.”

“How could you?” Her voice came out quiet, but burning. A coal that was still too hot to touch. “How could you tell them all that stuff about me? That was my story to tell, or not tell. It was my choice.”

Alistair felt a creeping dread of shame crawl up his back, but even as he felt that sense of needing to apologise, he found himself reaching for a joke with a humourless chuckle. “Well, I guess I thought if I left it to you, they’d never…” but he trailed off. He couldn’t force a joke out of this.

Caden was shaking. That struck him suddenly, her head turned away to look over the water, hands clamped between her thighs, her body holding so tightly still that it shook. It was only then that Alistair became horribly aware of just how serious this was. “Caden, I’m sorry.” How many times had he said that to her in their short time together?

“You had no right,” she said haltingly, her breath hitching. “It was my story, you weren’t there, you don’t know…”

“Leliana asked about your wedding ring.” It sounded pathetic even to him. “She asked about people joining the Wardens if they were married and I just started to explain and then it all came out.”

“You don’t get to talk about Nelaros.” Cadens voice cracked as she spoke, the words biting sharply. “I don’t ever want to hear you say his name again. You don’t get to talk about me or my wedding or what I did.”

Alistair couldn’t help the edge of irritation that slipped into his voice as he replied: “Caden, you all but told them what happened when we were debating letting Sten free. That wasn’t me. You said you watched N— your husband die. You said you killed several men.” He shrugged helplessly. “Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you expected of me. You gave away that information, I was just asked about it later.”

“Just when I think we could…” Caden broke off, shaking her head slowly. “It’s never going to work.”

“What isn’t?” Alistair asked. He leaned forwards, entering her space, watching as she shrank towards the dog but had nowhere else to go. “Are you leaving?”

“No!” Caden snapped back, clearly uncomfortable, but he just couldn’t give back the space until he was sure. “I told you that I’m seeing this through. I’m not a quitter. I meant you and me being friends. I tried, and I can’t.”

Alistair reeled back away. “Just because we don’t always get along—”

“We never get along.” Caden responded hotly. “Not enough. We fight all the time over everything. I piss you off, and you get mad at me. I get upset with you and you say you’re sorry, again.” She pushed up to standing and Alistair hurried to match her. “Face it, Alistair, humans and elves aren’t meant to be friends.”

Alistair felt heat rise in his cheeks as anger coursed through his veins. “How can you say that? I have never treated you differently because you’re an elf.” His mouth tasted bitter as he refuted her claims. “Maybe that’s all in your head, I don’t know, because you don’t tell me. I’m supposed to just guess what you’re going through unless you get angry with me and then you have no trouble telling me how terrible I am.”

“Fuck you, Alistair.” Caden snarled. “Fuck you for acting like you have any idea what I’ve been through. Fuck you for telling me I’m making it all up. Maybe if you’d watched an elf murder your husband in front of you, you might have some feelings towards them.”

“Oh, I’ve met plenty of mean-spirited elves in my time,” Alistair snapped back. “I know you after all, but I don’t intend to tar every elf I meet with the same brush.” Cadens face pinched up momentarily and he wondered what she would fire back with. His chest was rising and falling fast, the fury driving his breath from him, but with the pause that followed his last retort, it started to fade. He couldn’t quite believe the words he had just spoken, even if she had at times been unkind towards him. It wasn’t right to lash out when she was quite obviously already upset. He felt the corrosive taste of guilt in his mouth. Caden was still standing before him, saying nothing. He suddenly knew he didn’t want her to continue this fight. It had already gone too far. They both needed to cool off. “Look,” he said, not quite sure what would come out next as he scrambled for the right words, “we’re both tired. I promise I won’t talk about you anymore.” He turned his hands up, palms skyward. A gesture of peace as he continued his attempts at dousing the flames of their argument. “Let’s just get back to camp and have something to eat and figure out how to split the night shift…”

Caden had already turned and walked off, followed by Rosa whose head was down, her ears low. Alistair shut his mouth and swallowed the irritation, his hands curling into fists. Damn her. “Great work, Alistair.” He muttered to himself. “Just great.”

Chapter Text

PART THREE - REDCLIFFE AND KINLOCH 

But you’re not lost on your own

The journey to Redcliffe took longer than Caden would have liked, helped no doubt by the fact that she and Alistair were barely speaking. After their fight five days ago, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to try to get things on friendlier terms again. Her grievances remained firmly in place, growing fresh layers every day, strengthening her walls against letting him in again. He would learn how long she could hold a grudge for.

When it felt petty and petulant, which if she admitted it, was most nights just before falling asleep; when she felt a few pangs of guilt at how she was punishing him; when she felt like a fraud for maintaining the illusion that Nelaros had ever been her husband, as if his death as her betrothed wasn’t tragic enough; in those moments she would force herself to list the ways Alistair had messed up. An exercise in resentment, she remembered each time he had minimised her ongoing wariness of human men, how he’d patted himself on the back for not being deliberately awful, yet had continued to say inadvertently stupid things, such as that the elves in Lothering had chosen not to integrate. Maybe he couldn’t know first-hand how hard it was to be an elf, to be a woman, but it wasn’t her job to educate him. That more than anything stoked the flames of her ire and prevented her from issuing any forgiveness on the matter.

It was impossible to hide that they were at odds with each other in such a small group. The urgency to reach Redcliffe kicked up a notch after that first night and they pressed on with fervour, and perhaps that would have been enough to placate the others, but when Caden refused to speak to Alistair at camp it became more obvious. Leliana and Morrigan were more obvious in their observations of Cadens silent treatment of her fellow Warden, with Leliana trying to draw both into conversation over dinner, while Morrigan just watched amused and intrigued. Sten gave no sign he saw anything amiss, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t just really good at shuttering his true feelings.

The only time Caden almost slipped in her campaign against Alistair came on the third night. They were working in shifts, splitting the overnight watch into threes and allowing two to get a full night’s sleep in the tent where possible. Caden had insisted on being first watch every night previous and stayed up much later than was planned in order to be so exhausted at her time to sleep that she was better equipped at sleeping without dreams, but on the third night Alistair put his foot down and with unanimous agreement from the group (admittedly only Leliana voted, the other two abstained) it was decided that Caden go to bed in the tent and try to get some decent sleep.

That was the night she saw the horde again.

Her dreams began with darkspawn. She felt through the mind of a genlock as they began the slow crawl towards Lothering. She watched the ground grow sick as they advanced, how they tore down trees in their way and trampled everything in their wake. Lothering was their destination and they would be there soon. It was exciting to the horde, the promise of fresh meat in their starving bellies after several days without feeding, the food at Ostagar now exhausted.

That was a bad enough dream, but after a while the horrifying images of the mess left at Ostagar grew more personal. She watched the memories of the genlock of the blank stares of the corpses on the battlefield and a pair of pale green eyes drew her gaze. The genlock drifted away and still her minds eye remained fixed on that face. With the unsettling time travel of dreams, she was no longer at Ostagar. She was back in Vaughans estate watching Nelaros bleed out. As she watched the pool of blood, the body blinked his eyes and Nelaros sat up. He looked down at his wound, sadly pressing a hand to the gash, which came away red and wet. He opened his mouth far wider than would have been able to do in life and moaned, long and low, the sound cutting through Caden like nothing ever had before. She tried to say something, to apologise to him, to the wailing body of the only person who had ever tried to help her, and found her words cut off. Hands wrapped around her neck and squeezed and she fought against the breathlessness and started to scream—

“Caden, Caden, wake up!” In the dark, in the tent, with her dog whining somewhere she felt hands shaking her and lashed out. Her nails found soft skin and she dug them in, scratching desperately. “Ow! Stop, it’s me.” Her wrist was enveloped in a calloused hand, gently, not roughly despite her attack and she’d managed to focus in the dark on the face before her.

“Alistair,” she spluttered. Relief washed through her as the realisation hit that she was awake and far from trapped in the horrors her mind could conjure up. It couldn’t hurt her while she was awake. “You’re not him… it’s you.”

“What?”

“Thank Andraste.” Her breathing slowed, her heart rate beginning to return to normal. She forgot she was mad at him and instead, her free hand gripped onto his forearm. Anchoring her to this place. She wasn’t in danger. She was safe.

If he was confused by her reaction to hold onto him, he didn’t show it, but when he unlatched his fingers from her wrist, she hurried to grip his hand in hers. Her grasp was firm and needy. She felt she might have fallen back into the dream if she let go.

“You were having a bad dream,” Alistair said in the dark. Stating the obvious, but not in a way that annoyed her. She nodded. “Not about the darkspawn?” She shook her head, too wrapped up in the climax of the dream to worry about the way it had started. Breathing was easier, but still it was what she focused on. She could feel the leap in Alistairs pulse at his wrist where she curled her fingers into his skin. It was steady and she matched her breathing to it. I’m here, not there. I’m safe. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” She said. It hadn’t meant to sound so brusque, but she wasn’t ready for full sentences.

“Who were you talking about before?” Alistair asked, ignoring her answer.

“He’s dead.” Caden said by way of a reply and it was true. Vaughan was dead and couldn’t hurt her. Nelaros was dead and she couldn’t help him.

“Alright.” Alistair said, shifting so he could sit rather than crouch. He didn’t try to take his hand away from her. “Do you want some herbs?”

“No.” Caden shook her head. “Won’t help. Won’t wake.”

“Fine.” The tent flap rustled as Rosa crawled in on her belly. Alistair reached over to scratch her ears. “Rosa came to get me. You weren’t making enough noise to wake anyone. Everyone else is still asleep.” Rosa rolled over onto her side, to let Alistair rub her belly with his free hand. “Have you had bad dreams since before the Joining?”

“Yes.”

“That’s rough. Can we talk about our fight?”

“No.” When she finally remembered that she was angry with him, she reluctantly pulled away from him, letting go of his hand. She missed the calming thrum of his pulse.

“Well, we need to.” Alistair refuted, before taking a deep breath and beginning: “We can’t go on like this. You don’t have to be my friend, but I consider you mine. I don’t want you to be miserable all the time and I’m sorry for causing that.” His words, though caring, were delivered curtly, and with practised authority.

“Get some sleep.” Caden said, climbing over Rosa and past Alistair. She wasn’t interested. “I’ll take watch now.”

He hadn’t followed her out.

It had made it harder to keep up her rage.

Now they crested the hill towards a bridge and a waterfall and Caden could see down below a town the sprawled through a valley towards a vast lake. Further on up the cliff was a towering castle. The sheer sides of the cliff that overlooked the water was a rusty red colour. It was easy to see how they had come up with the name. She wondered what the lake was called. Perhaps Big Water?

Alistair came up alongside her. He hadn’t tried to do that since the fight. “Caden? Now that we’re here, I really need to talk to you about something.”

Caden looked out over the town, at the moored boats in the docks and the square that looked remarkably empty for a mid-afternoon. It wasn’t a city of course, but it seemed so different from what she was used to watching the market in Denerim. “Is it always so quiet?”

Alistair barely glanced where she was looking and when she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye, she could see his fingers fiddling with a buckle. “Caden, please. This is important.”

She turned. “Is it?” Her tone was glum and her gaze kept stealing back to the peaceful lake water, so still compared with the river that cascaded over rocks noisily beside them. “This is where you grew up right?”

“Yes, and I’d rather tell you about this, than… than have you hear it from someone else.”

A spark of something lit inside her, both generous and punishing vying for her attention. So, he didn’t want her to hear about something from his past from someone other than him? This was a chance to be the bigger person, it seemed.

She quashed it. She could live with being small. “Let’s not delay our entry on that account. After all, I’m sure I’ll learn all about it in no time.” She started for the bridge that lead down into the valley or heading upwards towards the castle, ignoring the resigned hurt on Alistairs face. “Shall we go to the town or the castle first?”

As she headed for the bridge she heard Morrigan say something cutting about tasting his own medicine and Alistairs snapped “shut up Morrigan.” Shame crept over her and she stopped, turning back. Alistair was glowering now, face turned down. Maybe she should extend the hand of friendship after all. He maintained she was his friend, and perhaps he was so insistent on that because all of his other friends were dead and he had grown up an orphan. He literally didn’t have anyone else. It was cruel to deny him, safe in the knowledge that she had left behind dear friends and a loving family who she was hopeful to return to one day.

“Oh, thank goodness!” She whirled as grateful words cut through her thoughts. A young man was hurrying across the bridge towards them. “Have you come to help?”

“Help?” Now he was all business. Alistair pushed to the front, concern across his features. “What do you mean?”

“Please, follow me.”

*

“Let me get this straight.” Caden said, rubbing her eyes wearily. They had come to a halt outside the Chantry. Holy buildings were apparently all the rage for people hiding from their troubles. She supposed it made sense. “The Arl has all but vanished in his sickness, his army have been scattered and…” this was the difficult part to swallow, “the dead are attacking the town every night? Have I got all that right?”

“This is bad, this is so bad.” Alistair was muttering as the young man, Tomas, affirmed Cadens summary. “Why has no-one tried to get to the castle? I need to know how Arl Eamon is.”

“He could be dead for all we know,” Tomas bemoaned. “No-ones been able to get close—we have tried. The horrible dead things come out of there!”

“Makers Breath.” Alistair looked like he might be sick with this news. Caden sighed.

“Who’s in charge here?”

Tomas pushed the Chantry doors open. “This way. I’ll take you to Bann Teagan.”

Alistairs head snapped up. “Teagan? Thank goodness.” His eyes scanned the distance to the altar at the head of the Chantry and, spying a man ahead, he burst forwards overtaking their guide. Caden caught the bemused eye of Leliana and they lengthened their strides to catch up.

“Do you know who that is?” Caden muttered to Leliana as they drew up. Alistair was speaking with the man she assumed was Bann Teagan. Leliana shrugged.

“Alistair,” the man was saying when Caden got close enough to hear. “Oh, thank the Maker you are alive. We heard that the Grey Wardens were slaughtered at Ostagar and we all feared that you were amongst them. Bad enough losing Cailan, but—”

“Teagan,” Alistair interrupted turning to the group. “I was not the only Warden to survive Ostagar.” He gestured with an open palm to Caden. “This is Warden Tabris.”

Teagan inclined his head in greeting. “Well met, Warden Tabris. I am Bann Teagan, Arl Eamons brother.”

“Oh,” understanding blossomed. This was why Alistair was so pleased that this man was around. Even with his gratitude, Alistair still looked pale and shaky. It occurred to Caden that Alistair was taking the news of Redcliffes circumstances very badly, but then she supposed this had been the place he knew of as home. A thought sparked that maybe Alistair was not just the adopted ward of Arl Eamon. Perhaps they were in fact related by blood and maybe that was what he had been trying to tell her by the waterfall. She realised she hadn’t said anything to greet Bann Teagan and the moments were stretching on. “It’s nice to meet you.” She offered. “So, what’s going on here? Does your brother still live? We need his assistance against the Blight.”

Alistair made a choking sound as Teagan raised his brows. Caden stood firm; there was no time for wasting time with pleasantries. “I certainly hope he still draws breath.” Teagan said slowly. “Did Tomas fill you in?”

“He said dead things were attacking the town every night.” Caden said, once again not quite believing what she was saying.

“It’s true.” Teagan confirmed. “It started a few nights ago. They poured from the castle after nightfall, dozens of men, or so I thought. When they drew closer the smell hit first. Their skin was rotting off their bodies as they fought.” He shook his head, eyes haunted. “I am amazed with were able to drive them back; they just kept coming no matter how gravely we wounded them. A new wave hit the next night, and the next. I am terrified we will lose everything the longer it goes on.”

“Have you called for assistance from anyone?” Caden asked.

“I have, of course.” Teagan replied. “But Teryn Loghain is too busy starting a damn civil war to help and that is apparently keeping everyone far too busy to send any aid.”

“That bastard,” Alistair growled.

“I can believe that.” Caden said. “We have just come from Lothering, where their Bann left his people to starve and face the horde of darkspawn alone. No-one is taking the Blight seriously.”

“Apart from you?” Teagan asked, archly.

“That has been my experience so far, yes.” Was Cadens short comeback. “We need Arl Eamons aid for the next battle, so we need to get him well. What ails him?”

“We don’t know.” Teagan admitted. “I haven’t seen him since he fell ill.” He sighed heavily. “I have to ask; will you please help us tonight? Help us stand off against the next attack?” His eyes searched Cadens, then shifted to Alistairs. “Please Alistair. For the sake of Eamon.”

“Of course, we’ll help.” He said. Caden turned slowly around to face him. He was waiting for her and his face was pleading. “We have to.” He said to Caden.

“Alistair is right, we must help.” Leliana asserted before Caden could speak. She lifted her narrowed eyes to the Sister; one more person to please with decisions that apparently were falling to her.

Morrigan was crossing her arms. “How pointless an exercise.” She complained. Sten said nothing.

Alistairs eyes were large and imploring. “Caden, we can’t do nothing.”

Caden opened her mouth to reply, when she caught sight of a small crowd forming at the edge of the space they were in. She was immediately drawn to the sight of clusters of children standing, watching them. There seemed to be a lot more children than there were adults, which didn’t quite mean that they had all been orphaned by the past few nights events… but neither could she believe it wasn’t true. Her heart thumped sadly. “We’ll help.”

*

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of activity.

At least it was for some of them.

Mayor Murdock had been the person to speak to, so Teagan said, therefore the Wardens had headed for where he was trying to rally together what was left of the towns militia. Alistair had left it to Caden to do the talking, but Murdock had other ideas. “I heard Tomas brought some elf to see Bann Teagan.” His unimpressed gaze swept over Caden. “That’ll be you then.”

Caden bristled. “Your powers of deduction are astonishing; must be why they made you mayor.”

His brow raised in surprise, but he didn’t call her out on her sass. “And a Grey Warden I understand?” He made a harrumph under his bushy moustache. “Didn’t think they made women Grey Wardens.”

At this point Caden half turned away, biting her tongue. She glanced at Alistair, who’s ears were red with…what, she wondered. Embarrassment on her behalf? She wanted to grab him by those flaming ears and haul him down to her level and snap: you see what I have to deal with?

Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the weary mayor, speaking through gritted teeth. “We’re here to help. What do you need?”

Plenty, it turned out. Which was how Sten came to be running the militia through their paces, Leliana ended up helping the Sisters bandage the wounded as well as giving the archers pointers, Alistair disappeared into talks with the remaining handful of Templars in the town and even Morrigan found a use for some barrels of oil in an abandoned store room. As Caden walked through the town, searching for anyone who was interested in her help she lost her dog to the children. This at least she didn’t mind; Rosas playful side was desperately needed by these tired, scared children. Caden was happy to leave her playing by the waters side with them.

It was a far cry from being the woman who not yet a week ago had stood before a great crowd and talked to them about the coming horde and why they had to go and how much danger they were in. They’d listened to her, cared about what she had to say. For a short time, she had felt every inch a Grey Warden, a soldier commanding the attention of the people. Now she was back to being a simple little elf girl who no-one had time for.

During one circuit of the town square she heard Murdock clapping Alistair on the back and congratulating him on managing to get someone called Owen to come on board and make more weapons. A cheer rose up, smiles on the faces of the battle worn townsfolk and Alistair looked pleased. Caden could have spit in that moment and she hated herself for feeling jealous. She turned and headed further away from the square, not feeling Alistairs eyes on her retreating back.

*

The only way he was able to follow her so quietly was because she was clearly too wrapped up in her thoughts to notice him. Not that he was trying to sneak, but nor was he really trying to get her attention either. If he just so happened to be stealthier than usual, well that was a coincidence. Caden headed down a narrow path that wound along the lake and then behind the buildings. There was a driftwood wall just on the outskirts of the town, and it was there that Caden headed. Alistair looked around; this was the Redcliffe Alienage. Not a place he had ever really tried to get to when he had lived in town, though he knew it was always there. Caden disappeared inside the archway that formed the entrance to the walled section of the town.

Getting closer to the archway, Alistair heard voices. They called to Caden, called her sister, greeted her with warmth though she had said she had never left her own Alienage to meet any other elves. From his vantage point he peered around the wall to see Caden speaking animatedly with the other elves, asking them how they had fared, whether they had been protected or had they had to fend for themselves? She looked more relaxed here than she had back in the main part of town, friendlier than she had looked to Alistair since their fight. He watched her with gloom in his heart. He didn’t know how to bring this ease to her. Their friendship, or what he considered to be such, was always so fraught with danger. He decided to leave her well enough alone and turned back to the village to rally more troops if there were any more to rally.

Teagan met him on his way back. He glanced back along the route Alistair had come from with a question in his eyes. Alistair followed his gaze. “Oh, I was just checking on the Alienage.” He said, unsure why he was keeping Cadens name out of his explanation. “Have they been looked after during the past weeks troubles?”

“They’ve not been helping to fight, if that’s what you mean.” Teagan said, uncharacteristically bitter. Alistair felt a frown creep over his brow.

“They surely aren’t expected to fight.” Alistair replied. “I can’t imagine they would know how to.”

“It’ll be on their doorstop soon enough whether they want to fight or not.” Teagan said. It didn’t feel like an adequate rebuttal Alistair felt, but he didn’t press the issue. Teagan tugged gently at his small beard. “Your companions are… interesting.”

Alistair couldn’t help but chuckle as they fell into step to walk back to the town. The lake beside them seemed so peaceful and quiet. “That is the truth of the matter.” He gave.

“I’m not certain which one is the most perplexing.” Teagan went on. “The Qunari is certainly imposing, but having watched him with the men it makes sense. I expect he fights like a beast. That’s someone you want beside you in a battle. The woman… Leliana?”

“That’s right.”

“You found her in a Chantry?” Teagan asked, seeking confirmation, which Alistair gave with a nod of his head. Teagan let out a breath, shaking his head in wonderment. “She’s far too beautiful to waste it on the religious life.” His laugh was low and heated Alistairs cheeks. He kept his head down as his sort-of uncle continued. “And she’s adept with that bow. There’s a history there and I’ll wager she’s no shrinking violet. You could have some fun there.” His elbow jostled Alistair’s, who said nothing. Teagan chuckled. “Well, someone should.”

“It’s hardly the first thing on my mind,” Alistair refuted weakly. “I was raised in a monastery, don’t forget.”

“Oh, you were raised here,” Teagan waved away Alistairs reply. “There’s no need to get shy now.” They reached the town and Teagan stopped, appraising what he could see. “The mage is a surprise.” Alistair glanced at Teagan who was watching Morrigan cross the square, her magic staff strapped to her back. She wasn’t hiding away like she had at Lothering. Perhaps, as they were all to be fighting later, she deemed it unnecessary to pretend she didn’t exist. Perhaps she simply no longer cared. Alistair would be the last to know. “An apostate I presume? Yes, very interesting that you would have her travel with you.” Teagan was back to rubbing his bearded chin as he worked everything out for himself. “I suppose having someone with magical ability makes sense, but why draw the wrong kind of attention to yourself?”

“She and her mother saved us from Ostagar,” Alistair admitted. “It seemed churlish to refuse additional help.”

“Us?”

“Yes,” Alistair nodded, confused. “Caden and me.”

“Oh, right.” Teagan said with a frown that didn’t serve to clarify anything.

“What is it?” Alistair asked. “I told you we were both Wardens.”

“I suppose so,” Teagan said. “It’s hard to believe. I knew Duncan of course and few of your other brothers and you, but Caden doesn’t quite fit the standard. It’s strange.”

Alistair looked away, his hand at the pommel of his sword, fiddling with the leather wrapped haft. “What makes you say that?”

Teagan shrugged. “I suppose it’s her size that’s throwing me: she’s tiny. The rest of you are all…” Teagan’s words seemed to fail him as he gestured to Alistairs height and broad shoulders.

Sorrow and irritation made for a sour mixture in his throat. Teagan couldn’t have known any better, of course, but that thought didn’t make it any more palatable. Alistair turned to Bann Teagan and squared up to him. He was taller than Teagan by a few inches, which made a huge change from the last time they had conversed, when Alistair had been a young lad, covered in mud. Before the monastery, before the Wardens. “The rest of us are dead.” He said softly. He didn’t actually want to tear strips off Teagan, he merely wanted to set him right. “Of all the Wardens in all Ferelden there are only two of us alive. That’s me and that’s Caden. There’s no standard to fit into. Besides, even before Ostagar and our near total destruction Caden was a formidable fighter. Just wait, Teagan. Wait until you see her tonight.” A moments consideration and Alistair leaned closer, dropping his voice. “There is a reason why Caden was assigned to partner up with me during Ostagar. That order came from the King himself.”

Teagans eyes narrowed and widened so quickly it was almost comical. Almost. Alistair clamped a hand onto Teagans shoulder briefly, then headed away into the square.

Chapter Text

we’re out for blood, we’ll take them one by one

The sun went down. The monsters rose up.

The cool night air was scorched with the sound of metal clanging, screaming and death gurgles, shouting and crying. The Chantry doors were firmly barricaded from within; there was no retreat for those outside. They would stand against the tide and either they would fall or they would hold.

Of the Wardens small party, none had had adequate rest before the battle came. That was the worry on Alistair's mind as he swung his blade through the rotting flesh of one of the undead figures before him. They wielded weapons, but disarming them hadn’t proved to make much of a difference due to their razor-sharp claw-like hands. They did not seem to understand retreating or falling back; they were both relentless and fearless and the paid no heed to any wounds they sustained. Alistair sliced through the wrist of his opponent, the hand still tightly gripping the hilt of its sword as it fell, but it merely swiped at him with its other hand, nails sharp. He brought his shield up just in time, the sound cutting through him as the nails scratched over the metal and wood. He winced and shouldered into the monster, toppling it over backwards and driving his sword into the head of what maybe once was a person. Its skull cracked like a nut and with a few spasms it went still. There was no time to rest; the onslaught continued.

An arrow whistled through the air, so close he felt the breeze on his ear. He followed its trajectory to watch it pierce the chest of a monster which was standing with both arms raised, preparing to bring down a heavy two-handed sword upon a member of the militia. The arrow staggered the monster and before it could recover a second arrow found its target through the things sunken eyeball and it fell to rise no more. Alistair glanced over his shoulder to where Leliana was crouched on a roof. She wasn’t looking back at him, not while she was nocking another arrow on her longbow and turning to loose it at the next foe. Any doubts he may have had about letting her join them vanished like smoke into the night; she was an invaluable asset after all.

Alistair spun and rushed the back of a monster who was bearing down on a wounded fellow. He braced his shield and barrelled into the thing, shoving it to the ground. “Come on, man,” Alistair yelled, taking the brief opportunity to haul the man to his feet. The mans eye was swollen shut, a cut just under his eye was bleeding a steady stream of red over his face. He nodded, then ducked as the monster got to its feet and Alistair thrust his sword forwards into its guts. Although impaled on the sword, the monster opened its mouth to hiss and roar, it’s hands swiping wildly for purchase on Alistair's body. He pulled his sword back, but the monster was not dislodged and came along with the sword. Uncomfortably close now, it dragged it’s fingers down over Alistair’s neck when he reeled backwards. Alistair's breath blew out through his gritted teeth and he grunted in pain.

Crack!

Alistair peered down; the wounded man had found a mace and brought it down upon the head of the monster, caving it in. Alistair lifted a foot and braced it against the vanquished foe, hauling his sword out. “Fall back.” He ordered of the man, who didn’t need to be told twice.

“Get down!” Alistair complied before fully understanding what he had heard; he glanced up from his crouch to see Morrigan wielding her staff with two hands, the focus gem at its top angled towards a clump of the undead. A blast of frigid air flew forth, whirling with ice crystals and snowflakes. It was terrible and beautiful and when it struck the monsters they howled in pain and tried to move away, but the cold froze them into their fleeing positions. It wouldn’t hold for long; they were already thawing as the magic ceased pouring from the staff, but it was enough. Sten charged into view, holding a borrowed sword that he spun in a wide arc, catching as many of the frozen creatures as possible. Where he hit them, Alistair could see them crack and two of them crumbled into pieces at the blow. An arrow struck the neck of another. Alistair rose again, holding his shield before him and rushed at another, throwing it to the ground where it shattered.

He felt pressure suddenly on his shoulder, the awful smell of death and rot filling his nostrils and he gagged as he turned his head to see a mouth gnawing at his armour, teeth desperately searching for purchase. Alistair grimaced and drove his elbow back into the belly of the monster. It let out a snarl of foetid breath and Alistair bellowed with frustration. Stens blade caught the moonlight as it thrust past Alistair into the body of the monster.

“Thanks, Sten,” Alistair managed, coughing, the smell lingering unpleasantly as the creature’s saliva slid over his plate. The Qunari didn’t reply, but Alistair hadn’t waited for it. He was already running to the aid of a Templar who was screaming as a trio of monsters overwhelmed him. Alistair stabbed his sword into their bodies over and over again, their filth coating his blade and splashing against his breastplate. “Why…won’t…you…just…die!” He spat with every blow.

When the three finally lay still, Alistair shoved them away to dig for the Templar, but one look at his staring, unseeing eyes revealed that he had been too late. He gripped the hilt of his sword, averting his eyes in shame. It was going on forever, with no break. A guttural snarl sounded beside him and he whirled, driving his sword up to parry the blow of the undead bearing down upon him.

An explosion rocked the nearby buildings and Alistair ducked beneath his shield instinctively. One of Leliana's shots took out his opponent as he turned to look at the cause of the boom. One of the houses on the lakeside was on fire though he could see no cause. He thought they’d removed the barrels of oil to bolster the barricades between the castle and town; had they missed something? The surface of the lake was disturbed as pieces of the house and a few of the undead fell into the water with riotous splashing. The undead nearest to the house lit up the surrounding area, suddenly wreathed in flames, but even that didn’t stop them. Alistair took a few steps backwards, avoiding the swell of heat from the house and the flaming figures rushing towards them from it. A hellish vision of screaming undead, faces appearing almost to melt from the flames and the already rotting skin, met him and for a long moment, he feared it was all too much and he might retch. His warriors' training kicked in before that could happen and he held up his shield to create enough distance to take out the monsters’ legs with slashes to its burning thighs. Sten bellowed and charged again, not swayed by the fire. Morrigan unleashed another wave of her icy spell, not allowing a single creature to get too close. Leliana shot arrow after arrow, her aim never wavering despite her increased speed. At some point they must have run out, for Alistair realised the figure dropping beside him bearing a short sword was the red-haired Sister. They stood against the undead, the sight, smell and heat not letting them be beaten. Each slash and blow and strike blended together into an exhausting dance, blood spraying, ashes scattering.

At some point, Alistair swung his sword only to realise there was no target. He was surrounded only by allies. He stopped and turned in a full circle taking it in. Corpses were littering the square, most of which had come to do battle with them from the castle. He let out a nervous breath. “We did it?”

Leliana had soot smeared across her neck, but she was nodding grimly. “I believe so.”

Alistair grinned shakily. “We did it.”

Mayor Murdock appeared at his side, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “We held them off thanks to you and your team.”

Alistair sheathed his sword. His hand was shaking and it was hard to align the blade with the scabbard. He hoped it wasn’t obvious. He was long overdue asleep and now he suspected a bath was in dire need. He must have looked a sight. Casting a glance at Sten and Morrigan they were both glistening with sweat and grime. The air was filled with dancing soot from the house that was still ablaze. The militia were rallying to that cause now and Alistair quickly joined the fray, grabbing a bucket and joining a line of men from the lake to the house. He passed full buckets on and empty back as they wrestled to get the fire under control. Someone was dragging the corpses to one side, the monsters into one unceremonious pile, townsfolk who had fallen in battle were getting a more reverential treatment. Leliana was hurrying to the wounded to patch up who she could. Alistair heard her call to Morrigan to hurry to the Chantry to retrieve the healers and their air, and although Morrigan made a great show of sighing and huffing, she did make her way to the safe building.

The fire was getting under control when someone cried with alarm. Alistair peered over and saw the thatched roof of the neighbouring house catch. “Damn!” He cursed. Their efforts intensified, with Sten gripping a drinking trough and upending it upon the flames all by himself.

A whump sound met his ears and he looked over just in time to see the roof collapsed into the building. He gritted his teeth and passed the next bucket on as quickly as possible without spilling its precious contents. Morrigan was back; she was trying her icy spell on the flames and with a hiss, they started to give out due to the smothering of their heat.

“Ser, Ser!” Alistair ignored the shout, not imagining it was aimed at him, until the cry of “Grey Warden!” met his ears. He turned to see a young man with a hand pressed to a shallow gash on his chest that was oozing blood.

“Yes? What is it?” He asked, not breaking from his formation.

“Ser, I think your friend went in there.” The young man said, his breath ragged. “Your elf friend.”

Alistair's blood ran cold as he followed the mans extended, trembling finger towards the now roofless house. The flames were rising ever higher from within the shell of the house. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m sure I seen her, Ser,” he said, coughing. “Chasing one of them fiends inside. I’ve not seen her come out, Ser.”

Alistair turned around, scanning the town. It hit him like a blow to the stomach that he hadn’t seen Caden since the beginning of the battle. She had been fighting in her usual whirling dervish of blades and no quarter. Where was Rosa? The mabaris absence seemed to confirm that Caden was missing more than the lack of a visual on his Warden-Sister. “You’re sure?” He asked, thickly. All at once it was hard to breathe. He didn’t wait for the reply. “Caden!” He released the empty bucket he had been handed and bolted for the house at once. “Caden!”

*

Caden's arms were a blur as she sliced one blade into the undead, followed by the other. The first hit bit into the arm, the second cleaved it off; its jaw was hanging by a thread but it screeched a keening cry at her in response and raised its other arm. She felt the slash of needles along her gloves, the bracers keeping her from any wounds. She didn’t dare think about how filthy those nails must have been, coated in dirt and blood. She kicked the thing, yanked her swords free and with a double cleave she separated the head from the rest of the body. It crumpled to a heap on the ground where Rosa barked at it.

A quick glance showed her that her companions were all engaged in battle, their faces set in determination despite the sheer volume of the horde of the walking dead. There were so many and they just kept coming. She gulped a few breaths of air; she was already feeling tired. A sound somewhere between a screech and a groan sounded beside her and she only just managed to turn and parry as a hand axe swung down towards her. She let out a sharp cry as the force staggered her, bending her knee and almost driving her to the ground, but she held. She summoned all the strength she had to shove upwards and push the axe away. It was too strong. The sharp edge slowly descending towards her face. She had one chance. She pulled back one sword and hurriedly jabbed it at the things chest. It laid its weight against the axe, pushing her down again, but she thrust her might behind the sword at its torso and felt the blade slide between its ribs passing through the decaying skin and viscera as if it were mere paper. It pitched forward, limbs flailing, the axe dropping to the ground narrowly avoiding her foot and Caden disappeared beneath the now limp body. She clamped her mouth shut against the smell, holding her breath and a sob of despair at bay, pushing the damn thing off her. It rolled and lay still. She was slick with something she didn’t want to think about and her sword was still stuck inside the body. Caden pushed herself into a standing position and gripped the hilt, bracing her foot on its chest. The thin, putrid skin gave way and her foot disappeared into the body's ribcage. Her stomach heaved and panic took hold as she abandoned her sword to pull her foot free. Her mind was a mess of prayers to Andraste, to anyone, to save her sanity on this long night.

With her forearm pressed against her mouth, she reached with the other for her sword, now not held fast by the ribs that were in pieces inside the corpse. She gripped both swords, her breaths coming too fast for her, making her light-headed and she stumbled away from the fray, her shoulder bashing against the wall. Making herself smaller, she hugged the side of the building, wishing she was anywhere else. It was just too much. Rosa whined and pressed her nose against Caden's leg.

A creak behind her made them both jump. Caden whirled around, swords out. A flash of a small frightened face, eyes large and mouth a round O of horror and the door slammed shut. Everyone was supposed to be in the damn Chantry. Caden shoved off the wall and sidled carefully along to the door, trying not to draw attention to herself. She sheathed one shaking sword and rapped on the door with her knuckles. “Hey.” She hissed. “Hey, you in there.”

“Leave me alone!” A child. Of course.

“You should be in the Chantry.” Caden snapped through the wood, her fear driving anger to the forefront of her tone.

“Leave me alone!”

Caden gritted her teeth and turned around; she couldn’t barge her way through the door and drag them to the Chantry. She didn’t relish leaving them either.

Caden left the door, moving along the building to seek out another entry point. She was just rounding the corner when she heard the door crack open again. A guttural snarl rent the air. Caden blanched and started back, with a cry of “No!”

One of the monsters descended on the open door to the scream of the child. “Run!” Caden yelled, drawing her second sword. The door flew open inwards and the monsters tumbled inside. “Run!”

Caden skidded to the doorway; one glance inside showed the back of the child as they scrambled upstairs, the monster making a sucking sound, the breath rattling through a hole in its neck as it pursued the child.

“Hey!” She yelled, desperately trying to get its attention off the kid, back onto her. It reached the foot of the stairs and extended grasping hands upwards, but her shout gave it pause. She didn’t hesitate; she spied a table and chairs and without hesitation, she sprang onto the chair and used it to propel her off again coming down hard on the beast. They crashed into the stairs together, Caden stabbing her swords into the soft flesh with a growl. It screeched in alarm, and thrashed, but she held firm, twisting her blades until the damn thing finally expired.

She got to her feet, looking up to find the child. Seeing no sign, she turned to Rosa. “Stay, Rosa. Don’t let anything come inside.” The mabari planted herself in the doorway.

“Kid?” Caden called. “I killed it. Are you alright?”

“I’m scared.”

Me, too.

Caden took a deep breath and sheathed her swords again. They were slick with fluid, but there was no way to clean them and she didn’t want to frighten the small person with her sharp steel. She headed upstairs.

“I’m coming up.” She said, hoping that talking would ease their fear. “I won’t hurt you. Have you been here all night? We told everyone not fighting to head to the Chantry. Is this your home? Where are your family?” She came to the top of the stairs. “My name’s Caden. What’s yours?”

The child was nowhere to be seen. Caden grimaced, but tried to keep her voice light. “You don’t have to hide from me. I just want to see if you’re alright.”

A noise made her freeze. She turned in the direction of the sound as quietly as possible. Make another noise.

There it was. A large bedroom, with a bed and a dresser. The sound came from the bed, though it was empty. Caden slowly stepped over the threshold and then took to her knees, peering under the wooden bed. That pale face with the big eyes peered back.

“Hello,” Caden said, smiling automatically, but making no move to get any closer. “This is a good hiding spot. Can I fit as well?” The boy shook his head. “That’s alright. I’m a Grey Warden so it wouldn’t really befit me to hide during a battle.” Even if I might want to. “That’s why I stopped the bad guy who was in your house, because my job is to help people. I got him; I saved you.” A flash of Nelaros that she pushed away. Not now. “Do you want to come out?”

He shook his head again. “Alright. What’s your name?” Caden kept her voice light and breezy even as she could hear the battle raging outside.

“Bevin.” Came the small reply.

“Nice to meet you, Bevin.” Caden smiled. “What were you doing in here?”

For a moment he said nothing, but then he met her gaze. “I wanted to fight. My parents are dead, but I didn’t want those things to get my sister. I thought I could join the fighting, but then… I got scared.”

“It’s really scary out there,” Caden sympathised. “I got pretty scared myself.”

“But you were fighting.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t get scared,” Caden said. “I told you I was a Grey Warden. It’s my duty to fight so other people don’t have to. Your duty is to stay safe. And you did that, even though you didn’t go to the Chantry.” She gave him a look of mock sternness and thankfully he returned a smile.

Caden started to say something else, but she heard some new cries rise from outside. Rosa was barking downstairs. She got up and headed to the window in time to see the house beside them catch fire. The bottom dropped out of her stomach. “Hey, Bevin, the bad guys are all gone but I need you to come out now, please.” She could hear the strain in her voice as she struggled to remain calm and not upset him. She turned, keeping an eye on the blaze as it flared up. Shit, shit, shit. “Let’s go, Bevin.”

He started to scramble out of the bed. “Are they really gone?”

The flames rose quickly, eating through the thatch and wood like it was nothing. Caden turned to Bevin, reached for him to get him to stand. He was a head shorter than her. “They are, but we should get you back to your—”

A popping sound hit her ears and Caden glanced over to see a beam fall from the house. “Come on.”

As they made to leave the room a roar of heat swept up the side of the house. Caden shrank away from the joining wall and looked up in horror as the sound spread above them. The roof was wooden beams above and then the tightly packed thatch that had gone up so fast on the house beside them. They were in serious danger. The thoughts struck her all at once. She gripped Bevins hand. “Hurry.”

To his credit, the boy went with her when she tugged and they darted across the floor, heading for the stairs. A crack above made Caden look up to see the flames engulf the roof. The burning thatch started to drop and Caden’s heart sank as she realised it was going to come down. They just had to reach the stairs.

The roof fell.

Caden didn’t think; she wrapped her arm around the boy, tucking him close, trying to shield him with her slightly taller body. Heat swept by her and she flinched away. Peeking through her lids, her eyes immediately starting to stream with the smoke and heat she saw to her dismay that the stairs were obscured by burning thatch. Time for a new plan.

Caden turned around, coughing and reaching down to raise Bevins hand to cover his mouth and nose as she scanned for a new way out. Another horribly loud crack spurred her onwards, darting into a room at the back of the house as the first beam fell from the roof to land on the bed that Bevin had chosen for a safe place. Caden pulled Bevin along, her breath coming short and ragged. The house was quickly filling with thick smoke, but there was a single window in her eye line. Bevin stumbled along with her and she only released him when she reached the frame. She pulled a sword free and holding it around the blade she pounded the pommel against the edges of the window, throwing her weight behind it. A welcome shattering sounded and with it came a burst of cold night air. She ran the sword along the inside frame, bashing out every last sliver of glass shards and quickly resheathing the sword. She peered out and down to find the darkness of water.

“Bevin can you swim?” She barked, turning to pull the boy to the window.

“Of course,” he said, through a cough. He followed her gaze and then look at her with more resolve than she was feeling. “You want me to jump.”

“Be careful.” She ordered as the boy gripped the frame. She wasn’t sure if she was grateful the house was built along the edge of the lake; if it was deep enough it would make a better surface than the ground from this vantage point and Bevin could make his way around to safety. Then all she would have to do is learn to swim right then and there. Her heart shuddered at the thought.

“Be safe,” Caden said as Bevin threw himself from the window. She watched his small body fall and disappear into the water with a splash. Her heart caught as she waited for him to emerge. There he was, treading water. He caught her eye and began to swim around to the shore.

He made it look so easy. Caden glanced back at the fire edging closer. Death by fire, death by drowning? It was the story of her life to choose between two terrible options. Still, she had not died yet; maybe she was a cat after all. What was one more life, she would still have maybe four left. As the rest of the roof began to crash down aflame, Caden climbed through the window and leapt into the night.

*

“Caden!” Alistair’s voice was hoarse with yelling, breathing in the heat and ashes of the house. He couldn’t get closer as he tried to peer over the flames. Rosa came bounding over, barking all the while, her ears flat on her head. “Where is she, girl?”

Leliana appeared beside him. “What is the matter?” She asked, her voice clipped.

“Someone said they saw Caden go inside,” Alistair explained in one breath. “I can’t see her.” His mind went to the icy spell that had frozen the undead and helped with the first fire. “Morrigan?” He turned, desperately searching for the witch. She raised her head coolly meeting his gaze. “We need you.”

“What for?” She asked as she came closer, her usual languid pace. He wanted to throttle her.

“Caden’s in there, I need you to do something about these flames.”

“She is not.” Morrigan nodded over his shoulder. “She is over there.”

Alistair’s throat clenched and he spun around, eyes roaming the surroundings. A young woman who was helping with the wounded shouted and darted towards two figures who were walking slowly up from the lakeshore. She bundled a boy up in a hug and when she crouched to speak to him, Alistair realised the second figure was Caden. He didn’t know whether to laugh or shout at her, but his body was already moving, feet carrying him at speed towards her. Her hair was falling out of its usual tight knot and she was soaking wet, coughing. “Caden!”

Rosa bolted for her mistress, stumpy tail wagging so fast it was a blur. Caden touched the dogs head and looked up at him as the wind picked up and he saw her shiver. “Did we win?”

“What happened to you?” He asked instead of answering.

“Fire.” She said simply, gesturing to the buildings. “Jumped in the lake.”

“With that boy?” Alistair asked, none of this making sense to him.

“He was hiding.” She explained. “Needed saving.”

Now Alistair did laugh, relief breaking through the long nights fear and exhaustion. “And you had to save him.”

“Yes.” Caden brought her arms around her as the shivering intensified. Her teeth clattered when she spoke next. “He was alone and scared.”

Alistair shook his head, wanting to take her task about giving him such a fright, but she looked frozen and miserable with that. “Come on, let’s get you warmed up.” He stifled a yawn. “And maybe some sleep.”

“That would be nice.”

They fell in step as they walked towards the inn where they had been promised rooms. Alistair glanced at her as they walked; her shaking wasn’t stopping. He hesitated before asking. “Look, I know how you feel about being touched, but you’re going to catch your death. Can I put my arm around you just this once?”

Caden seemed to shrink away as he asked, but when he looked, she turned her gaze up towards him. “Thank you.” She said in a tiny voice. He wasn’t sure if she was thanking him for merely asking or granting permission for the action so he carefully reached out with his left arm and when she didn’t strike out or bolt, he let it curve around her, his hand resting on her upper arm. She let herself be tucked under his arm and he could immediately feel just how cold that water must have been.

“I thought you were inside that house,” Alistair said softly as they walked, his nervousness producing words. “I didn’t know how to get inside; there was burning wood in the doorway.”

“Get inside?” Caden asked, confused. “Why did you want to go in a burning building?”

“To get you out,” he said, bemused. Surely that was obvious. “I thought you might need rescuing.” He chuckled. “Stupid, right?”

He felt Caden's nod against his arm. “I did need rescuing.” She admitted. “Bevin had to help me in the lake. I can’t swim.”

Alistair shook his head. “That was pretty brave to jump when you knew it would be deep.”

“It was that or burn to death,” Caden replied simply. “I had no choice.”

They walked in silence for a while until they reached the tavern door. Alistair took his damp arm back, marvelling at how long she had tolerated him for. “I’m glad you’re alright.” He said. Caden offered a tired half-smile. “Let’s find your room so you can get out of those wet things.”

Caden stumbled over the threshold, seeking out Bella the tavern maid. Alistair hung back, not wanting to crowd her after subjecting her to such close contact. Leliana materialised at his side with a look on her face. “What?” He asked with a frown.

“Very gentlemanly of you.” Came the reply. “Very gallant.”

“She was cold,” Alistair replied.

“Indeed,” Leliana smirked over her shoulder as she headed towards Caden to help her to her room.

Chapter Text

Would I be that monster, scare them all away

Caden bit into the apple, the juice running over her chin and she ran her wrist across her mouth to wipe it away. Her feet crunched along the stones as she descended the slight hill on which the tavern rested. Rosa was at her heels and the sun was up. Before her she could see the cleared-out town square. There was no sign of the dead; the only reminder of the previous night’s battle was the two burned outbuildings and the scorch marks on a third. Caden peered at the shell of a home that she had been in last night and shuddered. That was enough fire for one lifetime, she hoped.

Her night had been uneventful, for once. Curled up in a bed with Rosa in a room shared with Leliana, she had been unable to sleep for the longest time despite the crawling fingers of exhaustion in her head. When she had finally fallen into unconsciousness, the sleep that claimed her was black and deep with no space for dreaming. Leliana had risen earlier and snuck out of the room without waking Caden, which was why she woke alone bar the hound. She didn’t mind that so much; she had been shattered after a days travel to a town that needed defending before resting.

Caden finished her apple as she came into the square and offered the core to Rosa, who accepted with a slobbery chomp. Caden wiped her hand on her breeches and looked around for anyone she might have recognised.

The Chantry doors were wide open so when the search for familiarity failed her, Caden meandered over towards it. It was cool inside, with plenty of folk moving around, or sitting quietly. Not as many as they had found the day before, she noted.

As she walked slowly towards the back, a delighted cry caught her ear and she turned. A woman was hurrying towards her and at her side was: “Bevin!” Caden smiled down at him. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“Oh, Ser,” the woman said effusively. “I am as well. When I discovered my brother was missing after the fighting had begun, I feared the worst.” She turned and gripped Bevin tight to her side. “I’m Kaitlyn, by the way.”

“Well met, Kaitlyn.” Caden nodded. “Don’t call me Ser, though; I’m not a knight. Caden is just fine.”

“We’re so grateful for what you did for us,” Kaitlyn said. “I want to give you something.” She turned and went to an area where various belongings were stored. While she rooted around, Bevin smiled at Caden.

“Thanks for helping me in the water,” Caden said.

“I’ve never known anyone who couldn’t swim,” Bevin said somewhat in awe. “How come you can’t?”

Caden shrugged. “I’ve never learned. The most water I’d ever been in was a bathtub. I’d look a bit silly trying to swim in one of those.” Bevin giggled.

“I’m glad you’re smaller than most grown-ups,” Bevin remarked through his laughter. “Or else it would have been harder. How old are you? I’m ten.”

“Nineteen,” Caden replied.

“That’s the same as my sister,” Bevin remarked. “But I don’t think I could have helped her swim. She’s too big.”

“I’m glad you could help me. I guess I’d better figure out how to swim through in case you aren’t around next time.” Caden said. Bevin’s chest puffed out a little at her words and she was glad that he seemed to be focusing on what he was able to do, not how terrified he had been. Better that he remember his achievement, rather than his almost fatal mistake.

Kaitlyn reappeared holding a long item wrapped in leather and bound with cord. “This is my grandfathers’ sword. I want you to have it.”

Caden took the package without thinking. It was heavier than she had expected, but she wasn’t about to let it stagger her in front of a boy with a large case of hero-worship. “Thank you,” Caden said. “Are you sure you don’t want it…?”

“No.” Kaitlyn shook her head. “I can’t wield it. But you could or one of your companions and you’re trying to fight for all Ferelden, aren’t you? You need it more than me.”

“How about a loan?” Caden suggested. “I’ll see that it’s returned to you after we’re done. Maybe one day Bevin could use it?”

Bevin coloured a little, but grinned.

“Alright,” Kaitlyn smiled. “Thank you.”

Caden nodded in farewell and headed on up the Chantry with her new sword.

She didn’t have to look very far before she found Alistair, along with Sten, Leliana, Bann Teagan, Mayor Murdock and Ser Perth. She padded over to the group and waited by Alistair's side until she was noticed. “Sten? Would you like a big sword?” were her first words.

Stens eyebrow gave the tiniest twitch, which she took as assent, so she dumped the bundle into his arms and watched him unwrap it and hold the sword up. It was a particularly long hilt, with plenty of room for both hands, which was good as the sword was the largest she had ever seen. “Do you like it?”

“It is an admirable tool,” Sten said, his eyes roaming the steel, which gleamed. “My thanks.”

“It’s on loan,” Caden explained. “So, don’t get too attached.”

“Very well.”

The others had watched this exchange in silence. Caden looked to Alistair rather than anyone else. “How many did we lose?”

It was Teagan who spoke first. “Four good men. That’s four men too many, but I admit that previous nights have seen numbers in double figures, so you all have my thanks.” This was directed to Alistair. Mayor Murdock harrumphed.

“Credit where credit’s due,” he said gruffly. “Alistair here deserves the lions share of it.” His gaze slid to Caden beside him. “Some of your group worked harder than others.”

Caden gritted her teeth. Next to her, Rosa stood up from her seated position. “We all worked hard.”

“You ended up in the lake and only emerged after the battle was won.” Murdock fired back.

Alistair shifted from one foot to the other. “Caden was—”

“Forget it, Alistair.” Caden snapped. “Some people are too set in their own prejudice to see reason.”

Murdock's moustache bristled. “Do better tonight and maybe I’ll change my mind.” He nodded to Alistair, then headed out. Teagan, a more polite sort, made a gesture of farewell to the assembled group before leaving with Ser Perth.

Caden let out an angry breath. “Some people just don’t want to be wrong.” She looked up at Alistair. “Whatever you were going to say—”

“Duel them.” Alistair cut in. Caden's mouth opened in surprise. “Seriously, spar with them. Out there. Pretend you’re back at Ostagar and show them they’re wrong about you.”

“I shouldn’t have to prove myself,” Caden argued weakly.

“I know,” Alistair said, his voice fervent. “It’s not fair. They shouldn’t treat you any differently as they treat me, just because you’re an elf or a woman—”

“Am I not both?” Caden asked the air as Alistair was mid-diatribe.

“—but they are stupid and we’ve got some time to kill so why not spend it honing your craft and also kicking their arses?” Alistair shrugged. “What have you got to lose?”

“I would like to see this,” Leliana said with a fierce smile. “Come on Caden.”

“As would I.” Sten put in. “I am still doubtful of your status as either a woman or a Warden. I’d like to see which it is.”

Caden felt heat in her cheeks, but she nodded mutely and they headed out of the Chantry. Her feet dragged heavily along the ground following the others. It was alright for them; even Sten was accepted as a fighter, despite not being human. His size must have been the deciding factor, they couldn’t have missed him tearing up the battlefield last night. Leliana was a woman, but had succeeded where Caden had failed, forcing them to see past her sex. Caden huffed quietly as they walked in the light. Her problem was that she was an elf. Too small to assume she could even lift a sword and her brethren in the Alienage had locked themselves up tightly, leaving her as the only elf on the field of battle. Caden didn’t blame them for that; they were unschooled in fighting arts, that much she had ascertained the day before. She’d spent her afternoon training them in the basics of how to dispatch enemies if they breached the walls of the Alienage, but essentially had told them to stay put and out of sight.

And that was exactly what she’d ended up doing. Staying out of sight, through necessity. She’d fought and killed with the rest, but when Bevin needed her she’d helped. Invisibly to some, but she wouldn’t change that. Bevin would have died in the fire without her and perhaps he was just one boy, but that one boy was worth saving. She felt her features harden as they drew up to the training grounds. Screw all of them for making her feel inadequate.

Then it occurred to her that she didn’t have to care what they thought and her spirit lifted.

“Shall we pair off and spar?” Alistair was saying loudly. He was no actor, Caden observed. She wondered how easy he would be to beat at cards and smirked. “Murdock, one of your lads can go against Caden, right?”

She flushed. This was embarrassing.

Murdock laughed. “Yeah, sure. Who wants to fight the elf, boys?” Some of them looked confused, others snorted. Caden gritted her teeth.

To his credit, Bann Teagan looked uncomfortable. Good, thought Caden. “Now, I’m sure she’s an excellent sword, er, woman.” He said. “The Grey Wardens have a reputation for only recruiting the best after all.”

One of the members of the militia stepped up. He was a slight young man with curly brown hair and he wasn’t laughing. “I’m game if you are?” He asked Caden, looking her in the eye. It warmed her to see at least one of them being polite, but she had already decided that she wouldn’t play their stupid games.

“No thanks,” Caden replied. Alistairspun to her in confusion. Caden looked at him. “Alistair thinks I should show off for you all, so you can see that I am a fighter. My other companions agree. I don’t see the point.” She turned back to the curly-haired young man. “I appreciate your willingness to fight someone these others think of as beneath you all.” Her gaze slid across to Teagan and Murdock. “I’m not a performer in some travelling troupe and I’m not going to dance for your entertainment. I’m a Grey Warden, one of the last in Ferelden and I have more important things to do with my time. I stood in this square last night and I fought the undead with you all. I saved a young boy from a fiery death.” She gave half a shrug with one shoulder. “I didn’t see you all fight personally, but if you say you were there, then you were there. I believe you.” Teagan cast his eyes downwards and Caden remembered in that moment that he had been holed up in the Chantry, a failsafe if that door was breached. “I’m sorry four men died. I wish we could have saved them all. I wish we could have been here earlier to help with the previous nights. Alistair and I have a lot of work to do and as I said, there’s only the two of us to do it all. But we shall stand here again tonight and fight the horde with you all.” She stepped a mite closer to Murdock specifically, who was stood with his arms crossed, staring her down. She straightened up as tall as she could. “Believe me I’m not doing it for your thanks or your approval. I’m doing it because I can help. Because it’s the right thing to do.”

As she turned to walk away, Caden caught sight of her companions’ expressions; Alistair didn’t look upset that she had scuppered his plan. He was nodding, smiling. Leliana winked and Sten… well, Sten was hard to read, but she could have sworn he gave her an almost imperceptible head tilt of approval. Rosa bounded to her side and Caden left the square.

*

The sun went down, just as it had the night before. Caden stood on the hill by the windmill, the winding path that lead to the castle from which the monsters had come. She gripped the hilts of her swords and wet her lips. The moon was rising. Where were they?

She heard the clanking of metal plates as Alistair approached, torch in hand. “They’re late.”

She barked nervous laughter. “They are. Terribly rude of them.”

“Shocking, really.” He agreed. “I’ve always said if you can’t rely on vicious undead monsters to be on time, you can’t rely on anyone.”

“I’ve never heard you say that.”

“No?” Alistair tilted his head in thought. “That must be one of the thoughts that stays inside my mind.”

Caden couldn’t help the snort that came out and she turned to him. “I have a hard time believing any of your thoughts stay in your head.”

“Ha, well, some of them do, I assure you,” Alistair said, reaching up to scratch his ear. He glanced back up the hill and Caden followed his gaze. “Do you suppose they aren’t coming?”

Caden hesitated. “I don’t know. Could it be that we might get lucky for once?”

“I hardly dare imagine.”

Caden sighed. Sheathing her swords she started up the path. Another clank of armour and Alistair darted around her. “Where are you going?” He asked, walking sideways as she continued her stomp uphill.

“Up there,” she nodded. “I’m going to see what’s happening.”

“Or,” Alistair offered, “we could not. What if it’s a trap? What if they’re trying to fight us on their home turf? What if there are, I don’t know, nets?”

“Nets?”

“You know, snares, traps.”

“You already said traps.”

“Caden, stop a moment, please.” She complied, turning with a hand on her hip, waiting to hear a compelling reason to turn back. Alistair took a breath. “I want to go to the castle as much as anyone, you must know that.” She saw his eyes cloud over. “I’m desperate to know if we can even help Eamon. But we can’t just charge up there.” He turned around, back to the hill and fixed the force of his gaze on Caden. “We have to play it safe.”

“I hear you,” Caden said. Then, struck by a moment of compassion spurred on by his concern for her the night before and by the sadness in his eyes when he spoke of Eamon, she reached over and patted his arm. It was awkward, her touch refusing to linger, her gloved hand only briefly pressing against his bracers, but it was genuine. “Why don’t you hold this line and I’ll scout up ahead? I promise I won’t engage; I’ll just check it out.”

He looked pained. “I should go with—”

“They’ll hear you coming from down here,” Caden said, not unkindly. “I can be quiet. Or loud; I’ll yell if I get attacked, alright?”

Alistair didn’t look pleased, but he drew in a deep breath and stepped aside.

Caden nodded and headed up. There was little chance of getting lost; the path wound it’s way back and forth up the hill, zig-zagging up the terrain. It was worn smooth and it was wide, Caden assumed so that wagons could ascend to the castle as Alistair had told her it was the only way in or out. Redcliffe was a defensible castle, perched high over the lake as it was, unless of course the threat was coming from inside. One side of the road was lined with trees that provided some cover for Caden to creep along, but in truth, she was less concerned about making noise, more about traps. Alistair's suggestion had left a worm of doubt niggling at her, mostly that she hadn’t considered that possibility herself. She would have to be careful. Not only for her safety, but equally she would never live it down if he had to come and rescue her from a pit. Or a net. Caden bit back a short, sharp laugh at the thought. Nets. What was he thinking? An image of her suspended from a snare, upside down trapped by the ankle, played out and she shuddered. An even worse embarrassment to be sure.

Caden's footsteps were soft as she climbed up the road. She couldn’t see Alistair now unless she left her covering shadow and peered over the edge of the road, which she didn’t relish. The shape of the castle loomed out of the darkness ahead. No lamps were lit, no hearth fires burning and brightening the windows. It was cold and dark. She lowered her body, hoping to draw yet more shade around her, glad of the hood that obscured her hair and face.

The portcullis was down, preventing entry into the courtyard. Caden hesitated at the end of the treeline, before making a break for the wall, spinning to press her back up against it and waiting. Listening.

Nothing.

She peered around the wide archway and looked between the iron lattice. There was a second portcullis just after the first, creating a double barrier, though this one was up. The courtyard was dark, discerning anything was difficult. She held her breath and kept still, the only movement from her eyes scanning the vicinity, trying to make out any sense of movement.

Nothing.

Caden slowly let out her breath and moved back against the wall. She looked up, eyes sliding up the portcullis and she thought. She could feasibly scale the thing; the open squares of the interlocking metal were more than enough for her hands and feet to climb, but to what end? The portcullis disappeared into a stone arch that jutted out overhead, too steep and too smooth to get any purchase. She sighed. The castle was closed up tight, quiet to the rest of the world and not something she could scale herself. There was nothing else to do but return to the town.

Alistair was waiting. He caught sight of her and bounced on the balls of his feet, almost comically. He held the torch aloft and Caden was glad for the small patch of light to chase away the night. “What did you find?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” Alistair asked. “No monsters?”

“No monsters,” Caden confirmed. “No-one at all.”

“Oh.” Alistair looked up the cliff road towards the castle. “What do we do now then?”

Caden nodded back down past the windmill. “We let them know and we plan our next move.” She started walking and Alistair caught up with her, holding the torch so they could both see their footing. “We can station two men up here to keep an eye out just in case.”

“Good thinking,” Alistair said. “You do the talking; you give orders better than I do.”

Caden shook her head, somewhat in despair. “I’m sure I don’t, but fine. They might not listen to me though.”

“They will,” Alistair said with confidence. “When you stand up and talk people listen, haven’t you noticed? Lothering was a prime example, but earlier you made an impact as well. I saw it, I heard them afterwards. I think you shamed Teagan and even Murdock took note.” He glanced at her as they approached the bridge over the waterfall towards town. “You weren’t… cross with me for the idea, were you? I just thought that if you showed them just how good you are at fighting, they’d realised how much they underestimated you.”

Caden stopped and he mirrored her, his face wary. She felt a jab to the gut at the sight; knowing she had given herself this reputation for being abrasive and difficult and Alistair didn’t actually deserve her ire.

The waterfall was loud and the spray was cold in the night air, but she leaned against the railing overlooking the river that wound to the lake.

“I’m not mad. I appreciate what you said, about how it wasn’t fair. I know you aren’t cruel to elves, but I don’t think you truly understand what it’s like to be one of us. That said,” she added, watching him as she spoke, “I think you got it a little bit when you tried to help. That really does mean a lot.” Alistair came over and leaned beside her. Caden looked down at her interlocking fingers, biting her lip. “I’m sorry I said we couldn’t be friends.” She said quietly, cringing. “I’m sorry I yelled at you… and swore at you. And thank you for coming to my aid that night with my dreams despite my behaviour.”

“Forget about it,” Alistair said. “I told you that you were my friend and that’s true. There’s no pressure for you to…”

“You are my friend, Alistair.” For a moment Caden thought the noise of the waterfall had swallowed her words as he didn’t speak, but when she stole a glance at him he smiled back, looking pleased. She’d never seen anyone so thrilled by such a little thing. “It’s nothing special. I’m not a great friend.”

“Fortunately, I have low standards.” Alistair quipped, eliciting a snort of laughter from Caden, dispelling some of the awkwardness.

“Well, good.” She said.

They stood together for a while, in companionable silence overlooking the town, in no hurry to move on. Caden wondered what Alistair was thinking about as they stood. Her mind was dwelling on those dreams and exactly what kind of friend she was. She thought of Shianni and their terrible escape from Vaughan's estate in Denerim. She’d been a good friend then, saved her cousin from violation and harm, though it had cost Nelaros his life and Caden her freedom. A tightening over her chest jolted her as she stood on the bridge and she clutched at the railing, knuckles whitening, the gold band standing out against her pale skin. If she were honestly Alistair's friend she would tell him the truth about her marital status and that night when she’d killed those men. The reason why they had had to die. Her mouth was dry, but she turned around:

“Alistair, there’s something—”

“About my parents—”

Alistair spoke at the same time as she did and both broke off hearing the other. Faces drawn they faced each other, the torch fire bouncing light and shadow.

Caden looked up at him, the words shrivelling on her tongue. “You go ahead.” She prompted.

“No, no, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He countered.

“Honestly, it’s fine.” She insisted. “What is it?”

Alistair seemed to be struggling to find the words now, his mouth slightly open, his lip quivering. “I… er…”

The moment seemed dashed. Caden had no idea where the bravery had come from to speak of her demons to Alistair and neither, it seemed, did he. She cut through his struggle. “We really should go and speak to the town.”

Relief visibly washed over Alistair as he nodded. “Yes, we really should.”

They shared a tentative smile and headed towards the market.

*

The news was greeted with relief, albeit tinged with suspicion by Murdock and Ser Perth, though Caden found she didn’t much mind this reaction. Two men, a knight and the curly-haired man from earlier that day, were dispatched to keep the first watch over the route into the town. The rest turned to the Chantry. It was Bann Teagan who acted most thrilled at the reprieve of battle, with nary a dark thought of traps or that the monsters were biding their time. Instead, he called forth barrels of mead and wine and demanded music and food. A celebration sparked up before either Caden or Alistair could fathom what was happening. It took quite some doing to take him aside to discuss a plan for the morning and he was already well into his cups by that time.

The trio sat aside from the sudden party in an otherwise unoccupied pew, each with a drink in hand. Alistair had sipped at his, Caden’s was still full. Teagan insisted on clinking their goblets before he would let them talk. It was far too tiresome.

“Teagan,” Caden said, shooting the name through with authority. Alistair raised his brow over her familiarity, using the name rather than title, or combination thereof. Caden narrowed her eyes and stared Teagan down as he sniggered into his wine. “This is serious.”

“I know, I know,” he gave, leaning back, legs spread, tilting his head up. “I’m just so damned relieved not to have to fight tonight.”

That he had not fought at all during the past nights remained unsaid.

“We have some respite, yes,” Caden said. “But that is time best put to use planning our next move. We need to get into the castle.”

“We need to find Eamon,” Alistair said. “Not to mention everyone else inside.”

Teagans gaze darkened and he stared into his cup. “You’re right. Of course. Isolde and Connor are still within the castle, as well the household.”

Caden glanced at Alistair, who’s face had pinched. “Who are they? Eamons family?”

“Yes,” Alistair nodded. “His wife and son. Connor would be, what? Ten now?”

Teagan hiccoughed. “Yes. Ironic really. He’s trapped in the castle at the very same age as you were when Isolde—”

“Teagan.” Alistair's tone was sharp and Teagan hiccoughed again, downing his drink.

Caden kept very still as the air thickened with tension. Neither man seemed ready to speak again so she tried to regain control of the conversation. “I hadn’t realised there was a child in the castle.”

Alistair still looked bothered by Teagans words, but she saw the ghost of a smile flit across his face. “Well, I figured you’d go charging in there if you knew. You have a habit of saving kids.”

Caden smiled wanly back. Alistair finished his drink and stood. “Another?”

“I’m still good with mine,” Caden said, gesturing with the full cup, but Teagan thrust his goblet to Alistair who sighed and took it, heading to refill them. Caden took a small taste of her wine. It tasted sour and made her face scrunch up. Nothing like the watered-down stuff she was used to at what passed for a fancy event in the Alienage. She set her cup on the pew beside her.

Teagan was watching her, Caden realised with a start. As she had his attention she pressed on with the plan. “The outer portcullis was down; how else could we get inside?”

“You know,” Teagan drawled, moving his arm to rest along the back of the pew. “You are a very surprising woman.” Caden felt her mouth clamp shut, the itching sensation of his eyes prickling her skin. “I underestimated you before.” Somehow this didn’t sound like the validation she had hoped for. “You are a very pretty young lady.”

Caden felt her heart sink. She scrabbled for plans, for the castle, for anything to say to divert this horrible course, but her stomach was clenching in discomfort and any efforts fizzled out before she could speak them. Teagans hand was casually draped beside her and she felt herself draw together where she sat. His finger touched her shoulder and she suppressed a shudder.

“Just look at your face,” Teagan said, his eyes roving over her, his words running ever so slightly together, the alcohol loosening his tongue. “Exquisite. And that hair; like sunshine. You should let it down.” His finger brushed along her arm and she was glad to be wearing her armour still. It was a step up from any other such occasion when cotton or wool had been her only choice of clothing to keep hands out. “What a slender neck you have.”

Such a pretty neck such a pretty neck such a pretty neck.

Caden's hand raised to bat away the fingers creeping closer, her heart pounding, adrenaline roaring, but she kept everything tightly locked in place. Only her arm moved, only her left hand carefully blocked his advances. It was all very polite and restrained. “Please don’t.” She said in a murmur.

Teagan clasped her wrist in a delicate move that didn’t feel like she was being held tight. Caden jerked her head around to see what he was doing to find him holding her hand to the light, the glow of lanterns bouncing off the gold band on her finger. “You’re married?”

Of all the armour she wore, Caden had forgotten this piece. Gratitude for wearing it washed over her. “I am.” She lied quietly.

“My apologies.” Teagan nodded, releasing her hand. “He doesn’t mind?”

“Mind?”

“You doing all this. The Grey Warden life?” Teagan clarified.

Caden's mouth was dry and she felt for her wine as she grasped for words. “Er… no. He’s very supportive of my duty to Ferelden.” She bluffed, tipping her cup and taking a gulp and wincing.

“Look who finally got tired of being the children’s guardian.” Caden jumped at the sound of Alistair approaching with Rosa hot on his heels. She forgot about the tart wine and gladly accepted Rosa jumping up at her and the hot dog breath on her face. Anything was preferable to the prickling feeling under her flushed skin. She had the unerring sensation of having been caught in a compromising position, even though she’d done nothing.

“Hello girl,” Caden ruffled her ears. “I’m going to step outside with her for a bit. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Alright,” Alistair said, handing Teagan his refreshed goblet. “I’ll find you later to go over the plans?”

“Of course.” Caden nodded and headed outside with her dog to find space to breathe freely again.

Chapter Text

Dawn is just a heartbeat away. 

“I think this is possibly the trappiest trap that every trapped.” Caden snorted in the dim light at Alistair's assessment. He came up beside her and despite the worry that was clear in his hazel eyes, he offered a pale grin.

“I know.” Caden agreed. “But what are you going to do?”

“Yeah.”

Onwards they walked.

When a noblewoman had appeared the previous morning desperate to find Bann Teagan, it had been a shock to say the least. Caden had been ready to nab the woman and press her for everything she knew about the goings-on in the castle, but one look at Alistair's face had halted her. It had turned out that this was Arlessa Isolde Guerrin, the Orlesian born woman who had married Eamon and born him a son. She hadn’t designed to speak to Caden, nor had she really been interested in speaking with Alistair, but they were present as she persuaded Teagan to go back to the castle with her. A decision that had only been accepted by Caden and Alistair after Teagan had advised them of the secret passageway under the windmill, which they were now using to access the castle.

It stung, Caden felt, to know that there was a way into the castle all along and that they could have used it the night before instead of indulging Teagans urge to party. He clearly hadn’t gotten the message that everything the Wardens was doing was rather time sensitive. It rankled. As did the sight of the Arlessa and her insistence on mistrusting Caden on sight, to say nothing of the way she had looked down her nose at Alistair.

The long and winding underground path bore on and Caden glanced at Alistair as they walked. “You know, I’ve been rather expecting you to want to tell me more about all the things you kept cutting Teagan off from saying.”

Alistair’s eye twitched, but when he looked at her it was with an easy smile. Perhaps he did have some skills in hiding his feelings after all. “Caught that did you?”

“That and the Arlessas rudeness towards you,” Caden replied. “I can understand her lack of manners with me, a ‘lowly elf’, but I was surprised by her disrespect for you. What did you do to her?”

Alistair chuckled low and quiet. “I existed.” He shrugged. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

Caden waited patiently until Alistair sighed and continued. “She thought I was Eamons bastard, I suppose. Didn’t buy that Eamon just felt responsible for me after his servant died having me.”

“It… does sound a little shifty,” Caden admitted.

“Eamon is a good man.” Alistair asserted. “A fair man. I know it probably sounds strange given that nobles can be so… disappointing.”

In her mind, Caden reeled off the noblemen she had come into contact with. Vaughan, Urien, Cailan, Loghain, Teagan. “That’s one word for it.” She said darkly.

“But Eamon isn’t like that.” Alistair went on. “He’s a decent man. That’s why I know he’d want to help us, why he’d oppose Loghain. He raised me because it was the right thing to do. There was nobody else to do it.”

For a moment the emotion trapped in Alistair's voice was so all encompassing that the small tunnel seemed thick with it and Caden almost, almost, reached over to take his hand. “Alistair,” she heard herself mumble.

“Anyway, Eamon took me in as a babe and I grew up in the castle for a bit until he brought Isolde home.” Alistair continued, oblivious to Caden's quiet empathy. “That was when it was decided my sleeping quarters would be better served in the stables. At least the horses were kinder than the Arlessa. And smelled better, or so I told myself as a little boy.” He let out another small laugh at this. “Rather childish I know.”

“You were a child.” Caden pointed out gently.

“True.” Alistair shifted the strap holding his shield his back as he ducked to avoid a low patch of ceiling. Caden managed to walk past it unimpeded. Behind them a short way back, Leliana and Morrigan were also forced to stoop and then a grumble as Sten had to duck even lower. For once, Caden felt rather smugly superior.

“So the Arlessa hated you on sight because she thought you were her husband’s illegitimate son and had you live in the stables.” Caden summarised. “What were the winters like?”

Alistair glanced at her in surprise. “Cold, but the horses were well kept; Redcliffe is known for it’s breeding stock so the stables are probably nicer than most and the horses looked after. I guess it could have been worse.”

“It could have been a lot better, too.” Caden rebuked. “I know you must care for Eamon a lot, but if he were really, truly a good man, he ought to have taken better care of you.”

The surprise was back, even more baldly obvious. “I suppose so, but he did the best he could.” Alistair put forth weakly. Caden was firm.

“No.” She said hotly. “Best would have been keeping you in the castle, in a bed, with a fireplace, with meals at a dinner table. For Andrastes sake, I had a room and a bed.”

“I was probably fed more frequently,” Alistair smiled, attempting a small joke. “So, who really had it worse?”

“I’m not joking around,” Caden replied, not unkindly, but it vanished his smile. “What they did to you was cruel. Isolde for treating an orphan child that way and Eamon for backing her up.” They walked on in silence for a while. “They have a son, yes?”

“Connor,” Alistair replied.

“Teagan said he’s the same age as you were when…?” She trailed off, hoping he would tell her what he’d stopped Teagan from saying the night before. Alistair didn’t reply at first, until they reached a door that was most likely their entrance to the castle.

Alistair stopped, one hand on the doorknob and sighed softly. “He’s ten. The same age I was when I was sent away to live at the monastery.” He opened the door and stepped inside. Caden bristled on Alistair's behalf, but the conversation was forced to end there as the trap was sprung and the undead attacked.

*

“Over here!” Caden swept her sword through some relatively clean straw in a heap beside the twice expired bodies and looked over to the shout. A hand was waving through the bars of a cell where the voice had come from.

“Careful,” Alistair said, rather unnecessarily Caden thought as she made her way over to the cell. Morrigan approached it from the other side, the other three and Rosa hanging back.

Inside the cell was a young man who looked to be about Caden's age. He was gaunt and pale, and getting closer to him brought a smell of days old sweat, tinged with excrement from a covered bucket in the far corner. Caden forced her face into a neutral expression; he might have been a prisoner, but she didn’t need to be rude. “Who are you?” She asked.

“My name’s Jowan,” he replied.

“Why are you in this cell?” the next question came from Alistair, striding forward. Caden could clearly see the moment the smell hit his nose as Alistair visibly recoiled. Jowan didn’t seem to notice.

“Thank you for killing those things,” Jowan said, ignoring the question. “I’ve been keeping them away from my door, but I’m so tired and running low on energy.” He left out a weary cough. “Do you have any food or water?”

Leliana immediately fished out some bread and offered it to him, along with her water skin. Alistair and Caden shared a look as Jowan drank and shoved the food into his mouth. When he was finished, Alistair repeated his question and Jowan winced.

“The Arlessa threw me in here,” Jowan said hurriedly. “She blames me for the troubles in the castle, but it wasn’t my fault, I swear.”

“Slow down,” Caden said. “How are you to blame?”

“I’m not!” Jowan exclaimed. His hands gripped the bars so tightly his knuckles strained and turned white. “I’m not!”

Caden glanced at Morrigan, the ally who was closest to the cell with her. The witch was watching Jowan with narrow, shrewd eyes. It hardly pointed towards his guilt; Morrigan observed most people in that way. Caden turned and started to glance at Alistair, but his eyes went wide and he started forward as she looked at him. A second later a hand was gripping her wrist and Caden whirled. Jowan had his forearm thrust through the bars and those white knuckles were gripping her arm. Caden’s stomach dropped and she reached for her sword, but then another hand entered the fray; Morrigan had Jowan's arm gripped under her nails.

“Remove it, or lose it.” She uttered coolly. Magic flared over her fingers and ice crystals formed beneath her palms. Jowan howled in sudden pain and immediately released Caden, who pulled her hand back, cradling it to her chest, placing distance between her and the cell.

“Caden?” Alistair's murmur was right beside her without crowding her. Caden gave a curt nod and let go of her arm, determined to look strong. It didn’t matter that her insides were roiling at the unexpected grasp, she just had to look fine. She rolled her shoulders as Morrigan let go of Jowan, a curiosity tingeing her eyes.

“How odd.” She mused softly.

“What is it?” Caden asked the witch, glad for a distraction. Morrigan smirked as she glanced at Jowan with fresh interest.

“He tried to fight me,” Morrigan said. “He’s a mage, but he spoke the truth; he is practically out of energy so all he could manage was a tiny spark. Hardly worth worrying about. But the most interesting thing is what he tried to do.”

“Which was?” Caden asked. All of this had transpired beneath her hand, before her eyes and she had missed it all.

“Blood magic,” Morrigan said with a curling smile exposing her teeth. Alistair made a noise and Caden turned to him.

“Blood magic,” he spat, his tone dripping in scorn. “No wonder he was thrown in here. No good ever comes from blood magic.”

Caden chewed on her lip for a moment before sighing and asking: “what’s blood magic?”

Three people spoke at once; Jowan protesting in favour of his preferred magic, Morrigan calmly asserting her surprise that someone like him had it in him and Alistair shouting that it was possibly the worst thing in all of Thedas. Caden held up a hand to them all.

“Alright, so it’s a bad thing?” Caden asked, her gaze finding Alistair's.

“You’re damn right it’s a bad thing,” Alistair said with a derisive snort.

Caden turned back to Jowan in the cell, a thought occurring for the first time. “Aren’t mages supposed to live in the Circle?” Caden asked.

Morrigan sneered a response, crossing her arms. “They most certainly are not, though the Chantry would have us all locked away like cattle.”

“That’s right,” Jowan nodded, looking with renewed desperation to Morrigan. “Are you a free mage?”

“An apostate,” Alistair corrected, garnering a new filthy look from Morrigan.

Caden’s head hurt. She raised her hand to her temples and rubbed her fingers in small circles over the throbbing ache. “Semantics aside,” she went on slowly, “what are you even doing here? Do nobles have mages in their households normally?”

At this both Alistair and Morrigan could agreed; they spoke almost in unison: “no.”

“So then why are you here?” Caden's head felt thick and full of straw; she just wasn’t getting why this man was in a cell in a castle when he probably ought to have been at the Circle of Magi.

Jowan sighed and took a moment before replying. Alistair stepped a little closer, eager to hear the response. “Arlessa Isolde hired me. Well, she found me. I had destroyed my phylactery before I escaped the Circle, but her Templars found me anyway and she had a need of a mage so she let me stay.” Caden's head was reeling from this news, locking away the term phylactery to ask about later. “Her son needed a tutor. In magic. So…”

“Wait, Connor?” Alistair held up a hand in shock to pause the story. “Connor Guerrin, a mage?”

Jowan nodded. “Yes. I’ve been teaching him to control his powers.”

Something didn’t sit quite right with Caden. She glanced at Leliana who was taking in all the information with an outwardly passive face, but her eyes were sharp and fixed on Jowan. “Leliana, what are you thinking?”

The Sister cocked her head, not removing her gaze from the mage in the cell. “I’m surprised at the convenience of the situation. The Arlessa wanted a mage to educate her son in secret, I presume, in order to keep him from being sent away to the Circle. And then a free mage happens along just at that moment? Very lucky really for the Arlessa.”

“You think there’s more to it than good fortune?” Caden pressed and Leliana nodded. Caden turned back to Jowan. “Well?”

Jowan shifted in the cell. “Fine, well, I knew the Arlessa was looking for a mage. That’s why I came here.” He sighed heavily. “I was contacted by a gentleman to show up here and demonstrate my skills discreetly so that the Arlessa would see hiring me as a good opportunity. Bring me into the castle. So that I could…” his voice sank to a mumble into his chest as his head dropped down.

“Sorry, what?” Caden asked, stepping closer. Jowan glanced up.

“I was hired to… poison the Arl.” He said quietly. “So… I did.”

“What?” Alistair’s voice was booming, echoing off the surrounding walls. Caden almost leapt out of her skin at the sudden yell, her eyes darting to the stairs as if he was bringing the whole castle running. When nobody appeared, she turned back to him.

“Alistair, hush,” she said, trying to sound as thoughtful under the circumstances as she was able. “We’re still undercover, don’t forget.”

The look on his face suggested that Alistair was apoplectic with rage, that if one more word were to leave Jowan's mouth he might just explode into a shower of incandescent fury. Mercifully though, both men fell silent. Caden took a breath and focused again on the mage-cum-assassin. “Is the Arl dead?”

“Not as far as I know,” Jowan admitted. “He lingers on in sleep so deep that none can wake him.”

“You are not a very good poisoner.” Leliana helpfully pointed out, crossing her arms in front of her. “Were you give a draught to slip him or did you whip up the concoction yourself?”

“The first one,” Jowan said in a small voice. “My hands were shaking so hard when I poured the vial into his evening wine that I admit I don’t believe I administered the full dose.”

“Very lucky for the Arl.” Leliana assessed. “Were there any particular things you recall about the contents of the vial, colours or scents? Or do you still have the vial?”

“If anyone has it it’s the Arlessa,” Jowan said after a moment. “My room was searched after the Arl went down and then I hid the vial under my bed. Chances are they checked my room again after flinging me down here. As for the draught, it was a small vial, and it didn’t look like anything. Just like water.”

Caden glanced at Leliana, whose brow was furrowed as she ducked her head to catch her chin in her hand and thought. “Any ideas?” She wasn’t really sure why she was asking; prior to this moment she had no idea Leliana would have known anything about poisons at all, yet she was turning into the most valuable asset in this moment.

“Could have been water with a powdered element to it.” Leliana mused. “Or there are a few poisons that are made as odourless and clear as possible so as to avoid detection.”

Morrigan harrumphed. “Not in my experience.” She said. “Some men will take anything from a woman giving them attention without ever glancing at what they’re imbibing, even if it were lurid purple and giving off an odour of death.”

Alistair’s eyes were as round as the moon. “Have I gone completely mad, or does everyone here have experience poisoning people? Sten, how about you?” He asked, gesturing wildly.

“Poison is an effective tool for the Ben-Hassrath,” Sten said bluntly. “Not for the Beresaad.”

That seemed an uncooperative answer, though Caden felt that from context she could assume it meant that Sten wasn’t a poisoner himself. “I’ve never poisoned anyone,” Caden said to Alistair with a helpless shrug. “So that’s three of us. Half of everyone in the room. So…” She trailed off as Alistair started to laugh.

“Great, so in a room of six people we have three confirmed experts in poison,” Alistair said. “Join the Grey Wardens, see the world, meet fantastic new people!”

Caden offered a weak smile in response. Leliana had withdrawn a little into herself, though whether that was because it seemed as though Alistair was having a laugh at her expense or whether she was afraid she’d revealed too much, Caden didn’t know. Morrigan seemed wholly unashamed of the title of poison expert that Alistair had bestowed on her.

“Right, well,” Caden said, trying to get back on track. “We don’t know what the poison was, but there’s a chance for Eamon? If you didn’t get the full dose into him and he’s alive, then we could restore him, right?”

“I don’t see why not.” Leliana nodded. “Alive means there is a chance.”

“That’s good for him.” Alistair asserted. “And that’s a chance for you, too, blood mage.” He rounded on the cell, eyes dark with anger. “If he dies, though, that’ll be your head for certain. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Jowan said in a strangled voice.

“Who was the person who wanted you to poison the Arl?” Caden asked, her eyes narrowing as she followed a thought that had sparked.

“I didn’t learn his name,” Jowan admitted. “But someone referred to him as a Teyrn.”

“Loghain?” Caden asked, turning to look at Alistair.

“There are only two Teyrns in Ferelden.” Alistair nodded. “Bryce Cousland was one and he was recently killed.”

“Which leaves only Loghain.” Caden finished. “Damn him.”

“Look,” Jowan said, jumping on a lifeline for himself. “I have no loyalty to this Loghain and I clearly failed my task, which I am so very glad about. Let me out of this cage and maybe there’s a chance I can help the rest of the castle residents. At the very least,” here he turned fully to Caden, imploring her with obvious fear across his face, “don’t let me die down here.”

Caden took one look at him, sighed, and reached for her lockpicks. Alistair started forward. “Caden, seriously?”

“What if those things come back?” Caden asked. “Could you live with yourself if someone died when you could have kept them from harm?”

“A blood mage and the man who poisoned my one-time guardian?” Alistair asked. “I think I could sleep at night.”

“Who has a problem with blood magic, I wonder?” Morrigan mused slyly. “The Grey Warden or the Templar?”

“Shut up Morrigan!”

“He’s not a Templar.” Caden pointed out for what felt like the hundredth time. To Alistair she added: “Come on, he said himself he was low on energy and we can keep an eye on him. Morrigan you can tell when he’s about to do blood magic, right?”

“Wrong,” Morrigan said archly. “I could tell when I had skin contact with him, but ordinarily no. I couldn’t predict when he was about to attack us with blood magic.”

“Oh.” Caden chewed on her lip as she thought and then shrugged. “Well, we’ll just have to watch him.” And she bent to begin work on the lock. Leliana moved past Alistair to supervise and assist.

“Caden, I’m really not comfortable with this.” Her fellow Warden said grimly. “Who’s going to watch him?”

“Couldn’t you?” Caden asked, not looking away from the lock as one tumbler moved into the right place. “I know you aren’t a Templar, but did you learn anything from them that could help?”

Silence fell for a short while as Caden worked. Finally, Alistair spoke again.

“I could cleanse the area of spells,” Alistair admitted. “That might mess with Morrigans casting though.”

“Then it is not an option,” Morrigan snapped. “I refuse to walk into a dragon’s den without the means to defend myself.”

“She’s right,” Caden said, springing the lock. It was a much easier lock than the one on Sten's cage had been. “We can’t leave Morrigan helpless.”

“I am never helpless,” Morrigan hissed, rather contradicting her point though Caden didn’t like to say so. She stood and swung the door to the cell open.

“Caden, wait,” Alistair said hurriedly. Jowan sensibly stayed put, though he looked as though he were itching to bolt. “Think about this. Do you really want to let him out?”

“Alistair, we’re friends,” Caden said, fixing her gaze fully on her Warden-Brother. “Yes?”

“Yes…?”

“So, trust me.” She turned to Jowan and jerked her head. He left the cell keeping a wide space between him and Alistair and came to stand behind Caden.

“I do trust you,” Alistair muttered. “It’s him I don’t.”

“Thank you,” Jowan murmured. Caden smiled, then reached for the rope at her side. He watched her unfurl the short length, then tie it around her belt. She held up the other end and waited while realisation dawned and with a groan, he raised his arms and let Caden wind the rope around his waist and secure it with a tight knot. “Thank you.” He said again, sarcasm slipping over the words.

“No problem.” Caden smiled. She turned to the others. “Shall we head on?”

*

There was a small debate regarding who would lead them on. If they wanted to go for stealth and scouting it would have to be Leliana, but she was wielding a bow and so was not ideally suited to close combat that might have arisen should someone spring another trap. Caden was at a disadvantage with her anchor in the form of Jowan holding her back and Alistair wanted to keep an eye on the pair. He didn’t trust the mage one bit, no matter what Caden had said, but he was the one who knew the castle best and so was suited to walk ahead if they weren’t worrying about staying quiet. In the end, they let Rosa lead the way, her keen senses primed to listen and smell for danger. Behind her strode Sten, holding his greatsword, ready to take out anyone who dared try to mess with the dog. It turned out that Sten had something of an affinity with Rosa, the two seeming to understand one another.

Alistair and Caden, along with Jowan, took up the middle section with the long-range caster and archer following behind. It worked well enough in these narrow corridors towards the courtyard.

As they came out into the night once again and found themselves under the moonlit sky, Alistair felt rather than saw Caden make a break for the portcullis. It was up on their side, but down on the other. Jowan trailed unhappily behind the Warden as she searched for a lever.

“Caden,” Alistair called softly across the gloom. She turned back, nudging the mage aside so she could lock eyes with Alistair. “Maybe we should leave that for now.” She frowned. “Might be noisy. We don’t want to alert anyone to our presence yet.”

“Don’t you think they already know?” Leliana asked him. He hadn’t realised she was right beside him and when he turned he saw she was staring up at the castle. He followed her gaze. A red glow bloomed inside, lighting up the windows and arrowslits, filling him with dread.

Behind him Caden found the chains to raise the portcullis and slowly, slowly turned the wheel that would raise the heavy wooden lattice. Alistair hesitated only a moment before going to aid her. Together they raised the gate to the top and secured it fast. Caden called for Rosa, who bounded over.

“Rosa, go down to the village and get the soldiers to follow you back, alright?” She patted her mabaris head. Alistair nodded.

“I guess we’re abandoning all attempts at stealth now.” He remarked.

Caden looked grim. “They know we’re here. Better call for reinforcements now.”

Rosa set off down the road back to the village.

Alistair and Caden headed back to the centre of the courtyard. “Right, let’s get inside,” Alistair said. “We might as well take the front entrance. Rest assured we’ve got back up on the way, so if things get dicey just go on the defensive and wait it out.”

“This is a bad idea,” Jowan said, unhappily. “Please, let me go down to the village after your dog and help rally the troops.”

“Sorry,” Caden said, not sounding very sorry. “You’re with us now.”

“At least…” Jowan turned mournful eyes on Morrigan. “do you have any lyrium? I need to recharge before going in there.”

“What I have is enough for me,” Morrigan replied. “You are going to have to hope the Wardens are intent on keeping you alive and trust in their skills.”

Jowan did not look thrilled.

“Ready?” Alistair asked, looking only at Caden. She set her mouth into a thin line and nodded once.

But before they could approach the castle, the doors swung slowly open, creaking as if they hadn’t been opened in decades. Out strode a young boy, no more than ten with yellow hair and unnatural purple eyes. Flanking him were soldiers all wreathed in purple mist around their heads, the forlorn Arlessa and Bann Teagan. Alistair glanced at Teagan and saw to his dismay the same purple energy around his glassy eyes.

“Oh no, oh fuck it,” Jowan was mithering, edging further behind Caden as if for protection and crouching as best he could to let the smaller woman shield him from view. Alistair stepped forward.

“Connor Guerrin.” His voice carried across the night. “We’re here to help you.”

“Silence!” The voice coming from the boy was booming. It hardly sounded like a human voice at all, something was distorting his voice from the inside. “Who are you to trespass into my home, into my castle and kill all my playthings? Have you come to join me? Or do you intend to die and join me after I raise your pathetic broken bodies?”

“Are those the only options?” Alistair barked with nervous laughter as Caden posed the question to the boy.

Not-Connor focused his intense purple gaze onto Caden. “Mother, who is that?”

The Arlessa sniffed. “My sweet, that is an elf. You know about elves, yes? Like our servants?”

Alistair watched Caden's brows furrow in irritation. “I am Warden Tabris, of the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden. We have come to restore normalcy to this town. What exactly is the situation here?”

“Demon,” Morrigan hissed and Jowan nodded. “A demon has possessed this child in order to walk in Thedas. We must kill it.”

“The demon or the boy?” Caden asked darkly. Alistair swallowed.

“Kill the body and the possession ends,” Morrigan said. “Without a host, the demon will be expelled into its usual form and we can kill it.”

“We’re not killing the boy,” Alistair said hurriedly and Caden nodded.

“Not if we can help it.” She agreed.

“SILENCE!” The voice of the demon coursed through the night air again. “You will not touch this body unless you wish to be killed very, very slowly. We have an agreement, the boy and I. I keep his father alive and he gave me his body.”

“Foolish child,” Morrigan said, but Alistair was surprised to hear sorrow in her tone, rather than derision.

“Well then?” Not-Connor asked. “Step forward and join me!”

Alistair drew his sword and shield. “We will not negotiate with a demon.” He heard the sound of his party members drawing their own weapons. Morrigan readied her staff, energy crackling all around her in anticipation.

“Very well.” Not-Connor smiled, the edges of his mouth reaching too high, his teeth bared in a sharp grin. “Then you shall perish.”

The soldiers barrelled down the steps towards the Wardens and their party. Alistair leapt forward to meet them as magic lightning sped through the air, locking one in place as his muscles when rigid. Alistair parried a blow with his shield and swung his sword through the air, cracking down on the helmet of the knight fighting him. “Try not to kill them if you can help it,” he called through blows. “They are all possessed.”

“As you say,” Leliana called from her position further back. She had sensibly put plenty of space between her and them in order to shoot her arrows and as they flew towards their targets, Alistair just hoped that she was aiming for non-lethal hits.

Sten barged past swing his sword in a wide arc. There was nothing about him that suggested a merciful approach, but when he used his sword to knock the legs out from under his opponent, Alistair saw him grip the sword in one hand and use his heavy fist to knock out the man on the ground. He lay still, but Alistair had to assume he was still breathing.

Morrigan muttered some spell and when Alistair ducked under a sword swing to spin and bash the knight with his shield, he was met with the horrifying sight of the witch of the wilds suddenly merging her form from woman to giant spider. He bit back a yelp and was momentarily too stunned to move as he watched her utilise the spiders' web to wreath a knight in tight bonds.

A blow to his back staggered him and brought him to his senses, only just throwing up his shield to catch the sword that was aiming for his skull. He let out a yell as he swung his sword in a short arc, utilising the flat edge to push his combatant away so he could move his shield to bash him to the ground. A blow struck him at his back and his breath flew from his throat, toppling him to his knee. Winded, he knew he couldn’t linger; something struck him from behind again as he struggled to his feet and he pitched forward, managing at the last minute to drop to his shoulder in an attempt to roll away from the sword that struck the ground where he had been standing. The possessed guard gazed down at him unseeing and raised his sword again. Alistair bent his knee, breath still wheezing from his lungs with difficulty, and thrust the heel of his boot at the guards front. He couldn’t hold back the wince as his foot connected with the guard, who sank to the ground in pain.

The dire spider scuttled past him and he shuddered at the sight, but staggered to his feet. The guards that barrelled down the steps toward him were suddenly enveloped in web. Alistair had to give a grudging nod of thanks to the many eyes of Morrigan that alighted on him and if a spider could have smirked, he would have sworn that one was doing so.

“Watch out!” the call came from Leliana. Alistair spun, his heart lurching as a spirit rose in the middle of the courtyard. A chill blew through the onlookers as the skeletal, armoured being floated ominously a few inches above the ground, it’s eerily long arms sharpening to wicked nails. It wore an ethereal helmet, but red eyes glowed from within and it opened it’s mouth to howl. Alistair swallowed and gripped the pommel of his sword, letting out a yell in response, aiming to draw it’s focus from the others to get around behind it.

It worked.

As if a chain was suddenly wound around him, Alistair felt his body yanked across the space, feet dragging up the dirt, almost dropping his weapons. His battle cry pitched higher in fear and alarm as he flew through the air to come to a stop before the revenant and then it wrapped its long fingers around his neck and his scream cut off. Everything went cold and then everything started to go grey.

*

Caden shuddered in the deathly cold air that surrounded them when the spirit appeared. “What is that?” She barked, backing up and bringing her leashed mage with her.

“Bad, it’s so bad,” Jowan almost sobbed in response. Caden was turning to glare at him and demand more information, but then she heard Alistair's cry and she froze at the sight of him being dragged by magic.

“Alistair!” She cried out in fright, whirling on Jowan. “Come on!” She started for her Warden-Brother, but Jowan planted his feet. “Come on!”

“Wait, listen, you can’t fight that thing with those,” Jowan sputtered, clutching the rope that connected them tightly. Caden glared at him.

“I can’t leave Alistair.” His scream died and Caden spun back towards the sight of the renevant choking her friend. “Maker, no!”

“Listen, Caden, I can kill that thing.” Jowan tugged the rope, hands worrying the leash, face pale. “I can use blood magic and I can destroy it, I swear.”

Caden didn’t hesitate. “What do you need?”

Jowan’s hands were shaking. “Just a little blood from you.”

Caden dropped one of her swords at once, holding up her left arm and ripping off the leather bracer on her forearm. It fell to the ground with the sword and Caden sliced her remaining sword through the fabric of her shirt into the skin and flesh beneath. The blade bit sharply and blood bloomed at once, pain shooting up her arm. “Do it,” Caden ordered through gritted teeth.

Jowan pressed a hand towards her and Caden felt a sudden shift in the stream of blood that was pouring from her arm. As if her blood was dust instead of liquid, it was captured by a wind stream that pulled it up towards Jowan, tearing through the gash in her skin, tugging at the edges. His eyes widened as the force of her life essence hit him and the last thing Caden saw before she sank into blackness was Jowan’s panic as he aimed his magic towards the revenant.

Chapter Text

Darlin’ it’s your choice not to fall in

A voice told her she was awake before she realised it herself. Caden opened her eyes to see a the ceiling of a dim room and, with a glance to the right, Morrigan sitting beside her. For a moment she felt a swooping sensation inside her as she tried to reconcile where she was; the memory of waking in the witches hut jolted her into confusion. Her mind scrambled to unravel the twisted memories of the time since Ostagar and for a few moments, she was convinced she was back at the hut, the battle only a few nights past. Blinking, she pushed herself up, the warm blanket sliding down her frame to pool in her lap, hands sinking against the soft mattress. Not the hut.

“Morrigan?” Caden asked, looking around. She had a hundred questions, yet the name of the witch seemed to sum them all up in one. Morrigan leaned forward, her demeanour unhurried.

“Are you well?”

“I don’t know,” Caden answered honestly. “Am I?”

“You are a foolish girl,” Morrigan replied, a spark of irritation shooting the words into Caden’s chest and she flinched, dragging her gaze to meet the witch’s amber eyes. On the surface, she seemed, as ever cool and unfazed by anything, but in those eyes, Caden could see clouds of anger and something else. “That mage was entirely untrustworthy and leashing yourself to him almost cost you your life.”

Caden froze. “Wait… what?” It was coming back to her in fuzzy images. The courtyard. A possessed child. Guards under the thrall of the demon.

“He used your blood to empower him to destroy the spectre.”

Chill air surrounding the ghostly figure. Alistair gasping for breath. Jowan promising he could end it.

“He achieved it, but not without great cost to you.” Morrigan summarised neatly.

“Is Alistair alright?” Caden asked, her heart lurching as she remembered the sight of her Warden-Brother dragged by magical means across the yard into the grip of the spectre. It had picked him up and held him like a rag doll.

“He was unscathed,” Morrigan replied.

Caden nodded and swung her legs around, the cool air prickling her bare skin as she pulled the blanket off. Too focused on Alistair’s absence to worry about her attire, she made to stand, but the moment she tried to straighten up she wobbled, grasping the bed to keep her upright. Morrigan was unmoved by this display, leaning back against her chair with a bemused expression. Caden’s vision bowed and swam for some moments that dragged on far too long, before she felt safe enough to stand. Her stomach felt hollow. “How long was I asleep for?”

“Two days,” Morrigan stated.

Caden peered towards the window where the final rays of sunshine were vanishing. “Where’s Alistair?”

“Gone.”

Caden spun back to Morrigan, the world reeling on its own. “Gone? Where?”

“This would be so much simpler if you asked the right questions in the correct order.”

“It would be easier if you just told me, Morrigan,” Caden bit back, receiving an arched eyebrow and an amused smirk in response. Caden took in a deep breath and then another for good measure when it chased the grey spots from her eyes. “Morrigan. I apologise for snapping.” Morrigan’s smirk grew wider. “Please would you tell me where Alistair is?”

“You can read, can’t you?” Morrigan asked, reaching over to the nightstand and sliding a folded piece of parchment into view. Caden grabbed it quickly.

“Well enough.” She muttered, unfolding the parchment one swift motion. She scanned the page, as if the answer would leap out at her. It was written in neat script, quite unlike the handwriting she would have expected from Alistair. The only untidy sections were sentences that had been crossed out, the ink scratched through hasty words. Caden sat back on the bed and read it properly from the start.

 Caden,

What in the Makers name were you thinking? Jowan says you all but leapt at the chance to slice up your own arm, you could have died, again! where is your sense of self-preservation? 

I’ve ordered Jowan to be thrown back in his cell, it’s no better than he deserves. He shouldn’t have pushed you into assisting with blood magic especially as you don’t even know what it is or what it does. I should have explained, found the time to tell you. You can’t keep doing this. Your life You have to be more careful. Even if someone else is in peril, that doesn’t mean you can just throw yourself headfirst into danger. 

Maybe it’s best that you’re asleep. I hope you’re just asleep. I’d never get my words out if I was talking to you face to face and you’d probably have punched me by now. I’m not sure I’m making any sense. 

The demon is quiet. Whatever Jowan did scared it, or Connor, I’m not sure how that works. The only way to get the demon out without killing Connor is with magic. Lots of mages, lots of lyrium, which we don’t have, but the Circle does. I’ve taken the treaty for the mages with me, along with Rosa, Leliana and Sten. We’re traveling across Lake Calenhad, should only take us a week there and back if we don’t stop for chit-chat and I don’t intend to.

Morrigan is keeping an eye on the demon. Apparently she reckons she can keep it placated through magical means.

Please don’t let her hurt Connor, I owe Eamon that much. 

You just rest and recover. I’ve got this one. 

You 

Alistair

The majority of the letter was easy enough to read, though one or two words gave her pause. “What does this say?” She asked Morrigan, pointing to the words near the top of the paper.

Morrigan glanced at it. “Self-preservation.” she read. “He means—” 

 “I know what it means,” Caden hurried. “I just couldn’t read it.” She gazed down at the words, her fingers tightening over the parchment, making it crinkle. “I guess he was really angry.”

“With the mage,” Morrigan explained. “He was furious. Charging about, raging at him, flinging the boy in the cell. It was quite amusing.”

Caden peered up, confused. “I meant with me. He left me here, like a naughty child.”

Morrigan looked at her for a long while, her eyes inscrutable. “It is a wonder to me how you ended up with that ring on your finger, knowing so little of men.” With that, she stood. “You should eat something. There are precious few servants remaining, but I shall send someone up with food. I must go and check on the boy.”

“How is he?” Caden asked as Morrigan made to leave. She paused at the doorway.

“The boy sleeps and that ensures the demon is kept dormant,” Morrigan explained. “It is tiresome keeping him in this enchanted sleep, but tis better than allowing the creature to thrive. Your Templar had better return as he says, for I am not limitless in my skills. Unless of course, you would be amenable to destroying the body and beating the demon?” Caden shook her head. “No,” Morrigan sighed. “I didn’t think you would.”

*

Jowan looked miserable. True to Morrigans words, he was back where they had found him a few days ago, which to Caden still only felt like a few hours. She was wholly fed up with her trick of taking enough damage to knock her into next week. Maybe Alistair had a point about her knack of throwing herself directly into harm’s way.

The mages head was bowed where he sat on his backside, legs bent at the knee so he could rest his arms across them. He didn’t look up as she approached until she spoke, whereafter he all but leapt at the bars. “Hello, Jowan.”

“Warden, thank the Maker,” he spluttered at once. His eyes scanned her body, now dressed, though missing her armour that was still upstairs. “I half thought I had broken you beyond repair.”

Caden stepped over to the bars, hating that they were speaking with those iron rods between them. She couldn’t remember pain or fear or anything she would have expected from the events in the courtyard, none of what Alistair had evidently experienced looking on. Jowan wasn’t like the nobles, soldiers or bandits she’d met since leaving the Alienage. He seemed closer to her age and much closer to her status. It was possible that elves and mages were not so dissimilar given how both were corralled away, out of sight, but overseen.

Then there was the fact that Jowan looked malnourished and skinny and Caden was positive that she could take him in a fight provided he wasn’t able to shoot off any spells. That didn’t hurt.

“Are you alright?” Caden asked. “Alistair didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“Oh, it was nothing,” Jowan half shrugged, though she caught his wince when he moved his shoulder. “He was scared I suppose.”

“What exactly happened? Was that normal for blood magic?”

Jowans eyes widened as he sucked in his breath. “No, that was definitely not normal.” He rubbed pale hands over his head, mussing his greasy hair. “When I use blood magic, I can tap into the life force of the giver and take a small portion to supplement my magic, bypassing the need for lyrium. With you… the power just poured out towards me. I could barely hold it, never mind direct it, but Maker when I wielded it at the revenant spirit it just…” he pressed his palms together then pushed them apart, fingers spread. Jowan shook his head. “I’ve never seen the like. But the problem was that your life essence wouldn’t cease. You were like an unstoppered bottle, pouring out and I couldn’t get the cork back in. Not until you went down and then I thought I’d taken so much that you’d…”

Caden could see it in her minds eye. Looking at it like that made it easier to understand Alistairs worry.

“Your friend, he threw me to the ground.” Jowan recollected. “I don’t blame him; it must have looked frightening, but by that point you had dropped and that cut off the flow of magic anyway. He yelled a lot. He only stopped shouting when he picked you up and took you into the castle. Of course, Connor had run back in by then and the Arlessa behind him.”

Caden’s stomach gave a little flip at his words. These were important details that she had come in for; the recollection of what had occurred with the demon and how they had slain the spirit, but all she could focus on was the part where her Warden-Brother carried her unconscious body into the castle. Quite why the thought of it was so hard to shift now that the image was planted in her mind was beyond her, but she found the thought didn’t repulse her as once it might have.

*

The night passed without a problem. Connor remained in his sleep, with Caden watching over him while Morrigan took some rest. Caden could see the strain this repeated casting was having on the witch of the wilds, though she hid it well. Caden watched Connor’s chest rise and fall and her thoughts drifted to Alistair.

She could see the sense in him not waiting for her wake up before heading to the Circle of Magi. Connor and Redcliffe needed help that they alone could not provide and getting the mages on side for their army was the whole reason for going to the Circle in the first place. It made sense to get going sharpish, but that didn’t mean she felt comfortable with being left behind. She was fully recovered from her unfortunate brush with blood magic and she could have gone with them. It didn’t feel good being left behind.

As the moonlight began to bleed into golden dawn, the Arlessa walked in. Caden didn’t look up, but could see the woman stepping into the room from the corner of her eye. Connor slept on as his mother brushed his hair back from his forehead and sat on the chair opposite of Caden on the other side of the bed. “How has he been?” she asked.

“Asleep,” Caden responded. She couldn’t bring herself to say more than that even watching her tend so gently to her son. A concerned mother she might be, but all Caden could think of was the woman sending young orphan Alistair away from his home.

After a few moments, Caden decided she really didn’t want to be sharing this space with Isolde and stood, electing to leave the boy under his mother’s watchful eye. Isolde glanced up from his face at her.

“I appreciate that you have stayed the course.” She said calmly, though the tight skin around her eyes belied that serenity.

“The course?”

“Allowing my son to live,” Isolde murmured. “I’m grateful, you understand, that he is safe for now.”

Caden nodded. “You have my friends to thank for that. Morrigan’s magical skill is keeping him alive because he poses no threat right now.” She was loathed to even consider harming the boy, even if he was a vessel for a dangerous demon, but Isolde wasn’t to know that. It felt cruel to twist these words, but the low lying anger for the sins of Isolde’s past bubbled under the surface of everything Caden said.

Isolde winced at the mention of the magical powers involved. “Magic… has caused so much harm.”

“Yes, it has.” Caden agreed curtly. “And now it helps. Much like any other tool, it depends on how it is wielded. A knife in the hands of a person with hatred in her heart is a tool for bloodshed and tears. In the hands of a cook, it helps to produce the meals that fill our bellies.” She glanced at Connors closed eyes. “In the hands of a child, it can be an accident waiting to happen, especially if he has no idea what he is wielding or how badly it can hurt.” Isolde raised her gaze to glare at Caden.

“A rather heavy-handed analogy, Warden.” She snapped.

Caden shrugged on her way to the door. “He needs training before he hurts anyone else. I can understand not wanting to send him away.” She paused at the doorway and half-turned back, looking over her shoulder. “It is awful being sent away from your home. It is even more tragic when children are involved.”

Isolde stood in one swift motion. “I take it you are referring to Alistair?”

“I didn’t say that,” Caden replied coolly. “Funny you should mention him though. Guilty conscience?”

“How dare you?” Isolde shook with barely contained rage. “I did what was best for my family.”

“And now Alistair is doing what he can to save it,” Caden said, turned around fully. “You owe him your deepest gratitude.”

Isolde sank back into the chair at the sound of Connor sighing in his sleep. Caden watched him stir, wary of any signs of him reawakening. He settled back into deep sleep. Morrigan would need to be woken soon to recast her spells. Caden chewed on her lip as she considered the strain on Morrigan and then she made a decision. “I’m bringing Jowan out of his cell. He can help Morrigan keep Connor asleep.” Isolde began to protest but Caden spoke over her. “This is not up for discussion. If Connor wakes, I may be forced to kill him and none of us want that. We have two mages to split the burden of keeping him safe. That’s the end of the matter.”

*

Once Jowan realised she was serious, nothing was stopping him from heading upstairs and to his old quarters. Caden watched him settle back into the small room, going over his meagre belongings and righting what had been thrown asunder when the guards had searched his room for further evidence of him poisoning Eamon. It didn’t take very long, though Caden saw him wince when he lifted the few books in the room and torn papers floated to the ground. For a moment she saw in her minds eye her books, the ones she had carried from the Alienage to Ostagar and what they might look like now, but she shook the thoughts away.

Jowan sat on his bed with a sigh as Caden leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. “I can’t speak to how Eamon will want to deal with you later if he gets well again,” Caden said. “But I didn’t want to leave you down in the cells. Up here you can assist Morrigan with Connor, but remember that she is in charge and you answer to her, got that?”

“I understand,” Jowan said quietly. “Thank you. It is more mercy than I deserve.”

“Maybe,” Caden said. “It’s really not for me to say.”

Jowan was silent for a moment and then he looked up and considered her for a moment. “Can I tell you how I ended up here?” he asked.

“If you like.” She said absently.

“I just think…well, it might put things into perspective.” Jowan went on. “I would hate to be thought of as nothing more than a no-good poisoner. Not that I’m trying to absolve my guilt or deny that it happened, you understand.” He added quickly. Caden merely observed him and waited for the story to come. Jowan considered her for a moment. “What do you know of life in the tower?”

Caden shrugged. “Next to nothing, I’m afraid. Morrigan tells me its little more than a mage prison. Alistair tells me it is both a home and a school for magic.”

“Well, they’re both right to point,” Jowan said grimly. “The tower was my home and I had a happy childhood there. Happier than I had with my parents, that’s for sure. They didn’t trust my abilities. My own mother called me an abomination. When I ended up in the Circle at 5 years old it was the only home I’ve ever known. For a long while I loved it, but then I got older; I started to mistrust the Templars who watched us like hawks or snakes. Like some sort of predator anyway. They didn’t trust us and they made it clear. The other mages just put up with it. It got my back up when I was a teenager.” Jowan rubbed his hands along his arms as if he were cold. Caden listened—she knew the feeling of being watched by apparently superior beings and could sympathise, but she tried to keep an open mind and wait for the rest of the tale. “When a mage is deemed ready, they go through something called the Harrowing. It is shrouded in secret, but my friend went through it right before all this dreadful stuff happened and she told me. They send you into the Fade and you have to prove that you can outwit and out-battle a demon. If you can’t then they kill you. If you can then you are promoted from apprentice to a fully fledged mage. It’s one step closer to possibly leaving the tower.” Jowan looked wistfully out of the nearest window.

“So, you never went through this Harrowing thing?” Caden asked.

“No,” Jowan said, bitterness slipping out of his mouth. “No, I wasn’t deemed trusted enough. You see, if a mage doesn’t somehow fit their criteria for taking the test, then they get made Tranquil.” Jowans eyes shined as a haunted look came to them. “To be made Tranquil is to have everything sucked out of you, everything that makes you a person. No feelings or emotions. No anger, no hate, no joy. No love. Nothing. You’re just a shell.”

Caden listened in disgust. She knew elves whom life itself had made ‘tranquil’, elves who’s eyes held no spark of life. To hear that somewhere in Ferelden there were people being forced into such a state against their will was horrifying. “That’s awful.” She said softly.

Jowan nodded. “It was what lay in store for me. I saw the form authorising it on the First Enchanters desk. I couldn’t let that happen to me.”

“I understand,” Caden said, feeling very strongly that this practise was not something she could agree with. Jowan gave her small smile.

“I was in love,” he said delicately. “I’d fallen in love with a Chantry initiate called Lily. We wanted to be together, but we couldn’t be. Not in the tower. It was forbidden.”

Caden nodded. Things were making even more sense now.

“I had to find and destroy my phylactery, a vial of my blood. Without it the Templars couldn’t hope to find me. Then Lily and I could escape and live out our lives together.” Jowan finished. “Only we were caught and in my panic I turned to blood magic to flee. Once I did that Lily didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“So why not turn your back on blood magic?” Caden wanted to know. “If it cost you Lily?”

“I have…mostly.” Jowan said. “Apart from my suggestion for dealing with the demon. I don’t want to use it again, unless under duress. That’s only why I used it against the Templars at the Circle—it was use it or become Tranquil.”

Caden nodded thoughtfully. She wasn’t sure what she would have done if backed into a corner like that, but she had a feeling that she might have reacted the same way. It certainly explained some things about Jowan, not least how he came to be free from the tower.

*

Caden couldn’t escape the dreams any longer. She found herself back with the horde, who had reached Lothering. Through a genlocks eyes she saw the village before her and reveled at the thought of fresh meat. The horde poured through the gates and down into the village, trampling tents and crates in their wake and their hunt for food. They called out, howling and jeering in delight at their feast.

But they found none.

What little remained was already dead; livestock rotting in the fields, abuzz with flies and other insects. A sniff and a taste proved they were a few days dead and none too healthy or young before that. As for human flesh, nothing alive remained either.

The bestial cries turned to rage and despair, hunger gnawing at them after their gluttony at Ostagar. Caden felt her darkspawn yelp in pain as a bigger creature swiped at its flank in ire and the genlock turned and snarled back. Before too long a brawl began which descended into utter chaos. Starved and tired, denied the promised feast and with the Archdemons call far away below ground, the darkspawn turned on each other, tearing and ripping at skin, bones breaking, cannibalising their own kin. The scent of ichor was in the air, the sound of screams and Caden awoke with a start.

She was sat up in bed, catching her breath in the dark, when she sensed someone’s gaze on her. She froze and turned her head only briefly to see a pair of eyes wreathed with purple haze inches from her face and couldn’t help the leap in her pulse that propelled her back against the wall beside the bed. Her legs tangled in the blanket as she kicked and then a pressure on the bed brought those eyes closer still. A demonic light bloomed around Connor as he climbed over her legs to sit on her lap, heavier than any ten-year-old boy, his grip like iron. Immovable and rigid. Caden wanted to pull back, but the wall was against her and the boy placed his hands on her upper arms, keeping them in place.

“Where are Morrigan and Jowan?” were Caden’s first words, mind lurching in fear for her friend and the escaped mage.

“Asleep.” came the voice of the demon. Not booming like the day in the courtyard and not entirely human, a layer of power over a boy’s gentle tones. “Safe enough. I wanted to speak with you alone. You are so… intriguing.”

Caden swallowed, willing her heart to steady, but it galloped on with abandon. “I have nothing to say to you, demon.”

“Then just listen,” the words sounded amused. Caden tried to pull her arms free, but they were held fast. Panic swelled, her head scraped against the stone behind her as she flinched from the demon bringing Connors young face closer. “You are so interesting. That power you gave to the mage… delicious.”

“I am a Grey Warden,” Caden managed haltingly.

“No, that isn’t it.” The demon said. “It’s who you are deep down that I hunger for. So filled with hatred and rage… it’s positively sinful.” The words were dripping in something Caden couldn’t help but identify as longing, despite how much the thought of that turned her stomach. “Do you know what I am?”

“A demon,” Caden replied, stupidly.

“I am a being of pure desire,” she said and suddenly the voice weaving around Connors tones was immediately recognisable as feminine. “And I know what it is you desire, my dear. I can give it to you; I can give you all the power you thirst for.”

“I don’t want anything—”

“There is no point in lying to me,” she said. Connors face smirked. “I know what sits in the deepest recess of your heart. I can see it clear as day. You are a powerful thing; your hatred gives you that power and I can help you with it. All you have to do is give in to that hate and let me in to empower you to enact all those fantasies you have.” The hands slackened their grip, but Caden didn’t think to move. The purple haze was clouding her mind, bringing forth images of her battling through Vaughan’s estate. The child’s hands touched Caden’s cheeks with something almost tender. “Little one, you did such a good job. You gave in to that rage and it served you so very well, but just think of what we could do together. How many more men we could slay if you let me into you. Let me come inside you and I can bring you everything you yearn for.” The hands slowly whispered over Caden’s skin as they sank lower, over her chin and down her neck. The boy leaned closer, his breath on her ear.

Caden’s mind was muddled. She could see herself back at Vaughan’s estate, not breaking a sweat as she made light work of dozens of guards all at once. “You would never have to feel afraid anymore. They would fear you instead.” She was strong and fast and brutal. A smile curved over her lips.

The fingers brushed her throat and Caden saw herself come to Vaughans quarters. She laughed and laughed while he cowered beneath her, begging for his life.

A real memory jolted through the haze of Vaughan above her, squeezing her neck and Caden’s arms shot out grabbing Connor’s neck and thrusting him away, tumbling the pair of them off the bed until she straddled him, her hands wrapped around his throat. The demon smiled.

“Look how easily you manhandle this boy,” she said. “Think how wonderful it would be to have the strength to do this to a fully grown man.”

Caden froze, locking her hands, so afraid of the pressure she could apply. How easily Connor’s life could be ended by her hand right now, right this moment. His neck was so fragile.

“This power you are feeling now? This could be you always, darling.” the demon purred. “Finish what you’ve begun, release me from this boy and take me into you.” The voice was keening, small hands found her thighs and skated up her waist as the demon panted softly. “It doesn’t just have to be murder, you know. You could overpower any man you chose for… whatever purpose. That Warden… the one who watches you when he thinks you don’t see him. You could have him, all of him, with me as your guide.” The demons’ eyes locked onto hers, opening her mind to very different images involving her and Alistair. “Let me in, little one. Destroy this body and take me.” Caden squeezed her eyes shut, as if that could hide the pictures in her head. The images the demon conjured into her mind of Alistair. A thrum inside her belly, lower and deeper than any feeling had ever stirred her.

“Stop it.”

“Oh, don’t be afraid.” The demon mewled. “I’ll help you, just let me inside you.” Caden felt her hands constrict before she knew what was happening. “Yes!” The demon exclaimed, the voice beneath her hypnotic voice croaking. “Harder!”

Caden let out a cry, shoving herself off the small body beneath her, scrambling backward until she hit the bed. Connor sat up, smiling.

“Coward,” the demon hissed. “Stupid little girl; I could have given you everything!” She laughed, high and shrill. “Now you will die and you can join that other Warden when you do.”

Terror flowed down Caden’s spine. “What?”

“He will not return from the tower.” The demon said, crawling over on Connor’s hands and knees towards Caden, the smile turning cruel and mocking. “The tower has fallen and you shall not see him until you meet your Maker!”

Caden felt her hand ball into a fist and without breaking eye contact she swung, catching the demon off guard and knocking the pair, boy and demon to the ground. She grabbed Connor’s head and drove it to the flagstones, pitching him back into unconsciousness and stilling the demon.

Caden got to her feet, reaching down and grabbing the boy, grateful he was light and pulling him over her shoulder. She set off down the corridor, shouting all the way back to Connors room.

Morrigan met her at the door. “What has happened?” she asked, her eyes narrowing when she saw the body over Caden’s shoulders.

“I had a late-night visitor,” Caden replied darkly. “Are you alright?”

“Is he dead?” Morrigan asked, placing a hand on Caden’s chest and peering closely at her. “Where is the demon?”

“He lives and she lingers on inside him,” Caden replied quickly, staring into the amber eyes, trying to convey that she was still herself. “She tried to make a deal with me, but I declined.”

Morrigan nodded, suitably placated. “Bring him to the bed.”

Isolde hurried into the room, with Teagan hot on her heels. “Connor!” she blanched as Caden deposited him onto the bed, blood matting his pale hair. “What did you do?”

Caden ignored her, turning to Morrigan and Teagan. “She told me something about the Circle. Said Alistair was in danger.”

“Oh Maker, no,” Teagan moaned in alarm.

“I have to go, right now,” Caden said, making for the door. “Morrigan, you and Jowan remain here and don’t let Connor wake, you hear me?”

“You intend to leave now?” Morrigan asked. “You don’t even know where you’re going.”

“I’ll take a boat,” Caden explained. As she headed back to her room she realised Morrigan and Teagan had both followed her. She reached for her armour and started hauling it on over the shirt and breeches she had slept in. “There’s no other option for it; I need to get to the circle fast if I have any hope of saving the others.”

“What if the demon was lying?” Teagan asked softly. “What if it intends to attack once you’ve gone.”

“Then…” Caden paused, buckling her greaves. “You two and Jowan will need to take out Connor.” Morrigan nodded, but Teagan looked aghast.

“You can’t expect me to—”

“Teagan!” Caden retorted, shutting him up with one word. “You have to. Your duty is Redcliffe; if it comes to it, you kill the demon however you can and you save the town.”

He turned, worrying his hands over his collar. Caden finished fitting her armour and looked up to see Morrigan holding out her scabbards. She took them with a nod of thanks and fastened them on. Morrigan dug into a pocket and pulled out three small vials filled with green liquid. “Take these. Elfroot infusions.” Morrigan said. “I finished steeping them a few hours ago. They will sustain you should you encounter trouble or injuries. And do not die.” She hesitated a mere moment. “You and that Templar of yours are vital to the future of Ferelden. Don’t die.”

“I’ll try,” Caden answered, but Morrigan merely glared down at her. “Alright, I won’t. I promise.”

Teagan turned back, resolute after his momentary panic. “Come along. I’ll get you a boat. We can’t let Fereldens future down. You must bring Alistair back.”

She followed Teagan to the docks where dawn had broken and she watched him assert his orders to charter her the fastest boat they had to carry her across the lake to the tower. Just before she boarded the small boat, Teagan reached into his pocket and slid something into her hand. “Take this for when you find Alistair.” He said hurriedly. “He’ll be glad to have it back.”

Caden nodded, slipping the item into her pocket without looking and then the sails caught an early breeze and Redcliffe started to shrink from view.

Chapter Text

You can sleep when you’re dead

It wasn’t until she arrived at the tower that Caden realised how much she missed being the head of a party instead of a woman alone.

“Knight-Commander Greagoir, this elf claims to need to speak to you.”

She bristled at the introduction, but kept her spine as straight as she could, chin raised resolutely. She was still dwarfed by the Templars around her. The one referred to as the Knight-Commander, which she assumed meant he had rank higher than all the others, looked down at her with a neutral expression. The lack of outright disdain was oddly comforting.

“Well met, Knight-Commander,” Caden said with a nod, unsure if there was a more fitting greeting. “I am Caden Tabris of the Grey Wardens.” A sick feeling overcame her then, that perhaps these Templars were in league with Loghain Mac Tir and had clapped Alistair in irons, which was the reason for him not returning to Redcliffe. The demon had said the tower had fallen, but could she really trust the words of a demon?

“Another one?” the Templar responded. “Your friend came by a few days hence.”

“Yes, I know,” Caden said, deciding to ignore her sudden fears of imminent arrest. She had her blades and her wits and it wouldn’t be her first outnumbered fight. Her right hand unconsciously went to the hilt of her sword to rest. “He is the reason I have come; I am concerned for his welfare and wish to know that he is unharmed.” Her eyes darted around the entrance hall. It was Templar plate as far as she could see, some standing, a few on pallets. She spied a pair who lay unmoving and a robed person draped a cloth over one and then the other, their face placid. She swallowed. The tower has fallen. “What has occurred here?”

The Knight-Commander swept a hand across his weary face. “The worst that could have happened.”

That didn’t explain much to her. Caden frowned. “Which means?”

“Abominations.” He replied. “Demons. The worst fate for a Circle.”

Demons. “And my friend?” Caden went on. “What of him?”

A sigh. “He waved some treaties at me expecting that I could fulfil his request for mages. I will tell you what I told him: the Circle is ill-equipped to fight any threat at this point, Blight be damned.”

“Where is he?”

“Inside.” Knight-Commander Greagoir waved a hand towards the doors barricaded behind him. “The Maker only knows what fate befell him.”

Caden nodded and stepped around him to head for the door. “What are you doing?”

“Following my Brother,” Caden said, not looking back.

“The door is barred.” came the reply. “I’ll not open it again.” When this didn’t stop her in her tracks he added: “I have called for the Rite of Annulment. It’ll be here within the day.”

Caden turned back. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

“It is a decree that allows me to order the cleansing of the tower.” He explained with all the patience of a man at the end of his tether.

A chill swept down Caden's spine. “And what happens to the survivors when you ‘cleanse’ the tower? Are you even searching for them?”

“There are no survivors,” Greagoir replied, his eyes suddenly cold and distant as if shutters were closing down before her. Caden cocked her head to the side and observed him. He appeared stoic, but the change in demeanour at his last words made her wonder if he wasn’t so afraid of crumbling that he was forcing himself to abandon hope. She felt a pang of pity for him, but it was nothing compared to the sympathy she felt for anyone inside the tower being so ruthlessly sacrificed or the anger at Alistair being one of those potential victims of the cleanse.

“You cannot say that for sure unless you have seen it with your own eyes,” Caden said with a dangerous calm. She could feel her nerves thrumming with tension, but kept her tone civil. “Any order which calls for the deaths of countless people ought to be taken only after checking and checking again.” Her thoughts veered suddenly to Loghain and his decision to abandon the king, the Wardens and every soldier fighting at Ostagar. “Are you satisfied that there are no survivors, or are you merely hoping that there are none so you can sleep at night after ordering their deaths?”

For a moment the room stilled and Caden watched the Knight-Commander closely for any signs of anger. When he met her gaze it was despair that ringed his eyes. “It is too dangerous to go inside and check and too painful to have any hopes dashed by what we might find. Mages that have allowed themselves to be possessed, corrupted into abominations are beyond saving. I have men inside still that I have not been able to account for, some no older I’d wager than you are. This is not a decision taken lightly.”

Caden hurried back towards him. “Then let me help. Let me take the risk. Alistair and I are the only Grey Wardens in Ferelden; I cannot sit idly by and let him die after he tried to help.”

“What if he is dead already?”

The buzzing energy stored up within Caden slipped out of her like tendrils of golden light, feeling for her Brother, wending through the bricks and mortar, seeking out the connection they shared due to their Tainted blood. She didn’t know how to control it, nor stop it, but it seemed to know how to find him and after a moment she felt it. Felt him. A tiny, dim pulse faintly responding to her frantic searching, a slim beacon of hope. Caden snapped her eyes back to Greagoir as the golden sensation dropped. “He’s alive.”

“Oh?” Greagoir appeared unconvinced. “Certain of that, are you?”

Caden swallowed, her mouth set into a steely line. “Yes.” She turned back to the door. “Open this door and I’ll return with my friends and any survivors.”

A Templar by the door shook his head with a derisive huff. Another looked on, hope shining out of his face. Caden fixed her gaze onto the Knight-Commander. “I’m better than nobody, surely. I can do this.”

Greagoir touched the heel of his hand to his forehead, a disarming moment of vulnerability that Caden forced herself to face head-on. Chin high she waited. “Very well,” he finally said, gruffly. “But I warn you, if the Rite arrives I will not hesitate to use it and the only thing that will stay my hand is the sight of First Enchanter Irving stood where you are now. Do you hear me?”

“I do,” Caden nodded. “But know this: should my companion and I fall, you will need to get a message to the Grey Wardens of Orlais. In fact, get word out to all the Grey Wardens in Thedas, because if we fall, so does Ferelden.”

The Templar who’d scoffed at her before hurried to unlatch the doors and shove them open at his commanders' nod. Caden strode through and refused to look back.

*

Caden walked steadily through the tower. The hallway and the first rooms were soaked in blood. The smell lingered and stole into her nostrils so that she was forced to open her mouth to breathe. The metallic tang threatened more than once to overcome her calm, spiking her pulse, heaving her stomach. She drew her blades quietly, almost afraid to unsettle the quiet that sat heavily on this tower. Her steps were soft, slow, cautious as she moved around the subtly winding tower, passing rooms where she imagined mages learned their lessons. Rows of tables and chairs, all aimed towards the head of the room where lecterns stood. At least she gathered enough information to make this assumption; none of the rooms were unharmed. The seats were upended, scattered throughout the rooms, with papers strewn all around, sticky with brownish old blood.

The rooms weren’t empty.

Draped across the rooms, the wrecked and broken furniture were bodies. The first room she found was awful, but she soon came to think of it as the least bad of them all. Two bodies lay upon the floor. Their staring eyes not halting her approach, her careful assessment of their state. Leaving her swords on the ground she sank to her knees and pressed hands to their skin, the first touch feeling so wrong, but she persisted, hoping to find some spark of life within the broken bodies. It wasn’t until she found the gaping wound in the chest of one that she realised the wrongness of the bodies came from the fact that they were cold and stiff. Her fingers skirted into the hole before she realised what was happening. Congealed, the blood that stuck to her palm was like jam in the middle of winter. Caden upset the silence momentarily with a keening cry as she pushed back from the corpse on the floor, suddenly all too aware of just how dead he looked. Eyes dull and wide, skin mottled where blood had pooled, that dreadful fatal blow. How could she have missed that?

She wiped her shaking hands on draped velvet fabric beside her, before following the now bloodied clothes to the body they encased and she shuddered again. With knocking knees she climbed up, grabbing her swords. “Come on Caden,” she murmured to herself. “Pull yourself together.”

The next serious of rooms made that first seem like nothing.

Twice as many bodies were piled in the second room, the third was just the one person, but they had been torn asunder, one arm and the head greeting Caden as she stepped over the threshold before beating a hasty retreat. The fourth room was full of small children.

Caden turned from that one, shaking her head, spilling tears as she stumbled away. Her throat was tight, mouth dry and she heaved, bringing nothing up. She pitched sideways to slam against the wall, stopping to gulp down air, chasing away the swoon that threatened to drag her under. “No, no, no,” she muttered frantically. “Not now. Not ever. Just find him.”

Unbidden the pull of her Warden-Brother thrummed above her and she looked up as if she would see him. There was nothing but high ceiling, unmarred by the bloodbath around her. The ceiling was painted beautifully with a repeating pattern of moons and stars, and for the longest time, it was all Caden could do but to follow the paintings with her eyes. Moon, star, star, star, moon, star, star, star, moon. It was oddly soothing.

“Right, come on.” She told herself, finding comfort in her own voice and it’s steady tone. “I can do this.”

She pressed on.

*

The rest of the floor passed much the same. Broken piles of books, splintered furniture, blood and deceased mages, with a few Templars thrown in. It was horrific and Caden could feel her heart sink with each step. Was Greagoir right? Was this all that she could hope to find? And yet whenever doubt stole into her mind, she felt herself instinctively reach for Alistair across the distance between them and his energy would respond to let her know he was still living. In what condition she didn’t dare think about, but she kept moving, one foot before the other. Swords in hand, heartbeat leading the way. It was a while before she had to use them, but when she came to a staircase and ascended to the next level, she was met with the sound of shouting.

Caden gripped her blades and hurried up, rounding the circular stairs until she burst forth to see what was happening. A flash of light near blinded her; she threw up an arm to cover her eyes at once, cowering back from the sudden brightness. A cry rent the air, not of fear, nor malice, but one of a warrior facing down their foe. Her mind immediately flew to Alistair on the battlefield, banging the hilt of his sword against the metal on his shield, drawing the attention of the darkspawn so that nimbler companions could find their marks unimpeded by stronger opponents. This, she saw upon lowering her arm, was much the same, though the weapons wielded were magic.

A woman with a shock of pale grey hair wearing long robes slammed her staff into the ground with more force than Caden would have imagined for an older woman, from which point snaked weaving lines of ice towards the unholy writhing figure advancing on her. Caden felt her blood run cold as she looked past the mage towards her foe, saw the inhuman face, wreathed in fire. Caden was forced to squint to look upon the figure burning like the house in Redcliffe where she had been forced to jump into the frozen water. Much like the house, this creature howled as the ice made contact with its body and it stumbled with the pressure of the cold that fought to gain purchase against the flames that dripped onto the floor.

Caden heard another noise to the side and turned, seeing a cluster of mages huddled against the wall, some younger and smaller than she was. Another pair of the firey beasts were creeping around upon them, but one of the older mages had spied their approach and leapt to defend her small flock. As the children were shielded by more older mages, another woman stood beside the first and Caden felt a jolt of shock as the woman's hair swung around, momentarily displaying a pointed ear as she ran to her friend's aid. Caden felt her feet move and she was at once a part of the fray, hearing a shout aimed at her, but she was acting without much forethought: driving her swords in one simultaneous swing through the body of the first creature. Up close the heat caused sweat to break out on her forehead straight away. Loose flyaway strands of hair that had escaped her bun wafted in the heated air and the force behind her attack dragged swords impotently through the beast, meeting little resistance and throwing her to the side with the momentum of her desperate attack. Spun around the heated air blew at her from behind and she looked up to meet the eyes of her fellow elf, who seemed no less surprised to see her than Caden had been to look at the elf mage.

Caden hurried to turn and brace herself against a fiery claw that sank through the air towards her. She threw up her swords in a cross formation to catch the blow, half expecting to find it sink past the blades into her chest, but her swords suddenly erupted with a sheen of what looked at first like glass, but the frigid shield of air that paused the heat from her attacker and the wisps of snowflakes that buffered into her face from her newly energised weapons told her at once what had transpired. On the how she was still a little fuzzy, but she was grateful when her icy swords succeeded in not only stopping the incoming pain and devastation to her body, but caused harm back at her opponent. The screech it let out was high and blasted flames towards her again, but she took advantage of its pain to pull back and drive her full weight behind her left sword to stab the thing, then to slice with the right, a move that would have sliced at the neck if it had one, but served its purpose even with no visible body parts. The creature threw up its clawed appendages and then dissolved towards the ground, fizzling out like a fire into a scorched ring of embers before her.

With no time to waste, Caden bounded for the next attacker and felt the presence of the two mages beside her as she did and between them they made light work of the second foe, finally turning to the older woman, who glanced back at them as her opponent began to swell in size until it towered over her almost skating the ceiling. Caden felt a sharp pang of recognition. “Wynne?”

Wynne had no such time to waste on placing her it seemed as she yelled orders instead. “Petra, Kinnon, stay with the children. Lorelei, Eliza, with me.”

The mages hurried to her aid and Caden found herself following. The enchantment on her swords sputtered out, but with a quick incantation, the elf mage coated them once again in ice. Caden nodded her thanks and started to skirt around the large creature, it’s hunger seemingly focussed on those wielding magic. Caden acted independently of the mages, but felt the moment they attacked after she sank her blades into it’s back, distracting it enough for them to fire off yet more cold spells. The creature acted as a barrier between her and the spells, thankfully, but she felt the icy blast either side of her as their combined efforts hurt the thing enough to temper it’s swollen form, shrinking it back down so that they could continue their onslaught until it vanished into a black mark and nothing more.

Caden didn’t feel ready to sheathe her weapons and at any rate they were still giving off extreme cold, which she didn’t relish against her body even though her scabbards. She held them loosely however, the points aimed to the ground attempting to appear as non-threatening as possible.

“What the fuck were you thinking going up against a rage demon with those things?” Came the greeting; a barked jeer from the dark-haired mage, her almond-shaped eyes hard as she stared down Caden. “You might as well have left those on the floor and used your bare hands for all the good they would do.”

Caden tilted one sword, watching for a moment the scattered icicles along her blade. “I’m not certain my hands would have coped as admirably with the enchantment, but maybe next time?” Her voice was calm, despite the snark she felt towards this woman she had moments ago stood beside to assist. The elf caught her eye, her face hard to read. Caden nodded to her. “Thank you for the magic.”

Wynne stepped forward having taken a breath to check that the small mages were still alright. She glanced up and down Caden and her face was hard, quite unlike the expression she had worn back at Ostagar, when she had been so kind. “What are you doing here?”

“I seek my companion,” Caden replied. “A Grey Warden known as Alistair, who possibly came through this way with a mabari, a woman and a large man.” She was wary of describing either Leliana or Sten more accurately though why she could not quite put her finger on. “Have you seen them?”

“We have,” the elf mage answered. Her skin was dark, much like Hawkes had been and her hair was captured into tight, thin braids that were themselves swept back into a knot at the nape of her neck bar two which hung down before her ears. There were rings through every available surface on her ears, from the lobe to the point. Even in this moment after that fight, Caden's insides twisted into something akin to jealousy. Her ears looked so exciting adorned like that. “They passed by some time ago. It’s been difficult to gauge the passage of time lately.”

“Thank you,” Caden said with a small smile. Finding a fellow elf had thrown her somewhat; she hadn’t ever really thought about the possibility of her kin wielding magics. Probably there had been peers in the Alienage who had displayed talent and been sent to the Circle, but none she had known personally. She wondered where this woman came from. “You should make your way downstairs. The below floor is devoid of… life, but hide their eyes.” She added with a look to the kids and a soft tone. “It’ll be safe for you to hole up there until I get back with the First Enchanter.”

“Hold on a moment—” the human mage snapped, but Wynne strode closer, her eyes sharp.

“Irving? What do you mean?” Wynne asked.

“Greagoir, he told me to bring the First Enchanter to him,” Caden said carefully. It didn’t seem likely that she could avoid this topic. “Without him, they won’t stop the Rite of—”

“So they have called for it,” Wynne interrupted, her hands clenched. Caden just nodded. “I expected it, but I had hoped…”

“Well, fuck.” Came the assessment of the human mage.

Caden waited a moment to see if they needed anything more from her during which time the ice magic sputtered out and she resheathed her swords with a sense of finality. “Take my advice and I’ll see you soon.” Hopefully. She began to walk.

“Hold up a moment.”

Caden stopped, her shoulders squaring up as she turned back. The human mage had one thin brow arched high as she regarded her; the elf was baldly staring. Wynne's footsteps echoed as she crossed the divide towards the Grey Warden. “You cannot intend to go on alone.”

Caden shrugged, resting one hand on her hip. “I don’t see that I have a choice. My companions are within. I'm here for them.”

Wynne cocked her head to consider the elf. Caden watched and waited. “I do remember you from Ostagar.” The old mage said after a short while. “I remember how lost you looked, how small and fragile surrounded by soldiers.”

Caden felt her skin fizzle with irritation at that assessment, even if a small part of her knew it to have been fairly accurate. She had been overwhelmed by the sights of the fortress, the humans around her and the task to find her new camp.

Wynne continued: “It was hard for me to see the spirit in you that Duncan must have seen to bring you to the Wardens. Very difficult indeed, but I can see some of it now. You mean to go on no matter how foolish that might be.”

“I have to—”

“I understand,” Wynne said, putting up a hand to calm Caden. “I have been there myself; you don’t leave a fellow warrior if you have the chance to bring them aid. I am a healer, I know what it means to seek out the wounded and sick and try to restore them. I do understand. But you cannot go on alone. Such a task would be pointless; you wouldn’t last more than a few moments outnumbered by demons. I will accompany you.”

Caden frowned as Wynne turned to her companions and began to issue orders. “Petra and Kinnon, the pair of you are to keep the children safe. Take them to the floor below and hole up by the doors to await our return with Irving. You are both strong barrier mages, so that is to be your first tactic against any demons that come down. We shall send anyone alive down to you to assist, including any Tranquil we find. Lorelei, Eliza, as you are both full mages now I give you the choice to come along with me and the Warden or you may choose to stay with the others.”

“Hold on—” Caden began.

“I won’t leave you Wynne.” The elf said at once.

“Let’s go.” The human agreed with a raucous grin.

“Hold on—” Caden tried again, but Wynne strode towards her.

“This is non-negotiable.” She said softly, but there was a glint in her eye that halted Caden from trying to protest again. “Irving is my dear friend of a great many years and this tower is my home for better or worse. I cannot leave it unattended. I mean to aid you if you truly intend to put it to rights. Do you?”

“I really only came for my friend,” Caden admitted, but then sighed. “No, that’s not true. I did come to find my companions, all of them, but I also came to seek the aid of the mages. I also wouldn’t leave someone at the mercy of an enemy if I could help, though we really must move quickly.”

“I thought as much,” Wynne nodded, glancing at first to the two mages she had referred to as Petra and Kinnon. “Very well, you two downstairs with the children.” She looked to the other two. “Lorelei, Eliza with us.”

The two parties split; Petra and Kinnon herding their young charges, all wide-eyed and pale, down the stairs as Caden had directed, the other group falling into step beside Caden and moving on.

It felt rather strange to be surrounded by three mages, none of whom were known to Caden. Wynne, she had met before, but if the impression the older woman had of her was one of a lost little girl, then that felt unsettling for Caden. She had changed since Ostagar, no doubt Wynne had as well.

As they rounded a corner, Caden realised that she still had no idea which mage was which and so she broke the short silence with her question to find out.

“Lorelei Amell,” the human mage introduced herself at once. She was tall and willowy, her skin almost shining with its soft pale pallor. Her hair was long and incredibly straight and shiny.

“Eliza Surana,” the elf offered after, her tone much less assertive. Eliza smiled at Caden as she spoke, her green eyes darting towards Caden's ears. “Are you really a Grey Warden?”

“I am,” Caden said. “When Wynne and I met a few weeks ago I was only a recruit, but since then I’ve become a fully-fledged Warden.”

“Same.” Eliza shook her head at her own words. “I mean I went through my Harrowing a week ago, so I’m a full mage. Lorelei, too.”

“I’ve got longer on you, don’t forget,” Lorelei grinned.

“The Harrowing?” Caden asked. “I met a mage recently who told me about that. Do you really have to battle a demon?”

Wynne looked back, her eyes sharp. “That is not supposed to be knowledgeable to all and sundry outside of the Circle.”

“Yes, he said that, too,” Caden admitted.

Lorelei gave Caden an appraising look. “Who did you say you met?”

“His name is Jowan,” Caden answered. “I’m afraid I don’t know any more than that.” An intake of breath that sounded like a hiss came from Lorelei as Caden spoke. “You know him?”

“I do.” Lorelei nodded. “We all know Jowan. Bloody fool.”

Eliza sighed. “He is a blood mage.”

“I know,” Caden said. Another wide-eyed look from the pair of them came her way. “He ended up helping out with a… a problem at Redcliffe.” She could practically feel the disbelief from her new party. “Look, he explained what happened here with him and his fears that he would be made Tranquil and his worries for that. He certainly seemed sorry about it and to be honest, he was vital to saving my friends and I.” Wynne glanced at her as Lorelei scoffed loudly. “I don’t know how much you know about the rest of Ferelden, but there is a Blight going on right now. We’ve got to take allies where we can find them; Alistair and I are the only Grey Wardens left after the doomed battle at Ostagar. We can’t be picky.”

“He was so afraid of being Tranquil,” Eliza said softly. “It was all he would talk about. He should have been put through the Harrowing before both of us, but they kept delaying his date. He was so sure they would make him Tranquil.”

“Never mind that now,” Wynne said as they continued down the corridor towards the sound of fighting. “Stand ready ladies.”

A trio of shrouded figures bore down on them as they entered a hall and the battle began.

*

The rest of the Circle was largely empty of survivors, just as Greagoir had feared. They found bodies, plenty of those of all ages. Some bore sunburst markings on their foreheads and Caden learned that this denoted the dead as having been amongst the ranks of the Tranquil, but mostly it was the Tranquil who were found alive wandering the halls and rooms of the Circle. Caden watched, horrified, as they weaved in and around the death and destruction at their feet to carry out their work, their focus entirely on returning books and tidying up. The look in their eyes chilled Caden and she began to dread seeing mages with that sunburst on their foreheads. She thought of Jowan and his fear; it suddenly seemed all the more understandable that he did what he did.

Some demons lingered in the physical realm; beings of fire or ash that crept about silently, sometimes bursting out from the floor itself before them. The mages were fast, each one fighting back with slightly different skills and Caden was quickly very grateful to have them with her, especially Eliza who focused much of her attention on enchanting Caden’s blades to better deal with demons.

All the while that golden thread pulsed weakly between her and her quarry.

Finally, on the fourth floor, Caden suddenly felt a surge in the connection between her and Alistair and without waiting for the others, bolted for a central room in the tower. Inside, the stone walls were growing something oozing and thick, a bruised purple colour that looked wet to the touch. Caden shuddered at the sight of these fleshy vines spreading along the walls and the floor towards a mound of the same substance in the middle of the room. Her eyes scanned the floor, finding several bodies of various states of decay, some little more than withered flesh on bones, others more recently deceased. The golden pules lead her around the room, heedless of her name being called as the mages followed her inside, desperately searching for familiar faces. She almost stumbled over Sten, the large man lying prone on the floor, his eyes shut. Caden dove for him, pressing hands to his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall. So he still lived. Her head snapped up from her crouched position, and the red hair of Leliana caught her eye, spurring her to crawl across the cold floor towards her.

“Leliana?” she shook the Sister’s shoulders; her head turned towards her, that red hair shining in the candlelit room. Her eyes were closed, her skin pale, her eyelids almost blue against the stark white of her skin. She was chilled, but like Sten she was alive. “Leliana?” Caden tried again, tapping against her arms to no avail.

Caden pushed herself to her feet as Wynne came up behind her. “Caden, be more careful.”

The warning fell on deaf ears as Caden’s gaze alighted on Rosa and she stumbled across the room towards her mabari. “Rosa,” she murmured, her tone rising as she slid to her knees beside the sleeping hound. And she was sleeping; her lids were flickering as her eyes moved beneath them. Her ear twitched and Caden pressed her palm to the warm fur on her head. “Oh, Rosa.” A hot tear splashed down over her fur, running steadily down over her soft muzzle.

The golden thread sparked again and she turned towards the direction she felt a pull from. He was lying on his side, his back to her, but she knew it was him. Caden scrabbled across the short distance between the dog and the man, grasping his shoulder and tugging him over. His face was wan, eyes closed, with a shallow cut on his forehead that had bled lightly down over his nose. Cradling his head in her lap, her palm cupping his face as gracefully as her trembling hands would allow, she wiped absently at the blood, but it was dried and she only succeeded in scraping a tiny amount under her nail. His face was warm enough to prove to her that his heart was still beating, but he looked sick. His ghostly pallor worried her; he looked to be on the cusp of slipping away. Fear gripped her tight and she cried: “Wynne!”

The older mage came over quickly, peering down to take in his face, but before they could speak Eliza echoed Caden’s shout. Wynne turned and Caden looked up, following her gaze.

The figure that came around from the mound of flesh like substance in the room moved too slowly for Caden to register, but when she blinked it had crossed the room as if it had slipped through time itself to do so. It was tall, wiry, with purple veins crossing over its face, which could have looked almost human. Two large eyes peered down at them, a slanted nose, but where a mouth should have sat was nothing more than skin. It raised its too long arms and when it spoke, its voice seeped into Caden’s brain directly, like fog pressing through a windowpane.

“Ah, more weary travellers come to sleep,” the voice undulated slowly, each word an effort. The misty chill that was creeping inside of Caden made her shudder and she gripped Alistair’s head tighter as if he would slip away if she let him go.

“What have you done to my friends?” Caden asked, finding the words a struggle to form. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, her lips slow. Wynne raised a hand to rub her eyes. Further away Lorelei stumbled backwards, her knees buckling and sinking to the ground. Eliza leaned on her staff, her eyes wide as she tried to form an incantation.

“A demon…” Wynne said, though Caden had already assumed as much. “We must… resist…”

“What did you do?” Caden asked again, her fingers tangling through Alistair’s hair. She thought that maybe she ought to stand, but her legs didn’t seem to want to work and anyway sitting here with Alistair seemed like the right thing to do. All she needed now was to shut her eyes and lay down beside him and go to sleep.

Caden shook her head as Eliza slid to the floor. Lorelei was already slumped over, eyes shut tight. Wynne was still standing, but barely.

“He is resting,” the voice spoke again, addressing Caden, turning its eye on her and now it only had the one. The lumpy flesh over the demons mouth had spread around its neck and over the side of its head. The eye rolled in its socket to latch onto Caden weary eyes. Her lids felt so heavy. “Wouldn’t you like to join him?”

“No…” Caden said.

Wynne let out a sigh that flew from her mouth as she slowly sank to the floor. Caden looked from the mage across to the others who were fast asleep now. “No…” she uttered thickly. She blinked and the demon was before her. It made her jump, though she could not seem to move; her heart lurched but her body remained in the same position. The demon was bending down to her, tilting its head and everything felt just a little off. Plate metal pressed against her cheek and from inside the armour, she felt the weakest thump of a heartbeat. Her hand was still behind Alistair’s head and was going numb from the pressure of his skull resting on her knuckles, the cold stones beneath her. She was lying on the most uncomfortable pillow in the strangest position and she could already feel the stitch forming from this manoeuvre, and yet, and yet she could not bring herself to adjust her position. Her head was too heavy to lift. She blinked again.

The demon was standing again and she raised her gaze to it.

“Sleep.”

Chapter Text

Somethings wrong, shut the light, heavy thoughts tonight

“I’m up,” Caden opened her eyes, blearily taking in her surroundings. The knock sounded louder again. “Maker, Shianni, I’m awake!”

“I know you are,” Caden looked up to see her cousin standing before her. They were both standing though she could not quite recall getting out of bed. She was up and she was dressed with Shianni smiling before her. “You can’t miss your wedding day after all.”

Oh yes. Caden nodded slowly. That was what she was doing on this day. They’d talked of little else for weeks, had everything planned down to the last detail. Nelaros was on his way to wed her, Caden's father had been telling everyone how special the day would be, how much he was looking forward to giving her away in her mother's dress. On the cusp of adulthood, ready to face the world beside her new husband. The pieces all slotted into place in her mind as the memories came to her along with the weight of the expectations of her. To be proper and quiet and demure and marry Nelaros without a second thought.

Shianni held out her arm and Caden took it. In her hand was a bouquet of flowers, blue and yellow and white to match with her eyes, her hair, her dress. It was all so perfect. They walked into the streets where the houses were festooned with ribbons in the same colours. Flowers bloomed from window boxes and along the cobblestone pavements. The sun was shining so brightly, lighting everywhere with its glow, casting the entire sky above in orange. Caden had never seen the Alienage look so lovely. Her hair was loose, flowing behind her and her dress was longer than she remembered, with fluted sleeves and lace over the bodice. This must have been what everyone said would happen when a wedding came together; that sense of everything being even more beautiful than she could have pictured in her head.

The light shone so brightly that it was hard to pick out the faces she passed by with Shianni directing them along the street towards the dais. Where Nelaros would be standing. In the wavering heat, he was just an outline and for a moment her chest beat with excitement to see the man standing there. From this distance he looked taller, his hair dark blonde, his armour shining… no, Nelaros didn’t wear armour. She shook the image from her eyes and refocused. The light abated on him and she could clearly see his elfin features smiling at her. There he was.

Caden stopped by her father and found his arm replacing Shiannis. He was beaming. “My daughter, I am so pleased to be here with you today.”

“As am I.”

Caden froze, her heart leaping into her throat and she turned, half afraid that she was hearing things. The speaker stepped closer, her long blonde hair loose like Cadens, fanning around her face and she smiled beatifically. “Mama?”

Adaia Tabris opened her arms and Caden fell into them, unable to hold back the sob that stole out of her mouth. Her fingers gripped her mother's arm so tightly, but she didn’t complain.

“My little girl, all grown up,” Adaia said, stroking her palm over Caden's head. “My darling I am so happy to be here to watch you get married.”

Caden pulled back, a sharp spike of discomfort provoking her into saying: “Mama, I’m so sorry.”

“For what, my love?”Adaia didn’t seem perturbed by the apology.

“I…” Caden hesitated. “I can’t remember exactly, but… I lost something. Something of yours.”

“No, you didn’t.” Adaia shared an indulgent look with Cyrion. “We’re all here together, with you in my wedding dress, just like we always pictured.”

“No,” Caden frowned, still clutching her mother's hand as she frowned. “There was something of yours that I had and… I don’t have it anymore.”

“I’m sure it isn’t important.” Adaia insisted. “Now, we mustn’t dally any longer. You’re expected.” She nodded towards the dais. Caden turned and Nelaros was right there.

“You look radiant.” He assured her, reaching up to brush her hair out of her eyes where it had fallen. Caden flinched, unable to stop the reaction before she realised she was doing it.

“Don’t,” she murmured. Her heart gave an unhappy thump. Caden stepped back, out of reach of her groom, her fingers slipping from Adaias. “No. I lost something.”

“Caden, sweetheart, it’s normal to feel some doubts,” Adaia said. Cyrion slid an arm around her mother's waist, holding her to him. Shianni was at her elbow with an encouraging grin.

“Come on, let’s get you married,” she said.

Caden shook her head and moved back again. Her feet caught on the train of the wedding dress and she stumbled. “Your boots,” she realised at once. “You gave them to me along with your knife.” Her hands clenched into fists at her side. She missed her swords. What swords?

“This isn’t right.”

The faces before her, of her parents, her cousin, her groom, all regarded her kindly, but the sense of wrongness was digging into the small crack she had found in this moment. “Where are my friends?” She couldn’t think of who she could possibly mean, but someone was missing, that much she knew. Someone important was gone and so was her knife. What had happened to her knife?

“He stabbed me with it,” she said slowly, touching her hand to her hip. Caden gasped as wetness spread under her fingers and she glanced down. It looked like a deep red rose was blooming over the lacy fabric, but it was damp and hot. A flash of a face above her, taunting her. A glint as her knife flew through the air. The agony as it pierced her flesh. She cried out softly as the knife suddenly materialised in her hand and she tugged, sliding it out of her hip where it had settled. There was no blood on the knife now; the blade gleamed, the hilt was warm in her grip. The stain on the dress remained.

“Mamae,” Caden raised her head to lock eyes with her mother, who was holding back, her expression cold now. “I’m sorry.”

“My dress.” Adaia snapped. “Look what you did to it.”

Caden couldn’t stop herself from following that instruction, though one glance and she wished she hadn’t. The gown was stained with red and brown, both fresh and old blood, crumpling the fabric. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry!”

“All you had to do was enjoy this and you spoiled it.” Adaia snarled, her voice deepening. Caden's head snapped up. Her family were melting; their faces losing their familiar appearances, skin sloughing off, eyes burning with hatred. Caden yelped and leapt backwards. The four figures before her rose up out of the faces of her loved ones into their true demonic forms and Caden felt the blow of recollection as various moments that had happened since her fateful wedding day caught back up with her in flashes. One thing was clear: she had been searching for Alistair, in the Circle, and she had found him. What happened after was a mystery, but she was certain that none of this was real.

One of the demons swiped at her arm and she hissed as its claws bit into her skin. This was real. After a fashion at least.

Caden backed up, tripping on the dress again. Her knife was in her hand and four demons loomed above her, but she felt oddly calm in that moment. These demons had tried to make a fool out of her with their lies and deceitful faces. The knife was a blur through the air as she swung it into the substantial bodies of the demons, no longer afraid that her weapon would not be able to hurt them. She would make them pay.

*

“We are Wardens! One and all! Fight for justice, shield for vengeance! Crush our enemies! One and all!”

Alistair heard his voice join the chorus of his brothers and sisters and his heart was filled with joy. He couldn’t remember who had begun the song or what he had just been talking about, and he had been saying something, hadn’t he? It was important whatever it was and he frowned trying to remember. Someone had said something and he had replied loudly… a shout of jubilation to meet the cry of his fellow Wardens no doubt. A tankard of ale was pressed into his hands, or maybe he had just remembered it was there. He drank deep, the liquid spiced and warming. He was smiling, grinning from ear to ear, sitting at the long table.

Ostagar. They were at Ostagar.

Now he recalled: they had battled the darkspawn that day and they had won. Not a single member of his order had fallen, which was cause for celebration indeed. Alistair raised his tankard with a cry that met the voices of his friends as they rejoiced together as one. His armour shone in the firelight, the blue and silver shining brightly in the gloomy night, keeping the shadows at bay. Exactly as they had done; the Blight had threatened the landscape of Ferelden and would have spread to every inch of Thedas had they fallen, but they had persevered, quenching the fires of the enemy.

His tankard was full again and he drank half it’s contents with a smile. All around him was warmth; the faces and voices of his fellow Wardens. He looked around but he was sitting while they were moving swiftly about the table and it was difficult for him to place any specific faces as they brushed past. The laughter was so loud and someone started singing again. Alistair’s smile faltered for a moment. He couldn’t shift the nagging sensation that someone was missing, but when he tried to focus on who that was their image blurred, like trying to make sense of reflection in a rippling pond.

“Alistair!” He turned. “My boy!”

“Duncan!” Alistair was on his feet, the tankard vanished as he embraced his Commander. He wrapped his arms around the older mans shoulders and for a moment the world gave a sharp lurch, a sudden dreadful feeling gripping him. There was a sick sensation in his belly that when he let go he would lose Duncan forever. He supposed it was akin to the fear a child felt upon entering a crowded market with its mother, only that was stupid. He was a grown man, and anyway, he hadn’t ever had that feeling growing up an orphan. He released Duncan feeling self-conscious.

“Alistair, I am so proud of you,” Duncan enthused, his eyes brown pools of respect and awe. “You fought beside me so well; I knew nothing would happen to either of us as we were fighting side by side!”

Tears welled up in his eyes and Alistair sniffed with a smile. “I’m so happy you’re alright, Duncan. I’ve missed you.”

“Missed me? I haven’t gone anywhere!” Duncan laughed and Alistair felt foolish for that aching sense of loss that lingered when he looked at Duncan. Silly of him; his Commander had been with him all along.

“Alistair!” Another shout had him turning towards the golden-haired, golden armoured king who swooped down on him and drew him into an embrace. Familiarity settled over Alistair although it felt strange; the king had never hugged him before. Cailan clapped his hand on Alistair's back then stepped away, hands on Alistair's shoulders. They were practically the same height, him and the king, and yet he could not remember ever having looked so baldly into his eyes. “You fought well and the Blight is ended!”

“I am glad to hear it,” Alistair replied, his voice catching. Cailan was beaming at him and the sheer force of joy and pride on his face was almost too much to bear. “I am glad you are well and that nothing happened to you.”

“Me?” Cailan threw back his head and laughed loudly, the noise reverberating around the camp with the Wardens picking up the sound. Alistair's cheeks started to hurt from smiling along. “Nothing could have happened to me with the Grey Wardens fighting alongside me. I shall be king forever with you all to defend me and so much of that is down to you, Alistair. You are the greatest warrior I have ever known. I’m so proud of you.”

Alistair's chest swelled at the kings' words, any lingering doubts skittering away in the bright light of Cailans and Duncan's approval. The Warden song began again and this time he joined in louder than all the rest.

*

“Hello?”

Caden walked. She couldn’t quite remember the specifics, but she’d fought and killed a quartet of demons and then found herself in a room. The Alienage had melted away around her, leaving misty brick walls that looked like she was viewing them beneath the surface of a lake, yet were firm to the touch when she pressed her hand to them. She was alone, in her stained wedding dress, clutching her mother's knife.

When she spied a doorway in the room she had gone through it, seeing little else to do, and found a long stretch of hallway beyond. And so she walked.

“Hello?” She called, her voice echoing in the emptiness. “Is anyone there?”

The walls had no roof and above her the sky, if she could call it that, was a strange mixture of colours. It seemed orange until she looked at it, which revealed it was green after all, but with more focus, it bled into yellow instead. There was no sun, no moon, nothing that she would have expected to see in the sky, just this cloudy mass of colours merging from one into the next. Caden had no idea where she was, she just knew she needed to find her friends.

“Alistair?” She called, aware that she could be bringing more demons down upon her, but determined to find her friend.

“Hello?”

Caden whirled. Behind her in the previously empty corridor was a doorway. Standing just inside the door was a young man in long robes. He locked eyes with her, his expression guarded. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” Caden retorted, but then took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. “I’m sorry. It’s been a strange day. My name is Caden Tabris.”

“You are not a mage.” It wasn’t a question, but Caden answered it as if it was.

“No, I’m not. I’m…” she trailed off, her mind fuzzing over. “I’m looking for someone, my friend. No, my friends, but particularly Alistair.” She sank her teeth into her bottom lip in thought. “I don’t know where I am, so it’s… tricky.”

The mage seemed to relax at these words, though why she had no idea. “I can tell you that.” He touched his hand to his chest. “I am Niall of Kinloch Hold and we, Caden Tabris, are in the Fade.”

“Oh,” Caden said, the realisation taking a moment or two to sink in. “Oh.” Then another horrible thought: “Are we dead?”

Niall shook his head. “Sleeping. We’ve been enchanted into this sleep by a demon of Sloth.”

“What for?” Caden wanted to know. “And how do we wake up?”

“Sloth demons magic their prey into this slumber and distract us with beautiful memories so that they can feast upon us,” Niall explained darkly.

“Sounds like a children's story.” Caden mused, trying to remember. A book and her mother and a warm summers evening. “I’m sure I’ve read this before…”

“Waking from that distraction is difficult enough, but to wake back into the real world will only happen after the demon is dead. You have to find it and kill it, here in the Fade.” Niall finished his dour assessment of the situation.

Caden nodded. She felt the cool weight of her knife in her hand and straightened up with resolve. “Alright then. Let’s go kill it.”

She set off down the corridor. After a moment Niall appeared walking beside her. “You can’t be serious.”

Caden shrugged, not breaking her stride. “I don’t know where my friends are or where this demon is, but if that’s what I have to do then I’ll do it. You don’t know where it is, do you?”

Niall walked beside her for a while in thought. The corridor stretched on unchanging and fading into the distance. “I guess we keep walking. The demon controls this whole part of the Fade, but it isn’t all-powerful. It needs bodies to feed on to maintain this dimension at this current size, but it’ll be lurking somewhere. Chances are we’ll find your friends along the way if this is the only route we can take.”

Together they walked, the corridor unfolding before them as they went. After a short while, Caden spoke again, in part to focus her mind on the task at hand as there were fuzzy edges to her thoughts that she felt certain would eventually allow her to forget what she was doing if she didn’t fight it. Talking seemed as good an idea as any to keep that fog at bay.

“How come our dreams didn’t keep us mollified?” she asked. “If the demon’s goal is to present us with the happiest ideas to keep us quiet and dreaming, what went wrong with us? Do you think my friends are awake as well?”

“I can’t answer for them,” Niall admitted. “For me, the dream was lovely but unrealistic. It had obviously taken some memories of my mother and was showing me what it thought I wanted to see, but it was just… wrong. It wasn’t her.”

Caden smiled sadly, the corners of her mouth rising only marginally. “Me, too.” Niall glanced at her as they walked and the two shared a brief moment of camaraderie.

“Families are hard for mages.” Niall elucidated after a short pause in which only the sound of their footsteps could be heard. “Often when a child displays their abilities for the first time, it’s a terrible moment for a family. Whether they are afraid for their child or of their child, mostly the revelation is driven by fear. But not my mother.” A ghost of a smile flitted over Nialls face. “My mother told me that I was destined for greatness and that my powers were a gift from the Maker.” He chuckled softly. “I was lucky. Even if I still had to leave my mother and live in the Circle, I always knew I was so loved. I never felt ashamed of my magic.”

“It’s important to know your parents are proud of you,” Caden added, somewhat needlessly summarising his point. She thought of Adaia training her when she was small and then of Cyrion trying to dissuade her of her fighting skills after her mother had died. “My mother was always a champion of me.”

“Exactly,” Niall nodded. “That was why I had to do what I did. When Uldred started trying to persuade my peers to join him, I refused.”

“Who’s Uldred?”

Niall seemed surprised. “You didn’t come across him in your journey up the tower? I suppose that makes sense; he was heading for the Harrowing chamber after all.”

Caden shook her head slowly. “I’m not sure I understand…”

“Uldred is a mage in the Circle,” Niall explained. “He was trying to start an army of abominations—mages corrupted by demons. Those who opposed him wound up dead if they were lucky.”

“What about you?” Caden asked. “You resisted him?”

“I was able to sneak away from his minions,” Niall said. “I knew we would need help to defeat him, so I went to collect the Litany of Andalla. As far as I know, I still have it, back in the real world.”

“We need that to fight Uldred?” Caden asked. “And then we save the Circle?”

“Pretty much.” Niall shrugged. “That’s the theory anyway.”

“Alright then.” Caden ticked off her to-do list on her fingers. “Find my friends, kill the Sloth demon, wake up, get the Litany, kill Uldred.” She threw a smile to her companion. “I guess your mother was right about you doing great things.”

Niall didn’t look as comforted as she had expected, but before she could decide whether to press for more information or let it hang, there was a commotion up ahead that stole her attention. Both the Warden and the mage quickened their steps, hurrying across the stones towards the noise. A new doorway had materialised ahead on the left and it was to this ajar door that they hurried. Peering inside Caden could see Wynne standing before a room full of people. She was in profile and Caden immediately zeroed in on her face, which was clear and firm. She wasn’t entirely sure what a person looked like under the influence of the demon induced dream, but Wynne looked too present to be distracted.

Of the people in the room that Wynne was talking to Caden recognised Eliza, sitting and listening to Wynne with a foggy expression. So that was the look of a bewitched dreamer. There were other’s sitting with Eliza and trying to draw her attention back to them. Demons, Caden reckoned. She stepped up, her knife glinting as she clutched it higher.

“Eliza,” she spoke with assurance, striding to stand beside Wynne, who glanced to her. “Wake up.”

“Caden?” Wynnes shrewd eyes were taking in Caden's own.

“Hi Wynne,” she replied with a nod. “I see you didn’t let the demon get the better of you.”

She could have sworn she saw a smirk flit briefly over Wynne's face as she arched one grey brow. “I have been around too long to become easily swayed by the pretty temptations of any demon.”

Eliza was shaking her head as she listened to this back and forth; one of her companions reached over to touch her hand. “Eliza, don’t listen to them.”

“Eliza, do listen to us,” Caden said.

“My dear, these people are not your friends.” Wynne put forth, more gently than Caden would have expected. “You have to come with us.”

“I…” Eliza tried, her eyes snapping from the demons wearing elven faces and back to the others. “What…?”

Caden stepped closer to her and knelt beside her where she was sitting. “Think very hard. You were at the Circle, fighting demons, when we all fell asleep. Remember me? I’m a Grey Warden. You had not long passed your Harrowing. Us elves have to stick together and help each other out, right? Let me help you wake up.” She reached for Eliza's hand and felt her slender, cool fingers slip through hers. Caden straightened up and tugged Eliza to her feet. Her green eyes were losing the fog and becoming clearer the more she looked at Caden.

“I’d never heard of an elf being a Grey Warden before,” she said slowly, as if each word was an effort. “I was so impressed.”

“So was I,” Caden said. “With you.”

“No!” screeched one of the demons, their face melting into a horrifying visage. Eliza gasped and stumbled backwards, hand still fast in Cadens. She gripped Eliza tight, kept her on her feet and her knife sang through the air to make light work of the demon. Wynne didn’t have a staff, but it didn’t seem to matter; she blasted light blue energy at the demons that rose up behind the first and froze them into place. Eliza seemed to draw some strength and used her free hand to cast a ball of crackling lightning to throw at the demons.

Before too long they were gone, melted into the ground as if they had never been there. Wynne came up behind Eliza and turned her around into a warm hug. Caden let Elizas fingers slide from her hand and smiled at Niall.

“Thank goodness, Eliza,” Wynne was saying. “Those demons were built to keep you contained and I’m so proud of you for fighting them.”

“Thanks, Wynne,” Elizas muffled voice came from the enveloping arms of her mentor.

Caden watched the rest of the scene dissolve into the same misty bricks that the rest of the place was built from. The wooden slats of the home disappeared, all seeming very familiar to her as she watched them go. Another Alienage she presumed. A flicker of warmth grew for Eliza as she was reminded that they probably had both come from very similar backgrounds. She had meant what she had said; to know a fellow elf had risen up to find herself in the world, even if that world was confined to the circular walls of the tower.

“Shall we head on?” She suggested when the embrace between the mages came to an end. “We still have to find the others.”

*

Alistair had a sword in one hand and a shield in the other, but he wasn’t fighting. It took him a moment to place what he was doing; he was standing, and the Wardens were with him. The feeling of revelry was still awash throughout the group. They were standing with the king, it occurred to him. Cailan was in their midst as though he belonged, squeezing in between Alistair and his nearest Warden-Brother. On his other side was Duncan. He wondered what they were doing and couldn’t help but frown as he thought that; why didn’t he know what they were doing?

The bodies around him started running through drill exercises and he felt them move as a wave around him and he moved too, tossed about like a small leaf floating down a river. His arm followed the motion of the group and he raised his sword high, bringing it down with a yell that was matched by the rest.

Nothing in this moment felt strange— he’d run drills before, over and over with his fellow Wardens—and yet nothing felt right, either. Like an insect in his ear, a buzzing was distracting him from the others and his voice didn’t rise to meet the others. Cailan paused and turned to him, his graceful face wrinkling with confusion. Alistair tried to amend his mistake, but he was out of sync with the others, his cry alone a beat after the rest. More faces glanced at him, all mirroring the frustration on Cailans face. Alistair tried to keep his eyes forward, but he was drawn to look around to Duncan. his expression sent ice down Alistair's back. “I’m sorry,” he hurried to say, eager to wash away their disapproval.

The buzzing fly was louder now and Alistair swatted at the air by his ear. Nothing was there and the noise carried on. “I’m sorry.” He said again, raising his voice to be heard over the droning noise by his head.

“Are you with us, Alistair?” Duncan asked. His voice was flat, with an edge of something that felt vaguely threatening. Alistair faltered, his arms dropping to his sides, the sword and shield to heavy to hold.

“Of course,” he replied, his mouth dry. “Always. But—”

“Then be with us.” Duncan cut in.

Alistair broke from the rest, taking a step forward and whirling around to face them all. “I will, but first there’s something I need to do.”

“What could possibly be more important than this?” Cailan laughed.

“I…” Alistair shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I just know I have to do it.”

“Alistair,” Duncan’s tone was low with warning. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry.” He stepped back again and this time the wave came with him, their voices deafening, drowning out even the buzzing that was so loud in his ear. They crashed down upon him, eyes hard and cold, blades shining.

Chapter Text

No-one but me can save myself, but it’s too late

They were demons, the whole lot of them. Tears stung his eyes as Alistair swung his sword through the melting visage of his commander. He felt like he was killing Duncan all over again. Dead, first on the battlefield, without Alistair at his side, and now again by his own hand. Duncan had been alive again, a ghost plucked from his memory and made real and now he was destroying him all over again. It almost didn’t matter that when he slew the thing pretending to be Duncan it reverted back to its true form. All he saw was Duncan and how badly he’d let him down.

The thing that wore Cailans face hissed at him, an inhuman sound from a very human-looking mouth. Alistair’s heart was gripped in terror at the wrongness before him and he had to look away when he struck true and sank his blade into the chest of his king.

After a while he was alone. Sinking to his knees against the cold stone floor he bent his head, his arms snaking around himself and he wept. They had all died at Ostagar and left him to face everything by himself. Recent memories slotted back into place in his brain, jolting sorrow through his heart. He was the last Grey Warden.

Except that was wrong.

The source of the buzzing in his ears became clearer as the unfathomable noise seemed to slide into words all at once and he realised the distraction that had kept him from falling completely for the demons lies, was Caden. Caden is here, Caden is here, Caden is here.

“Alistair?”

His head shot up. There she was, just as he remembered her.

“I was just thinking about you.” Alistair heard himself say, scrambling to his feet. She didn’t seem to mind. Caden looked up at him as he stood up straight, ever the smaller Warden. “Where have you been?”

“Looking for you, of course,” she replied, no accusation in her words. She smiled, though it was a gesture that didn’t quite match the worry clouding her eyes. “Come on, we have to hurry.”

She brushed past him, close enough that he could have shifted his hand a fraction of an inch and grasped her arm. The surroundings, he now realised, were different to how they had appeared when he was enclosed by his pretend Warden-Brothers. High stone walls that shimmered in and out of view; solid, and yet not, reaching up so high before disappearing into darkness instead of a ceiling. Caden walked ahead and turned back to lock eyes with him. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Alistair asked. His nerves were shivering under his skin.

“We have to hide,” Caden replied, urgency weaving through her tone of voice. “Something’s coming, something really bad. We have to hide.”

“Hide?” Alistair couldn’t help the step back, it happened before he knew what he was doing, but Caden crossed the divide and held out her hand to him.

“Alistair, trust me.” She implored. He looked down at her palm, so small and pale. Wordlessly he slide his hand over hers and let her wrap her fingers around his. She was incredibly cold.

*

The companions halted at the sudden sound. Caden blinked; it was familiar and strange all at once. Like a memory it shuddered through her and before she knew what was happening she turned and crouched, arms open wide, ready to welcome.

Rosa appeared at the end of the corridor. Mouth open, with her tongue lolling over her jaw she bounded across the stones, drawing laughter from Caden before leaping into her with force enough to topple her over. Hot breath and wet kisses. Caden’s tears were forced out by her joy as the warm, heavy body wriggled across her and finally settled down to sit on her lap.

“You know this mabari, I take it?” Wynne asked, a wry smile on her face.

“Oh Rosa,” Caden buried her face in the neck of her dog. “I missed you, girl.”

Rosa let out a happy little bark and Caden could have sworn she was smiling. With a gentle shove, Caden got her legs free and stood up, her mabari pressing against her once she was upright again. “It’s alright, Rosa. We won’t be separated again.”

“I wonder what she was dreaming about.” Eliza mused as they started walking again.

“Do dogs even dream?” Caden asked. Niall walked beside her and Rosa gave his hand a sniff.

“Whatever the Sloth demon tried to do to her mind, it obviously didn’t take.” He determined with a faded smile at the dog. “She came looking for you.”

“Where did you find her?” Wynne asked.

“Ostagar,” Caden replied giving Rosas head a scratch. “Her master died before the battle and I helped find the ingredients to heal her. I guess she appreciated that because she found me after and has been with me ever since. Well,” she shrugged, “until Alistair borrowed her to bring her here.” Rosa looked up at her with pricked ears. “We’re still looking for him.” She told the mabari.

They walked on in silence for a time before Eliza posed a question. The subject of the dreams that trapped them was evidently playing on her mind. “It is strange how some of us have managed to break from the dreams and some of us couldn’t.” Her eyes were angled downwards. It struck Caden that of the five of them, which included the mabari, Eliza was the only one who had been helped out of her dream.

“I faced a demon before I came here,” Caden explained cautiously. Eliza glanced at her but said nothing. “There is a boy in Redcliffe who has been possessed by a demon and part of the reason Alistair came here in the first place was to request the aid of the mages to help save the boy. I was injured before he left so that’s why I didn’t come along and during my recuperation I was visited by the demon.” Caden held back her revulsion at the memory of those sultry, poisoned words and the offer she was made. “She tried to tempt me to give her my body instead.”

“You resisted?” Eliza filled in the blanks.

“I did, but…” she sighed. “It was an offer I considered almost worth taking. I grew up in an Alienage. It was a hard life. There were many wrongs I wanted to right and the demon claimed to be able to help.”

Eliza offered a small smile in return for this hesitant explanation. “I’m sure I was born in a similar place to where you grew up, but I don’t remember it. The only home I’ve ever known is the Circle.”

Caden thought of the stage of Eliza’s dream. The wooden walls, the demons who looked like elves with the same colouring as Eliza. She might not have remembered her past but that memory still lived in her mind, enough for the demon to draw upon it to placate her into sleeping. A pang of sorrow thumped in Caden’s chest; her wedding day had not been enough of a draw to keep her down, whereas Eliza had been shown something she had forgotten all about. How could she fight that dream if it hadn’t really happened? Caden didn’t know how to express these thoughts into anything helpful to soothe Eliza’s regret at needing help to wake out of the dream. She let the moment pass.

“Regardless of the offer, you did the right thing by refusing,” Wynne said, cutting through Caden’s thoughts. “Deals with demons always come with a great price and it’s rarely one they explain upfront. Possession is dangerous for everyone, not just the person with the demon inside them. How is the boy?”

“I left some mages behind,” Caden explained. “Jowan is one and the other is mage who grew up outside of any Circle.”

“An apostate.” Wynne sniffed.

“I suppose, but she doesn’t seem to like that name,” Caden said drily. “I can’t say I disagree with her feelings on Circles. I can see the sense in training mages to use their magic safely, but I’m not convinced about making people Tranquil or happy about the fact that Greagoir is planning to murder everyone in the tower if we fail.”

Wynne didn’t say anything to that but Caden could see her lips purse subtly in response. Whether she agreed with Caden or with Greagoir was not clear. “Well, then we must hurry to find the—”

Wynne cut off at a new sound. Caden was blushing before she registered what the sound was and as she halted in her tracks her gaze met Elizas, who looked equally as uncomfortable. Wynne rolled her eyes as another moan floated across the corridor, coming from a doorway that was only slightly ajar. Niall raised his eyebrows as the older women charged for the doorway, the younger trio hanging back with Rosa. Caden cleared her throat. It seemed childish to stand back and let Wynne take charge; she was a Grey Warden. She was supposed to help people. Even if helping them meant interrupting… something. Caden followed Wynne through the door.

Wynne was standing with her hands on her hips surveying the couple on a bed in the room. The light in this place was low, tinged with rose, both the colour and the scent. Caden thought of the Lothering rose in her pack and the demon back at Redcliffe flashed up unbidden, her sultry tones repeating the offer to help Caden overpower men any way she wanted. Her cheeks burned and she gripped the knife.

“Lorelei Amell.” Wynne barked suddenly making her jump. “Put that boy down at once.”

The couple didn’t stop what they were doing, but Lorelei looked briefly over her shoulder at Wynne, her sheet of black hair falling over her back. She was still robed, but those robes were hitched around her thighs as she straddled someone.

“Hi Wynne,” Lorelei smiled, her eyes glassy. “Give me a few minutes, alright? I’ll make up the time later.”

“Oh for goodness sake,” Wynne griped. “You aren’t late for class, my dear, you are being led astray by a demon.”

“It’s true,” Caden added. Her voice came out reedy and a few octaves higher than she had expected. “We need you to come with us.”

A distinctly male voice groaned loudly, his hand reaching up to cup Loreleis chin and turn her back to him. “Don’t listen to them, love.” He said. His voice was deep and well-spoken. “I’m finally ready to give myself to you.”

He raised himself up to pull Lorelei closer. For a dreadful moment, Caden’s stomach lurched as she saw him; his features were strong, with similar colouring to Alistair, but she blinked and saw that it was not him after all. It was a young man around her age with curled yellow hair. Discarded beside the bed was armour bearing the Templar heraldry.

“Oh Lorelei,” Eliza murmured, coming to stand beside Caden.

“Do you know that man?” Caden asked quietly over the sound of kissing from the bed.

Eliza nodded. “Cullen. Lorelei and he… there have been sparks, but they’ve never… that is, she teases him because he’s a Templar and he’s so jittery around us. I think she finds that funny. Or well, she did at first. I think there’s really something between them.”

Caden felt a fire ignite inside her. The cruelty of the demons tricks went beyond anything she could have imagined. To show her and Niall and, she suspected, Eliza their families was torture. To give Lorelei the man she craved was equally brutal. What might Alistair be facing while she was standing around waiting for Lorelei to comply with Wynne’s orders to get off Cullen? That more than anything propelled her forward until she was right beside the bed. Loreleis hands were wrapped around the back of Cullens head, her fingers digging through his curls. His broad hands were clutching her to him. Caden gritted her teeth and grabbed Loreleis arm. She was tall, but light and when Caden yanked, the startled mage became unbalanced and tumbled from the bed. Mercifully, Caden realised as she caught Lorelei against her, the demon pretending to be Cullen was wearing a pair of loose trousers.

“What are you doing?” Lorelei spat at Caden, who refused to loosen her grip on the woman’s arm.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but that’s not the man you think he is.” She said firmly. “That is a demon and your man, your Cullen, he’s probably in danger. Because the tower has been overrun by demons and many people have died and he could be fighting them right now.” Her gut twisted with her words. She had no way of knowing if there was any truth to them, but it felt like a more compelling argument to break Lorelei of the spell she was under. Like the other Templars, he might have been waiting outside the doors, or perhaps he was already dead, another victim of the villains in the tower. But she could see she was getting through to Lorelei. “You need to wake up and help us stop what’s happening so we can spare anyone else that fate. We have to go and help him, right?”

Lorelei glanced from Caden to the demon that was sliding off the bed and reaching for her, with a languid “Lorelei…”

Caden turned her glare on the face of the man. “Stay back and leave her alone!” Her free hand drew up her knife. The demon laughed.

“There’s enough of me to go around,” he chuckled.

Lorelei let him place his hand on her face. Caden didn’t relax her hold on the mage as she watched. Lorelei was on a knife-edge.

Lorelei raised her hand and pressed it to Cullens face. “Cullen would never say that. Fuck you.” She whispered and then her hand erupted with lightning. Caden yelped and turned her face away as the demon shrieked, melting into its true form and writhing in pain at her touch. Lorelei stood tall and never wavered, her eyes locked onto the demon before her as it died. Then she lowered her hand and took a breath before turning to Caden. Her eyes were hard. “Thank you. You can let go of me now.”

“Oh, sorry,” Caden took her hand back, flexing her fingers to shake off the fierceness of her grip. Lorelei turned around as the room faded away to the usual brickwork.

“Sorry about that.” She said, her tone clipped. “Let’s go kill some more demons, shall we?” Her hands crackled with energy.

“Lore—” Eliza started, but Lorelei strode past without a backwards glance. She kept her eyes forward as she passed Wynne and Niall. Rosa let out a small whine.

Caden shrugged as Wynne caught her eye and with a sigh, the older woman followed Lorelei out. They continued to walk through the corridor to find the rest of Caden’s party. As they walked she worried. Alistair could be facing all manner of horrible things to keep him asleep. She fretted over her friend and let that concern drive her to the front of the group. They walked in silence.

*

They found Sten next. The mages all baulked at the site of the tall man standing at a campfire with others who looked as tall and as broad as him. Rosa bounded up to him without a backwards glance, with Caden on her heels.

“Sten?” She asked, striding up to standing right before him. His eyes found hers and she was surprised to see more awareness in them than she had expected. “Are you alright?”

“Warden,” he answered, a tiny quirk between his brows the only indicator of his surprise. “You were left behind.”

Caden nodded slowly. So he remembered? “I’m all better now. I came to find you all.”

“Here I am,” he replied sombrely. “I have been waiting.”

“For me?”

“For anyone.” He answered. His tone was dull, but as he spoke he shifted his stance. “Waiting for a reason.”

That didn’t make sense to Caden. She looked around at his companions, that she knew were demons behind their stern faces, gazing into the flames of their roaring fire. “Do you know where you are?”

“More or less.” He answered with a nod. “I am aware that these are not my comrades, for I remember that they all died. I recall how each one died at the hands of those darkspawn you are ordained to destroy. These are not the Beresaad.”

“No,” Caden agreed sadly. One raised his head to glare at her. “They’re demons. I’m sorry.”

“No matter,” Sten said, drawing the sword at his back. It was an enormous two-handed beast of a weapon that looked quite different to the one Kaitlyn and Bevin had loaned their cause. “Shall we begin?”

Caden watched the demons rise up to meet Sten’s attack, but they were no match for him. She barely had time to lift her knife before Sten had defeated all three of the demons he had been stood with. They disappeared as she had become to expect of dead demons along with the cliff-side setting that was the dressing of Sten’s dream. “I like your sword.” She said.

For a moment she didn’t think Sten was going to reply. He lifted his blade and watched it gleam, the blade serrated on one side to look especially menacing, but there was elegance in its design. “Asala.” Sten said reverently. “It is good to have it in my hands again. Even if this is nought but a dream.”

“You knew?” Caden asked as they moved into the corridor. The mages all cast wary eyes over Sten, but Rosa butted her head against Sten’s giant hand and received a scratch in response. “Why didn’t you fight?”

“There was little point,” Sten explained. “I was unsure if this was the end of our mission until you arrived. Now there is hope I must put aside my memories for another time and rejoin you.”

Eliza caught Cadens eye and frowned. Caden only shrugged lightly in reply. She hadn’t considered that anyone might know they were dreaming, yet resist waking from it. It was clear to her that Sten has identified his fallen brethren as not really themselves, though whether he knew the exact details of their location was still a question. But the thought that plagued her mind was that although he’d realised nothing was true of his companions or surroundings, he had chosen to stay put. He was hard to read at the best of times, but it would never have occurred to Caden to stay in her own dream, no matter how desperately she missed her home and her mother. She thought of Adaias arms going around her and holding her close, the thought tightening her chest until it hurt. That thing was a demon wearing her mother’s face, but oh, how badly she had needed that embrace. If she had chosen to stay in the pretend Alienage would the demons have continued to wear those faces, push the ruse of being her loved ones? Would she have eventually had died like those corpses that had littered the floor by the Sloth demon and would that death have been peaceful, blissful in its mockery of her former life? She shuddered. Best not to consider that prospect.

Alistair was the reason she had resisted the dream. She’d remembered the truth about her wedding day, how Vaughan Kendalls had attacked her and how she’d gotten away and joined the Wardens and Alistair had been there, with her, ready to face down the Blight. It struck her then that no matter how good the illusion, once she had seen through it, she could never have chosen to remain. Not if that meant leaving Alistair to finish their task alone.

*

Alistair was not alone. Caden’s hand was like ice in his and his unease festered inside of him with every step they took. Certainty went to war with his desire to have found a friendly face and it was only when he planted his feet that he realised which side had won.

Caden turned around, her hand still gripping his. His fingers were numb.

“Caden,” he said, unable to use any other term for her when she was looking at him with those inky blue eyes he knew so well, “where are we going?”

“To hide.” Came the simple reply.

“No,” Alistair tugged his hand loose and was momentarily surprised when she allowed it. “Caden doesn’t hide. She faces things head on. You’re not really her, are you?”

Caden took a step closer and reached for his arm. He flinched and those eyes narrowed, even as the smile remained fixed on her mouth. “Of course I am.”

Alistair shook his hand as he thought, hoping to shock some feeling back into it. He felt as though it had been plunged into a lake in the midst of Winter. “Prove it to me. If you’re Caden tell me something about her.”

She was still for a moment before straightening up. “My name is Caden Tabris. I am a Grey Warden, with you Alistair, and we are the only survivors of the battle of Ostagar.”

“I know that.” Alistair pressed. “Tell me something Caden would know.”

The smile was entirely gone now, eyes and lips narrowed into thin slits. “We don’t have time for this. We have to hide.” Alistair took a deep breath and remained where he was. She sighed. “My husband was killed on my wedding day, his name was Nelaros. We’re seeking aid to battle the Blight.”

“I know this!” Alistair’s voice burst out of his chest. “I know this. Tell me something only Caden would know, not something a demon could have pulled from my mind and given her to say. Tell me…” he trailed off with the heel of his hand pressed to his forehead in thought. “Tell me something Caden did while I was here at the Circle. Tell me how she got here.”

Caden’s face went blank for just an instant, a flittering panic shooting through her eyes. Alistair knew in that moment what he had already known: this was just another demon trying to mess with him. His sword was steady even as his heart shuddered. The demon wore Caden’s face until the moment it died when it mercifully slid back into its true form. Alistair reached down to pick up his sword; he hadn’t realised he’d even dropped it after burying it in his friend’s chest. His throat was closed, it hurt to swallow and his thoughts were flying about his head as if they were being thought outside of his mind. His hand was still chilled from letting the demon touch him. He thought about Caden, safe back at Redcliffe, he hoped, and wondered if she would be able to go on without him.

“Alistair?”

He braced and turned to find Caden standing behind him. Alistair gripped his sword tightly and reached out his free hand to take hers and feel the sick icy grasp once more.

*

“Alistair? Leliana?” Caden called. She had thought she’d heard a noise. The mages and Sten paused, Rosa at her hip as she looked around.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Eliza whispered.

Caden cocked her head and listened, glancing down at the mabari. Rosa was looking up at her, unbothered by whatever noise had caught Caden’s ear. She frowned, concentrating.

“There.” She pointed off to the side. The corridor wall remained firm. “There’s something behind there.”

She strode ahead and lifted her hand towards the wall. There was something on the other side of that wall, she was sure of it. A quiet murmur from behind the wall. Caden lifted her hand to press against the stone.

“Caden!” She whirled, the stone gone. Her companions were standing at the ready, all turning to find a figure on her knees in prayer.

“Leliana,” Caden hurried across the floor, her footsteps resonating on the large flagstones. The walls were high and imposing, stained glass windows cast dull rainbows on the floor. Leliana had her head bowed, her hands clasped before her, rocking lightly back and forth as she prayed. Caden could only pick out single words here and there as she drew closer with the Sister.

“…before…shadow… Maker … guide… wander … Beyond…”

“Leliana?” Caden’s skirt swept the floor as she crouched onto one knee before Leliana. “Can you hear me?”

Her voice rose up to speak over Cadens. “There is no darkness in the Maker’s Light.” Leliana looked up, glaring at Caden and went on. “And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.”

“Leliana, we have to go,” Caden reached over to touch her shoulder. Lelianas gaze skated upwards, past Caden’s head and instinctively she turned to see another Leliana glide into view. Then another and a third and a fourth until eventually five separate Lelianas whirled around the room, drawing the mages and Sten closer inwards towards the pair. “Leliana?”

The woman beside her was wearing the same Chantry robes that been her attire when she had first crossed the path of the Wardens, but these others were very different. Three of them wore variations on leather armour, holding daggers with flashing deadly eyes. One wore a gown, tighter than the one Caden still had on, cinched at the waist, corseted tightly to push up her breasts into swells beneath her painted face. The fifth was decorated almost obscenely; her outfit consisting of something Caden had never seen before, a figure-hugging lace and bone structure that left her legs entirely on display and barely contained her bosom at all. Caden flushed and looked back to her friend, fingers gripping Lelianas shoulder.

“I am not alone,” Leliana murmured. It seemed like the same prayer as before, but Caden latched onto it.

“No, you aren’t alone.” She said. “I’m here and I brought friends. It doesn’t matter how many demons come, we’ll face them together, alright?”

Lelianas voice sank to a mutter and she closed her eyes against the sight of her selves. Caden got to her feet, turning on the demons. “Hey, we know you aren’t really Leliana.” She announced, loudly and forcefully. “So you can save the theatrics.”

Each Leliana laughed, one twirling her daggers, another drawing a different blade.

“I’m not scared of you,” Caden said. “We’ve killed dozens of your kind tonight and I’ll be happy to add you to the list.”

“We are her and she is us.” The Leliana in the ballgown announced. “We have so many faces. Can you trust her at all? Do you even know her?”

“Leliana is my friend and my ally,” Caden replied. She raised the hand that held her mothers’ knife. “And I’m ready when you are.”

She heard a rustle of fabric behind her and realised the Chant had stopped. A glance over her shoulder revealed Leliana standing tall, eyes trained on the demons before them. “Thank you, Caden. I’ll take it from here.”

Before Caden could blink, Leliana had burst past her, driving her fist into the nearest one of her selves. Her momentum carried her into an uppercut and an elbow to the stomach before the demon could react. In another blink, Leliana, the real one, had wrested a dagger free and was burying it to the hilt in one of her selves.

Rosa gave a bark and leapt to the fray. The collection of mages and Sten bounded in to join.

Caden took a step.

Darkness covered her surroundings and she stumbled before she could catch herself. The black was all around her, deep, dark and inescapable. A cry stole from her lips before she could stop herself and she pitched forward, quickly losing any sense of up or down as she spun through the air, to slam hard into shoulder. Pain snapped through her arm to her neck and she yelped. The darkness was everywhere, it was all she could see, it was inside her—

She opened her eyes to the sight of a blade at her throat and froze. Caden’s gaze travelled up the bloodstained metal to the hand that held it and beyond. A strong arm, a shoulder, a stern expression looking down at her with sweat trailing down his face. “Alistair.” She managed, before the tip of the sword touched her skin and her pulse leapt to meet the blade.

“Tell me something.” He responded, his voice harder than she’d ever heard it. “Something only she would know.”

“What?” He wasn’t making sense. “Who?”

“Tell me something only Caden would know.” Alistair snarled. “I know we’re Wardens, I know what happened at Ostagar, I know the things she’s told me about her wedding day. Stop taking things out of my head and tell me something she would know or I swear to you, demon, I will slit your throat right now.”

Cadens’ mouth went dry. She felt the urge to swallow, to moisten her lips, but the sword pressing against her neck stilled her. Her hand clutched her own knife but she didn’t dare move. Her other hand was flat against the floor, trembling lightly against the cold stone. “Alistair,” she managed haltingly, “please will you take your sword away from me?”

“Tell me something only she would know.” His voiced boomed and she automatically shrank back, but there was nowhere to go. The floor was unyielding beneath her. “Tell me or I will end you!”

“I wasn’t married!” Caden heard the words in a voice that didn’t sound like her own. Quavering, high, the words running together. “My wedding was interrupted and so I never got to marry Nelaros.”

The sword point moved. She could breathe again, though the blade still hovered over her. She took a great gulp of air down. “I didn’t mean to lie to you. It was easier than facing the truth about why I wear the ring.”

Alistair pulled his sword back even further, his eyes drawn in suspicion as he listened. “Why do you wear it?”

Caden lifted herself up on her elbows and scooted back along the stone, anything to add more distance between them. “It feels safer.” She admitted, slowly climbing to her feet, wary of moving too fast and spooking him again. She thought of Teagan noticing the gold band and halting his unwanted flirtation. “Safer if people think I’m spoken for. And,” Caden’s lip wobbled, “Nelaros was the only one who came to get me and my cousin. I wanted to honour his sacrifice in some way.”

Alistair’s face was inscrutable. He surveyed her without a sound, without moving. She tried to look as nonthreatening as possible, which it struck her suddenly she must have done, for she was still wearing her wedding gown. Her cheeks heated as she realised how ridiculous she must have looked. As she was thinking this and half wishing the darkness would swallow her again, Alistair sheathed his sword.

“You’re really you?” He still sounded uneasy. Caden nodded.

“I am,” she replied with a nod. “I’ve been searching for you.”

“Why aren’t you at Redcliffe?” Alistair asked, then blanched. “Connor…?”

“Lives, as far as I know,” Caden explained. “But he, well no, the demon told me you were in danger. That you would die here in the Circle. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Alistair considered this quietly. Then he stepped towards her, ignoring her flinch and held out his hand. “I need to feel you.”

“Why?” Caden drew her hands towards herself without hesitation.

“The demons were freezing.” He said curtly. “I think I believe you, but humour me.”

She was certain she wouldn’t be cold. Her entire body felt aflame as she stepped up to him and placed her shaking palm over his. His fingers curled around her, his body warm. Caden waited, eyes averted from his gaze, burning with embarrassment before he released her. “Well? Is it definitely me?”

Alistair caught her eye and flashed the briefest of smiles. “Shouldn’t you already know?”

“I don’t know anymore,” Caden admitted ruefully. “This place is so strange. I was with the others fighting a whole bunch of different Lelianas, before I fell down in front of you.”

“Truly?”

“Surely you believe that,” Caden replied aiming for lightness. “If you really did kill a host of demons with my face?”

His face darkened and Alistair looked away. Caden could have kicked herself for her misstep. “Are you—?”

“Come on.” Alistair turned towards a doorway that had appeared before them. “I want to get out of here.”

Outside the door was the same old corridor. Alistair looked around at it as though he’d never seen it before, so Caden pushed aside the dreadful concern over just how long he’d been trapped in that room fighting her over and over and marched down the corridor. She could see another doorway ahead and as they drew up to it, out spilled Rosa and the rest of her companions. The slobbery kisses from Rosa were a most welcome distraction as Leliana and Sten greeted Alistair and he surveyed the new members Caden had collected for their party.

When she stood and looked around, every face was turned to her. She found she didn’t mind it so much. If they wanted a leader she would provide it. The corridor had an end in sight now, one large and final door. Her resolve set. “Come on everyone. Let’s go and take out the Sloth demon and wake ourselves up.”

Chapter Text

And when we die, we will die with our arms unbound

“I can’t go in there with you.” Caden turned with a frown to look at Niall. He was hanging back from the rest of the group, his hands clasped before him, still and sombre.

“What?” Caden asked, starting back for him. “What do you mean? Why not?”

Niall turned to her, his expression placid, a small smile playing on his lips. “I’m afraid my journey ends here. I can’t go with you all to face the Sloth demon. I’ve used up everything I had left.”

“I don’t understand,” Caden drew closer to him, searching his face.

Niall wordlessly held out his hand and raised it palm out towards Caden. She glanced down, but it took a moment or two for the sight to process in her mind.

“What happened?” Her voice was thin. Nialls hand was pale, ghostly. It wasn’t until she lifted her own hand and held it under his and realised that she could see her hand through his that the message sank in. Niall was fading. “How…? Why aren’t you like us?”

His voice was soft when he spoke next. “I fear I have been here too long. I was already dying when you arrived.” He leaned closer, coming down to her eye level. “There was nothing you could have done.”

Caden didn’t understand why there was so much kindness in his words until she absentmindedly wiped her cheek to find it was damp. “It’s not fair.”

“I know.” Niall agreed mildly. “I am glad you found me though and that I could help you find the others. I had feared I would expend myself before we found our way here, but I am grateful to have helped you find the door.”

The understanding struck her then. “The doors… you made them?”

“I only uncovered them.” Niall amended gently. “You found them.”

Caden drew in a shuddering breath, the fear and hope and loss all converging inside her. Everything she’d pushed aside in her pursuit of her friends surfacing behind her eyes, which prickled as more tears spilled over her lids. “Why didn’t you say anything? If I’d known—”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.” Niall cut in gently. “You would have had no choice, but to let me use my connection to this place to uncover the doors. Sometimes we must make sacrifices for the greater good and this was my burden to bear.”

“It’s not fair,” Caden said again.

Niall was thinner again, his form becoming less firm. Caden reached for his hand and it passed right through him. “I know.” He said. “I would have loved to have been able to return to my… my body, but this was more important. The Litany of Andalla should still be in my inside breast pocket. Use it and defeat Uldred when you return.” His body became more insubstantial, fading in the light. Caden watched his face as he shimmered before a thought struck her.

“Wait,” Caden cried out in desperation. “What’s your mother's name? Where can I find her? She needs to know she was right, that you did great things.”

Niall looked up and took a breath before meeting Caden's eyes again. “Elaina.” He replied. “We lived in South Reach. I suppose she still lives there, but I can’t be sure.”

Caden felt the presence of another beside her, a hand dropped onto her shoulder. Wynne.

“I can check our records, Niall.” She said softly. “Thank you for your service.”

Niall smiled and nodded back to the older mage. Caden didn’t understand how they could both be so calm and congenial with each other when she desperately wanted to rage. It wasn’t fair that Niall had to die. Why didn’t anyone else seem to care?

But there was no time to pose that question, certainly no time to answer it. Niall was fading fast now. Caden’s hand was still raised and she held it up, a static wave of thanks and hopelessness as he dissipated before her eyes. Anything she could have thought of to say in his final moments never made it past the lump in her throat. As if anything she could offer would have helped. Caden swallowed her sorrow, feeling so small and irrelevant. Another came up beside her. Eliza. Where were her companions; where were Alistair and Leliana? Rosa butted her head against Caden's thigh.

“Let’s get going.” Her voice was hoarse, but thankfully it didn’t crack as she spoke, the tears drying so that she could turn around and be stoic once again. Alistair was looking down, but Leliana met her look. The Sisters clear blue eyes were steely. Maybe she just wanted to get out of this place. Caden could understand that. Sten inclined his head to her, a small gesture against the sad ache inside her. Caden set her face into an expression of determination and marched for the door.

The room beyond the door was a vast circular space, the now familiar stone walls rising into the darkness above them. The Sloth demon waited for them. It looked nothing like the disfigured thing that had sent them all to sleep. This demon hovered in a dull gown and a helmet pulled down over its eyes, but as Caden walked into the room she could see it tracking her movement. What was visible of its face under the mask was tight skin and teeth with no lips that spoke with a reasonable, languid tone.

“Oh, my weary adventurers.” The Sloth demon said. “I settled you in for a nice, long sleep and yet you refuse to shut your eyes, like unruly children.”

“Demon,” Caden said. “I’d advise you to stop talking.”

The rest of her companions, new and old, fanned out around her. Mages on one side, her party on the other, Rosa raising her hackles right in front of Caden. She tightened her grip on the hilt of her knife.

“I understand you are upset,” the demon continued amicably. “If you all just head back I’ll try again. I understand you better now, I will get it right this time.”

“Enough!” Wynne barked. “You cannot hold us. We have seen your tricks.”

“I am sorry, dear mage,” the Sloth demon spoke to Wynne directly, his voice so contrite. “I know what you need now, I know the faces you need to see. I have had more time to plan and will surely get it right the second time.”

“You won’t,” Caden said sharply. It angled its face towards her. “None of us will believe your lies. Now wake us up, or we will kill you.”

“Little one,” the demon cooed. “I had not realised how sad your wedding day was. I won’t show it to you again. I can rebuild your mother for you. Wouldn’t you like that? She can tuck you into bed just like when you were small?” Caden's hand shook.

“Stop it,” she tried for commanding, but it fell short.

A cry went up from somewhere to the left of her and an electric blast shot through the air, deftly avoided by the demon. “Fuck you, you miserable demon!” Lorelei was already preparing a second spell, but with a wave of his hand, the demon seemed to summon a cage around the young mage, killing the spell before she could throw it at him. Caden watched her eyes widen in shock, then narrow again in fury. “Coward!” Lorelei yelled. “Fucking coward!”

“Let her go.” Caden snapped. Her edge was back and she wasn’t going to be distracted this time from their mission.

“Very well,” the demon gave sadly. “If it is to be a fight, then let us begin.”

With a yell, Caden lead the charge. One hand grabbed her skirts so that she could run, the other held out her knife. If she’d stopped to think about their circumstances or how badly she was dressed or armed for this, she might have stopped and started laughing, so she forced away any thought beside ending the Sloth demon. A barrage of different coloured energy shot across the space beside her; to her other side were the shapes of her party. The Sloth demon was calm as they bore down on him and moved slowly like he was underwater. Caden, her legs that much shorter, her outfit that much more cumbersome, fell behind. She saw him sweep his overly long arms almost gently from side to side, catching Sten and sending him flying, then Alistair with the next swing. Its other arm moved in a series of gestures that negated the onslaught of spells. It was Rose who drew first blood, clamping her jaws around the wrist of the arm that had thrown aside Sten and Alistair. The demon grunted in pain and bent at an angle, pulled down by the strong mabari, which allowed Leliana to launch herself through the air towards it, sinking her long dagger into the demon's shoulder, causing it to bellow. Those awful teeth bared at the Sister, pain leading to rage. Leliana did not flinch. Caden made a snap decision and skidded down on her hip as she advanced on the demon, sliding across the floor past her dog. As she passed the demon she thrust her knife upwards and through the robe, hoping against hope to make purchase with something solid, and so she did; the knife sticking in what she could only assume was demonic leg muscle. Her movement came to a jarring halt as she gripped the knife tightly, feeling a jolt of tension shoot through her arm. She scrambled to her feet and yanked out the knife, drawing it upwards with a twist as she rose. The Sloth demon howled again and Caden saw Leliana pull her dagger free only to slice it across the demon's chest. He staggered backwards, pulling Rosa with him, but then he shook her loose, sending her backwards a few feet. She landed on her side, but rounded back up again and charged forwards, teeth bared.

A ball of lightning struck the demon's chest; sparks burst and chased around the body of the demon as he shuddered in pain. They were succeeding, Caden thought grimly, as Alistair came up behind the demon and used his shield to bash the demon, with a sword thrust to follow. They were winning.

The demon clutched his arms around himself then shimmered out of sight. Caden whirled around, spotting the demon reappearing behind Eliza. She screamed the elf mages name, who didn’t have time to turn and was gripped by both of the demons arms. Eliza fought, but the demon dug his nails into her arms and she cried out, but Caden was already running, feeling rather than seeing her companions following suit. The demon tossed Eliza aside as the team came closer. Caden kept her gaze focused on the demon, hoping Eliza was alright. The demon held up his hands and made a gesture and then Caden felt the world go black again.

She stopped instinctively, her knife up, her other hand raised palm out in case she walked into anything or anyone. The last time she had stumbled into Alistair's nightmare; what would this time bring?

Breath on her neck had her spinning, the knife slicing through the dark, but there was no-one close enough to hit. A chuckle began close enough to her ear that someone had to be next to her, but again she found nothing solid when she spun. “Show yourself!” She yelped, before hands wrapped around her neck.

When Caden blinked the light back, she knew exactly who she would see.

Vaughan Kendall's face hovered close to hers as he tightened his grip. Caden heart almost stopped at the sight, at the sensation of his hands, at her inability to breathe. She was back in his estate, he was there and he was killing her all over again. A scream built in her chest, but there was no breath to let it out so it burned inside her. He laughed again, squeezing a little more.

No.

She wasn’t dying. He hadn’t killed her. He’d given it his best shot, but she had killed him instead. This wasn’t real and she would be damned if she would let his spectre haunt her like this when she had a job to do.

Vaughan's laughter cut off with a sickening gurgle as once more Cadens knife found purchase in his throat. His grip slackened and Caden gulped down air, but her determination never wavered; she wasn’t letting go this time. This time she dug the knife in deeper, her white knuckles flexing as she drove the blade further. Her other hand gripped his hair and yanked, pushing him backwards so that she could rise up and over him; he fell to the ground and she threw a leg over his chest, keeping him down. She yanked the blade free then with a wrenching cry she dove it into his breast again and again and again.

“Caden!”

The shout was loud and made her jump, turning from her position on top of Vaughan, except that with the movement the man vanished and she was back in the chamber with the Sloth demon.

The demon was gone and the rest of the party was looking at her. Rosa cocked her head to one side and whined. Alistair was breathing heavily and picking up his shield. Who had called her?

Caden slowly climbed to her feet. “Is it over?” She asked.

“It’s done,” Wynne replied.

It felt too good to be true. “Is this real?” Caden’s voice quivered. “Is this another trick?”

“We killed it,” Leliana answered. It didn’t really soothe her fears. Caden's hand trembled around her knife, threatening to drop it, but she gripped it with both hands. She would not let go again.

“It’s dead, this is real,” Lorelei snapped. Her words were clipped, her tone stern, but there was a weariness in her eyes that assuaged any worry Caden might have had that Lorelei was angry. Sten looked over at Caden, his gaze dropping to her fierce hold on her knife. She watched him raise his sword to hold it lengthways before him, one hand on the hilt, the other cradling the blade and a strange sense of understanding passed between them.

“What happens now?” Eliza asked shakily. Caden’s eyes snapped to her, thankful that she was seemingly alright after her throw. Alistair's gaze flickered to hers but didn’t land.

“I guess we wake—”

*

“—up.”

Caden’s voice rang out in the stillness before she opened her eyes.

Plate metal rose beneath her cheek and she frowned. Her neck felt stiff, her backside numb. Where was she now?

A hand brushed her back, but she didn’t startle. There was a strange feeling of peace over her in that moment and it took a second or two before she was able to identify it as the same golden glow that had lead her to Alistair.

Alistair.

Caden sat up, knowing the imprint of her friend's armour was on her face. She’d been with him when the Sloth demon had sent her to sleep and into the Fade. Was this real? Were they back in the Tower?

Alistair's hazel eyes were blinking back to life, though he made no move to get up. She could hear the others standing around the room and Rosas warm body wedged herself between the Wardens as Caden remained still, looking down at him. “Are you alright?”

He blinked again, finally rolling his gaze over to her. “Are we out?” His voice croaked as if the words were fighting to get out of a dry throat.

“I think so,” Caden said with a shrug. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” Alistair said, pushing himself to a sitting position and lifting his arms slowly, his joints clicking with the motion. “Tired, which seems stupid. We just had a nap after all.”

Caden couldn’t quite summon a smile at the joke, but then she saw the shadow over Alistair's face and realised he hadn’t been teasing. There was a very real vision of regret on his expression. Caden felt her hand twitch to reach for him, but something about his demeanour stopped her. She had half expected that they might reunite under more emotional circumstances. Sitting on the cold stone floor of the room in the Tower, Caden was reminded of the letter he had left for her, how she had interpreted his worry as anger at her. Talking to Jowan and learning that Alistair had carried her into the castle after the blood magic had taken her down. Her stomach swooped. They mattered to each other. Not just because they were the last two Wardens in Ferelden; he had worried about her when she had fallen unconscious, she had come to find him in the Circle. They cared about each other.

So why was he avoiding her gaze now?

As he got to his feet with an awkward cough and didn’t offer her a hand up, Caden realised with the sensation of a lead weight inside her that it was her fault. She had kept him at arm's length all this time, even as they had become friends and gotten better with each others company in Redcliffe. It had been so long since she had been held by someone and suddenly that longing to have someone's arms around her hit her hard.

Caden quietly stood up, Rosa leaning against her as she did. Thank Andraste for Rosa. If it weren’t for her Caden would have been even more untouched. The walls she had raised around her since Vaughan and being forcibly conscripted didn’t feel as safe or warm as they once had. A glint of gold caught her eye and she glanced down at her ring, catching Alistair's matching look. Without thinking about it, Caden covered the band with her other hand and flushed as though she had done something wrong.

She had expected… she had hoped to find Alistair here and to be greeted with affection. If she was really honest with herself she wanted an embrace from her friend. The absence of that greeting stung.

Caden brushed herself off and turned around to the group. She was the last one up but refused to worry about that. Her gaze travelled over the people in the room, from the mages to Leliana and Sten, who was gazing down at his sword. Caden’s heart jolted and she realised her knife was lost once again, but then it had never truly been real in the Fade. Even so, her hands felt horribly empty again.

She really ought to say something, she knew that, but instead, she swallowed her sadness and her gaze alighted on the lump of flesh that had been the Sloth demon. It was melted together, steaming slightly. She scrunched up her face in distaste and turned away. The floor wasn’t empty; the bodies she remembered from before the initial attack were still there. Caden walked around them reverently, sorry that they were not quick enough to save everyone and then she saw him.

Caden knelt beside the cold body of Niall. He did not look peaceful in death; his skin was grey and mottled, his head turned away with a large purple bruise where his face touched the floor. His eyes and mouth were open, the latter flecked with blood and foam. Caden didn’t want to touch this corpse, not when she could so easily remember Niall standing and talking and living. Even if that life had been fading and fragile, that was how she wanted to remember him, but she had to endure this vision a little longer. She started to take a deep breathe, but the smell that met her caused her to gag, though she hid it behind her arm. She didn’t want to be disrespectful to the vessel of this brave mage. Keeping her arm over her face and breathing through her mouth, she extended her free hand to pat down Nialls chest. She didn’t think about what she was touching until she felt the rustle of parchment. Sliding his robes open over his chest she slipped her fingers inside against the cold cloth to find the roll of paper and pulled it out.

She stood, unfurling the parchment and turned away from Niall. The words on the top of the paper were fancy and bold, but the penmanship only served to confuse her. The words looked beautiful, but she could hardly identify the letters, let alone the lengthy words across the page. Caden stepped around the more decayed bodies towards Wynne. “Is this the Litany of Andalla?”

Wynne took the parchment and gave it a cursory glance. “This is it.” She peered over to where Niall lay. “He has given us a fighting chance.” She closed the scroll and handed it to Caden. “This will need to be read during the fight with Uldred.”

Caden's cheeks flamed. “I…” Her hands clenched and she made no move to take it.

“I’ll take it.” Leliana offered, coming to Caden's aid without questioning it. “That is, I would like the chance to read this if I may?”

“Yes, Leliana can do that.” Caden hurriedly agreed. “I am better at fighting than reading and I’d like the opportunity to stick the bastard who started all this.”

Wynne pursed her lips but held the rolled parchment out for Leliana to take. “You wore Holy robes in the Fade.”

Leliana nodded. “I was a cloistered Sister when Caden and Alistair found me and allowed me to join their quest.”

“We needed to evacuate Lothering and Leliana helped us a lot,” Caden added weakly. Wynne seemed to have thoughts on the matter but mercifully kept them to herself.

“Niall said Uldred was headed for the Harrowing Chamber,” Caden said to Wynne. “Where’s that?”

“Of course he was,” Lorelei snorted. “Where else would he hole himself up in?”

“That’s where you fight the demons, right?” Caden asked. Eliza came up beside her.

“Yes,” she said solemnly. The elf mage scratched her ear. “I didn’t think we’d have to go back there again so soon. Nor that we’d face demons again in the Fade.”

Wynne rested her hand on Eliza's shoulder in a gesture Caden took for motherly. “That is the fate of a mage, my dear. We have to face and defeat demons all our lives.”

“You helped kill a Sloth demon,” Lorelei pointed out, her arched brow at odds with her almost kindly voice. “You can take on anything Eliza.”

Eliza smiled and the two young mages shared a companionable look. Caden turned around to her party. “I guess we follow the mages then.”

*

The way higher up was mercifully empty. The only sound came from the heavy booted soles of Alistair and Sten, the merest hints of padding from the leather boots of Caden and Leliana and the slaps of the mages slippers on the stone floor. They did not speak. Caden couldn’t attest for the others, but she felt utterly drained by the encounter in the Fade. She wanted nothing more than to rest as they moved on, but knew they had to reach their destination. Another fight, another battle in which they might all die. Their numbers were bolstered by the mages, but Caden missed Morrigan. She thought of the witch now, back at Redcliffe, and hoped she was alright. Hoped everything was as they had left it, with everybody alive. This had to be worth something, all this. She glanced sideways at Alistair. He was deep inside himself, eyes glazed with some unseen thoughts. Her friend had left for the Circle and now there was just this man and Caden had no idea how to find him. The golden light between them pulsed, but he didn’t show any sign of noticing. Was it possible their connection was all in her mind?

Her thoughts were broken when he stumbled against the wall and without thinking, Caden was by his side, gripping his arm in both of her hands. He sank against the wall with a gasp despite her best efforts; he was heavily armoured and bigger than her. She had no hope of holding him.

“Alistair, what’s wrong?” She asked.

His eyes rolled and she saw beads of sweat on his forehead as he caught her worried gaze. “Just… came over funny. I’m fine,” he pulled his arm free and pushed himself back to a standing position.

Caden wasn’t convinced. “Wynne?” How quickly she drew comfort from the older woman she thought but ignored her inner musings to step aside so that Wynne could examine Alistair, who looked away, embarrassed.

“I’m fine—”

Wynne placed a hand on Alistair’s chest and tendrils of green light snaked through his armour to his skin. Alistair huffed but endued it. “You are very weak, dear,” she said after a moment. Her grey eyebrows dipped into a small frown. “If I didn’t know any better I would say you were enfeebled.”

Caden knew that diagnosis. Had heard it often enough at the Alienage. “Alistair is fit and healthy.” She argued weakly. “He’s strong.”

“Caden—” Alistair started but was interrupted by Sten.

“I admit that I am not feeling quite myself,” the large man stated plainly. “I attempted to judge the passage of time inside the Fade, with some level of inaccuracy, but I believe we were trapped therein for longer than we know.”

Caden felt a chill douse her. “What do you mean?”

Leliana sighed and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. “Sten is right. I could lie here and sleep for days.” Her eyes cracked open and found Cadens. “Which is exactly what I believe we were doing.”

“No…” Caden shook her head. “That can’t be right. I found you guys and we fell asleep and then we killed the demon and… what? You think that took days? It can’t have.”

“Time moves differently in the Fade.” Caden turned to the haunted speaker. Eliza was blinking slowly back at her. “They could have a point.”

Leliana nodded. “The body of that young man, he had been dead for a while. By my assessment, I would estimate that his body had been deceased for around five days.”

Caden’s head was reeling. “But then… Connor…” Alistair met her expression with a pale shudder.

“Oh Maker.” He muttered.

“I feel fine.” Lorelei put forth. “I don’t feel like I’ve been asleep for days. Eliza? Wynne?” Both mages agreed with her assessment as Caden took mental stock in her own well-being. She couldn’t say she felt the fatigue that was clearly plaguing those who’d been trapped for longer.

“Wait,” Caden said. “Wait. Greagoir was calling for the Rite of Annulment. He’d have used it if we were gone that long.”

Wynne nodded slowly. “That’s true. We would know if it had been used. There is still time. We must hurry onwards, dispatch Uldred and hope that Irving is still alive.”

Caden gave a sharp nod. “Right. Alistair, Leliana, Sten, I want you three to head back down the tower. There are other mages waiting there, they’ll help you.”

“No,” Alistair growled, forcing himself to stand upright. “No way. I’m not leaving y—”

“You are,” Caden argued back hotly. “You can barely stand, let alone fight—”

“Yes I can, and I will,” he retorted loudly, his words echoing around them. “I’m not being sent away—”

“You left me back at Redcliffe,” Caden pointed out, worry being drowned out by irritation. “You left me in my sick bed because you knew the work needing doing, this is no different.”

“I’m not going,” Alistair said flatly. “I’m not.”

A growl clawed out of Caden’s throat and she gritted her teeth around it, trying to be understanding. “Alistair. I’m not asking you to go. I’m ordering you.”

His jaw worked, but other than that twitch he was absolutely still as he glared at her. Nobody said anything for a while. The two Wardens stared each other down and the silence dragged along.

Finally Caden, at a loss of anything else to say and half afraid that if she spoke again he would shout, turned and headed for the last staircase. She didn’t look back, but she couldn’t hear him start after her. Her chest was tight with tension and she felt horribly like she might cry of all things at the brief showdown. She didn’t feel like she’d won anything.

As they climbed the stairs she checked her armour over if only for something to do with her hands, which were shaking. She ran her palms over the hilts of her two swords, mournful yet again over the loss of her knife, but glad her larger blades were back. She tightened a buckle on her hip, ensuring it was secure, which of course it was. The mages followed her like silent shadows, for which she was grateful. Caden’s fingers brushed small glass vials, so cool and smooth in their fastenings. The drafts that Morrigan had made, she remembered. She was half tempted to turn around and press them into Alistair’s hand, to show that she was trying to care, not punish him. She remembered how she had felt that Alistair must have been cross with her to leave her behind, but understood the reasons for his decision. Did he understand hers? That, Andraste preserve her, she couldn’t bring him into a fight when he wasn’t at full capacity. That she couldn’t drag him to face whatever twisted magic lay above them because she would surely die if she had to spend her focus and energy worrying about him. Let him seethe below. At least they were both alive for that.

“The Harrowing chamber is up a short staircase,” Eliza said quietly as the next floor came in sight. She was holding the Litany now, given that Leliana had not joined them for the fight after all. “There’s an antechamber of sorts and then…”

Caden nodded. There didn’t seem to be anything to say.

The antechamber was smaller than she had expected. There was the short staircase to a door and then there was just an expanse of the same sort of magical structure the Sloth demon had trapped Lorelei inside in the Fade. Caden stepped over to it, mindful not to touch the wavering walls. The floor was littered with bodies, all wearing Templar armour. She closed her eyes and looked away. There was so much death contained in these circular walls.

The other mages wandered over to her and looked. Wynne made a noise of sympathy as Eliza let out a small sob.

A shriek of alarm made Caden jump. When she turned back to the cage she saw Lorelei dropping to her knees. “Oh Maker, no!” she cried. “You promised he was alive!”

Caden followed her frantic gaze to a figure on the floor, eyes closed and with a jolt, she realised that he was the man from Loreleis dream. Cullen. He wasn’t moving.

“Cullen! Cullen!” Lorelei touched a hand to the cage walls and winced when it spat magic at her. “Cullen, wake up!”

Caden looked away, too forlorn to take on Loreleis grief as well, but then the Templar coughed. Coughed and opened his eyes. “Cullen!” The relief was clear in Loreleis voice. “Cullen, it’s me. I’m going to get you out of this.”

The Templars eyes snapped to her face and his expression darkened as he pushed himself upright. “Begone, foul demon!” He hissed. Lorelei flinched back and let Eliza help her up, her sights locked onto Cullen. “I will not stand for your tricks any longer!”

“Cullen?” Loreleis tone was different. Questioning, but tender with it. “Cullen, it’s me. It’s Lorelei Amell. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember all too well,” he snarled. “The games you have played with me, the temptations you have dangled before me. You have broken their minds, but you shall not have mine.” He dropped to his knee and raised his hands in prayer. “The Maker guides me, so help me, and I will not submit to your wicked games. Begone!”

Lorelei was a tall, willowy woman, especially beside the elf mage, but as Caden watched she appeared to shrink down into herself. Her dark eyes were softened by unshed tears brimming on her lids. “Cullen,” she said quietly. “I’m not a demon. I’m me.”

Cullen opened his eyes and looked up, his face awash with confusion and pain. “What? Why are you still here? That has always worked before. Why are you doing this?” His own tears streaked down his face, leaving marks in the dried-on dirt and sweat on his cheeks. “Please… leave me alone. I can’t take much more of this. Just leave me alone.”

“Cullen…” Lorelei pressed a hand to the wall, letting the sparks fly around her palm until Eliza wrenched her wrist away.

“Please go away,” Cullen was openly sobbing now, head bowed, hands still tightly clasped together.

Caden walked slowly over to Lorelei and touched her arm. “Come on Lorelei. We’ll get him out of there when we’ve killed Uldred.”

Loreleis face was thunderous when she rounded on Caden, but within moments Caden could see her rage was not aimed at the Warden. “Yes,” she agreed darkly. “Let’s kill that motherfucker.”

Chapter Text

But there, is a light, in the dark, and I feel its warmth

“Are we to remain here after all?”

Alistair turned his wrist, tilting his blade. The dim light of the wall sconces caught the metal, which gleamed. The sword looked as clean as if he had only retrieved it from the blacksmith that day and that it had never seen battle. It didn’t reflect the countless battles inside the Fade. Sten was waiting for the answer to his question. Alistair didn’t want to say anything; he didn’t want to be here at all. He didn’t make a move to head downstairs as per Caden's order.

He bristled. She had ordered him to leave. Anger rose in his chest, even as he understood her reasons. He was in no fit state to fight at this moment in time, nor were Sten or Leliana. Rosa had, of course, padded softly after Caden and he had known better than to try to stop the mabari from following her mistress. The dog got more of a say in the battle than he did.

It was the right call, but it stung.

Even so, they made no move to leave. The next floor lay just beyond that staircase and he waited. They heard voices above them and then nothing and they waited. At some point Leliana had leaned against the wall and then slid down the length of it until she was sitting, her back resting against it. Her dagger was in her hand and she remained alert, but standing was too much for her after all. When Alistair's knees began to shudder, he copied her move and sat a short distance from her. Sten remained upright, but became still. Alistair thought of all those days Sten had stood in the cage at Lothering.

“Do you think,” Alistair said after a while, “they are alright?”

“I’m sure they are,” Leliana replied, though she did not elaborate or give evidence to back up her belief.

Alistair would have felt happier if the pair had remained standing, but after what they had been through he couldn’t ask Leliana remain upright, nor did he think he could bear it himself. He had a half-formed idea that the three of them were still important to the battle upstairs. If the mages and Caden fell, Maker forbid it, they would be the second line of defence. Of course, if Caden fell that would mean the First Enchanter was dead and so there would be no escape from the tower for him and so Ferelden would fall to ruin.

It was a sombre thought. Alistair couldn’t help but reflect on the choices that had lead them here. His shock at the state of Kinloch Circle, his confidence that with Leliana, Sten and Rosa they could restore the mages, his fear that if they walked away Connor would be surely lost. Desperation had driven him to this point, but it was his conviction in his abilities that could have brought them into ruin. If his actions were to be the reason for the destruction of his country and the immense loss of life that would entail, then he would greet the Maker ready for judgement.

He could hear the faint sounds of battle above them.

If Caden died because he had needed rescue, he would never have forgiven himself, which would make his subsequent death during the Rite of Annulment a blessing.

“What did you see?” Alistair asked gruffly, lurching from his gloomy thoughts to what made a terrible conversation starter he realised after he’d spoken.

Leliana’s face was shadowed, but she offered an answer nonetheless. “Myself.” She said quietly. “I have worn many faces before I settled down into the cloistered life in the service to the Maker. I have done many things in my past that I am not overly proud of.”

Alistair swallowed his guilt. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“What does it matter?” Leliana replied darkly. “Caden saw, so no doubt you would have learned this regardless. I saw visions of myself in previous guises.”

“Ben-Hassrath.” Stens voice carried across the room. Alistair glanced around to him. “You would be well suited.” The Qunari didn’t seek to elaborate on what that meant. Leliana just turned to Alistair and let Sten's words hang.

“What about you?” she asked. “Seeing as we’re sharing.” A moment passed in silence before she added: “Caden saw yours as well, did she not?”

Alistair blanched as he remembered. “I saw…” he wet his dry lips with a dart of his tongue. “I saw the Grey Wardens.” And Caden. “As well as the king. Those who died at Ostagar. Those who mattered.” And Caden. “I had to kill them.”

“The demons may have been slain, but their faces were the final torture.” Leliana summarised.

Alistair nodded, throat too thick to speak. He supposed he should have recognised when the real Caden burst into his private nightmare, dressed in a white gown, golden hair loose around her. He hadn’t been looking at the sum of her attire; his focus had been on her face. Every Caden he had killed had worn the same expression of terror and betrayal.

*

Her knee was stiff, her thigh hot with a painful burn, her eye swollen shut, but she was alive. That was the assessment Caden gave herself when the final abomination died in the Harrowing Chamber. She struggled to get up from her last defensive position—having dived to the ground when a flash of flames had flown her way—and winced as her leg buckled. Eliza was beside her in an instant, muttering words and sparking green light into her wounds. Caden could feel the soothing balm of this lightly chilled magic drawing out the bruises and cuts, calming the heat on her leg, knitting muscle back together until she could stand without pain. “Thank you.”

Eliza nodded and moved off to tend to the next walking wounded.

Lorelei hadn’t hung around; she had burst for the antechamber, no doubt to find Cullen again. Wynne was healing Irving and Caden could have cried when she heard her refer to him with that name. Irving was the First Enchanter. He was the key to unlock this tower and let them walk free. The Circle would be saved as soon as they presented him to Greagoir. There wasn’t any time to waste.

“Come on,” Caden ordered and began to lead them down.

Cullen was standing on the opposite side of the room to where his cage had stood. Those walls now down Lorelei, Caden was surprised to see, was walking amongst the bodies of the Templars and assessing them for signs of life. As Caden observed, Cullen was glancing at Lorelei with suspicion and looking away. Lorelei wasn’t looking at him at all.

“Anything?” Caden asked. Lorelei shook her head.

“Only Cullen.” In those two, clipped words Caden could hear a tremor. Cullen flinched hearing his name from the mages lips. Caden didn’t know what to say to either of them so said nothing and kept on heading down the next flight of stairs. Behind her she could hear Irving and Wynne talking to Cullen and she figured they were probably better equipped to handle his trauma.

She wasn’t sure if she should have been surprised to see that the floor beneath them was still occupied. Rosas paws thumped on the staircase as she descended and her gleeful bark gave Caden the forewarning that Alistair was still where she had left him. Now that the danger was passed she looked over to him with a tentative smile, but he averted his gaze as soon as she caught him looking her way. A twisty, unpleasant feeling hit her gut. So he was mad. Caden took a fortifying breath and marched up to him, drawing one of Morrigans vials in the process.

“Here,” she said, pressing it into his palm. His fingers closed over the bottle instinctively and Caden withdrew her hand before they could touch. Less chance of him refusing the draft that way. If he turned to her, she didn’t see; she had two more vials and two more fatigued friends. She handed one to Sten who took it unblinking and then the other to Leliana, who sighed gratefully and threw the health potion down her throat without a moments hesitation. Caden smiled grimly and nodded, glad that someone had sense. She never saw if Alistair drank the potion, but he didn’t try to give it back.

With Rosa at her heels, they headed lower and lower, back to the mages with the children and then to Greagoir.

*

It rained on them as they boarded the boats to cross the lake. Caden sat under an oiled cloak that drew most, but not all of the rain away from her body, hunched slightly and shivering.

When they had arrived with Irving and the other surviving mages and Cullen, Caden had watched Greagoirs face for the moment he realised the Circle was not entirely lost. The man had kept his face impassive as he had shaken the hand of the First Enchanter, but the momentary drop in his stiff shoulders had told her everything. And when pressed they had learned that the Rite had already arrived that morning, but Greagoir had hesitated before using it. He had been a man with hope, hope that had kept the rest of them alive and thank Andraste Caden had been able to reward that hope after all.

Alistair had spoken then for the first time since the groups had all joined up, finding the right treaty for the mages and getting a promise from Irving and Greagoir that they would be able to enlist the mages help. It was not a great force, but it was the first army they had been able to conscript. There had been more survivors in the Harrowing Chamber, but even so, there was not an enormous amount. Caden and Alistair had professed their gratitude and Greagoir had stepped up. Throwing the templars lot in with the mages, not as minders, but to fight alongside the magic wielders. Clearly this was a big moment judging by the reactions from Irving and Wynne, and the bald-faced gaping from Eliza and Lorelei.

Caden shifted on the hard bench of the boat, her knee knocking against Eliza with a muffled “sorry” from the Warden. She glanced up as the rain clouds moved aside and allowed the moon to shine down on their journey across the lake. In the boat ahead of hers sat Alistair. Rosa whined and shifted under the bench. Caden adjusted her cloak so it hung behind her, providing some light relief from the downpour for the mabari.

Caden had gone to their boat. Once outside, she had automatically made a beeline for the boat into which Sten, Leliana and Alistair had climbed with Irving and a few other mages. “Sorry, it’s full,” had been Alistair's curt rebuke and she had watched them push off into the water, a sinking feeling inside of her.

Yes, he was definitely mad at her.

Being forced out of a battle didn’t feel great. She knew that. She also knew that she would have to give him some time and space to lick his wounds; what better than to travel separately down to Redcliffe.

The trouble was that she missed him.

Selfishly she wanted to force him to share a boat with her so she could remind herself that he was alright, but she hadn’t done that. She had followed Eliza when she invited Caden to sit with her and they had settled into their boat with Rosa, Lorelei and Wynne.

Lorelei seemed just as worried as Caden felt and the Warden caught the mage stealing winsome glances back towards the Circle where Cullen had not come outside to wave them off.

Now there was a man, Caden reflected gloomily, who needed some time and space. His reaction to Greagoirs decision to aid the mages and in so the Wardens had been the loudest and the worst. He had thrown words around like “abominations” and “maleficar” with little distinction between any of the mages before him. If it was true that Lorelei and he shared some bond however faint, it was clear that he was ending it then and there.

The boatman spoke over the rain and wind to say that the castle was coming up soon. Wynne thanked him and cast her gaze back the way they had come, back towards the Circle.

“I am grateful to you, Caden.” Her words were soft and almost stolen by the wind, but Caden caught them and raised her head. The mage went on: “It is my home and every single mage who crosses that threshold is my family. Our loss of life was great, but I am glad for every soul you helped to save. I expect you have a long list of things to do to prepare forces against the darkspawn?” Caden nodded mutedly. “I would like to accompany you if you will have me.”

Caden blinked, water running in rivulets over her forehead and down her nose. “Wynne, are you sure? Aren’t you needed at the Circle? Irving spoke of rebuilding it before we need you to fight with us.”

“He did and I’m sure I could be put to good use there,” Wynne agreed. “But that is not the place for me. I trust Irving to keep the home fires burning as it were, but I feel I would be more comfortable with you.”

“Trekking across the countryside and sleeping rough?” Caden managed a weak joke.

Wynne fixed her with a stern look. “Young lady, I am hardly content sitting by the fire darning socks. I may be old enough to be your grandmother, but that does not make me gentle.”

“I know.”

“I have forgotten more than you have learned in all your—how old are you?” Wynne went on, her tone still frank, but there was kindness crinkling her eyes beneath her hood.

“Nineteen,” Caden replied. Wynne looked pained for a brief moment.

“Oh Caden,” she murmured. It was only because she had leaned across to better hear the woman that Caden even heard her. “You are so very young. And Alistair looks not much older. If you will have me I would be honoured to join you.”

Before Caden could say anything a new voice spoke up, gruff and with an edge of challenging. “I want to come, too.”

Caden looked over at Lorelei who gave no sign that she had spoken until she turned her dark eyes upon the elf. “I’m not asking.”

“Lorelei—”

“Me, too.” Eliza squeaked. She cleared her throat and sat up straighter. “I won’t be left behind either. I want to help.”

Caden looked to each mage in turn. Wynne looked like she wanted to argue until she waved her hand. It would be down to Caden. And Alistair, if he would be willing to speak to her about it back at Redcliffe. Eliza beside her was determined, even as her lip twitched. Lorelei was staring darkly from beneath the hood. Caden could recognise the need to escape her problems for a time. The Circle might not feel like home while they rebuilt and buried the dead and while certain traumatised Templars roamed the halls. She could understand all that. Wynne sighed quietly. “I will be glad to have you all,” Caden said finally. “I will need to run it by Alistair, but as for me, I would be honoured to fight with all of you.”

*

Morrigan and Teagan greeted the returning party and the mages in the entrance hall.

“We have mages and lyrium,” Caden announced in place of greeting. “Is Connor still alive?”

“That he is,” Morrigan replied in her usual languid tones. Heavy bags under her eyes were the only outward sign that she had been under any duress while they had been away.

“You were gone for days,” Teagan worried, his hands clenched tightly. “Thank the Maker you have all made it back in one piece.”

Caden turned to Irving and Wynne. “We need to get to Connor at once.”

Wynne gave a nod. “Of course. I assume you are the mage who has been assisting the Wardens?”

Morrigan smiled slowly. “Tis I. I assume you are the mage who has kept them from harm in your mage prison?” Wynne declined to reply, but Morrigan smirked and just turned, beckoning them along. “Follow me if you are skilled in the magical arts and I will take you to the boy.”

Caden heard the low voices of Irving and Wynne as they left. The only word she could pick out was Jowan. “Teagan, is Jowan with Connor now?”

“He is.” Teagan answered, then grudgingly added: “He has… been very helpful.”

Lorelei and Eliza tripped after their elders, along with the other mages many of whom were carrying stores of lyrium, that blue crystal that made Caden's hairs stand on end, and soon the only people left in the hall were the Wardens, Teagan and Leliana and Sten. Rosa planted herself back on her haunches and yawned.

“We are exhausted, Teagan,” Alistair said, with a glance to the hound. He looked like he was fighting a yawn of his own. “I mean to stay around for Connors sake, but…”

Caden shook her head. “I’ll stay with them,” she promised. “You all should go get some sleep. I can come and wake you when it’s done.” He looked down, but made no move to go. “Eliza was saying it could take a few hours depending on how lost Connor is in the possession. Go on. Rosa, go with Alistair.” The mabari stood and opened her mouth in what looked like a grin, her tongue lolling out one side.

Alistair finally locked eyes with her, only for a moment, and in that moment his hazel irises were large, holding so much inside. He nodded and headed for the stairs, Leliana and Sten at his heels. Caden watched in confusion; his eyes had held so much back, but none of it had looked angry.

*

It took hours before anything happened.

Hours of what didn’t look like very much. The ritual upfront was big and loud and looked exactly like what Caden had expected from a magical gathering to send someone into a Fade dimension. All the mages circled sleeping Connor, one mage concentrating on subduing the boy into slumber to prevent the demon from re-emerging, and the designated mage who would be battling the demon.

Caden glanced at the mages she knew. Eliza and Lorelei were watching their prostrate teacher beside Connor. Eliza kept shooting Caden supportive looks, as if to assure the non-magic user that everything was going as planned. Lorelei wasn’t looking at Caden at all.

She hadn’t been impressed with Caden earlier.

“Who goes into the Fade?” Caden had asked.

“I’ll do it.” Came the answer almost immediately. Lorelei. Caden had chewed on her lip for a moment, looking down before she had turned to Wynne. Lorelei hadn’t missed a beat.

“So what, I’m not good enough?”

“This is really important,” Caden had tried for soothing. “Connor is Arl Eamons only son. We need to keep Eamon on side to aid us with the Blight, and he means a lot to Alistair—”

“Well, fuck you very much.” Lorelei had snapped, crossing her arms.

Caden had thrown Lorelei an apologetic look that she had not waited around to see, storming out of the room in a huff, though she had returned for the ritual at least. Wynne had stepped up to take on the mission. Morrigan and Jowan had been abstained from the ritual, though unlike Lorelei neither had kicked up a fuss. Morrigan slipped into the role of observer, like Caden. Jowan hadn’t been seen, though Caden knew he was being watched by two of Eamons guards under orders from Teagan. Caden had seen Jowan only briefly since returning to the castle and in truth, she could see the signs of someone fidgeting to leave. The presence of his old teachers and peers was evidently too much for the runaway mage to cope with. It seemed reasonable to Caden.

When it was done it happened very matter of factly. There was no bolt from the sky, not crack of lightning. Wynne opened her eyes and sat up, declaring that the demon was slain. Caden blinked.

“It’s over?” She asked bluntly.

Wynne was getting up with the aid of two younger mages that Caden didn’t know the names of. “It is. I imagine he will sleep for the remainder of the night, so you might as well all get some rest as well.” She looked to Isolde who was watching with wide, wary eyes from beside Teagan.

“He is safe?” Isolde asked. “Truly?”

“Yes, he will be quite well in the morning,” Wynne added kindly. “We will need to discuss his education with you then as well, but for now you can rest in the knowledge that he will be fine.”

Isolde looked stricken at the words, even as relief caused her whole body to fold over as she bent to her sleeping son. Caden couldn’t spare a lot of consideration for the woman who had treated Alistair so poorly as a child and had allowed her magical son to grow up without any guidance for his abilities, but she nevertheless felt a sharp pang of empathy in that moment.

Eliza came over to her, hugging herself. Her eyes were glassy with tiredness. “Thank the Maker he will be alright. Poor kid.” She glanced at the scene of Isolde and Teagan peering down at Connor and lowered her voice. Lorelei wandered up behind her ostensibly just to get past the two elves, but Caden could see that they commanded her attention as subtle as she was trying to be. “I can’t imagine what the village has been through with the demon running rampant. His mother did him no favours keeping him out of the Circle.”

Despite these words echoing Caden's own thoughts, she said: “She didn’t want to lose her baby.”

Lorelei snorted quietly. Eliza turned to allow her into their small group. Lorelei could have carried on walking, but she rolled her eyes and stepped closer. “Bollocks to that.” She muttered. “Look at her. She’s the fanciest lady I’ve ever seen and that’s why she kept him. Fucking nobles think they’re better than everyone; think they can train mages without help. No, her motives were driven by arrogance and it’s the kid who suffered.”

Caden frowned. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“No offence Warden,” Lorelei said blithely. “But you don’t know the first thing about it. The Circle isn’t so bad; we get to practise our magic without being chased by an angry mob screaming apostate at us.”

“I’ve always felt at home in Kinloch,” Eliza added. “I mean, I don’t remember where I was born, so…”

“Get the idea out of your head that the Circle is a prison.” Lorelei drummed her nails against her arm folded before her. “It isn’t and if that’s what Jowan told you—”

“He told me he was afraid of being made Tranquil.” Caden was too tired for this; her eyes felt gritty. She rubbed the heel of her hand against her forehead. “I saw those people in the Circle; what would they say about the Circle if they could speak honestly?”

“They’d say ‘thanks for taking care of me, because a mage who can’t control their magic is a dangerous mage and I don’t want to hurt anyone’.” Lorelei asserted sharply.

“Morrigan does alright.” Caden put forth. “She’s never had any formal education like you two, but she doesn’t seem like she’s about to let a demon possess her.”

Lorelei snorted again while Eliza stifled a yawn. Caden wondered if Lorelei was running purely on irritation to keep her awake. “You sound like Anders.”

“Who?”

“Anders,” Lorelei repeated. “No idea if that was his real name, but it’s what he would answer to.”

“I take it here’s not here?” Caden asked, casting her gaze further afield as if somebody might walk into view looking like whatever this Anders looked like and she would somehow recognise him.

“He ran away,” Eliza explained. “From the Circle.”

“A lot,” Lorelei said with a wry grin that suggested that in spite of her previous scorn there was something about him that she admired after all. “They always found him eventually and brought him back, only for him to up and vanish a while later. Do you remember,” she asked of Eliza, “that time that he tried to recruit all of us into some sort of underground rebellion?” She chuckled at the memory. Eliza shook her head as she recalled his actions.

“He never gave up trying to get out,” she said wistfully. “I never would have gone, but he did take others sometimes, didn’t he? Who went with him this time?”

“Oh, that Treveylan boy,” Lorelei said. “Stupid of him. The kid is what, fifteen? Sixteen?”

“It’s no life to be an apostate. Especially not at that age.”

Caden's eyes swam for a moment and she took a long blink while the mages talked. She could almost hear her bed calling her. “Excuse me,” she nodded to them both, managing to remain upright and then left the hall.

She stumbled up the first few steps of the large staircase, but after that, she remembered how to climb. Her tiredness was so all-encompassing that she almost walked right past the servant who was heading downstairs, until she remembered her promise to tell Alistair when Connor was saved. She turned back and had a brief conversation in which she learned that Alistair had been put in the room next to what had been her room. It was a stroke of luck; her feet remembered where to go to her room, but she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have gotten immediately lost in the labyrinthine hallways and corridors of the vast castle.

Her room was located down a short corridor off from the main hallway and so she headed for its neighbour. Knocking yielded no results, so she knocked again, louder, and called through the wood. Nothing. Either he was completely out for the count or he was ignoring her. It was her exhaustion rather than anything else that made the decision to go to her bed and worry about him in the morning.

When she pushed the door open she was met with a large shape in her bed. Alistair was face down, limbs splayed as if he had fallen into instantaneous sleep where he lay. His armour had been doffed and discarded on the rushes haphazardly along with his sheathed sword and shield. Mercifully he was dressed in a loose shirt and breeches, but he hadn’t bothered to get under the covers and the moonlight crested over his form as it shone through the window. Caden stood and stared and gaped for longer than she probably would have done if she had been more awake.

Was it possible she was in his room after all and had confused the two? Then she saw the letter he had left her on the nightstand, still open where she had left it after reading. The scribbled out words were plain to see, black marks obscuring some of his words. Chances were that he hadn’t seen the letter if he’d been so bone-tired as to fall asleep as soon as his head had hit the pillow. It struck Caden as a stupid move, but she was creeping across the floor to retrieve the letter before she could decide against it. She would let him sleep in her bed and she would go next door herself, but she didn’t want that letter right there. Even though he had written it, she didn’t want him to see it. The letter from when they were friends and could talk to each other. It felt wrong somehow.

Her footfalls betrayed her.

Eyes fixed on his sleeping body, she didn’t see his boots half under the bed and as she crept to the letter her toe caught the steel-capped boots. She stumbled and almost fell, but caught herself on the nightstand, knocking the clay jug from it to the floor, where it met the wooden slats with a crash and broke.

Alistair's head flew up with a grunt as he was pulled from sleep and he turned as Caden righted herself. “Caden?”

“I…” she snatched the letter and thrust it into a pocket as she scrambled for words. “You’re in my bed.”

“Oh.” He pushed himself up and twisted around so he was sat up on the bed, blinking. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, you can stay,” Caden said. “I’ll go somewhere else—”

“No, if it’s yours…” he looked away, unable to keep her gaze.

Caden realised he’d trailed off and the silence was growing. She needed to say something or go and she wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t she moving? “They did the ritual. Wynne did it. She beat the demon out of Connor. He’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t the best explanation she had ever given, but she was grateful that it made sense at all and even more thankful when Alistair's head rose and he managed a weak smile at the news.

“I’m so relieved.”

“Me too.”

“Well,” Alistair said, placing his hands on his thighs as if he was readying himself to push up from the bed. “I guess I should give you your bed back.” He caught sight of his things on the ground. “And tidy up.”

He got up and started to collect his gear.

Caden stood by the nightstand, aware that she had broken something that belonged to the castle, but more concerned by what had broken between the two Wardens. “I’m sorry.”

Alistair froze. She could see his back tense, the creases on his shirt shifting with his rigid muscles.

“I’m sorry I lied to you.” Caden looked down at her fingers, the golden band around her finger so much more dull in the relative gloom in this room. The fire was burned down to embers. “About being married. I should have been honest with you and I’m sorry that I’ve upset you.”

Alistair jerked, then whirled around where he was crouched to look up at her. “What are you talking about? I’m not upset with you.”

Confusion knit her brows. “Then why have you been avoiding me?”

It took him a few seconds to answer, his eyes hooded. His throat bobbed as he swallowed before answering. “I’m angry at myself.” He said eventually, his voice hoarse. “I lead the others into the Circle. I should have waited for you, but I thought I could be a leader for once making a good decision; not rely on you so much and I was wrong. You had to come and save us all and obviously I’m grateful that you did…” he straightened up and perched on the bed, running his hands through his hair so that it stood up on end. He needed a wash and a shave; his face was decidedly furry. “In my nightmare, I saw the Wardens. Back at Ostagar and they were acting like we… like we won the battle. The king was there. It was exactly as it should have been if Loghain hadn’t—” he cut his own words short as anger rose. “After that I saw you. Over and over again; I lost count of the amount of Cadens I saw. All trying to lead me away, to get me to hide. Caden, I…” his voice cracked on his words. “I killed you. Over and over.”

Caden watched without making a sound, without moving an inch. This was not what she had expected to hear when she had given her apology.

“I could have killed you when you found me.” He said after a moment. “I thought you were just another demon.”

His words were in her head: “Tell me something only Caden would know. Stop taking things out of my head and tell me something she would know or I swear to you, demon, I will slit your throat right now.” It made more sense in the context of his recurring nightmare of demons wearing her face haunting him. She supposed she ought to have been horrified, or frightened. Once upon a time, she would have been. Once she had expected him to hurt her like so many humans had tried or succeeded before. He looked so wretched that all she felt was sorrow. “I thought my lie meant you didn’t want to be my friend anymore. I hadn’t expected to miss it, but…”

“How could we be?” Alistair asked his guilt-ridden eyes meeting hers in the shallow light. “How could you want to be after what I just admitted? You were so scared of me and I just proved why. How could you trust me again after that?”

His eyes were wide and wild, his bedraggled unwashed state making him look like a sorry creature as he stared at her in dismay. Caden didn’t fear him. That was a certainty.

It took three steps to cross the room to him and when she reached him, as he waited resigned and ready for whatever condemnation or blow he expected from her, Caden opened her arms and wrapped them around his shoulders. He stiffened at the contact and Caden wished she had some skill with magic so that she might leech his self appointed shame from him with her hold. After a moment she felt him tuck his head into her shoulder and return her embrace. When he sighed Caden realised that magic might not have been needed after all.

Chapter Text

I'm letting go, but I've never felt better

In the quiet of the night, Alistair felt Caden's arms around him and he was surprised at how comforting the feeling was. He hadn’t expected this from her, not after his confession over what he had done in his nightmares. In truth, he knew he wasn’t to blame for what the demons chose to masquerade as in the Fade, but he still had those memories of killing her over and over. He was damn sure that in real life if he had tried to hurt Caden she would have fought back until the end, but all those demons had been easy to kill. It was uncomfortable to believe she would fight him and beat him back, but to recall so easily the feeling of killing her.

Now she was making him feel better.

The embrace was needed, but after a short while, Alistair could feel Caden begin to stiffen in his arms. Suddenly very aware that she probably had a limit to contact like this he dropped his arms and pulled back letting her go. He felt bare without her arms when she took them back.

Caden shifted back onto her heels but didn’t try to put lots of space between them. He took that for a good sign. “So…” he started. “Connor is alright?”

“Yes,” Caden nodded. “Seems like he’ll recover by the morning. Wynne thinks so at least and I trust her judgement. I guess we have to start wondering if Arl Eamon will start to go downhill now the demons gone.”

Alistair felt the shaky tha-thump of his heart as he remembered. “That was the deal, wasn’t it? Possession for Connor if the demon sustained his father. Oh Maker…”

Caden turned sympathetic eyes on him. “She could have been lying. It seems like a demonic thing to do after all.”

“She?”

“Yes, she… well, she introduced herself to me.” Caden explained. “She was still in Connors body, but she seemed decidedly female. I could be mistaken and I suppose we could ask Wynne what she encountered. Oh!” Her mouth twitched into a grimace. “Wynne, Lorelei and Eliza all asked if they could accompany us on our quest and I said they could if you agreed.”

“Whatever you want,” Alistair heard himself say without thinking. Caden looked back at him, eyes wide. He sighed before going into detail. “I told you; I tried to lead and it went badly. I don’t want to mess up again. Not when you’re here to guide us.” He managed a wry smile. “Sten was a good call. He’s been very helpful and you were right not to leave him to die in a cage. Leliana seemed rather peculiar with her story about the Maker sending her that dream, but you saw her potential and you were right about her, too. And I may not like Morrigan, but she’s been invaluable here I gather.” Caden watched him speak of their companions without interruption. “Maker, even back at Ostagar you knew what to do. You made it your mission to get that healing flower for Rosa and we wouldn’t be without her now. You handled Daveth and Jory as if you’d been born to lead them. I guess what I mean to say is when it comes to making decisions for the group, I’m going to vote for whatever you suggest is best.”

Caden moved away for a moment, turning towards the window, her forehead creased in deep thought. She started fidgeting with the multitude of pockets and pouches on her armour, a sight Alistair had seen before. She was considering something.

“You are the more senior Warden.” She said slowly.

“True, but you are the better one,” Alistair responded without shame. It was the truth. Caden's frown deepened glancing back over her shoulder.

“I don’t know anything about the world.” She argued. “I don’t know where anywhere is or who’s in charge of what or how anything works. I couldn’t even read the Litany of Andalla! I had no idea how the Circle of Magi operated and was completely blindsided by the demons.”

“As were we all.” Alistair countered gently. “You shouldn’t worry about all that; you have good instincts and you know people. That is just as important as all that other stuff, if not more so. Your decisions haven’t guided us wrong once.” He leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees, unable to look at her for the next thing he was building to say. “Caden, I’m so sorry for the choices I made in the Korkari Wilds. I was lead by fear and anger over what had happened at Ostagar and I convinced myself it would be safest if you took those herbs, even after I saw the effect they had on you. I didn’t consider you. I just decided I knew best and I’m really very sorry.”

Caden surprised him then by walking back over to the bed again. She didn’t place herself right next to him, but she braced her hands on the mattress and pushed herself up to sit on the bed beside him. “I understand why you did it. You did what you thought was best, even if at the time I didn’t like it. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the greater good and at that time I needed to make a sacrifice.”

The words rang a bell in Alistair's mind, though he couldn’t quite place where he had heard it before. He had a nagging suspicion it was from their time in the Fade and in truth while some aspects were crystal clear, others were hazy and fleeting like a dream lost upon waking. “Even so I’m sorry and I promise I will never do anything like that again.”

Caden nodded. “Alright. Thank you.” She murmured. She was fiddling with her pockets again. As Alistair watched she suddenly made a face as her fingers found something unexpected; he watched her draw out some sickly sweet-smelling mulch. It was hard to tell what colour it was given the poor lighting in the room, but the smell was enough to spark an idea in his head.

“Are those the flowers you picked outside Lothering?” He asked, unable to stop a teasing lilt from creeping into his voice.

Caden nodded, rubbing her fingertips together, eliciting more of the pungent smell. “I guess so. I forgot to press them like you and Leliana suggested.” She wiped her hands on her trousers then started digging in earnest to withdraw yet more decomposed flower petals. “Oh, Makers piss.” She muttered. Alistair bite back a grin.

“Caden Tabris, your language will make my ears blush.” He joked.

Caden fixed him with a look as she finished scraping out the last of the muck in her pouch. She began searching through the others methodically in case she might find more wilted flowers. After a moment her expression changed to confusion and then realisation as she found something new. Now she gave him a very different look as she pulled out a handkerchief wrapped Something. “I forgot all about this,” Caden said apologetically. “Teagan gave me this to give to you, only when I got to the Circle everything was a mess and it just slipped my mind. He said it was yours, well, he said you’d be happy to have it back so I can only assume it’s yours.” She held out the small parcel. “I didn’t even look at it.”

Alistair's mind lurched somewhere impossible at the thought, but when he delicately pinched a corner of the pale blue silk and peeled it back, he saw exactly what he had dismissed at once for being too unlikely. Silver glinted at him, the chains and the pendant decorated with the many swirls of Andrastes flame. Cracks ran across the face of the pendant, but the chain looked relatively unharmed. “How can this be?” He asked to himself. In his minds eye the image of the very same amulet striking the wall in Eamons study, narrowly missing the mans head. Alistair could easily recall the rage that had coursed through him when he had learned he was being sent away and how his anger had channelled into the one thing he truly loved. How he had destroyed it.

Caden was patiently waiting to see if he was going to elaborate.

“This was my mother's amulet,” Alistair told her softly. “It was the one thing I owned that had once belonged to her and when I was ten I lost my temper and I broke it. I’m not sure how I thought doing so would hurt Eamon who was the one I wanted to hurt, but I wasn’t a bright child I guess. I remember it smashing on the stone and breaking beyond repair, or I suppose not quite beyond. I can’t believe Eamon fixed it and kept it for me. I was such a brat.”

“I presume this was when you were being sent to the Chantry?” Caden asked. He shrugged. “You were understandably upset.”

“Even so, he looked after it all these years when I always thought that he must have thought so little of me for my actions.” Alistair held up the chain letting the pendant dangle. Caden watched it sway with a pensive look on her face.

“After my mother died I broke her cup and plate.” She told him. “We only had one of each and I hated seeing it when neither my father nor I were going to use it, not when we had our own. So I took them down from the shelf where they sat and I very deliberately threw them to the ground, one after the other. I heard the smash ring out after breaking the cup. I remember pausing and considering whether I wanted to break the plate as well and then quite decidedly picking it up and shattering it. My father wept so hard over the broken pottery, but we tidied the mess away and got on with our lives.” She looked past the necklace to catch Alistair's eye. “People may not forget, but they can surprise you with what they will forgive. Eamon obviously thinks a lot of you and I’m sure in the morning we can find a way to help him.” Alistair watched her fight against a long yawn.

“Oh Maker, I forgot you haven’t slept.” He exclaimed, dropping the amulet into his palm and scrambling up from the bed. “Here I am keeping you up.” Alistair bent to retrieve his armour.

“You can leave it for now,” Caden said. The night was starting to bleed into dawn judging by the soft light that had begun outside the window. Alistair glanced at it and then back at Caden. Her eyes were half-closed and she still needed to get out of her armour before she could sleep. He stood, kicking his boots aside.

“Alright.” He said. “I’ll collect them once you’ve had some sleep.”

“Wake me in a few hours,” Caden said, pulling her boots off. “Don’t plan the next move without me.”

Alistair paused at the door, smiling back at her. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

*

Caden had woken up warm and refreshed. She hadn’t even dreamt, let alone suffered with the nightmares that normally plagued her. Perhaps, she had wondered, she had overdosed on bad dreams and they would never bother her again. That thought had almost made her chuckle.

The castle had life back in it, not least because it was filled with mages. Caden found that walking downstairs and crossing the hall took twice as long as expected, given the amount of people who wanted to personally thank her for freeing the castle and saving Connor. It sat uneasy with her to take the credit for everything alone, but she supposed the others had already received their thanks and anyway, perhaps she deserved it. It was then that the idea sunk in properly that she and Alistair had made good on their first task; by recruiting the mages and the Templars they had the makings of a real army. They were one treaty down with two to go although they still needed to figure out what to do about Eamon, who was still stable, but no-one could predict how long he would remain that way.

For that reason everyone had assembled in the main hall.

Caden sat at the head of a long table listening to the rest debate. Alistair wanted to take the mission to Orzammer to find the dwarves, but Teagan told them that the dwarves had shut their doors to outsiders and hunkered down in their mountain home. That much they had already known, but that the dwarves were remaining locked away was a concern. Sten and Morrigan agreed that they ought to take the fight to Loghain and dispatch him as their first course of action. That would mean going to Denerim, which was the very place Leliana and Isolde wanted them to go to; Isolde had sent soldiers out to hunt down a relic known as the Sacred Ashes and it was in Denerim that her only lead resided. Wynne had decided to abstain from the debate, but Caden had seen her interest piqued at that idea. Eliza had tentatively spoken up about heading to the Dalish, which Irving had endorsed as a good idea until half the room had quashed it because of the Dalish being impossible to find and no-one had any recent news of where they had been sighted. Lorelei had been quiet, but had still managed to make her feelings quite clear; snorting at ideas she found stupid and pulling a face at all the others. Caden's head was swimming. Rosa was lying under the table and Caden had slipped her foot out of her boot to rest on the mabaris warm fur.

After a good half an hour of roundabout talking, exclaiming, yelling and sniping, Alistair turned to her. Caden was resting her head against her hand with her elbow on the table. “Caden, where do you think we ought to go?”

One after another each head at that table turned her way. They had the mages and the Templars. They had treaties for the dwarves and the Dalish. Eamon was still sick and his forces scattered trying to find a miraculous cure for him. Loghain squatted like a toad over Denerim and would need handling sooner or later. There were too many threads to keep straight, even with their recent success. All the while the darkspawn roamed the land, restoring their numbers.

Rosa rolled onto her side so Caden could dig her socked toes into her belly and the mabari let out a noise of contentment. What a simple joy to be a dog, Caden thought.

“Caden?” Alistair prompted gently. She remembered his words before she had slept that he would follow her lead wherever she took them. That he trusted her plans. She sighed.

“We will go to Denerim.” She said finally. “Not to confront Logahain, not yet. We don’t know where the Dalish are and the dwarves aren’t talking to anyone right now so let’s go to find this Brother Gentivi.”

“Denerim is the most dangerous city of all right now,” Morrigan argued before anyone else could. “For the pair of you it will be like walking into a dragons den. Are you sure you want to risk?”

“Your family are in Denerim, are they not?” Leliana asked. Caden's eyes snapped from the witch to the archer. “Is the primary appeal to check in with them?”

Caden swallowed. It had crossed her mind, it would be wrong to lie about that, but she wasn’t sure if she could face any of her family just yet. Shianni and Soris and her father… she was afraid of seeing them until she could assure their safety. The thought struck her then with a start; everyone in Ferelden was in danger while they sat here and talked and until she could tell her family and friends that she had the means to defend them from the Blight.

“The Alienage is avoidable and it should be,” Caden said bluntly. “We won’t find anything of use there. We’re best off focusing on trying to save Arl Eamon.”

“Thank you, Warden,” Isolde said quietly.

“If you’re going to Denerim, you should try to fuck with Loghain,” Lorelei said, “Would be a shame to miss an opportunity.”

Caden held back an eye roll at the last second. “Lorelei, do you even know why Loghain is our enemy?” Lorelei shrugged. “Are you sure you want to travel with us if you don’t know how dangerous it will be? Teryn Loghain betrayed the King and the Wardens at Ostagar, retreating when he should have charged. He is the reason for the overwhelming slaughter of the Wardens and the Kings armies; that’s why we need to use the treaties. Naturally, Loghain didn’t intend for Alistair or I to survive the battle, so guess who’s number one on his hit list?”

“Alistair?” Lorelei retorted smartly. “Then you?”

“That’s probably the right order, yes,” Caden replied easily. “But that’s only because men keep underestimating me.” She slipped her foot back in her boot and then pushed her chair back slowly to stand up. “We’re going to go to Denerim and I would like to leave in the morning. Wynne, Eliza, Lorelei; you are all welcome to join us, but I want to impress on you that none of this will be easy. I don’t doubt your abilities in battle after I have witnessed them first hand, but you are under no obligation to follow us. Morrigan, Leliana and Sten,” Caden turned to them next, “likewise, you are not beholden to come with us. The only two of us who are set on this quest are Alistair and me. I will not turn help away, but I will not compel you to follow us. That said, if you do come with us,” she turned back to mages, “I will give orders and you will be expected to heed them. So, now is your chance to decide if you want to follow and ask yourselves if you can abide by my rules.” Her gaze landed squarely on Lorelei, who bit back a smirk, but nodded at her. It hadn’t been a question in need of an answer, but Caden nodded back once. “Teagan, Isolde, if there is anything you can spare for our mission I would be most grateful. Food that can travel well, rope, tents, spare clothes, all would be well received, but not if it will put anyone out. The needs of the village come first.”

“I will speak with the kitchens,” Isolde said firmly, “we have fruit in storage as well as plenty of dried meat. I will ensure they bake up some bread for you tonight and see what we have by way of cheese.”

“I will get my men to bring you other travel provisions,” Teagan promised. “I’m sure we have enough to go around if you don’t mind sharing tents. I’ll see what’s to spare in the armoury, too. Speaking of Alistair, I might have something for you there.”

Caden nodded. “Thank you, both.”

“Teagan, I’ll go with you when we’re done,” Alistair offered.

“Caden, we are with you,” Leliana said before anything else could be decided. “I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say this. Ferelden is our home and we cannot leave it to the Blight.”

“I will follow you until my penance is served,” Sten stated flatly.

“I want to come,” Eliza spoke up softly. “I want to see the Dalish when you find them and I want to help other people like you helped us. It feels right to do that.” Her words were small but her expression was set and she sat up a little straighter when she finished.

“I have already pledged my allegiance to your cause,” Wynne said drily. “You won’t hear it again, but suffice to say I am with you.”

Caden hadn’t asked for them to announce their intentions right then and there, but even so, she felt a warm seed of gratitude implant in her chest, which spread out throughout her body. It was oddly humbling to see this show of solidarity and she nodded to them all, momentarily unable to speak.

The faces at the table began to turn to Morrigan who leaned back in her chair. “Fine. I am also willing to die for your cause. Happy?”

Alistair snorted loudly, but tried to cover it up with a pretend coughing fit that nobody bought and Caden had to hide a smile. “Alistair, would you meet with me later to discuss the route please?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. Everyone else rest up and prepare; I want to leave at first light tomorrow.”

*

Maps, Caden was learning, were a wonder to behold, but the lack of uniformity in the writing and the tendency towards florid script was tedious. Why couldn’t map-makers just write plainly in easy-to-read print? She had posed the question to Rosa, but the dog had just huffed and settled under the desk to sleep. The question stuck in her mind when Alistair eventually made it to Arl Eamons study where she was perusing their next route, and so she posed it to him when he entered.

“Cartographers.” Was his response, which made her look up and frown, crossly.

“What?”

“Map-makers are known as cartographers,” Alistair said as he came over to the desk and sat down in the nearest chair, setting down his handful of parcels wrapped in cloth. Rosa heaved herself up and over to him to rest her head in his lap. He dropped one hand to ruffle her ears.

“Oh.” Her ire deflated somewhat now that she knew he wasn’t just throwing out random words to confuse her and she couldn’t help but mull over the term. “I think I should have liked to have been a cartographer in another life,” Caden said. “Travelling and recording places no matter how small and seemingly unimportant. They would all make it onto my maps. Though I would write in letters that anyone could read.” She waved her hand over a selection of words with either a loopy L or an F, a twirly E and what looked like an Q. “What does this say, for instance? It’s just nonsense.”

Alistair peered closer. “Lake Calenhad Dock.” He read out.

Caden squinted down at it. “That’s never a C. It has lines through it.”

With a shrug and a chuckle, Alistair replied: “Someone was very into elaborate penmanship.”

“It’s pompous, is what it is.” Caden sniffed. “And it stops regular folk from reading maps. It’s almost like they only want scholars and nobles to know their way around Thedas.” She looked over at him. “How do you know how to read this stuff?”

“I grew up in a monastery.” Alistair reminded her, scratching Rosa under her chin as she raised her head. “It was all like that and there was a lot of reading the Chant of Light over and over.”

“Oh.” She said again. “I suppose Templars need to know where to travel to if they are trying to hunt down mages.”

“I’m not a Templar,” Alistair responded mildly. “How did you find the Circle of Magi?”

Caden looked down at the map and chewed her lip in thought. She could identify the etching of a tower on the lake if nothing else. “I can sort of see the need for a place like that. If it protects mages and teaches them to use their magic.” She hesitated. Alistair didn’t miss it.

“But?”

“I don’t like the part where the mages are caged like dangerous animals.” She admitted. “And I hate, hate, the fact that they could be made Tranquil if they step out of line or are deemed too much of a risk.” Caden sighed, her cheeks pinking up in spots as anger sparked inside her. “That’s too far. They had no idea the danger they were in.”

“To be fair,” Alistair suggested carefully. “They weren’t really in danger. At least not from the demons; they cannot be possessed and without magic, the demons have no interest in them anyway.” Caden fixed him with a stare and he held up his hands. “I’m not saying I agree with turning mages Tranquil. If anything I’m with you.”

Rosa had had enough of them and disappeared back under the table to lie down with a muffled thump.

That mollified her somewhat and Caden turned to lean against the desk. Alistair was disarming sat at the chair while she remained upright; they were practically eye to eye; if anything Caden had to look down to him from her position.

The phrase he had used rang in her ears and she remembered what he had said the night before. He had wanted to go to Orzammer where the dwarves were and the idea had merit until they realised it might be hard to access the folk in charge if they weren’t opening their doors to anyone. The treaties might have been their way in if Caden had gone with his suggestion. He hadn’t pushed it.

“You said you would go where I chose,” Caden said considering each word as she spoke. “That you would let me lead.” She wasn’t asking any questions and Alistair didn’t offer anything beyond a somewhat confused face. “I didn’t really expect that to be true. Do you want to go to Denerim?”

“Honest answer?”

“Please.”

Alistair leaned forward in his chair, mirroring the position he had sat in the night before on her bed. “I think no matter where we go it’ll feel like the wrong choice. There’s so much to do and it all needs doing right now that trying to find the perfect option is something of a fools hope. For what it’s worth I do think you’ve made the right call opting to prioritise Eamons recovery if we can.”

It was a more measured response than Caden would have given Alistair credit for. “Do you believe in these Sacred Ashes?”

“I don’t know.” He replied frankly. “Like I say I was raised in a monastery; it’s hard not to be a little bit influenced by all that piety. There’s a lot of crazy stuff in the world. Why not some dead prophets ashes with mystical healing qualities?”

Caden laughed, catching his smile. It was a freeing feeling to just be the two of them laughing and taking a moment out of their hectic lives to feel the relative calm. That they were firmly getting along was a joy. Caden turned back to the maps and let Alistair read the place names for their route towards Denerim. Caden was surprised to learn that much of it was the same route she and Duncan had taken on their way from the city to Ostagar, albeit they would be sticking more rigorously to the Imperial highway. Redcliffe were providing them with a covered cart for their supplies given that they numbered nine travellers now and would require more provisions than they had become used to. Also present in the cart would be a crate of supplies for the Guerrin estate in Denerim; a cover for their travel into the city just in case Loghain was being paranoid enough to order thorough checks on the gate.

There was a lot of emotion wrapped up in heading back to her home turf, even if she was planning to avoid the Alienage. Her father was there, Shianni, Soris, even hahren Valendrian would be there. She wondered, as she often did in quiet moments before falling asleep, how they were. If they had recovered from her disastrous wedding day, if there were any lasting scars. There would be no trace of Nelaros, given that his family were in Highever. It would be as if he had never existed. Caden raised her left hand, palm down. The golden band felt oddly heavy since her time in the Fade.

When she raised her gaze she found Alistair was watching her. His eyes were shaded in sympathy and she curled her fingers into her palm. “I should never have lied to you.” She said in a hollow voice. “I’m sorry.”

“Caden, don’t,” Alistair hurried to say. “You don’t need to keep apologising.”

“I didn’t feel like a fraud wearing this ring before,” Caden said. “I do now. I want to tell you about it.” She opened her hand and reached with the fingers of her right hand for the band, tugging and twisting the reluctant ring off her finger and balancing it on her upturned palm. “It was Summerday and the weather was fine. I hadn’t met Nelaros before, but we had our letters. Our parents had arranged our union through suggestions from our hahrens. We were the same age. It made sense. He was kind.” She glanced at Alistair who was watching frozen as if afraid to startle her out of her recollecting. She swallowed and continued. “His letters brought me joy even if I admit I was reluctant to marry. I didn’t say that to him. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, especially as he seemed very excited about it all. My cousin Shianni was happy for me too, but she was also a little jealous; she was younger and there wasn’t a suitable match for her yet. She hoped there would be after I was wed. She really wanted to be next.” The smile that always bloomed when she thought of her cousin spread her mouth wide for a moment. “My father was very keen on the marriage. He wanted to see me settled down and I think he hoped marriage would temper me. He thought me too wild and fiery. Antagonising the she— the humans.” The old familiar slur almost slipped out as she spoke and she surprised her. In her mind, she was almost back at the Alienage, one foot on the old worn stones in Denerim. Alistair didn’t seem to spot her rudeness. “I got into trouble a lot.”

At this Alistair couldn’t hold back his wry smile. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

Caden looked down momentarily. “My mother had taught me to fight and to stand up to injustice. So I did.”

“And so you do.”

Heat scurried over her cheeks, but she knew the story would get harder from now on so she pushed through, her words hurrying out of her mouth before she lost her nerve. “Arl Uriens son was a bad man. He came to the Alienage infrequently, but whenever he did he stole someone. We all had nightmares about him.” Caden's hand shook and she gripped the ring before it bounced to the floor. “I hated him and he scared me. Shianni was his favourite, had been for a while, but he hadn’t tried to take her. I think he was toying with her. On my wedding day he—” Her throat was scratchy, her chest tight. She forced onwards. “He interrupted the ceremony. We weren’t married yet when he turned up and he…” Her father cried out in her minds eye at a kick from Vaughan. Elves were thrown to the ground. The Chantry Sisters shouting, but being ultimately useless. “People were hurt and I told him to stop.” Both hands were shaking and she drew them into fists at her midriff. Her heart was like a horse breaking into a canter; still under control for now, but anything could cause it to bolt into a full, wild gallop. “I told him I would go with him if he stopped and he hit me and I woke up in his estate, but…” Shianni’s sobs and frightened eyes. “He’d brought Shianni as well. He was making good on his threats and I… couldn’t have that.” Alistair seemed very far away or maybe it was Caden who was far away, back in Vaughan's estate, on a cold floor, head ringing, terror spiking as she foresaw their fate. Alistair said something, but she couldn’t hear him when her blood was rushing in her ears. “I killed my way to him, spilling blood for the first time, but I wasn’t sorry. Nelaros was the only one to come to find us, but he—” his green eyes wide with surprise, as if he had never expected to die. “He died. He was killed. He was good and he tried and he was murdered in front of me. I got Shianni out and then I tracked him down. I was stupid.” Vaughan's chambers. The dim light, trapped like an exhausted mouse, him bearing down on her so much bigger and stronger. Lust and indifference a strange couple in his face as he threw her on the bed. His hands on her throat, his crotch between her legs. Bile shot up her throat as that visceral memory of his arousal sped into her mind, as fresh as if it had only just happened, usually repressed by the sensation of him strangling her.

Caden spun and staggered to the window, where she shoved the shutters aside and retched. She felt as though she had just been inside his room mere seconds before with Vaughan on top of her. She thought she had put it behind her. For Andrastes sake, she had killed him again in the Fade, let him have everything she could muster. How was she only now remembering what else had been going on when she had been struggling for air and reaching for her knife? Or was this a memory from the Fade, had it really happened? Her stomach heaved again and the wall became further painted with her lunch.

“Caden,” Alistair was saying her name over and over and she finally honed in on his words. She shakily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, the ring still clutched in the other, and turned. “Caden?”

He was standing, hovering. Alistair had clearly taken a step after her, then stopped himself mid-stride. His hand was outstretched as if he’d started to reach for her. She’d made him this way. Too wary of her reaction to offer comfort.

“You don’t have to keep going.” He said. “I understand.”

“But I—I want to be honest with you,” Caden stammered. “I don’t want to lie to you anymore.”

“You shouldn’t push yourself to the point of hurting yourself,” Alistair refuted. “That isn’t lying and you don’t owe me the story. Thank you for sharing what you could, but please, stop. Tell me the rest another time.”

Caden nodded, looking down. Her stomach was still lurching, but she felt better in control of herself. A new sense crept up on her; annoyance for messing up their companionable afternoon. “Sorry.”

“Going to have to ban that word.” Alistair teased gently, relaxing back, lowering his hand and changing his stance. His hazel eyes were still soft as he looked to the items he had brought with him. “I got you a present.”

Caden's face snapped up, frowning at this change of subject. “I didn’t get you anything.”

Alistair laughed softly. “You saved us all from the Fade,” he reminded her. “And you brought me my mothers necklace. You don’t have to give me anything.” He bent to pick up the parcels and set them on the map they had been scanning. “Teagan said he had something for me so I went to see what it was. A suggestion was made that we leave our Grey Warden armaments here for the time being and don Redcliffe garb, just to avoid being too obviously Loghains enemies when we go into Denerim. I said it makes sense, if you agree?”

Caden nodded, seeing it for a smart move. She wondered if that idea had come from Teagan himself or whether someone else had suggested it to him. Leliana seemed clever enough to make a man believe her ideas where his. It was an odd thought, but it made her smile weakly after her unpleasant trip down memory lane.

Alistair began unwrapping the biggest items, revealing a new sword and shield. “These belong to Redcliffe and they’ve been handed down through the ruling families since the days of King Calenhad. In fact, it was because of that particular king that the sword received its name.” Alistair lifted it by the hilt and held the blade flat against his palm. “Calenhad said that the fate of Redcliffe was the fate of Ferelden, because if Redcliffe falls so too will the rest of the country.” Listening to this sudden, strange history lesson was having a calming effect on Caden and she moved closer to admire the blade. The hilt was wrapped in red leather, with a red stone set into the pommel. “Fates Edge,” Alistair said as if he were introducing Caden to the sword. It meant something to have this, Caden realised. Alistair was being so reverent with the weapon that it had to mean a lot for Teagan to have given it to him. She looked into his face as he looked at the sword. He was definitely Eamons son, she decided, watching him sheathe the blade and touch the shield which had the heraldry of Redcliffe stretched across it. “This is the more directly name Shield of Redcliffe. Said to be strong enough to withstand even the toughest of attacks, much like the castle itself.” Alistair set everything down and reached for the smallest package. “This is what I got for you. Teagan wanted to know how to thank you so I said… well…”

Caden took the cloth and unwrapped it as he trailed off. In her hand was a dagger. Smaller than her short swords, it was closer in size to her mother's knife. The hilt was an intricate weaving of filigree, with a hollow centre and the blade itself was wavy. She had never seen anything quite so beautiful.

Alistair was back to hovering. “Do you like it? Teagan brought it back from Antiva after a trip, but he’s never used it and he said you could take it.”

“It’s very special,” Caden said. “Are you sure he doesn’t mind?”

“No, of course not,” Alistair said. “He’s just glad to have something to give you for saving everyone. I remember when he brought it back; he came down to the stables when he got back from his trip and showed it to me. I was covered in mud at the time so I didn’t want to touch it, but he showed me the best part.” Alistair reached over to hold the hilt, brushing her fingers as he did. Caden held still and watched. “See how the hilt is hollow? That's because it’s empty. The blade comes with these vials that slot in and then there's this piece that sits on top.” Alistair worked quickly but carefully to insert the vial into the perfectly formed void. Inside the glass was a thick, dark liquid. “This is special Antivan poison,” Alistair explained. “You can use the dagger as just a knife, you know, ‘stab, stab, meet your Maker’ sort of thing, but if you depress this top part with enough force the poison will be expelled over the blade, giving you a sneaky little extra thing.” Alistair handed the knife back, the vial loaded with poison. “Do you… like it?”

He looked so nervous that Caden almost laughed. She was grateful for this distraction from her earlier truth-telling and then reflux. The knife was indeed beautiful and deadly. She found that to be a rather attractive combination. “I like it very much.”

Alistair let out a breath with a laugh. “Oh thank the Maker. I really hoped you would. I know it won’t replace the knife you lost, but maybe it can keep you company. Oh, and here are the other vials. The sludgy ones are poison and the clear ones are supposedly the antidote, but they could just be water, who knows?”

Caden took the small bandoleer of vials, a lump in her throat stopping her from speaking. She took a moment to breathe. “Thank you Alistair.”

Alistair beamed. “You’re welcome. You should name it. All the best weapons have names.” He picked up his sword and shield as if to offer them as proof. Caden looked down at the knife, sliding it into the sheath that came with it. She mourned for Adaias knife, but holding this one she remembered the feeling she got when that knife saved her from Vaughans horrible plans for her.

“My mamae sang me one lullaby in elvhen when I was little,” Caden explained. “I don’t speak the language, but there was one word which always stuck out to me. Revas. It means freedom.” She smiled the warm smile of a woman holding safety in her hands. “Revas.”

Chapter Text

PART FOUR- The Brecilian Forest

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Be the light in the dark of this danger, ‘Til the sun comes up

It was a big cart. Covered over the top with enough space inside for four passengers and equipment and provisions, it was pulled by two heavy horses. Alistair had laughed when he learned their names; evidently Teagan had enjoyed his inspiration for names and so this pair born the year after Alistair had left for the Monastery were called Kinloch Jack and Finstow Blue. These were, Caden learned once Alistair had caught his breath again, particularly nice cheeses that had often graced the board at Arl Eamons request after a meal. He had succumbed to another fit of chuckles when he found two parcels of the very same cheeses in their food stores.

Caden had watched Alistair with the horses with interest. They were different than the warhorses she had seen at Ostagar, different again from the small grey mare Daveth had “found” with those dead soldiers when she and Duncan had found him. These horses were broad with gentle faces and feathery feet. Alistair had had to explain what that meant, which had come in just in time before Caden could show her ignorance at believing they actually had feathers around their hooves. In fact they were just particularly furry feet with the hooves almost entirely obscured by chestnut—that was Jack— and dappled grey —Blue— fur, which was in keeping with the long manes and tails the two sported. They were large, but they seemed friendly and both took immediately to Alistair, his tender strokes and soft words. Caden had smiled to watch him with them as he kept up a running commentary, all in that kind tone of voice for the horses benefit, of what he tack he was putting on each one and backing them up to the shaft to connect them to their cart. That smile had fled when she had spotted a smirk on Lelianas face observing them without speaking.

Alistair was the only person with a halfway decent idea of how to drive the cart and horses so he had that illustrious job. The four-person cart held three mages, with Morrigan opting to fly as a crow, occasionally flapping down to peck at Alistair's ears or landing on the roof of the cart, silently hopping up behind him and letting out an ear-splitting “caw!” Both Sten, who walked behind with Rosa easily keeping pace with the cart, and Alistair were dressed in Templar travelling garb, borrowed from Kinloch. They were taking their incognito assignment to heart and had decided to masquerade the pair as guards for the mages. There were spare clothes that Wynne, Eliza and Lorelei could swap their robes for if it came to it and they could stash their staffs to cast unaided, but it was deemed something they would decide on nearer to Denerim. It was Leliana who had come up with all of their plans of subterfuge; Caden had been right about that.

Caden and Leliana, dressed in plain leather armour, had the task of scouting ahead, so they moved off-road, the elf following in the footsteps of the Orlesian. Caden had asked to learn what Leliana could teach back in Lothering, and it was finally time to make good on that request.

Their journey had been estimated to take up to a full fortnight to complete, despite the use of the carriage so Caden was determined to spend that time learning everything she could. Or at the very least she had set herself the goal to see a hunt through to completion; tracking, shooting, dressing and cooking at least one rabbit.

The rabbits had other ideas.

Caden was frozen, her arm shaking where she held the bowstring taut for a beat longer than was comfortable. The first eight shots had gone wide and they were on day four for Andrastes sake. The still smouldering wreckage of Lothering was just over that hill past the road, but the Warden was crouched in the woodland off-road. The rabbit was upright, ears skyward, nose twitching. It knew she was there. Caden tried to silently line the arrow, but as she moved her tired fingers slipped and the arrow loosed, careening into a tree and signalling to all the wildlife that an amateur was amongst them. Caden growled and shook her hand, trying to bring some blood flow back to her white fingertips.

Leliana was beside her, appearing out of the corner of her eye like a whisper. How did she move around like a shadow, finding every hidden dark place and slipping through the wood without a noise? And why couldn’t Caden pick it up?

“Next time,” Leliana said.

Caden opened her mouth to protest that she needed just one more try, but then she spied the trio of rabbits Leliana had slung over her shoulder. Instead, she said: “what do you need to go with them?”

Set on a new task Caden withdrew the much perused booklet from Flemeth. They had stores of vegetables and fruits on the cart, but Leliana had seemed to understand on Caden's first failure that she needed to bring something back to the camp, so she had given her a foraging task each time. It was a very grumpy Caden who returned to camp with a bushel of edible lichen and some wild blackberries. That they would turn out to be the perfect complement to the seared rabbits did not serve to lift her spirits.

By day four they had fallen into a comfortable routine, this motley assortment of folk. Caden and Leliana ensured the way was clear of enemies and found dinner each night, Alistair saw to the horses, with an assist now from Lorelei, who was still smarting from the events at Kinloch and, Caden suspected, from Cullens rebuke of her, had taken to the beasts and Alistair was keen to teach. Better her than Caden, she felt. The horses were lovely, but only from a distance as far as she was concerned. Sten erected tents without breaking a sweat and built fires that roared with practised efficiency. Wynne turned out to be an excellent cook, as was Leliana, so the pair of them were bringing Eliza into their fold, bent over something delicious every night like a trio of wise women. Morrigan did her own thing unless she felt like antagonising people, which was now no longer confined to Alistair alone; she was able to wind up Lorelei and Wynne most nights, the latter having cottoned onto the witch’s machinations and now declined to get involved, electing instead to relax with a pipe after the meal.

Their evenings had mostly been filled with chatter of varying degrees before peeling off to sleep or keep watch, but this fourth night was different. Caden took first watch, her back against a tree as she sat facing the direction of Lothering. She reached out once or twice with her honed Grey Warden senses, feeling around for the darkspawn, but there was nothing of note. They no longer remained at Lothering, the town picked clean. Caden hoped the evacuees had been long gone by the time the horde arrived. She thought of Liv Hawke, the soldier who had punched the hysterical, raving man. Caden hoped Hawke was well, safe somewhere after the horrors of Ostagar that she had endured.

After a while spent tracking the moon through the inky purple sky Caden stood and took a walk around the perimeter of the camp. They were off-road, surrounded by trees. Three tents stood, one holding the sleeping forms of Lorelei and Eliza, the second keeping Wynne and Leliana. The third held Alistair alone as Sten preferred to sleep outside, sitting cross-legged with his sword over his shoulder. It was his preferred sleep position and Alistair had quickly learned not to complain when he had the whole tent to himself, save for Rosa. The luxury of their team being mostly made up of women she supposed. Morrigan slept elsewhere and Caden had yet to discern where that was.

The horses were resting beside the cart, loosely roped to its side so they didn’t wander off. Blue snorted as she passed by, but Caden went no closer to them. She was glad Lorelei had shown an interest in them so that Alistair could show off his knowledge; they were far too big for comfort and Caden saw no appeal in getting to know them. Jack shifted his weight from one side to the other ever so slowly, lowering one hind leg to gently raise the other. Caden completed her circuit to find the witch of the wilds waiting for her by her tree.

“Did I wake you?” Caden asked softly.

“Of course not.” Morrigan retorted making Caden wonder why she’d even asked. Caden settled back down by the tree and Morrigan leaned against its fellow, looking down at Caden with her arms folded.

“Are you alright, Morrigan?”

“Do you really hope to find a path to these supposedly Sacred Ashes?”

Caden considered for a moment. “It may seem like a wild goose chase, but it’s the only foreseeable means to save Arl Eamon. Unless you have a trick up your sleeve? Some ancient magic that has been forgotten by the Circle of Magi?”

Morrigan shook her head. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t want to waste it on a pointless crusade.”

“You don’t think Eamon can survive?” Caden asked, concerned. “He is still alive and worth trying.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Caden frowned. “Because he is a person.”

Morrigan tutted loudly. “Should we go out of our way to help every person who is suffering and let the darkspawn overrun Ferelden in the meantime?”

“Of course not,” Caden said. “The mission is the most important thing, but when we can help we should. If you need more of a reason, Eamon has an army that we can use if he comes around and they are called back. And he is a high ranking noble, so his support could help us beat Loghain at his own game.”

Morrigan's dark eyes glinted in the moonlight. For a time neither spoke. “I didn’t think you were a fan of nobles.”

Caden bristled, but kept herself steady. “If he can help us then he is worth helping. And he’s a sick man right now. I don’t want to turn my back on that. We’ve slept in his home and eaten food from his table while he lies asleep. It doesn’t seem right to take advantage without doing something in return.”

“Ah, so it is sheer politeness that we run off to Denerim?”

Caden leaned her head back against the bark. “You don’t have to agree with me Morrigan. You don’t even have to like it. This is what we’re doing—it has been decided and is no longer up for debate.”

Morrigan observed Caden in silence for a time before she apparently had had enough and slipped from her human form into that of a sleek grey fox and slunk away between the trees.

“Goodnight Morrigan.” Caden murmured softly as the creature vanished into the undergrowth. She supposed she ought to have been grateful that Morrigan had chosen then to question her motives; with no-one else around it would stay between the two of them. Caden had no desire to share the witch’s misgivings with anyone. There was a small part of her that couldn’t help but agree with the overall question Morrigan had posed. Was Eamons life worth postponing the treaties for? Caden worked it over in her mind like a baker would work over dough. Looking at it from every which way, manipulating her thoughts into different positions in case there was more to glean from them, but ultimately she came back to the same things she had said to Morrigan. Yes, this quest was worth it if they could save Eamons life.

Caden yawned as she thought again about her little theory that Eamon was Alistair's father. Why else would he take the baby in, why bring him up under his roof if not related through blood? Why else would Isolde have been so jealous of the boy when her own was born if he had no claim through birthright to the castle and the lands Eamon resided over? Why else would Eamon spend such time and care on restoring Alistair's’ mothers' amulet if there hadn’t been something shared between him and the woman, if he didn’t love Alistair?

Maybe there was a part of her that wanted to wake him up to ask him outright, but then again she knew she could ask Alistair; they were closer than ever now. That he hadn’t tried to speak of his parentage again was the only reason she had not.

Leliana came to relieve Caden and allow her some sleep after another hour. Caden was still feeling restless so she didn’t make a move to leave as Leliana joined her. The Sister arched an auburn brow in question.

“Do you think everyone left Lothering in time?” She murmured. For a moment she thought she’d been too softly spoken to be heard but Leliana sighed gently and responded after a moment.

“I hope so.” She said. “I think you convinced most of them and with any luck, the doubters were brought to sense by their loved ones in town. I think if the town had been full when the darkspawn came then we would still see them there now. As it happens they are long gone, so I believe you did well.”

Caden nodded. The answer had soothed her more than she had expected it to. She dipped a hand into her pocket and withdrew something. Leliana's eyes snapped to it, even as the moon was momentarily shadowed by a cloud formation.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Your rose?” Caden asked with a tiny smile. “It is. Somehow when the rest of my little posies shrivelled and died in my pockets, this flower has thrived.”

“I told you,” Leliana said. Her voice was breathy, reverent as she gazed down upon the rose in Caden's hand. “The Maker foresaw your coming. He knew how important you would be to Ferelden. That you carry hope with you.”

“I’m not sure about the Maker,” Caden replied honestly. “But I feel good about what I’ve achieved. What Alistair and I have achieved. Is that vain?”

“Not at all,” Leliana said at once. “You two survived the doomed Battle of Ostagar, gathered your treaties, evacuated Lothering, saved Redcliffe and destroyed the nightmare at the Circle of Magi. What else should you feel but pride in yourself? You know that if you succeed in ending the Blight, you will be renowned across the land? Your feats are already worthy of putting to story and song, but if you complete your tasks you and Alistair will be legends.”

Now she was blushing. Caden was grateful for the cloak of night, though the moon bathed them once again. She kept her gaze on the rose as she twirled it slowly between her fingers. “We have done alright so far. Thanks to you and our other companions of course.”

“You should get some rest.” Leliana insisted. “We have a ways to go before we reach the capital city and I still have much to teach you as we go.”

Caden grinned and returned the rose to its pouch, still amazed that it was as healthy as the day Alistair plucked it, but unsure of where else to put it, and headed for the tent where Wynne was lightly snoring. She doffed her armour and slid inside the tent to sleep.

*

Rosa was whining. Alistair blinked his bleary eyes and realised that along with Rosa’s distressed noises he could hear his name.

“Alistair, come quickly.”

He sat up, peering into the gloom. Wynnes head was poking through the opening of the tent and Rosa had shot out the moment she had opened it. A cry rent the night. It was Caden, he was immediately certain of that and was up before he could stop himself. Wynne thankfully bustled out of the way as he climbed out and got to his feet.

“Where is she?”

“In the tent,” Wynne replied quickly. “She’s having some rather violent nightmare and we can’t seem to wake her.”

“Oh, Makers—” he broke off before he could curse in front of the older woman and hurried for the tent, outside of which lingered the two younger mages. Alistair's stomach flipped; she would hate to know she’d woken everyone. “Go back to bed, all of you. Wynne, you, too.”

He didn’t wait to watch them, he just crouched down to push into the tent. Leliana was knelt over Caden, holding one of her hands and trying to press her palm to Caden's forehead on which a sheen of sweat lay. She was thrashing too much for Leliana to touch her face.

“Caden, Caden, wake up,” she was saying.

Caden's eyes were squeezed shut as she rolled on her blankets. Leliana wasn’t getting through to her. Alistair swallowed; was this her wedding or the Archdemon?

“Leliana, let me,” he said, touching her arm and pulling her towards the tent's entrance. Leliana frowned at him, but let him guide her to the exit. Alistair crawled over to Caden. Rosa had curled up at her mistresses head and whined again when Alistair came closer, as if imploring him to fix her. I’ll try, he thought.

“Caden, listen to me.” He said, not quite sure what he was saying. The words tripped over his tongue without thought or reason as he leaned down, mindful of the flailing limbs. “Come back. Whatever is in your head can’t get you. Caden, wake up.” Impulsively he reached for her, pressing one hand to her shoulder, the other reaching for the hand that was gripping the bedsheet. She’d swung for him before when coming out of a dream, but he would take that if she would only wake up and know she was safe. He dreaded to think of what she could see in her mind. “Caden, come back. You’re alright, nothing can get you here.”

Rosa edged closer and he looked to the dog as he caught her movement, before glancing back down to Caden. Her eyes were open, boring holes into his face. “Caden!” He exclaimed, gratefully.

She wasn’t striking him; instead, he felt her fingers curl tightly around his wrist instead of the blanket. Under his other hand, her shoulder was shivering. Her breath came quickly and he watched the panic leave her face as she came to fully awake. Rosa licked her forehead and snuffled her nose into Caden's neck. “Alistair?”

“A nightmare.” He said, probably telling her what she already knew, but he couldn’t help himself. “I don’t know what brand of dream, but certainly a bad one.”

“The Archdemon,” Caden explained. His heart lurched.

“Did it speak to you?”

“Yes,” Caden pushed up and he backed up out of her grip to let her rise into a sitting position. He shifted his weight onto his hip from his knees. “It said it couldn’t find us for a while, but now it knew. It knew where we were.”

“Where was it?”

“Underground.” She answered, trembling harder. Alistair grabbed the blanket and pulled it up over her legs where she’d flung it off. She took it and hugged it tighter, the sweat on her skin chilling as the night air slipped in through the tent flaps. “Where it’s hot and dark.”

“Good,” Alistair said, though he felt anything but. “At least it isn’t above ground yet.”

“Caden, are you well?” Leliana asked looking inside.

Alistair held back a sharp retort while Caden shrank in on herself. He’d hoped to ease Caden's embarrassment at waking the rest of the camp.

“Just a dream,” Caden replied dully. “Sorry.”

“I have herbs.” Morrigan's voice cut through the discomfort. “We aren’t far from the last place we knew the darkspawn were. She must take them.”

“No,” Alistair argued before anyone else could. He turned towards the dark shape of Morrigan just outside. “We’re not doing that again.”

“Alistair,” Caden's tone was soft, placating. “Maybe she’s right…?”

“No,” He turned to her lowering his voice. “You can’t lead us if you aren’t present and I swore I wouldn’t do anything like that again.”

Caden's eyes were very big as she looked up at him, clutching her blanket. She gave a shaky nod to his decision. Alistair smiled before turning back. “Let’s all get back to sleep. Everyone, go back to your tents.”

Morrigan cursed quietly, but left and he could hear Wynne bustling her charges back to their tent. Leliana hesitated only a moment before departing, too.

“Do you need anything?” Alistair asked. “Some water?”

“Yes please.” Caden nodded.

He reached for the water skin by the tent flaps and handed it over, letting her drink. He took it back while saying: “If there’s nothing else I should let you try to get back to sleep.”

He was half turned away, holding the water skin with one hand when he felt pressure on his other arm. Alistair looked back, not really expecting the reality to line up with what he knew he felt, but there was her hand gripping his forearm tightly. Caden was looking down, but her grasp was firm. Alistair set the water skin down and turned around to look at her, not pulling his arm away. “Do you… want me to stay?”

Caden still couldn’t look at him, but he saw the barest incline of her head.

“Alright.” He answered. “Until you fall asleep?” Another tiny nod and she let him go.

Alistair looked at the space beside her and considered. He couldn’t think too hard about it, he knew, or he would never do it, but keeping his thoughts clinical and matter of fact he was able to move further into the tent to sit beside Caden and face the entrance of the tent. He’d left the ties untied… had he forgotten or done it on purpose? He saw Wynne make to come inside, but stop when she saw that her bed was occupied by the large man sitting very still beside Caden. He threw her an apologetic face, but she only pursed her lips and headed for the last tent. His tent. He supposed he would be sleeping under the stars like Sten did for the rest of the night, then. He would wait for Caden to sleep then creep out and sleep. That was a plan.

He hadn’t looked at Caden since sitting down, but now his gaze flickered to her. She was still not looking at him, but seemed unsure of herself now that he had agreed to stay. She was worrying the blanket between her fingers, still sitting. Rosa was quite settled where she lay, but she was the only one who was calm and content.

“Er…” Alistair tried, then cleared his throat. “Are you going to lie down? Is this alright?”

“I feel stupid now,” Caden whispered in the dark.

“No, don’t,” he insisted quickly, but quietly as the noise outside had died down suggesting the others had found beds again.

“I woke everyone up and now I’m making you stay with me to scare away the bad dreams. Like a frightened child.”

“The others have no idea what darkspawn dreams are like.” Alistair murmured. “They would understand if they knew, but as it is they know you don’t scare easily.”

“I’m always scared,” Caden said softly. Her right hand found the ring on her left and toyed with it on her finger. “All the time.”

Alistair kept his gaze ahead. “Me too.” He said gently into the night. “All the time.”

Her hand snaked over his arm again and this time he was ready. Alistair moved his hand to find hers and they clasped them together, not speaking, not sharing a single glance, but holding onto each other in the silent, dark tent.

*

At some point in the early morning, Caden slipped back into sleep, which she only realised when she woke up from the dreamless state she was in. She felt oddly settled as she came to consciousness with a slight chill floating into the tent with the early light of day. She was curled up around Rosa and there was soft, warm breath gently caressing her face every other moment. The blankets were cosy and it was almost possible to imagine she was waking up at home, not camped outside of a doomed town on the edge of Blighted land. Rosa snuffled in her sleep and Caden opened her eyes.

She was so close that she could almost touch him if she wanted to. Alistair's sleeping face lay just beside her, him lying on his back, his head turned towards hers. If she had shifted her face barely an inch she would have rubbed her nose over his. She froze instead, perplexed at the sight of him; hadn’t he promised to stay until she fell asleep and then he would leave? And yet, here he was, her dog nestled between them.

Caden held her breath and oh so slowly unfurled her arm from underneath her head and pushed herself up. Rosa was lying on her blanket which was also tucked under her backside, so she had to tug the fabric loose to rise up. Rosa lifted her head and fixed Caden with a baleful stare, evidently not sure she was ready to get up yet, but Caden had to place some space between her and Alistair before he woke up. It was one thing to reach for his comfort in the night, but quite another to wake up in daylight to his sleeping face. She almost felt like she shouldn’t have been looking upon him in sleep without his knowledge.

Caden carefully extricated her legs from the blanket and awkwardly crawled on her hands and knees to the opening of the tent, pushing outside into the day. She sent her thanks to Andraste when she got up into a standing position, that no-one else seemed away yet. Only Sten was up, coming back to the camp after taking a walk around their campsite on his watch. Caden nodded to him and received a simple nod back, then she hurried to find her things and pull on her armour. Maybe getting breakfast started would distract everyone from the unceremonious waking she had granted them all with her night terrors. At the very least it was a chance to practice her fire stoking skills; the campfire having burned down to embers overnight, and she could keep her hands and mind busy on the food she was preparing. She set up the stand over the smouldering wood and fetched the last of the milk that they had bought from a small hamlet the day before, packed with ice that had all melted away now. It would serve for breakfast, added to oats and a sprinkle of sugar and spice. This she could do. Right now, this was what she could do.

*

The side effect of the previous night was not, as Caden had suspected, embarrassment with the party members over waking them. Instead it was a strange uneasiness with Alistair of all people. Looking at him over breakfast and glancing at him when they cleared away their camp and got back on the road brought the image of his sleeping face every time. It was most disconcerting; he had seemed so young and peaceful in sleep and Caden felt like she’d somehow cheated him out of revealing a private part of his self. Her tongue refused to work like it usually did around him that morning, instead feeling heavy and thick in her mouth, making the formation of words especially tricky. She was glad when they were finally ready to go and she could escape for a time with Leliana as they headed off first to scout the route.

The first four days had been easy, but now on day five, their luck ran out.

Caden stopped, holding out an arm to halt Leliana in her tracks and she complied at once, sensing the urgency in the silent command. Both woman scanned the trees ahead, Leliana frowning as she looked. Caden couldn’t see anything so she didn’t expect Leliana to, but the sick, creeping sensation was sliding thick down her spine. Darkspawn.

“That way.” She murmured, pointing to the trees across the road. “Coming this way.”

“We need to warn the others.”

“Quickly.” Caden agreed. They slipped away, back down the road towards the others. Caden finally was able to look Alistair in the eye, the impending fight overruling any lingering shyness. He seemed to grasp at once why she and Leliana had returned and Morrigan appeared from her bird form flying to the ground and landing on human feet with a surprising amount of grace.

“You called them to us.” the witch declared. Caden didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Secure the horses and wagon.” She demanded. “I’m not sure of numbers, but we mustn’t leave them unguarded. Volunteers?”

She wasn’t overly shocked to see nobody step forward. “Fine, Lorelei and Eliza, you stay here and hold the fort. Don’t let them get past to the cart.”

Eliza nodded, clambering up to the cart to stand proud with her staff, eyes trained on the horizon. Lorelei looked like she was biting back something, but mercifully she managed it, going to stand before the now tethered horses and sparking flames from her hands.

“We’ll shout if we get overwhelmed and need backup. Sten, Alistair,” Caden ordered as the rest moved down the road. “Engage with the darkspawn directly. Keep them occupied. Morrigan and Wynne, hang back and give yourself some distance to cast spells. Wynne, can you keep an eye out for wounds? Is that something you can do from back there?”

“It’s not ideal, but I can,” Wynne said, her face set determinedly.

“Leliana and I will head into the trees and try to come around them.” Caden finished. Nobody complained. She couldn’t help but wonder at it still that they were looking to her for direction. Alistair caught her arm before she and her fellow rogue peeled off.

“I’ll wager there is a small force incoming.” He said. She could see his eyes were on her but somewhat distant; he was feeling for the horde. “Be safe.”

“You, too.”

With a nod, they parted ways, Caden following Leliana into the trees.

They heard the battle begin from their position in hiding, but Caden didn’t look back. They needed to get around and surprise the darkspawn, lest their fighters and mages be overwhelmed. That couldn’t happen. Sneaking up on the very beings that could feel her as well as she could feel them would be tricky and she pointing to Leliana to hold back once she deemed them to be far enough away to circle back. That way, she decided, if her surprise fell flat they would certainly not be expecting Leliana.

She wasn’t wrong; the Hurlock with a crossbow that she was sneaking up on was unaware of her, but the two genlocks that suddenly appeared either side of her seemingly out of puffs of dark smoke had known she was coming. She didn’t even manage a blow to her target before they both bore down on her and she was forced to turn her attack into defence, parrying their strikes as quickly as possible. It was sloppy, desperate work, while her heart was leaping at the shock of their appearances and she felt a cold bite where one sword slashed across her arm. The bracer took the most of the blow, but her elbows were free and she felt the heat of her blood after the steel. A hiss of pain as she turned to that genlock, only to see him felled by an arrow to the eye. He flew to the side and onto the ground where he stayed still. Caden sent out a quick thought of thanks to Leliana and trusting that she had cover now, Caden was able to take a quick breath before turning on the other genlock with more fervour. Both swords danced through the air, locked in battle with the opposing blades. The clanging of metal rang out and Caden pressed her advantage, even as the cut on her arm flowed freely. The genlock backed up and Caden saw a split-second opportunity where she ducked down, kicking out with her heel to strike at the genlocks ankle. It dropped like a stone and Caden dove both blades to its chest.

She stood and whirled, as an arrow whistle past her and embedded into the neck of a Hurlock that was fighting Alistair, and saw something in the treeline where they had emerged from. Caden took off running at once, curving in an arc around the genlock that was weaving dark magic with a staff of its own. The staff was a jagged pole with a blade at the top and skulls dangling around it. The genlock was fixated on Sten and Alistair as they engaged in the fighting, and didn’t see her approach until it was too late. Caden locked eyes with it, seeing the fear blanch it’s face. She took a run at a tree, leaping to use the momentum of her foot on the trunk to launch herself further and higher, down onto the magic wielder. She heard it shout something and then there was a cold, sick blow to her shoulder, but even as she felt one arm weaken immediately, the other slashed with her sword. The force of whatever magic blast had hit her threw off her trajectory and she spun in the air, somehow managing to strike true to kill the genlock, but she landed hard on her side and skidded across the forest floor, finally coming to a stop as she hit another tree. The blow made her wince and her arm was numb where the magic had hit. Her hand spasmed and dropped her sword, but she didn’t wait to recover and pushed herself up, one arm hanging useless, the other gripping her sword. Determination gritted her teeth and she stalked out of the forest, to thrust her sword into the back of the neared Hurlock.

One stab wasn’t enough to stop this one and she was defenceless to it’s spinning attack with a sword that seemed as long as she was. Caden threw her blade up sideways to catch the sword blow, but it staggered her with its force and she sank to her knees. A growl burst from her and moments later the Hurlock was felled by an arrow, a shot of dark magic and then it’s head flew from its shoulders by Alistair's sword.

“You alright?” He asked, grabbing the body by its shoulder and pulling it back so it didn’t topple onto Caden, who was still on her knees.

She gulped down air, her chest heaving. “Fine thanks.”

Alistair offered her a hand. “That’s the last of them.” When she didn’t reach for him he frowned. “Are you sure?”

“My arm isn’t working,” Caden said, twisted her neck to look down at it. It seemed quite normal, but still felt lifeless and she couldn’t lift it. “I was hit by some sort of spell.”

“Move aside.” Morrigan was first to her side, leaving Wynne to patch up a swelling over Sten's chest from a deep looking gash. Alistair stepped away, wiping his sword clean. He was spattered with ichor and blood, but appeared unharmed. Such was Caden's brief assessment.

Caden got to her feet slowly and allowed Morrigan to inspect her arm. The witch peeled off the leather pauldron and slipped a finger under the rest of the armour and shirt to peer at the skin beneath. Caden focused on catching her breath. That had been a bracing battle indeed. She glanced around the road which was littered with the bodies of darkspawn. At least a dozen and how many had she taken out? Two at best? A pang of irritating worried her. She knew they worked together as a team and that every kill was a worthy one, but it rankled a little to know she had barely made a dent in their enemies.

The horses' hoofbeats clip-clopped up the road and Caden looked up to see the younger mages walking the pair towards them, the cart creaking along behind. As they got closer Jack snorted and stopped dead, while Blue shook his head and pulled away from Eliza. Alistair broke off from their small group to head over to assist the mages, explaining that the horses weren’t trained for battle and were likely disturbed by the scent of darkspawn death. Now healed, Sten went to start dragging the bodies off the road, helped after a moment by Leliana.

Caden stood and let Morrigan assess her, hoping she would hurry. “Is my arm going to drop off?” She tried for a quip, but it came out sharper than intended.

“You’ll live,” Morrigan replied. “Hold still.”

Caden clamped her mouth shut lest she complain that she was holding still, and then felt the brush of magic sparking over her skin. It sank beneath the surface, pleasantly warm on her frozen shoulder and stung as the magic from Morrigan expelled the insidious poison from the genlock. The pain ramped up, but Caden was determined to ride it out without complaint and held still, her breath catching as the life returned to her arm. When it was done she flexed and clenched her now working hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Morrigan nodded.

Caden went to retrieve her sword from beside the genlocks body. When she returned the path was clear again and Alistair was muttering soothing words to both horses. He looked to Caden as she returned. “Shall we move away from this place and then break for lunch?”

Caden couldn’t help her chuckle. “Has this made you hungry?”

Alistair's mouth twitched into a grin. “It’s less than and more that we could all use a wash.”

“Speak for yourself.” Leliana teased, gesturing to herself. She was as clean as she had been that morning.

“Alright then, those of us who got up close and personal could use a good clean.” He amended. Caden looked around and realised they were both right; she, Alistair and Sten were bloodied and coated in darkspawn grime. The mages and Leliana were still pretty pristine.

“Point taken,” Caden said. “Very well, onwards, then lunch after bathing.”

“There is a small river a little further away,” Alistair said clucking his tongue to coax the horses past the stench of the darkspawn. “We should reach it soon.”

“Let’s go.”

With the darkspawn threat extinguished the group moved on settling back into an easy rhythm, glad to be alive and unscathed after their bout, the rogues scouting ahead once again. With eyes ahead and minds on bathing and eating, none of them noticed that they were being tracked.

Chapter Text

Out of breath, out of luck, out of time

The river, it turned out, was not that close by after all. The map was consulted even as Alistair insisted more than once that it would just be a little further and a little further after that and then once the map was produced he blamed the cartographers lack of accuracy because he knew they were nearly upon it and not a two-hour journey from it. Caden nodded and smiled and didn’t disagree and then said nothing when they finally found a place to camp within earshot of the river over an hour later. Her arm was sore from the sick magic from the genlock and then the healing from Morrigan. It felt like she’d slept on the limb and it was still returning to life from that. Leliana had taken point with their scouting and had been the one to first locate the river by the sound of its rushing current. Caden had mostly just tried to stay out of the way and picked at the hardening, congealed ichor on her skin and armour.

They broke for camp and a late lunch despite a brief conversation about whether they ought to stop for the night here as they were into the afternoon now or whether they should just press on. The smell coming off Caden, Alistair and Sten seemed to sway the others into the decision and the men were encouraged to not touch anything and instead to go and wash.

Caden, being less covered and still without the full use of her arm, wasn’t asked to do much while she waited for her turn. She sat on a tree stump with Rosa, who kept trying to lick her clean, only for Caden to bat her away, worried that she would make herself sick again without access to any of the medicinal flowers from the Korkari Wilds, and watched the others. Lorelei was quite at home with the horses now, Caden noted, and Leliana seemed happy to assist her with them with the other mages started unpacking food items for their lunch. Caden listened to the chatter between Lorelei and Leliana, the latter answering questions about her time in Orlais and the nobility there. If Caden thought the Ferelden ruling class was a den of madness and cruelty, it seemed Orlais might even one-up them. She switched her attention to Wynne and Eliza who were discussing a herb Wynne thought might grow by the riverside and that they might have to check that out before moving on. Eliza asked some questions about the herb that Caden didn’t quite understand, but their conversation was soothing to listen to. She stroked Rosa and waited, in no hurry to move just yet. Sprouting from the ground in which the stump sat were a cluster of purple flowers, eager for light. She considered plucking them to replenish the collection she had begun and let wilt, but she didn’t think she had the means to press them. She decided to leave them where they were and just enjoyed looking at them where they grew. The sun was ahead of them now, making its way over the world and the early afternoon was warm. A light breeze teased her loose tendrils of hair and Caden reached up to unwrap the long braid from its usual high knot, lifting her face towards the light and closing her eyes. Maybe she would go crazy and rinse her hair in the river. Maybe not. It would be an easy enough decision once her turn rolled around. That was nice; a simple either or question without the worries of her decision being life or death.

“Caden?”

She opened her eyes as the sun was blocked by Alistair. He was smiling down at her. “All done?”

He certainly looked cleaner, bare of armour, just wearing his shirt and trousers. His face was freshly washed and looked slightly pink.

“Is it cold?” She asked.

“Freezing.” Alistair chuckled. “But refreshing.”

At that moment Sten walked past in just his trousers, his broad back glistening. Caden hurried to avert her eyes and Alistair raised his eyebrows at her as he turned away from the Qunari. A gentle joke passed between them as Caden met his gaze and both smirked.

“My goodness, Sten,” Leliana commented. “You look very clean.”

“The water is fast and clear.” He replied tugging his shirt over his head where it stuck to his damp skin. “Do not go far in or you will be swept away.” This was directed firmly at Caden who wasn’t quite sure how to take it.

“Er, alright.” She said after a moment. It didn’t seem pertinent to argue with the facts; she was slight and could hear the river from where she sat. It was loud and that meant fast.

Alistair held out his hand and she swung her good arm to meet it, letting him pull her up, the feel of his warm hand comfortingly familiar to her now.

“Come on, I’ll show you where to go.” Alistair jerked his head towards the woodland between them and the river and they fell into step with Rosa bounding ahead.

The darkspawn fight more than anything seemed to have blown away the strangeness they had woken with. That Caden had woken with; she had no idea how Alistair was feeling because she hadn't asked him how he felt after their brief night of sleeping side by side. At least now she felt easy to walk alongside him towards the noise of the rapid current. Alistair glanced back at their camp and then said under his breath: “Thankfully Sten kept his trousers on the whole time. I might have died of embarrassment otherwise.”

Caden's laughter flew from her lips before she could stop it, clapping her hand over her mouth. Alistair grinned, pleased by her reaction.

“I was not ready for that experience, I can tell you.”

“Stop it,” Caden chided gently. Then: “Is it hard being the only two men on this quest?”

“It’s certainly different,” Alistair admitted. “It was the other way around with the Wardens; the men far outranked the women. Well, woman until you came along.”

“I remember.” Caden nodded and she was surprised when she pushed at the memory that she didn’t feel anything big or complicated with that. Thinking of Lyra, her unwanted kindness and her tragic death along with the rest of the Wardens didn’t shoot pain through her. She found it was possible to think of Lyra without guilt and remorse.

Alistair wasn’t breaking down despite talking about his erstwhile family, for whom he had grieved so sorely. That didn’t mean he didn’t care. “Are you alright?” She asked softly.

“Hm?” Alistair blinked out of his thoughts. “Oh, yes. I’m… I do miss them. The Grey Wardens. Even if I was always the new boy, the rookie. I’d been with them for six months but I was never fully accepted by them.”

Caden frowned. She had had no idea. “But Duncan…?”

“Duncan was the exception.” Alistair smiled, his eyes crinkling with sorrow through his smile. “Duncan was the only one who never acted like I was an outsider. You must have similar recollections; he was the same with you.”

Caden's thoughts over her brief time with the Wardens were not quite as rosy as Alistair seemed to believe. She’d been ever so rude to Duncan in particular, even though she knew he had saved her from her execution, but she had felt stolen by him. Stolen from her old life. Yet had she remained in the Alienage living in ignorance of the Blight, leaving Alistair to tackle this quest alone, it wouldn't have been much better. Living out her days as the horde pillaged their way through Ferelden until it arrived in Denerim. All things considered, she knew she was right where she needed to be.

“I could have been nicer to Duncan.” She admitted as they came up to the river. It was bending around the landscape, rushing over stones where the river narrowed and there was a small bank that was gentle compared to the rest of the water. It looked cold, fast and deep and Caden knew that Stens assessment was annoyingly accurate. “I could have been nicer to you all.”

“It’s all water under the bridge now,” Alistair said gesturing to the river, unable to keep a straight face and bursting out laughing at his own joke by the word bridge. Caden rolled her eyes and groaned.

“I take it back.” She retorted. “If that’s what I have to endure from being nice to you.”

Alistair's shoulders shook with mirth. Rosa barked and started sniffing around the trees from which they had emerged. He wiped at his eye. “Are you going to be alright here by yourself? Do you want one of the women out here with you?”

“I have Rosa,” Caden replied. “I’ll be quick anyway and I don’t intend to go into the water proper. Just a quick wash of me and my armour and then I’ll be back for lunch.”

“Be careful with the water,” Alistair said anyway.

“I will.” Caden smiled to show she didn’t really mind his worry. “See you in a bit.”

*

There was a woman at camp. That, as he and Caden had briefly discussed, wasn’t a strangeness, but Alistair narrowed his eyes at this new face. “What’s happening here?”

“Alistair, this woman has been beset by bandits,” Wynne explained from her position at the woman's feet, assessing what looked like a tender ankle. This woman had a gash over her forehead that Eliza was inspecting. Dried blood was smeared across her face but there didn’t seem to be any more flowing.

Leliana took Alistair aside as he drew closer. “She came limping into camp no sooner than you and Caden had departed for the river. She claims her wagon and her livelihood have been destroyed and that she is the only survivor of the attack.”

“But that’s awful,” his mouth drooped in sympathy until he caught the suspicion on Lelianas face. He hesitated, lowering his voice further. “You have your doubts?”

“Seems awfully convenient of her to need our help right now and it's a fairly standard trick."

“Look at her, she’s clearly hurt,” Alistair said with a wave to the woman. “You can’t suspect everyone we meet of being after something.”

“I can,” Leliana responded darkly, her eyes scanning the trees. Seeing nothing she raised her head and started checking the branches higher up, obscured by leaves. Alistair left her to it to head for the woman.

“I’m so sorry to hear of your plight—” he began, but he froze when Leliana gave a shout from behind him. He spun to see her narrowly avoid an incoming arrow, drawing her bow and shooting back into the trees in response.

“The Crows take you!”

Alistair turned again to see the woman, miraculously no longer injured, standing and shoving at Wynne, then drawing a knife and spinning to thrust at Eliza. The elf's eyes went wide, but her fellow mage was too quick; Lorelei leapt to her side and threw up a magical barrier between them and the woman.

“Crows?” Alistair asked, hurrying for his sword. He didn’t really expect an answer, but in place of an explanation, he spied yet more men and woman materialising from the trees, both in the canopy and on the ground. Armed and armoured, these were dangerous foes and only a short time after their last bout, with little time to rest. Maker damn it. He reached for his shield, but someone dropped to their feet before him and he barely had time to catch their sword with his. He scrambled backwards, trying to create space between them, only to receive a kick to the shin when he hadn’t expected it. Another sword was drawn and he hissed at the pain in his leg, while blocking one parry only to take the other sword in a swipe across his side. He wasn’t wearing his plate metal and he felt the sting of the blade over his flesh. He pressed a hand to the thankfully shallow blow and felt his own sticky blood in his palm. Alistair tried to copy their move and jabbed his heel at them, but the nimble rogue danced around him, jabbing him as they did, catching his side and his back. He growled at the frustration of it and the pain of it, until he swung around, expecting his sword blow to be blocked. It was by both swords, and Alistair acted purely on instinct when he balled up his left hand and drove his fist into the teeth of his attacker, who staggered backwards, cursing through a mouth filled with blood. His hand flared, then went numb, but he spun the now free sword to thrust into the stomach of the Crow.

A flash of light caught Alistair's eye. Dragging his sword loose from his enemy’s belly he watched a line of flames shoot across the camp to find two Crows and engulf them, screaming in agony. Lorelei. Eliza had her back to her friend and was weaving an enchantment which wreathed Stens sword in ice. The Qunari barrelled through the camp, swinging his blade into anyone in his way.

More foes dropped down, some falling with arrows in their bodies, courtesy of Leliana who was too busy to say—

“I told you so.”

Alistair grimaced as she nocked an arrow and scathing words at the same time. “Yes, yes, you were right.” He dashed to his shield, glad to have it back on his arm, and then bearing down on an enemy to slam his shield into them, slashing his sword when they stumbled.

Wynne shouted something to her students and sent some magic to Sten that seemed to invigorate him. Sten seemed to be getting all the attention, Alistair thought, amazed he could be struck with jealousy at this moment, and immediately reminded that he was busy when someone flung themselves from the trees onto his back and he pitched forward, accidentally dislodging them. Three more of these so-called Crows approached him from ground level through the trees, levelling crossbows at him. He got his shield up just in time, hearing the smash of bolts careen off the brushed metal, the force of these close shots jolting through his arm. Then screams rent the air and he peeked around his shield to see the monstrous form of Morrigan in her giant spider transformation scurrying over the Crows and biting them one after the other as they failed to get away.

The horses neighed, high-pitched and fearful. He glanced over to see Blue rearing up as one of the foes tried to slash at him.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Lorelei ran up and slammed her staff over the mans head, forgetting her magic for a moment in favour of brute force.

Alistair straightened up, turning back to catch the person who had jumped him trying to backstab him. It was with his sword that he deflected her blow and his shield that he attacked, slicing the point of the shield across her thigh. She shrieked and doubled down on her attack until her eyes went wide and the point of an arrow appeared through her neck, spraying blood over his face, blinding him momentarily. He yelled and pulled back.

“Hold on, Warden,” Eliza was there, her cool hands wiping the blood away from his eyes, clearing his vision by upending something liquid over his forehead. He tasted the sweetness of elf root when it ran over his lips and he was grateful for the soothing balm. He blinked, his sight clear again.

“Thank you,” Alistair nodded. She returned it grimly.

“We have the upper hand.” She reported, her fingers drawing sigils in the air. She muttered an enchantment and his sword burst into flames that did not burn him. Eliza didn’t wait for further thanks, darting off to cover Leliana from incoming arrows with a barrier of her own.

Alistair and his flaming sword hurried back into battle.

After a few more bouts he looked around and realised they were done. Some bodies of the bandits hung from the trees, wrapped in spider silk. Sten was filthy again, wearing the bright red of human and elf blood. Alistair looked down and knew didn’t look much better.

Leliana loosed an arrow, bringing the final bandit to the ground out of the trees. She stalked over to the elf and kicked him over, breaking the arrow as he rolled and snapped the shaft in two. He was still breathing and she sank to her knee, grabbing the mans lapels and holding firm. “Who sent you?”

The elf coughed blood and then spat, his weak attempt only managing to spit blood over her wrist. She didn’t even flinch. “You are Antivan Crows, aren’t you?” Leliana barked. “But Antiva did not send you after us. Answer my question or I will let you bleed out on this forest floor right now.”

Alistair swallowed edging closer. He didn’t particularly want to stop Leliana as these were clearly questions that needed answering and he wasn’t quite up to the task of threats and interrogation, but he was shocked to see this side of Leliana. Then again, this was the woman who’d known what questions to ask of Jowan regarding the poisoning of Eamon. Maybe one day he’d be brave enough to ask for her life story. Maybe.

“Void take you,” the elf hissed. “I’ll tell you shit!”

Leliana rose and slowly lifted her foot to land on the place where her arrow had found purchase. She gently added the pressure, digging her toe into the wound. The elf howled in reckless pain and she held it for a moment before pulling back. “Who sent you?”

“I don’t know.” He cried wildly. “I swear I don’t know. Zevran met him, not me.”

“Who?” Alistair asked, stepping forward.

“I—”

The sound of barking turned Alistairs blood to ice. Rosa. Caden. The mabari burst into their clearing, barking faster than she could draw breath. She skidded to a halt and yelped at him, turning back the way she came. She threw barks over her shoulder, eager to return. Alistair gripped his sword and started to run. Seeing him follow, Rosa started to run full pelt back to the river. Alistair sensed the others follow suit. His heart was screaming as he ran.

Breaking through the trees to the river he could hear the rushing running water. Looking around he could see Cadens boots and her swords, but no sign of his friend.

“Caden!” Alistair yelled, his voice reaching to be heard over the river. “Caden! Caden!”

Rosa stopped in the river, her front paws submerged in the safer, shallower, gentler bank side. She let out a mournful whine and gazed downriver. Alistair scanned along, his stomach leaden with fear. He dropped his sword and shield and rushed to the bank. “Caden!”

“Alistair?” Wynne was there, her face pale.

“She can’t swim,” Alistair said in response, putting a voice to his fears. “Caden!”

“She might not be in the water,” Wynne offered. Alistair glared over his shoulder.

“Rosa seems to think she is.” He stopped and kicked his boots off. They didn’t come easily and he almost fell before catching himself. His heart was hammering and he couldn’t understand why no-one else was equally as frantic.

“Alistair, wait,” he heard the call but he was wading into the river, the water soaking his trousers. The water was fine until it wasn’t and the swift coursing cold water threatened to take him, wrapping around his knees and staggering him. He felt a meaty hand grasp his arm and haul him back. He tried to resist but only succeeded in toppling both him and Sten over to land in the shallows.

“Get off me!” He thrust his elbow back but found no purchase.

“Alistair listen,” Lelianas voice cut through his wild thoughts. Alistair turned his head to look up at her as Sten released him. She was on the higher bank staring down at him. “We need a better plan.”

Rosa butted against him. He got to his feet, dripping all over. The water was pink where it flowed away from him and Sten, the sandy bottom disturbed to add a separate texture to the whirling river. A plan. That made sense. Thoughts of Caden fighting for breath pushed in his head, but he turned to Leliana and fixed his gaze on her, not the water.

A plan.

“Right, right,” Alistair cast around for some semblance of rationality. “Alright. Morrigan, where is Morrigan?”

“I am here.” She was no longer a spider and of all the faces he could see she was the calmest. It was equally infuriating and helpful.

“Can you help? Can you change forms to something that can track along the river?”

“Not for long, but yes it can be done,” Morrigan replied. “I can fly the length of the current and report back.”

“Right, good,” Alistair said. “You do that, and we’ll follow on foot.” He looked down to where the river dipped out of sight. It wouldn’t be easy; the water cut through the land, away from the road. “We’ll have to walk.”

“The horses?” Lorelei pressed. “We can’t leave them.”

“And what of Arl Eamon?” Wynne asked.

Alistair held back his scream of frustration. “They’ll have to wait.” Unless… “No, wait.” The idea crystallised suddenly and he felt overjoyed to even have it, sparing no thought to questioning the sense of it. “Morrigan, you fly down the river and I will follow with Rosa. The rest of you take the horses and the wagon, and keep going. Head for Denerim. You should be safe without me and Caden and when I find her we’ll figure out how to meet up again.”

“You can’t go alone.” Leliana pointed out. Alistair's fists clenched.

“I don’t have a better plan.”

“No, the plan is fine,” she gave, and he didn’t believe her for a moment. “You will need accompaniment.”

“Fine, fine, just hurry.” His capacity for forming ideas was all used up. He grabbed his boots and shoved them on. He really needed his whole armour, not to mention camping equipment and food if they should be separated a long time. Sten materialised and Alistair realised he hadn’t even seen the man leave. He dropped a pack at Alistair's feet and proffered his armour. Alistair was too shocked and oddly touched to speak, but when the Qunari held the armour he wordlessly let the man dress him. His armour was donned in record time and he gave a nod to Sten of thanks.

“Eliza and I are joining you,” Leliana said. “The rest will head on for Denerim.”

“Fine.” Alistair snapped. Morrigan, back to her crow form, flew overhead with a caw and he turned, stalking off after her, Rosa running ahead, sniffing the ground and whining when she found no scent to follow. Alistair hefted the pack over his shoulder and didn’t wait for the others to follow.

*

Her lungs screamed for air. Her skin was ice and her lungs were burning her up from the inside. Each gasp, every gulp of air felt like she was breathing in blades. She felt the debris in the river when it slammed her against stones or wood, shunting her breath loose and she needed each precious morsel when the river swallowed her down again.

The river flowed straight down and she tipped over the edge, following the water as it fell, smacking into the roiling foam and losing consciousness.

When she came to again her head was above water and an arm was wrapped around her chest, holding her tight. Her body fought to either free herself from the grip or hold it tighter, her survival instincts warring over what was worse.

“I’ve got you.” He said. That didn’t soothe her worries.

The river suddenly spun them upside down and underwater; Caden spun and spun, water rushing past her ears, in her nose, down her mouth. Her limbs flailed. Was he still there? She was too cold to feel anything else.

Something gripped the collar of her armour and yanked. Her head broke the surface, and she inhaled deep automatically. “Hold on.”

She didn’t know what that meant—hold on to what? Her hands were empty of everything but liquid and she couldn’t grab that. Her eyes closed and she drifted back into blackness.

When she came to again she realised she was being dragged out of the water and onto land. Her back was alive again and she started to cry out as the wound on her shoulder protested at her rough treatment, but no sound came out. Not until she was rolled onto her side to vomit up water. Each heave shot agony through her back. Where else was she hurt? Was this enough to finish her? Blood dribbled over her eyebrow and down her face to join the blood pouring from her nostrils.

“Are you done?”

Caden coughed and hacked until her throat was raw but the water was out. Then she pushed up as best she could with her wounds and glared at the face that peered closer. He was squatting down to get as close to her eye line as possible.

“Now then,” he said in a voice that lilted with an accent she had never heard before. “I saved you from drowning. So, you have something for me, don’t you?”

Chapter Text

Yeah, my life is what I’m fighting for

Before

Rosa yelped and Caden spun from the river to see her mabari underneath a heavy net. It was such a strange sight that she froze for a moment before hurrying back from the river, barefoot towards her dog, but someone dropped down before she could reach her. An elf, with long hair and a tattoo on his face. Caden stopped sharply. Her swords. She needed her swords. He drew his own pair, slowly, smiling.

“Someone wants you dead,” he said. His tone was light.

“My dog—” Caden said without thinking.

“I have nothing against it; my target is you.” He replied. “But it would have been unfair to fight you unarmed. Go ahead, get your blades.” She hesitated, not trusting this man with the beautiful, deadly smile. “I’m serious, no tricks. Get your blades and then we shall dance.”

Caden screamed at her feet to move, darting for her weapons, grabbing them and whirling. He had waited for her to take them in hand, but he didn’t wait long. He was upon her within seconds, his swords crossing and slashing in the light. It took everything for Caden to just block his onslaught. She was tired, her arm hurt, her feet were bare, she wasn’t ready. By Andrastes Grace she kept time with him. Her mothers words were useless to her: you have to be faster. He was faster than anyone she had ever fought, wielding a similar pair of swords as she did and damn it, he was better than she was.

A jagged bolt of terror ran all over her skin. Caden couldn’t risk looking away from him as he pressed his advantage. Was Rosa able to get free?

Caden’s thoughts snapped to Alistair at camp. They would hear her if she screamed, wouldn’t they? Better to be saved than dead. Caden opened her mouth. The elf pushed at her swords when she blocked him and drew back one blade over her arm. Her scream fizzled into a guttural groan instead. He closed the brief distance between them, somehow finding a burst of extra speed. His blade whirled and spun, catching hers and flying it out of her hand. Caden’s eyes widened. She was going to die right now. Minutes from camp, by the hand of an elf. Not like this.

“Alis—” she started, but the elf twisted his sword to drive the pommel into her stomach, shunting the breath from her, doubling her over. Caden fumbled for her sword, but he bent his knee and caught her under her chin, snapping her head back up.

Alistair.

Thoughts were all she could manage, a desperate prayer that he would be alright. Caden abandoned all thoughts of blocking with her one sword left and slashed it through the air, carving our inches of space before catching his thigh and drawing blood. Finally. He growled in response and doubled his attack.

Maybe she would die here. Maybe she could at least take him with her.

Her arm protested when he cut her again, but she forced herself to drive him back, her lone blade moving faster than she believed possible. The metal clashed when he caught it and then her hand was empty. The sword caught the sun as it flew and Caden realised she was done. Almost done—she reached for her knife—

The elf was suddenly pressed up close to her. Cadens fingers curled around the hilt of her knife. The elf had a knife. She learned this all at once when the blade sank into her back.

Caden had been stabbed before, her hip, Vaughans estate. This was different. She had felt pain, been close to death. This was different.

Her eyes found his and for a moment he looked almost sorry. Her mouth moved but no sound came out.

“A good dance.” He said softly. “I was better.”

Caden drew her knife. She didn’t need pressure, she just needed a cut. Her arm moved sluggishly up. He saw the moment easily and smiled. Caden raised it up high then dropped her arm, directionless. He caught the blade in his hand, unafraid of the point, so aimless was her move.

“You are too weak to fight me anymore, but I cannot tell a lie; I respect the determination.” He said casually as if they were having a conversation over tea. She was still in his arms. Caden’s thumb found the right place and pressed.

The vial broke quietly, without attention. The elf was looking at the blade curiously, his eyes drawn to the delicate filigree of the hilt.

“What a marvellous knife.” He admired. “This does not look Ferelden. It is Antivan, no? You have very good taste.”

The poison slipped down the indentation in the blade. He started at the sudden wetness and she saw the exact moment he realised this was trouble because the moment before that was when she summoned the last vestige of strength and twisted the knife, slicing his palm and driving it into the heel of his hand and then down across his arm, letting the poison seep into his flesh. The dark sludge seemed eager to find a home inside him, drawing away from the knife into him with ease. His face paled.

Caden tried to pull free from him, her back screaming, but he grabbed for her and her feet couldn’t support her and then they were falling, tumbling together into the cold rushing river.

Now

“You have something for me.”

Caden drew in a shuddering breath. “What?”

“That clever little move of yours?” The elf explained holding up his hand. Caden could see the dark lines of his blood vessels under his golden skin, signifying the journey of the poison. “I will need the antidote.”

“I’m not giving you anything.” She snapped. “You stabbed me in the back.”

“Yes, but I also saved you from drowning in the river and I will patch up your back if you give me a moment.” He went on. “That makes us friends, don’t you think? Friends stop each other from dying.”

Caden gaped at him and pushed harder against the muddy earth to right herself more. Her back protested but she pushed through. Breathing was a great difficulty, she found. It was her wound; if she didn’t get treatment soon she would die, that much she felt sure of. She didn’t trust this charming elf though.

“You tried to kill me.” She said through gritted teeth. “You threw a net on my dog and stabbed me and now you claim you want to save me? Why? Who even are you?”

The elf smiled broadly, his teeth glinting. “I am Zevran Arainai, a former assassin with the Antivan Crows. A fellow called Loghain hired me to murder you and your companions. As you have bested me in combat through the cunning use of poison I have no choice but to renounce my former life and if you should be so kind as to get me the antidote, I will see to it that we heal your back up nicely and move on with our lives. You can call me Zev, if it pleases you.”

Her back spasmed at being held still and Caden dropped into the bank, her elbows giving way at once. Her cry was swallowed by the mud beneath her. “You’re crazy.” She managed haltingly, twisting her head to the side. “I don’t have anything for you.”

“I think that you do,” Zevran said. “And I also think you are going to get it for me. You want to live, don’t you?”

“Where are my friends?” She asked, having barely heard him. “Are they alive?”

“In truth? I have no idea.” Zevran admitted. “Perhaps they are as clever as you and have beaten their opponents. What do you think? You know them better than I do, after all.”

“Loghain sent you?” Caden asked. The pain was driving her thought process away from his conversational tone and back to his confession of being paid to assassinate her. “To kill us?”

“The Grey Wardens, yes,” Zevran said. His hand twitched and he shook it as if to loosen a splinter. Caden peered up at him and saw him turn and grimace in pain. Good. His tone, when he spoke again, was still friendly and casual. “I was given your description, but not your name. As I have given you mine, would you do me the courtesy of knowing you?”

“Caden.” Caden heard herself wheeze as her chest tightened with another spasm across her back. Her breath turned to a grunt and darkness swept her under as easily as the river had done before. For a time she sank beneath a wave of unconsciousness, the pain causing her to blackout.

“Caden? Caden?”

She was half upright when her eyes blinked open. Something pressed against her back—a tree. Zevran was crouched before her and her head rolled around to lock eyes with him. She saw him cradle his poisoned arm with his other hand and noted the black veins were creeping further up his shoulder.

“I am going to need that antidote now.” He said. He was still aiming for pleasant but the agony was causing his jaw to lock up and distort his voice to a more desperate one. “This poison, do you know it?”

“No.”

“It is very wicked. First, it paralyses the muscles, see?” Zevran nodded to his hand that was held unnaturally, the fingers bent and gnarled. “Then it creeps deeper inside. The heart is a muscle, you know. Once the poison reaches the heart it is the end of days for Zevran Arainai. And then it will be the end of Caden the Grey Warden, too, because I can help you… but not like this. Not with my claw hand and frozen arm. Not with a heart that cannot beat. Caden,” he leaned closer, his eyes intense, voice lowering to an intimate murmur. She could see every golden thread within the amber orbs. “I need that antidote. Please.”

Caden’s mouth was dry. Her skin was cracking when she moved her face, which was disturbing until she realised it was just the dried blood flaking. She could remember a similar sensation under the burning sun that day she was tied to the pillory in Denerim. Stabbed and beaten, her old familiar adornments. One day perhaps she would learn to forget this feeling. “I don’t know if I have it.”

Zevran looked like he wanted to exclaim, but he drew in a breath instead. “May I look?”

“What?” Caden asked, her vision going grey again.

“May I search you for it?”

“I… yes,” she groaned, her back seizing again. She shut her eyes a moment, which turned into more moments. She could feel Zevran very delicately searching her pouches and pockets with his working hand. He wasn’t looking for anything untoward and his touch was almost impossible to feel against the leather. “Here.” She opened her eyes a crack, remembering all at once when Alistair gave her the knife and the bandoleer of vials. Her hand, on instinct, flew to the band stretched over her chest and with surprising deftness, flipped the catch and loosened a vial. Caden squinted at the liquid she held up to her face. It was clear. “This should be it.”

“Thank you Caden,” Zevran said, taking the vial and drinking it down without hesitation.

She must have passed out again because the next thing she knew she was on her front with her armour off and her shirt tugged down. The breeze played over her exposed skin, but it was the splash on her wound that woke her with a start. “Zevran?”

“You are all better,” he declared. “Well… mostly. You need stitches, but I lost my things in the river, so I have had to do my best with what I do have. Elfroot wash and some sap to pull the wound closed as best I can, but you should live. Hopefully.” She felt him move her shirt back into place. It was remarkable, she mused absentmindedly, that she did not feel frightened of his touch even after he admittedly tried to murder her. It was quite possible that she had already died and this was nothing but a fever dream before she departed from this mortal plane.

“Thanks,” she murmured. Her breathing was easier, but all she wanted to do was sleep.

Zevran had other ideas as she learned when he hefted her up under her arm. She groaned and turned away from the last light of the day.

“Come on Caden the Grey Warden,” Zevran said, his jollity back full force. He had his hand clamped around her arm and she was letting him support her. When he began walking she stumbled along with him. It seemed easier than arguing. “We cannot stay here.”

“Where are we going?” She mumbled. Sleep was clawing at her and threatening to take her again.

“Back to the road.” He said. “Then back to your camp and you can explain how gallantly we saved each others lives.”

“We tried to kill each other.”

“Perhaps, but it was the life saving that really set our friendship in stone, wouldn’t you say?”

Cadens tongue darted over her dry lips. “I need to find Alistair.”

“And we will.” Zevran soothed. “Once we find the road.”

“The river…?”

“Too overgrown and if I put you down to clear the way you will sleep, so we must move along the most direct path.” Zevran said. It all seemed so sensible to Cadens still muddled mind. She needed to get back to Alistair and the others. She could hardly walk unaided. Why wouldn’t she lean on this assassin to help her reach her destination. A voice deep inside had plenty to say on the matter, but she couldn’t hear it while she was busy placing one foot in front of the other.

She must have drifted off as they walked because Zevran had let her go and she almost slipped to the ground. He nudged her with his elbow and muttered: “Raise your hands.”

Dumbly, Caden lifted her wrists, arms bent at the elbow. Her hastily patched up back twisted as she put pressure on the slapdash closure of her deep wound and she sucked in her breath sharply. She looked around with bleary, sleep filmed eyes. It was dark but lights were flickering. Torches. She peered closer.

Arrows were pointing at her and Zevran, held up taut, ready to fire with one wrong step.

Caden heard voices; something from the armed and the torchbearers, then Zevran replied.

“So sorry, I do not speak your tongue.” He said, arms raised in the air in surrender. “I can offer you a conversation in Common, or perhaps Antivan? I suspect we will be better suited discussing in Common, yes?”

A woman stepped forward and the torchlight illuminated her burnished skin, picking up on small golden bands in her braided hair. Caden gazed up at this woman who was taller than her, but not by much and would come up short against most of the humans she knew. Her ears, from which dangled more golden rings, were sharply pointed, much taller and more striking than Cadens own. The realisation that these elves had to be the Dalish, that they had been speaking elvhen to them hit all at once.

“We found you,” Caden said in awe. The woman snapped her gaze to Caden.

“What business do you have here, flat-ear?” She asked harshly.

Caden frowned. “Me? But I’m an elf.” A ripple of mirth spread around the elves, but they didn’t relax their charged bows.

“We are elves.” The woman corrected. “You who live with humans might as well be one of them.”

A spark of irritation blossomed and Caden lowered her arms to glare back at the woman. “I am an elf, born and bred, and there is no need to be superior just because your ears are higher than mine.”

“Have a care, flat-ear.” The warning was low and dangerous.

“Stop calling me that,” Caden snapped, ignoring the caution.

“Please, we are very weary,” Zevran hurried to add. “My poor friend here is injured—someone stabbed her, which was terribly rude of them—and we seek medical aid for her.”

Caden stepped up to the woman, as cries of warning flared all around. The elf just folded her arms and fixed her with a supercilious look. “We are all one kind. Are you going to be difficult because you have the upper hand or are you going to help?” That seemed like the right thing to say, although she was sure she was missing something. Her back was on fire and wet at the same time, her head was spinning, but she needed the Dalish for something. Why weren’t they listening?

“Get back!” came a shout, but Caden didn’t hear it until she was on the ground. The darkness had won. Again.

“Are you awake?”

Caden's head rolled as she snapped back to consciousness. She lifted her face to find the woman; they had been only just beginning, they had more to say, but there was no-one before her. It was dark and all she could see were trees. She was sat on the ground, her hands behind her. Caden tugged, but found her hands could not move; they were bound and she was sitting up against something. A tree? Her hand brushed against something warm and soft. She felt a thumb trace over her palm.

“Who’s there?” She whispered into the darkness.

“Your best friend of course!” Zevran replied. “Not to worry though, you have been properly fixed this time.”

“What?”

“The Dalish elves, they washed your wound again and stitched you properly and even gave you a draught of restorative potion. You will live.” He said cheerily. “You know unless they decide to kill us after all.”

Caden's mind was whirring, but she found she could think clearly again. The burning of her back was gone and she felt more awake than she had in a while. “Where are we?”

“Dalish territory,” Zevran said. “We wandered into a hunting group on our search for the road and they did not take kindly to that. Then you were most aggressive until you passed out and they treated you, but I hate to tell you that they were disturbed by you. Said you were tainted, which was rather unkind I thought.”

Caden listened while twisting her wrists. If she could find a knot, perhaps she could free herself and make it back to the others. If they still lived. No, they had to live. Alistair couldn’t have been taken out by assassins; she had only struggled with Zevran because she’d been alone, she told herself. And he’d been quicker and cleverer than her. Fear gripped her, but she pushed it away. Alistair couldn’t be dead.

With his face in mind, she reached out for him, searching for those golden waves of goodness and familiarity that she associated with him. All was darkness. Her throat tightened, but she told herself quickly that it meant nothing. Just that they were too far from each other, not that he was in danger or gone. She had only been able to find him at Kinloch because they were relatively close by; who knew where she was now or what distance lay between them?

Zevrans thumb was lightly pressing against her hand, calming her movements. She thought of Alistair holding her hand the night before in the tent to comfort her into sleep and snatched it away as best she could within the constraints of the rope.

“Don’t touch me.” She hissed.

Behind the thin tree, Zevran chuckled. “Come now, we are bonded over our life and death situation.”

“No, we aren’t.” Caden retorted sharply. “You were paid to kill me.”

“I only received half the payment.” He said easily. “And I turned my back on that life when you beat me, so all’s fair.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Ah, but come on now; you said yourself that we are all one kind.”

“Shut up and leave me alone.” Caden balled her hands into fists so he couldn’t try anything and turned her head forwards. He laughed under his breath again but said nothing else for a time.

She scanned their surroundings. They were in deep woodland where the trees grew close together and the light was minimal. The moon was high and tried to pierce the thick canopy with its glow, but little made it to them. Caden couldn’t remember ever being anywhere that was so dark. She couldn’t see the Dalish hunters, not a single torch or campfire. Where were they?

Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted softly. Caden drew her feet closer to her, bending her knees up. The night air was chilly and she was only wearing her shirt above her waist. Where was her armour? She flexed her wrists again to test a theory and found her bracers were gone, too. Her legs were warmer encased in her breeches and armour, but of course, her boots were still back where she and Zevran had fought beside the river. Her hair was draped over her shoulder in the long plait that had been soaked in river water and coated in mud.

“Zevran?” She asked softly after a while. He didn’t respond immediately, which lead her to conclude that he was probably asleep, but then he stirred. She felt a shift in their bonds as he turned to her as best he could.

“Yes, Caden?”

“Why did you give up back there?” The question was quiet as if she didn’t mean to speak it out loud. “Why didn’t you fight or run?”

“Did you not see how many of the Dalish were there?” Zevran asked lightly. There was no judgement on her question that she could hear. “Sometimes you have to know when to give up without a fight. And as for running… possibly I could have gotten away, but unlikely. I made a decision to stay because these woods are unfamiliar to me, but I assume they are like home to these elves. They would have found me if I had run and that’s only if I had managed to evade the arrows that I’m sure would have caught up with me quickly. Sometimes you must back down and live to fight another day.”

“Oh,” it was all Caden could think of to say.

“Do you… have you never heard that before?” Zevran asked. “It is a well known saying I thought.”

“I’ve always fought back,” Caden said quietly. She dropped her knees to cross her legs. “I never really thought about it.”

“Sometimes fighting is the better option. You fought me and won.”

“You keep saying that,” Cadens words came out sharper than intended. “I’m only alive now because of you; either from the stabbing or the drowning. You saved me both times, so you failed your own assignment. I didn’t beat you; you saved me.”

“You bested me.” Zevran countered. “You used my own arrogance against me, though I am pained to admit it. I believed I was safe and had succeeded in my mission, but then that clever move with the knife? Inspired. You forced me to save you to save myself and now here we are.” He shook his wrists jerking her hands as he did so. “Bonded for life!”

“I just wanted to take you out with me,” Caden refuted. “There was nothing clever about it; I was desperate.”

Someone dropped down before her; Caden raised her head to the patch of darkness that was person-shaped, though she couldn’t make out any features.

“If the pair of you don’t shut up, I will punch your face in.”

“Our apologies!” Zevran called from behind. Caden just shut her mouth and glared into the night. It was unlikely anyone could see her, but it made her feel better. The rest of the night past slowly with patches of sleep here and there, with the rest of her time taken up by intermittently feeling for her Warden-Brother, and sending prayers to Andraste that he was safe.

When dawn broke the two captives were removed from their natural pillory, though their hands remained bound behind their backs. Caden was attached to Zevran by way of a rope so she was forced to walk behind him as they went, the Dalish hunters all around them.

“Where are we going?” Caden asked the nearest hunter. They just sniffed and walked on, not deigning to reply. Even Zevran didn’t seem in the mood to talk and Caden found she rather missed his incessant chatter. Caden's feet were hurting; they were cold without boots and she stumbled more than she managed to pick them up. Every root, every fern, every stone found her tender soles and she winced as she walked. It rather put her off speaking as well, but she would be damned if she asked the elves to stop. She was tired, but her mind was clearer today. She knew what she needed from the elves and even if she didn’t have the treaties, she wasn’t going to waste the opportunity of requesting aid from the clan when they reached the camp.

Caden lost track of time as they walked. Her feet became ungainly stumps as she eventually lost much of the feeling below her ankles, but she remained upright well enough. When they finally reached the camp, some children were the first to approach them, but they were shooed away by the hunters, speaking quickly in elvhen. Caden wished she knew more of the language than a hazy memory of her mother reciting a lullaby to her as a small girl. She remembered Revas and wondered what had happened to it. Was she cursed to lose every knife she was ever gifted? Maybe once they had saved her life, they were used up and discarded. She gave a quiet snort: or maybe she was still a touch feverish.

“Fetch Zathrian,” one of the hunters said and one of the older children scurried off to find whoever that was.

“Is that your hahren?” Caden turned, asking the question to whoever would answer. She wasn’t wholly surprised when no-one did.

“This one is tainted.” She heard someone remark and snapped around to find the speaker, who was nodding to her. “Stay back.”

“There’s a perfectly good explanation for that,” Caden remarked hotly. “I need to speak with your hahren.”

“Quiet!” Someone gave her a shove from behind and she stumbled, her frozen feet unable to stop her from tumbling against Zevran who held fast.

“Whoa there, Caden,” he grinned. “Save your affection for when we are alone.” Caden just glared as she righted herself.

The elves had begun to cluster around them, with some asking questions in their tongue, others choosing to speak in Common. The words all ran together, but “tainted?”; that horrified gasp rose up above all else.

“Listen,” Caden tried to pitch her tone louder than all the rest of the voices. “I am a Grey Warden. I don’t know how you can tell, but that’s why I carry the Taint. It’s normal. I need to speak to your hahren.”

“Like Tamlen?”

“Rhiannon, stay back,”

“Yes, she is tainted,”

Caden spun around slowly seeking out the newest talkers. She honed her gaze onto an elven woman who was approaching warily and Caden’s heart felt like it stopped for the longest moment. The elf walking up to her, past her kin who tried to dissuade her from getting closer to the prisoners, had the same navy eyes as Caden and they were locked onto her with a burning intensity. Her face was familiar to her, the same eyes, the same nose, a slightly fuller mouth and tanned skin adorned with ink. Her hair was a riot of dark red that flamed out around her, but to all intents and purposes, Caden felt like she might have been looking into a mirror. Someone else called to her, calling Rhiannon to cease her approach, but she didn’t stop until she was standing right before Caden.

“What’s your name?” Rhiannon asked.

“Caden Tabris.” Her throat was scratchy as she said her name, her ire oddly stilled by this stranger with her features.

“You’re Adaias daughter, aren’t you?”

Caden swallowed. “I am.”

“I thought as much.” Rhiannon planted one hand on her hip and gave a weary sigh. “You’ll want to meet my mother, Ffion.” She reached for a dagger at her hip and without heeding the protest from the hunters, sliced through the rope holding Cadens hands. “Her sister.”

Chapter Text

All we know is that would be our home

Rhiannon led Caden through the camp, the latter following behind without complaint despite her numb feet. The campsite was large and settled, the canvas buildings more structurally sound than the small tents she was used to. Elves milled about, none appearing aimless, all driven by whatever purpose Caden did not know. It reminded her of Ostagar in a way, straddling the divide between a settled town and a travelling community. As elf whose hands were piled high with bundles of gauze hurried past them, not sparing a glance for the newcomer trailing behind Rhiannon. Caden's eyes followed the journey to a large tent on the other side of camp, from which a howl of pain emerged as the elf slipped inside. Curiosity tugged at her, but she was more focused on whatever it was that Rhiannon might have to say. One thing at a time.

She was aware of Zevran trailing behind her but paid him no mind for the time being. Rhiannon had upset a few bystanders by essentially claiming the pair and releasing them from their constraints. Caden watched the voluminous red curls bounce ahead. Her mothers sisters daughter. She knew what that would make the pair, her and Rhiannon, but couldn’t quite bring herself to name the relationship forged by birth and blood. She had known her mother had had a sister, but she believed the woman to be dead. Adaia had always cried when she spoke of her beloved older sibling so her father had quietly advised young Caden not to ask questions. After her mother died she tried once to ask Cyrion about her, but he was firm in his response; the woman was dead. Had he lied to her, or was this Dalish elf with her same eyes mistaken?

They came at last to a place Rhiannon deemed to be the proper place to stop. They were on the outer edge of the camp, where a makeshift pen had been erected. Inside were some of the strangest creatures Caden had ever seen. Zevran said something in a low voice in what she assumed was Antivan, which sounded like awe. These silver horned beasts were graceful even as they walked softly across the grass and grazed. Caden couldn’t keep the smile from her face at the sight of them. Zevran came to stand beside her. “Halla,” he said quietly.

Rhiannon was speaking with the elf by the pen, then turned back to her shadows. “My mother is with Zathrian.”

“Your hahren?” Caden asked, the question still unanswered.

“Well, that’s complicated...” Rhiannon started. She gestured to a log by the pen and Caden went to sit beside her. Zevran hovered nearby, not vying for space with them, but remaining close nevertheless. It felt strangely comforting to have him near. Rhiannon sat with her legs wide, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her thighs. Caden, by comparison, sat primly, taking up far less space. “Zathrian is the hahren of this clan, but my mother and I belonged to a separate clan until recently. We were heading north after getting into some trouble.” Her eyes were distant, gazing at the swaying grass without seeing it. “Someone died. It wasn’t good. North proved to be dangerous; we were camping near a human town when we were overcome by darkspawn. A small group compared to the great mass that was encamped in that town, but enough to decimate our clan. Our Keeper died, as did our First. My mother was able to rally our survivors into retreating south and we found Zathrians clan. He was eager for us to join up they have had troubles themselves that have lead to deaths.” She glanced up over at the large tent that Caden had pegged as some sort of healers tent. “I guess it’s a win-win situation, but it’s strange. Zathrian won’t go into details as to what's going on. That’s what my mother is talking with him about now.”

“Is she your hahren now?”

“Someone had to step up.” Rhiannon shrugged.

“This town,” Caden asked, a sick feeling overtaking her and forcing her to ask instead of diving straight into their potential family lines. “Was it called Lothering?”

“I’ve no idea,” Rhiannon replied. “I don’t put much stock in human places. It was on a river and it was pretty much only holding darkspawn. I didn’t actually see any humans.”

Caden looked down at her hands. She had evacuated Lothering, it was because of her the darkspawn had not remained inside the town boundary, why they had ventured out in search of food and found the Dalish. At least that was what her mind presented to her as the reason. Guilt wove a tapestry inside her. More blood on her hands, possibly blood she had a connection to. With the heavy feeling in her belly, she drove forward with the hard questions. “I believed my aunt was dead.”

Rhiannon stole a glance her way. Caden met her eyes with a fearful twinge as if it were rude to present this to her.

“She’s not dead.” Rhiannon just said.

“I guess not.” Caden agreed, stilted. She didn’t really know what to say next.

“Yours is though.” It wasn’t a question.

“How did you know that?”

“Valendrian wrote,” Rhiannon said. Hearing the name of her hahren from this strangers mouth was just as jarring as her already knowing of Adaias fate. “Told us what happened. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Caden's fingers found her ring and began to twist it on her finger. Around and around instead of looking up again. “It was years ago. I’m sorry I didn’t know about you.”

“It’s alright,” Rhiannon said, reaching over and clapping a firm, calloused hand on Cadens shoulder. “We’ve met now, cousin and I am glad of that.”

They sat in silence for a time. One of the creatures in the paddock wandered over and Zevran amused himself by holding out a palm for it to sniff. At a loss for words, Caden merely watched the sun play on her ring. Rhiannon, seeming unnerved by the stretch of quiet, waved a finger to the band. “You are wedded?”

Caden flinched and clenched her fist. “Er… no, not exactly. I… he died before I could marry him.” The truth slipped out of her like liquid from a bottle with a loose cork. She fumbled to replace the stopper. “I don’t know why I’m still wearing it.” She slid it off as if to prove the point. Was it her attempt to explain it to Alistair at Redcliffe that had prevented her automatic reaction being to lie and say she was married? Thinking of Alistair gripped her belly with fear. “Listen, I really need to get back to my friends; I need to make sure they’re alright. Will the hahrens be long, do you think? I have to speak to them as well before I depart.”

“There is no great rush to leave is there?” Rhiannon asked, hopefulness lightening her tone. “We have only just met after all.”

Caden was too shocked to answer at first. “I… no, I need to get back to my friends as soon as I can.”

A flash of disappointment crossed Rhiannon's face, but she hid it quickly. Caden looked away, surprised by the dismay she had caused Rhiannon. What did she care about Caden staying or going—they didn’t know each other. Even if it were true and they were kin, they had never met and might not have anything in common. Caden moved to put the ring back on, but after a moments hesitation, she found herself sliding it onto the ring finger on her right hand.

“I’m sorry for the loss of your betrothed,” Rhiannon said dully. “My beloved also died recently. It was he who died before our clan moved north.”

Caden winced inwardly. Of all the similarities between the two women, this sat uneasily with her. Nelaros was never her love, but Rhiannon had lost someone she truly cared for. “I’m so sorry.” Caden managed at a whisper.

Rhiannon gave a half shrug in response and stood, crossing over to stand by the pen and fuss one of the creatures. Zevran struck up a conversation with her about the beasts, which Caden heard were called Halla, and Caden didn’t join in. She had dreamed for so long about meeting the actual Dalish, that they existed and would welcome her with open arms. Now she was here under strange circumstances, more happenstance than anything else, she only wanted to get their agreement to ally with her cause and get away as quickly as possible. She didn’t want to know the apparent family she had found. That had never been part of her plan.

After a short while in which Caden acted as if she weren’t there, a young elf in hunting garb appeared and spoke with Rhiannon in their foreign tongue. Caden rose slowly, half tempted to throw out the few words she knew in elvhen if just to prove she wasn’t entirely ignorant of the language when she knew she truly was. Her cheeks flamed; it wasn’t fair that they all knew the old words and she, the flat-ear, knew so little. Children's rhymes, that was her sum experience of elvhen.

Rhiannon jerked her head at Caden and Zevran. “Come along. They are ready for us.”

The tent was wide and inside stood a bald elf man wearing robes and leaning on an elegant staff and a woman who turned and blanched as she clapped eyes on Caden. For her part, Caden felt very small coming up alongside this woman who resembled Adaia so strongly. The lingering small doubts she still had fled at seeing this woman. They were surely kin.

“I see her in you,” the woman, Ffion Caden presumed, breathed. “My Adaia.”

Caden stood very still, wary of these people and their connection to her, their private memories of Adaia. She was almost afraid to approach Ffion but she couldn’t place why. Whether she was afraid of being pulled into an embrace or the lack of touch she might receive she wasn’t sure, but she remained where she stood. Zevran came up alongside her.

The man stepped closer into the lantern light.

“Andaran atish’an, young one,” he said with a nod and a hand on his chest. “I am Zathrian, the hahren of this tribe.”

The gesture and tone served better than his words, of which she only understood the Common speech he used. “Greetings to you both,” she said, her throat dry, making her words stiff.

“I understand you bear the Taint?” Zathrian asked, moving swiftly onto business. Caden almost sighed in relief.

“Yes, but I can explain that,” she said, holding up a hand as if better to pause their potential speculation. “My name is Caden Tabris and I am a Grey Warden. One of the last in Ferelden, in fact. Carrying the Taint is part of the deal, so I’m quite safe.”

“Not like Tamlen?” Caden half-turned back to Rhiannon but saw she was not looking at her for an answer. Her mother shook her head.

“Tamlens Taint sickness was… unique.” Ffion replied sadly.

“So, she won’t…?” Rhiannon looked to Caden now, her brows coming together in concern.

“No, ma vhenan,” Ffion said. Rhiannon nodded again, wrapping her arms around herself.

Caden turned back to the dual hahrens. “I stumbled upon your camp by accident. I was travelling to Denerim with my party and my fellow Warden and along the way Zevran and I were separated from the group. We are quite lost now and I’m glad in a way that I’ve found you because we have to speak with you, but I really need to know how the rest of my party are. Have your hunters any news for me?” She glanced from Zathrian to Ffion, her stomach dropping again when she looked into her aunts face. “They are a group of seven, plus a mabari. One of them is an elf and they are driving a wagon.”

Zathrian beckoned over one of the armoured guards and spoke in a low voice with them. They then left the tent. “I have asked for news to be brought here at once. What else did you want to discuss?”

“Well,” Caden faltered. She didn’t have the treaties with her. “In my understanding in ancient times there were documents signed by your predecessors with mine related to offering aid during times of great need. The Blight is upon us and the attempt to stop it at Ostagar failed, removing the king of Ferelden and most of the Grey Wardens, along with a vast army. As such, those old promises need to be called in. The last Wardens of Ferelden call to the Dalish for aid in the upcoming battle against the darkspawn. It is the only way to stop the Blight.”

“I know of what you speak,” Zathrian said slowly. “Those treaties are indeed long-lived, signed many centuries ago.” He sighed and shifted his weight, gaze rolling down to Cadens face with sorrow on his face. “I would dearly love to provide the aid you seek, but my clan is troubled, as is the clan we have joined with.” He looked to Ffion who nodded.

“It is true,” she said. “Our clan was hurt some time ago when some of our hunters stumbled upon an artefact of great malice.”

“She’s talking about Tamlen and me,” Rhiannon spoke up suddenly. Caden turned around. Rhiannon's eyes were distant, her words fast and thin. “We found something in the forest and it hurt Tamlen. It hurt Tamlen and we moved north and then we were beset by darkspawn and then when we retreated south again Tamlen found us.” Tears welled in Rhiannon's eyes, but she made no indication of having noticed. “He wasn’t Tamlen anymore, not really, except he was. Deep down he knew he wasn’t right and he asked—he begged me to help him.”

Ffion crossed the tent to stand by her daughter, pressing her palm to her shoulder. A gesture of quiet concern.

Caden glanced at Zevran who was looking at the floor looking mildly embarrassed to be there. “I’m sorry, Rhiannon.”

Ffion offered her a sad smile. “These are troubled times. For all of us. Clan Sabrae would stand with you but as it is we are not a force alone. We could get the word out to the other clans, let them know the call has been sounded, but that is the best we can do at this point.”

“If you would, please,” Caden said. It was something.

“Perhaps my clan might be of more use if you were able to help us with our problem,” Zathrian said. His hand brushed his chin as he thought it over. “You have walked through the camp, seen the injured tent?”

“Yes.”

“We came to this forest not long ago, a usual stop on our route through the lands, but this time was different. This time,” he said in a haunted voice, “the werewolves were waiting for us.”

Caden stole a brief glance at Zevran again, who was raising his head with interest.

“I lead my clan into a battle that we were not prepared for. No,” he corrected. “An ambush. Many of my folk were injured gravely; I fear we can keep them alive, but eventually, we will need to end them to prevent them from fulfilling their eventual fate of becoming the very beasts who harmed them.”

“I thought…” Caden hesitated, hoping to avoid offending them. “I always assumed werebeasts were a fairy story.”

“Would that were true,” Zathrian said, seemingly not bothered by her question. “Alas, I can assure you they are very real.”

“Why did they attack you?”

“Werewolves are not unlike their non-magic brethren,” Zathrian explained. “They fight and feed. The ambush concerned me, however; I have never known the like of these beasts to have the forethought necessary for planning and executing such an attack. I wonder… the affliction causes a great deal of pain for the infected. Perhaps the are preternaturally imbued with a rage that drives them to kill and maim with malice?”

Caden took a deep breath as she took it all in. This sounded familiar to her, normal people otherwise possessed by something that turned them into killers. She wished Wynne were around so that she might ask her about the connection between this and mages possessed by demons. “What can be done to help your clan?”

Zathrian’s eyes gleamed at her question. “Deep within the most inner reaches of this forest is a great, old wolf that we call Witherfang. I believe that the power of metamorphosis derives from him and should you face him and kill him, retrieving his heart for me I can use it to create a potion to cure my clan. I think that removing Witherfang from the forest can remove the curse itself. I cannot spare my clansmen for this task. It will be very dangerous.”

Caden let that sink in, his words permeating her thoughts. None of this was helping to stop her from thinking of the werewolves as fairytale creatures. She was certain she had been read a story in which a heart and a wolf featured prominently. What was it about stories that gave such power to a heart of all things? Her own thumped sadly in her chest. She wanted to help them, but she needed to find Alistair and the others. What would he have done in her place, she wondered.

The tent was disturbed briefly by the entry of a hunter, not one Caden recognised from the group who had brought her in. The elf crossed the floor and headed for Zathrian, relaying his news quickly and quietly.

“It seems we have sighted your party,” Zathrian explained. Caden's pulse leapt. “A wagon was seen on the road heading east.”

“That’s the route we were on.” Caden agreed.

“This morning.” Zathrian clarified. “They were leaving easterly this morning.”

“Oh,” Caden said. Then: “Are you sure this was my group?”

“A wagon pulled by two horses, one blue-grey, one red with an overly large fellow walking behind.” Zathrian translated after asking the hunter for more information. “They left behind a scene of carnage with a pile of the dead.”

Caden looked to Zevran.

“Could be your friends,” he said. “I envision those dead are Crows. Looks like you bested all of us.”

A strange pang of guilt twitched at Cadens gut. “I’m sorry, Zevran.”

“We all danced our best,” Zevran said easily. “You all danced better.”

Caden nodded. She looked at the hunter who had yet to speak in Common, but asked him anyway: “are you sure of what you saw?” He nodded. “I see. They left then.”

It was a strange concept to feel abandoned at this moment. She had two members of her own family with her, but she felt oddly as if her home was travelling further away without her. It made sense, not that they felt like home, but that the group had decided to head-on. They had their mission and her final orders had been to go to Denerim. They had to track down the Sacred Ashes for Eamon. Alistair needed him alive and well, they all did. She wasn’t upset. She couldn’t be.

Caden swallowed. “Alright then Zathrian. I guess I’m going into the forest.”

“You and me both.” Zevran amended. “I did swear to accompany you.”

“And me.” Rhiannon stepped out of her mothers reach. Her dark blue eyes were determined in a manner Caden imagined others had seen before, but it was new to her. “I want to help.”

“Rhian—”

“Mamae, please.” It was a statement, not a request for permission. “I need to stay with my cousin.”

“Very well,” Zathrian said, eagerness creeping into his tone. “Come with me and have a meal, Warden Tabris, you look famished. We shall discuss the plan for the slaying of Witherfang over an early lunch.”

*

Kitted out in a new set of armour, donated by the Dalish, Caden lead Zevran and Rhiannon into the forest. Zathrian had given them a brief outline of the route they should take, following along the usual travel paths the clan ordinarily took through the Brecilian forest during times when werewolves did not bar their travel. Rhiannon was as unfamiliar with this stretch of woodland as the other two, her clan often choosing a less direct path through the trees, so it was up to Caden.

Zevran was also dressed in new armour, his having been somewhat wrecked by the rocks and debris in the river. It was a marvel to Caden that he had managed to not only survive the deadly current but keep her with him and alive as well. As they walked in silence she considered asking him about it, but it was Rhiannon who broke first.

“How did you come to be a Grey Warden?”

Caden chewed her lip before replying. To give the whole truth or pieces as she normally did, that was the question. The woods were quiet and still as if these three were the only elves in the world at that moment. “The Grey Warden commander was visiting the Alienage on a day that happened to coincide with my nuptials.” She began. She kept her eyes forward and didn’t look back as she walked and talked. “The ceremony was interrupted by the son of the Arl of Denerim, the city I grew up in. He was a bad man. A… a very bad man. My cousin Shianni, a cousin I grew up with that is, she was his favourite and I thought I could prevent her from being taken if I offered up myself instead. He took me, but he took her as well.” The words were taking shape much easier than she would have expected them to. No-one could look her in the eye like this, they only had to listen and she only had to recount the tale. It was straightforward imagining that the wind was stealing her words and spooling them out behind her like a ribbon. “We both knew what this man did to girls like us and I wasn’t prepared to stand by and let it happen. Through some trickery, I obtained a sword and some keys and I managed to get Shianni to the doors. My fiance… Nelaros… he came to help us. He was the only one who did.” A pain she hadn’t fully realised began to crack in her chest, easing her breathing as she let this out. “He was killed. He was no fighter, but he gave his life to help us. I got Shianni out and in my desperation and… hubris, I carried on through the estate. I wanted to kill the man who haunted us all those years and I did, but not without a fight. He was better than me and he overpowered me.” She wet her lips. This was the hard part. “He was on top of me and he tried— I didn’t let him, but he tried…”

“I think we understand,” Zevran said softly from her left shoulder. Rhiannon's hand clasped her on the right. “You don’t have to say it outright.”

“I need to,” Caden said boldly. Her stomach was settled for the moment and she lurched forward. “He intended to rape me and then kill me. I killed him first.”

“Good.” Rhiannon approved darkly. “Fucking Shemlen, tel’abelas. I’m glad he’s dead.”

“Me, too,” Caden said. “Though it would have gotten me killed as well; I was arrested with blood on my hands and the fresh body at my feet, so it was unlikely I would have gotten away with it. I didn’t care, but then Valendrian and Duncan, the Warden Commander, they conspired to give me another chance. Duncan conscripted me into the Wardens and took me to Ostagar. I hated him for it, hated them both.” Caden bravely glanced at Rhiannon. “I felt like I’d been stolen from everything and everyone I knew and thrown headfirst into this world I knew nothing about. Now Alistair and I are all that’s left of the Wardens and the fate of Ferelden is in our hands.”

“Such small hands for such a large task,” Zevran said, with a quirk in his lips. “I’m glad you have survived so far, no matter what has been thrown your way.”

Caden threw a shaky smirk back to him. “Alistair once likened me to cat. Something about having more than my regular share of lives, but maybe he has a point. I just can’t run out until this job is done. I have to see it through.”

“I am glad to be with you in this small way,” Rhiannon said. “Both of us have tragedy in our pasts, but I am glad to be with you now.”

Caden nodded, a lump in her throat. She recalled her realisation that she had been the one to prevent a friendship blossoming with Alistair and had resisted his attempts early on. She was the monster and she could do better now. It was far nicer to have people around her, she had learned now that she was apart from them again, and she knew she could open up to her kin at least. “I’m sorry I never knew about you.”

“My mother understood,” Rhiannon said with a shrug. “Nobody wanted her to leave the Alienage either, but she was convinced the Dalish existed and would find a place for her. She had a terrible time in Denerim as well.” Her dark eyes were hooded when she spoke. “I am half elvish.” She said after a moment. “My mother was like your Shianni; the favourite of the Arl. She did not have anyone to help her like you did, Caden.”

Caden stopped dead. “What are you saying?”

Rhiannon raised her gaze to meet Cadens straight on. “My mother was taken to the estate and there he took what he wanted. When she found she was pregnant with me, she fled. It was that she said, which finally spurred her into getting out of the Alienage. She said she hated to leave your mother, but she had met your father then and mamae didn’t want to split them up.”

“I’m… Rhiannon, I’m so sorry,” Caden said, her arms reaching out and drawing her into an embrace before she realised what she was doing. Enveloping her cousin in her arms, she let the horror of her story wash over her. It wasn’t news: this happened all the time with humans taking the women against their will. It had almost happened to her and Shianni. This wasn’t news, but this was devastating.

Rhiannon took the hug and held her tightly. When they broke apart Caden didn’t know who moved first. “He’s dead,” Caden said, gripping her cousins forearms, reluctant to let go completely without finishing the tale with her information. “Arl Urien. He died at Ostagar.”

“Good,” Rhiannon said in much the same tone as she had spoken of her gladness at hearing Vaughan was killed. “Good riddance to the pair of them.”

*

It was almost nightfall when they met the first person other than themselves who was in the forest. Something shivered down Cadens spine before she realised what she could hear; crying. Not weeping, but howling and sobbing. It didn’t sound like danger and before she knew what she was doing she was off the narrow path, forged by wildlife, and through the underbrush. She heard the others follow without question towards the sound. As they drew closer it was clear that this was a child.

A small elvhen boy was knelt in a ball beside the body of a woman, a basket of herbs scattered all around the pair. The woman’s neck was bent at an angle, a small spatter of dried blood at her mouth. Rhiannon breathed a curse beside her. Caden stepped forward.

“Hello boy,” she tried to keep her tone soothing. He startled and glanced up at her, his face pale. “What are you doing so far out here?”

Rhiannon peered down closer to the woman as Zevran lit a torch to cast better light for them. “Oh, Bronwen,” she murmured, brushing her hand over the woman's eyes to close the staring dull orbs. “She’s part of our clan.”

“Is that your mother?” Caden asked of the boy. He nodded mutely. “I’m so sorry. You can’t be out here though, it’s not safe and it’s almost nighttime.”

“I don’t know the way.” He said quietly.

“Back to camp?” A nod. Caden mused for a moment. They couldn’t leave him out here all alone. They couldn’t easily send him back alone, not at night. Not with werewolves on the prowl. They had to get to Witherfang and retrieve the heart, but… the boy gave a loud sniff and a small sob slipped from him. Caden knew she had no choice. “What’s your name?”

“Bryn.”

“My name is Caden.” She introduced herself. “I’m a Grey Warden and these are my friends, Rhiannon and Zevran. We’re going to take you back to camp.”

Standing she offered her new friend a hand to hold and he only hesitated a moment before slipping his cold hand into hers. Rhiannon had gathered the spilled herbs so as not to waste them while Zevran had hastily gathered what rocks he could find to surround the woman. Neither she nor Zevran made a noise of dissent or stopped to question her decision. That was a novelty, but one Caden was glad for at this moment. There was no way on Thedas she would ever leave a small child alone to fend for himself in the middle of a forest of wild beasts. She would have liked to think that none of her former companions would have argued, though perhaps Sten or Morrigan would have had something to say. Even if Alistair had protested he would have come around. He was just as tender towards the plight of children as she was, even if he didn’t think he was.

There was nothing to be done about the body of Bronwen. They could have raised a pyre and set her alight, but that seemed like a lengthy process and there was no guarantee Bryn wouldn’t baulk at the finality of that disposal of his mothers body. They would have to send hunters to retrieve her body the next day and hope the wild animals were dissuaded by the rough cairn Zevran had constructed. He had managed to find enough to cover her, although he’d had to resort to branches and sticks by the end. It would have to do.

They hadn’t gone more than ten steps away from the body before Caden felt a prickle on the back of her neck that told her they were being watched. She gathered Bryn closer and peered into the gloom. One pair of glowing eyes stared back. Another blinked into view. Another and another and another. Caden stopped and glanced around; they were surrounded. Zevran and Rhiannon stepped up to encircle Bryn, Zevran holding up his torch and reaching for a dagger, Rhiannon quietly drawing her bow and reaching for an arrow.

The eyes were too high up for wolves. Regular wolves would have been waist height, but these eyes glared down from the height Alistair was. They reflected the moonlight and shining through was a greater than animal intelligence and anger. There was definitely anger. Her skin raised in goosebumps as the growling began and rippled around the group. Bryn made a tiny gasping noise and Caden made a snap decision.

“Are you the werewolves of the forest?” Her voice was clear, by her eyes darted from one pair to another, never landing too long. “We have been seeking you out, but we are leaving the forest for tonight. We have a small child to return home.” The growling was quiet, but still present. None of them moved closer, but neither did they retreat. “I have been lead to believe that you are intelligent. Can I trust you to allow us to pass you unharmed?”

A shift and she glanced to the left where a hulking great wolf walked closer, the light from the flames dancing over his chiselled chest and the teeth in his mouth. He was upright, walking on his hind legs, with two more legs swinging either side looking more like arms that ended in vicious looking claws. Caden swallowed. For all of Zathrians words, she had forgotten to ask what they would look like and this wolf seemed to have stepped straight out of a nightmare. He stepped up to Caden who craned her neck back to keep him in view.

“You do not know of what you speak,” he said. His words were guttural, oddly formed from the mouth of a wolf and his breath smelled like blood. “We are no mindless beasts.”

“You talk?” Caden replied bluntly. He moved down bringing his face closer to hers and snorting.

“We talk.” He said. “We plan. We attack. Let that thought chill you.”

Caden had not expected the wolves to answer her when she had begun talking. At best she had hoped that they would understand mercy at least and stand aside. She wasn’t sure if this was an improvement or not. “I was told of you and your kin. I was advised that you are clever; elves under a curse. I had no idea just how civilised you were; can I count on your kindness to allow us to pass?”

“Who spoke of us?” The werewolf snarled. “Zathrian?”

“Yes,” Caden admitted. “He wants us to end your curse for you.”

“Bah!” The wolf spat. His brethren joined in the grunts and barks of disgust. Caden gripped Bryn so tightly she would have expected him to yelp if he weren’t so terrified. The wolf calmed himself. “You speak with Swiftrunner. I lead my brothers and sisters and we know of Zathrian. You may leave this forest with the pup, but do not return. Tell the elves you have failed to slay us.”

He stepped back granting them passage. Caden let out a shaky breath, but with one step she found herself turning back and stopping. “We have not been sent to harm you. We have been tasked with helping you.”

“Then you have not been sent by Zathrian.” Swiftrunner sneered. “He only ever wishes our destruction. He may wish to help his own, but to us, he desires only pain and death. Now go, before I forget how civilised I can be.”

“Caden, come on.” Zevran, sensing her reluctance, dropped his voice to beseech her. “Now is not the time.”

“I will return,” Caden promised. “I hope we can speak again, Swiftrunner.”

“Return to this forest and I will personally end you, elf.”

Chapter Text

In silence, we pass

The flurry of black feathers dissipated and Morrigan walked out of the treeline towards him. “Well?”

“We have found the Dalish,” Morrigan replied coolly, turning to look back with one hand on her hip. “Or rather, they have found us.”

Alistair started as from the gloom and greenery emerged the silver glint of arrows. He held up a hand. “Please, we mean you no harm.”

*

Tracking Caden had proved to be a near-impossible task, but Alistair took it as a sign of loyalty towards their lost companion that Leliana and Eliza pressed on without complaint. Morrigan being a crow for much of the start of the search probably had much to say, but was unable to, and that was also a source of comfort to Alistair. He knew in his heart that no matter how dire the situation he had to try to find her. The possibility of not finding Caden was not something he was prepared to entertain, neither did he want to concern himself with the chance of only finding a sorry drowned body at the end of the trail. He couldn’t think like that, because to imagine that would have brought him to his knees.

Caden was alive. She was alive despite all the odds because she always beat them. She had survived a man who wanted her dead, escaped execution, made it through Ostagar despite her injuries at the Tower of Ishal, fought her way to Lothering and Redcliffe, outlasted the undead, a house fire and her first foray into open water, survived blood magic, demons and abominations. If he was being generous he counted a minimum of five times where she had skirted death by the smallest of margins; this would not be the end of his friend. Could not be.

The trail was easy enough to track along the river, insofar as they just followed the ribbon of water rushing through the landscape. The banks were high and overgrown, which slowed them down. Even Rosa struggled to make it through. Alistair used his shield to flatten the brush at first, but soon it became an overgrown thicket of thorns. Leliana muttered something about the berries being introduced and running rampant, but Alistair's focus was on getting over them if he couldn’t get through. He was clad in metal armour which made him extremely un-agile but protected him for the most part against the sharp claws of the thorns, but Eliza was suffering and even Leliana struggled to fight against them. The thicket grew taller than him, but by that time Alistair had drawn his sword and was slashing at the thicket with abandon, sending offcuts and tangled twigs flying into the river beside them. It was loud, incredibly loud by the current, crashing over stones and then the roar deepened and Alistair realised he was stood beside a waterfall. His stomach dropped as if it were going over with the water.

“Morrigan!” He called over the cacophony. He spied her at the bank below him; the ground veered sharply downward, though not as steeply as the sudden drop for the waterfall. She was back to her human form and she looked up at him. “Any sign?” He yelled through the brambles.

She nodded her head but did not shout back and his pulse shuddered through him. Was that good or bad that she wasn’t reporting back her findings right away? Rosa yelped as Alistair lurched to action, pressing through the thicket with greater fervour. He didn’t feel the moments the thorns caught the skin on his face and held on tight, he only felt the cold sting once he was through. The earth was loose here, stony and crumbling and his clumsy footing was his undoing; Alistair slid, dropping his sword and shield on the way as he tumbled shoulder to hip to backside to eventually land on his stomach in the muddy bank below.

Morrigan stepped over him to stand by the incline to conjure a gust of wind that blew aside the brambles he had cut, allowing the mabari, the elf and the bard to carefully make their way through the thicket and skid slowly down the bank without injury. Alistair did not complain as he pulled himself free of the mud, pulling off one armoured gauntlet to smear the back of his hand across his face. It came away a red and brown, the blood and dirt mingling. His back spasmed as he straightened up, but he quashed it.

“Morrigan, what did you find?” In the early evening light, he squinted towards a small shallow bay where rocks and logs had been swept by a smaller current. Leather armour, yellow hair, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for or hoping to find there.

Morrigan slipped past him and crouched. Alistair followed her at a distance. “Here. What do you see?”

“I don’t want a test, I want ans—” he began, frustration bubbling over but Leliana went to see what Morrigan saw.

“Drag marks.” She assessed quickly. Her neck turned as she tracked the disturbed ground. “Into the forest.”

“What does that mean?” Eliza asked, casting flames onto a torch and offering it to Leliana.

“It means she wasn’t alone,” Leliana said. “Someone pulled her out of the river.”

“Or she pulled them out.” Alistair offered. Morrigan glanced up at him, her features hooded in the dancing flames.

“Perhaps,” Morrigan said. “She does have a habit of saving the most undesirable of folk.”

“It is possible, but I feel the likelihood is greater that she was the one dragged from the river,” Leliana said, standing. “She was unarmoured and at a disadvantage being a non-swimmer. I suspect she was gravely injured and for whatever reason, the person she fought back at our camp chose to save her rather than leave her.”

Alistair swallowed hard. “Mercy from an assassin?”

The look Leliana fixed him with chilled him into silence. “It has been known to happen.”

Eliza came and looked at the marks though Alistair could see on her face that she didn't know what she was looking at. “I don’t understand any of this.”

“We don’t need to understand it,” Morrigan said, “but the probability of finding the Warden alive have just risen.”

“Do you think so?” Eliza asked, her eyes open with hope.

“Yes, but don’t get your hopes up,” Morrigan responded. “The assassin probably wanted to torture her if he didn’t let her drown.”

Or Loghain wanted her alive, Alistair couldn’t stop the thought from building from Morrigans dour assessment and twisting the knife further. He turned and retrieved his sword and shield which were still laying haphazardly along the route he had fallen, and stalked into the forest. “Leliana, Morrigan, in front. We have to find her.”

*

The Dalish marched the small group into their camp just after nightfall. It was an uncomfortable walk; the elves had divested Alistair and Leliana of their weapons before walking them to their camp. They weren’t overtly hostile, beyond the initial nocked arrows aimed at the small group and removing their weapons, but it still felt strange to be surrounded by armed people who walked across the forest floor so silently. Not entirely unlike the ambush of assassins, they had fought. Alistair kept his breathing as calm as possible and was grateful for the dog who walked so close beside him.

He had never met anyone from the Dalish community before and was struck by the difference in the appearance of these elves to the ones he knew. Inked faces, longer ears and a far more assertive demeanour were the biggest standout comparisons with these elves and the servant classes back home. Even Caden seemed a world away from these elves.

The camp was large and fit in with the landscape so well that it looked as if the trees had grown up around the tents and caravans and it took some doing on Alistair's part to remind himself that it had been the other way around, with the travellers utilising the available space in keeping with the forest. Fires burned in at least three places by Alistair's count, all large in clearings away from the trees and the tents, with elves sitting around them. Many of them sent stares his way as Alistair and his group walked through with the hunters around them. His skin prickled with the uneasy sensation of so many eyes on him.

Eventually, they were lead to a tent and directed inside where an elf turned to watch them enter, his face giving nothing away as to his opinion on this strangers in the camp, but as they reached him Alistair saw a twitch in his brow. “Greetings travellers.” He said. “My name is Zathrian, the hahren of this clan. I understand you are another Grey Warden?”

“Another?” It was that word that Alistair latched onto at once. “You’ve met another Warden? Recently?”

“Yes, Warden Tabris came through here,” Zathrian replied.

Alistair took a moment before he responded; the relief at knowing that Caden had been alive and able to introduce herself was too much to bear. The juddering of his heartbeat, the sudden feeling of not being able to take in enough air. He took the physical sensation of his immense comfort gladly. “Thank the Maker,” he murmured. “We have been searching for her, can you tell me where she is?”

Zathrian looked apologetic. “You have missed her I’m afraid. She and her companions have travelled deep into the forest at my request.”

“Companions?” Alistair asked, but Morrigan was the one who got Zathrians attention.

“What exactly did you ask her to do?” The witch’s eyes were narrow as she took in the elf.

“We have been plagued by a great curse which has transformed many of our clans kin into beasts,” Zathrian said plainly. “She has gone to break that curse.”

“Just how dangerous is this task?” Leliana asked pointedly.

“How can the curse be broken?” That came from Morrigan, standing with her arms crossed before her. “What exactly does she need to do?”

“What state was Caden in? Was she well enough to attempt this?” Eliza’s face was drawn.

“And she didn’t go alone?” Alistair wanted to know. “Who went with her?”

Zathrian didn’t seem perturbed by the barrage of questions. He let them wash over him and the mildly stated: “She was quite well and not alone or unarmed; we allowed to full access to our finest armour and weapons. One of our own accompanied her and while the task will not be easy, she had every confidence in her ability to complete it. Now, it is very late and the camp will be turning it and posting a watch within the hour. You are all welcome to bed down for the night and we can discuss this further in the morning.” Zathrian started to walk out of the tent, pausing to glance at Alistair before he left. “I would not recommend going into the forest while the moon is high.”

*

Bryn had fallen asleep in Zevrans arms, transferred to him when Cadens had begun to ache at carrying the dead weight of the boy, by the time they reached the camp again. Caden couldn't stop her insides from warring over whether she had made the right call or not. As much as she knew she couldn’t have left a child alone in werewolf territory beside his dead mother, they were wasting valuable time. And yet, if she was truly on her own here, if the others were still en route to Denerim, perhaps she had more time than she knew. Perhaps she could even take the time to speak with Zathrian again before heading back out.

The night was dark and the camp was silent but watchful; an elf hunter sighted the small group from a distance and allowed them through, watching the path behind them. Caden was certain the werewolves had let them pass without sending a tail after them, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious and the elves checking behind them served to comfort her.

Rhiannon directed them to the canvas home of her and her mother, pushing inside with a whispered call. Ffion roused at once, hurrying over to them, and spotting the boy once she was able to cast light with a lantern.

“Oh my,” she breathed as her daughter relayed what they had found. Ffions eyes were soft and she directed Zevran over to a small pallet to lay Bryn down and tuck him in.

“Are you exhausted or should I put some tea on?” She asked once she was sure the boy was deeply asleep.

Zevran looked to Caden, who hesitated over the offer. They probably ought to have slept, but Caden knew she was risking nightmares if she succumbed.

“I could go for some tea if it’s really no trouble?” Caden asked, hating that she was putting Ffion out at this late hour. Ffion seemed unconcerned and busied herself with the tea, for which Caden learned wincing, she needed to go outside to acquire some boiled water. She took Rhiannon with her, each carrying two clay mugs.

Caden let out a breath and wrapped her arms around herself. Zevran cocked his head as he took her in. Noticing the question in his eyes, Caden shrugged. “You go to sleep if you’re tired. I don’t feel like sleeping yet.”

“Because you are so thirsty for tea?”

Caden sighed. “I… I have nightmares. Almost every night and I’m not quite ready for everyone to see me lose it in my sleep.”

Zevran walked across the small space and came to a stop beside her, reaching over to touch her arm. She let him. “From what you told us you probably have a lot to think about when you sleep. It can be difficult to rest when you have a past filled with tragedy.” Zevran spoke with sombre tones, but broke into a smile at the end, back to what Caden had quickly learned was his usual demeanour. “Tea might be nice, but I know some other ways to keep sleep at bay, methods that will make you sleep the sound, secure sleep of the deeply satisfied.” His eyebrows waggled and he chuckled as he spoke. Caden rolled her eyes; she had been propositioned like this before, Bann Teagan coming to mind, but she knew deep down that Zevran wasn’t a threat to her. This was a joke, or if it was serious, it wasn’t the kind of request that demanded acquiescence. Somehow Caden had the sense that Zevran would listen to her if she asked him to stop. She couldn’t explain it and there was a small voice inside her that was quite angry with her for trusting him, but she couldn’t help it.

“No thank you,” she responded after a moment. Zevran grinned.

“I am hardly shocked.” He admitted easily. “I was speaking mostly in jest, though if you ever change your mind…”

“I won’t.” She asserted firmly. “You won’t find me half as appealing if I wake you up screaming later.”

“No, but perhaps I shall tell you I told you so because my way would have the screaming completed before sleep.” He gave an exaggerated wink, apparently eager to make her smile. “The good kind of screaming that is. The kind we all wish to experience once in a while.”

Caden snorted and clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes going to the sleeping child. She’d forgotten they had an albeit dead-to-the-world one. “Zevran,” she whispered. “Behave yourself.”

“If you insist,” Zevran replied. Then after a moment, he added: “In all seriousness, Caden, should you require anything from me to help keep your bad dreams away, you only have to ask.”

Caden considered him. He seemed to be genuine with his affection and his offer, and it seemed so odd to her to find someone like him. Particularly given their first meeting and almost demise at each other's hands; the fact that she didn’t want to send him away and not only tolerated his presence, but actually enjoyed his company, shook her to her core. There was something about this charming elf that warmed her to him and was a welcome change to her hostility towards almost everyone she had encountered since her wedding day. Part of her felt lightened to be near him, a hopeful flame flickering to life inside her that she hadn’t realised she had lost since that day at the Alienage. Perhaps she wasn’t broken beyond repair by what had happened, perhaps she could be a kind and warm person again, and forge new connections.

Something like guilt gnawed at her, in her belly below the warmth of her renewed hope. She had chosen to be difficult and abrasive and at times even cruel. Chosen that as a way to protect herself from the bad things that had happened to her.

She missed Alistair. That pang resonated within her as her aunt and cousin returned to the tent with steaming mugs of soothing, herby tea. Caden took hers and gripped it with both hands, feeling the warmth spread over her sudden chill. She missed him on this night. She blew on the hot drink and sent out a small prayer into the night air that wherever he was, he was well.

*

Muttering and whispering followed him as Alistair walked across the camp towards the smell of food. The same fires that had been burning on their arrival were low now, but still producing the heat required to cook breakfast. In a large pot bubbled some sort of grain that an older elf woman was pouring milk into. She had a paddle to stir the concoction that required two of her wizened hands to wield. She glanced at Alistair as he was directed to the side where the clay bowls were stacked. His minder, an elf who had introduced herself as Lanaya, was kind towards him, but Alistair had not expected to have a shadow. He had requested to speak to Zathrian again at first light, but the Keeper was busy and had sent Lanaya to help him with food.

Lanaya handed him a bowl and he spied his companions headed over to him, having been roused from their own slumber by hungry stomachs. Alistair's rumbled loud enough to be heard by some children who giggled at him.

The porridge was thicker than any he was used to, with an earthy taste, but Lanaya took him and the others over to a table where some pots and spoons stood holding sweet-smelling fruit concoctions. Alistair followed the guidance to add the purple berry mush to his grains but ate without tasting any of it, leaving Leliana and Eliza to field Lanayas questions about them and their quest. Rosa sniffed around the ground, searching for dropped morsels until she was lured away by some children with scraps. On more than one occasion he caught a glance from Morrigan, watching him eat in silence until finally he put his spoon down and pushed away his bowl.

“When will Zathrian be free to talk?” He asked, interrupting Eliza asking about Lanayas magic skills. He didn’t even have time to concern himself with the idea of apostates in the clans. “We need to find our friend.”

“I’m sure he won’t be too long,” Lanaya said weakly, not looking like she believed her own words.

“Then maybe you can help,” Alistair changed tack. Her eyes darted from side to side but he pressed on. “What is this curse your Keeper spoke of and what has he gotten Caden to do?”

Lanaya considered his question, her teeth digging into her lower lip. Eliza seemed to take pity on her.

“It’s alright,” she said gently. “You can tell us.” Lanaya latched her gaze onto the elf who smiled encouragingly. Alistair waited, tense.

“It’s not my place to say, it should be Zathrians duty to fill you in, but…” Lanaya looked over towards his tent, but resolve set in her eyes. “What do you know of werewolves?”

“Campfire stories,” Alistair said, but Morrigan leaned closer.

“How do you mean?” The witch asked. “Shapeshifting magic is old, but not unheard of.”

“No, this isn’t willful magic.” Lanaya shook her head slowly. She was focused on Morrigan now, but Alistair could stand being ignored if she at least spoke freely. “This is a curse, placed upon people long ago, forcing them to adopt the form of a wolf. They have attacked our clan and turned some of our own into their kind.”

Alistair paled. “Werewolves? Truly? And Caden has gone to fight them?”

Morrigan sat back again, tapping a tapered nail on the wooden table. “Curses can always be broken. What is the trick to this one?”

“A heart.”

Alistair frowned. “Who’s?”

Leliana sighed across from him, drawing both his gaze and Lanayas. “How many did Caden go with?”

“I believe it was two,” Lanaya answered carefully. “One of ours and one of hers.”

“One of her what?” Alistair blurted out.

“Companions.” Came the response. “An elf from our clan, well, from the clan we have absorbed, and one companion she had travelled with.”

Alistair couldn’t process this new information. They were her companions and they were all accounted for; him and the women who had tracked Caden, the rest on the road to Denerim. There were no others. He looked from Leliana to Morrigan, both of whom wore matching expressions and it hit him. The person who had pulled Caden out of the water…the person who had probably also put her in the water. Was that who she was travelling with and for what purpose? His stomach lurched, upsetting his breakfast. Was she being coerced into covering for this person, acting as though they were trusted allies until such time as they could finish the job they started on the riverbank? One thing was for certain; Caden was probably in grave danger, either from the werewolves or the assassin.

Alistair pushed up from the bench, wobbling it and almost unseating Eliza beside him. “We need to see Zathrian. Now.”

*

Caden awoke bathed in golden light. She craned her neck around to see the tent canvas wafting in the morning breeze caused by the entrance flaps being untied. It was here that the slice of light pierced the interior and fell across her face. She squinted and considered the warmth she had woken to; not a single bad thought had plagued her dreaming mind, instead, she had been content and peaceful in sleep and was waking much the same way. She felt well-rested and when she rose it was with a body that didn’t feel like it was held together by bandages and health tonics. The light felt like it was not new morning light, but a comforting blanket that had wrapped around her sleeping self.

Her stomach growled under the woollen sheet covering her, which was when the smell hit her nose and she turned towards the tent entrance again as Rhiannon slipped inside with two steaming bowls.

“I thought you might want some breakfast before we go back out there.” The red-headed elf stepped through and sat on the pallet beside Caden, handing over one of the bowls.

“We should go see Zathrian,” Caden remarked, swirling her spoon through the dollop of colour atop the warm breakfast. “Let him know about the holdup.” She thought of Bryn and spun where she sat to find that they were the only two in the tent. Rhiannon followed her gaze.

“Bryn’s fine.” She said, taking in a mouthful of porridge. “Mamae has him. I believe she took him straight to the healers' tent to get checked out.”

“Where’s Zevran?” Caden asked next.

“We were both getting food, but he was struck by a sudden need to relieve himself, so we parted ways,” Rhiannon explained delicately.

“Oh,” Caden finally ate some of her food, the moist oats sweetened perfectly by the addition of fruits and honey. It was the first time since the two had come to the Dalish camp that Zevran had been out of her sight and the thought of it was disconcerting. Unease crept over her as she continued to eat.

Rhiannon watched her over her own bowl. “Is he your sweetheart?”

Caden's next swallow caught in her throat, causing her to choke for a dreadfully long moment or two. When she finally loosened it enough to consume it, the rest of the food lost its pallor and she set the bowl aside, clearing her throat with a cough. “Definitely not.” She stated. Rhiannon just watched her, saying nothing as she finished her meal. The silence took on an uneasy sensation and Caden had to fill it back up. “He’s really not. I don’t have anyone like that, but I’m rather busy at the moment. I haven’t got time for that sort of thing.”

Rhiannon smiled softly and reached for Caden's bowl to gather up their things.

“I’m serious, Rhiannon,” Caden pressed. “The Blight could destroy Ferelden and maybe even all of Thedas. I really don’t have a spare moment to even think of anyone that way.”

The smile, Caden could now see, wasn’t as teasing as she had first assumed. It was small and sad, Rhiannon's eyes bright with loss. “We’ve both known loss. We both know how quickly things can change and how final death is. I commend your commitment to saving us all, of course, but you should make time for people you care about. If the whole world might burn tomorrow, take what you need today.”

Caden frowned, but when Rhiannon left the tent she reached for her new armour and dragged it on. She needed to speak to Zathrian and she wanted to be battle-ready for that discussion.

*

Zathrian was not surprised to see Alistair appear before him, that much was clear when the elf set eyes upon his face. “Grey Warden, are you well?”

“You sent her after werewolves with just two accomplices?” Alistair blurted out as soon as he came to a stop. Zathrian didn’t blink, but his mouth set, hard.

“I have every faith in her abilities,” he replied curtly, “as did she in her own.”

“You realise you sent her out with someone who had been paid to kill her?” Alistair pushed on. “Whoever was with her was most likely the assassin that got her separated from our group?”

“That did not seem to perturb your fellow Warden,” Zathrian said coolly. “They seemed quite friendly and she was happy for him to pledge his intentions to accompany her and her kin.”

“What?” That swept the breath from his lungs. His mind was addled in confusion. “Her kin?”

Zathrian turned, taking advantage of Alistair pulling back to make his move. Over his shoulder, he said: “you will have ample time to discuss this when she returns, successful as I believe she will. For the time being please make yourselves at home in our camp.”

“Alistair,” Leliana’s murmur caught his ear despite the low volume. There was a quiet urgency that made him turn to the woman. She was looking beyond him and he followed her gaze, hearing a gasp from Eliza.

Three elves greeted each other, two with sunshine hair, one with flames and then they turned towards Zathrians tent. Alistair's gaze settled on the middle elf and his heart stopped.

Caden saw him at the same moment and her eyes grew round with delight. She was wearing the same armour as the elves around the camp, the same intricately decorated leather, so much more detailed than the formal attire of the Warden armour, so much less plain that what she had worn upon leaving Redcliffe. Her hair was different; tied down in a low ponytail, which caught the air as she broke into a run. Alistair hadn’t realised he was moving until the two crashed together, her arms wrapping around his neck so tightly he couldn’t breathe, but he hadn’t even thought to take a breath since he spied her. He was bent forward to embrace her in return, one hand gripping her shoulder, the other palm flat against her back. The scent of her armour came to him as he finally breathed in relief, but there was something else, too, something warm and welcoming. Something familiar even if he couldn’t name it.

“Thank the Maker,” he managed in little more than a whisper. “You’re alright.”

Caden pulled back, her cheeks flushed. She grinned at him. “In hindsight, sending that message to Loghain that he would have to try harder to kill us was a mistake.” She glanced past him to the women who had followed him. “I thought you were all still heading for Denerim; I didn’t think anyone was looking for me.” She slipped from his arms to head for them, but Rosa appeared from nowhere, running at full speed for her mistress and toppling her to liberally coat her with licks. Caden laughed.

The joyous sight couldn’t disrupt the sick feeling Caden's words had solidified inside him and Alistair looked over to the two who had walked behind Caden's sprint to him.

“Grey Warden?” the woman asked, her blue eyes fixed on him. “I am Rhiannon Mahariel, Caden’s cousin.”

At least that answered the questions Zathrian had presented him with. This was Caden's kin. Which meant, Alistair, determined with grim satisfaction, that the other elf was the assassin. His eyes landed on the man who nodded cordially.

“Zevran Arainai at your service,” he greeted, his accent melodic, his tone light. “I cannot imagine you got much of an introduction from my former associates if you are all standing here unharmed.” He chuckled at his own joke. Alistair took two steps to close the gap between the pair and drove his fist into the jaw of the smiling assassin.

Chapter Text

it doesn’t matter, you don’t belong to me

The elf hit the floor with a thud. Alistair pulled back his hand, cradling it with his other and swearing under his breath. A shocked silence settled over the group, though Rosa was at his side at once, growling at the fallen man, who was pushing himself up on one arm and rubbing his jaw with the other.

“Are you alright, Zevran?” Caden asked blithely.

“I will survive,” Zevran replied, his jaw clicking as he moved it around the words. “I’ll let you have that one for free, unless you plan to continue?” That was directed at him. Alistair grimaced and shook his hand once to try to restore life to it as his knuckles protested.

“That depends,” he answered darkly, “on whether you are intending to finish the job you started.”

“He doesn’t,” Caden explained, before Zevran could. Alistair turned wide eyes on her as she patted Rosa in comfort, then moved past the mabari to offer Zevran a hand. He watched her help the man to his feet and touch her fingers to the angry red mark he had left. His fist clenched again, sending a bolt of pain through his wrist, as he watched Caden fuss over the assassin of all people. Unless, of course, he was mistaken and this man was just a regular elf she had befriended. It seemed most unlikely, but he had to make sure.

“You are a Crow, are you not?” Alistair asked not daring to move in case he decked the elf a second time before letting him speak.

“I was,” Zevran answered, turning his face away from Caden to look eyes with Alistair. He wasn’t being antagonistic, but there was a readiness to his frame that hadn’t been present before Alistair had punched him. “I have given up that life when your fellow Warden bested me in combat.”

“I didn’t really,” Caden said over her shoulder to Alistair. “He keeps saying that, but I didn’t exactly beat him fair and square.”

“She poisoned me.” Zevran clarified. Caden winced.

“I did.”

“But I did stab her first.”

“He did.”

He had stabbed her? Alistair’s hand felt fine now, it was his head that was hurting. None of this made any sense whatsoever. “So, what? You’re friends with the man who tried to murder you?”

Caden glanced at him, a pink tinge flushing over her cheeks. “Well, it sounds bad when you put it like that, but he says he’s renounced that life now and—”

“Well, he would say that given that he’s the only one left alive.” Alistair retorted sharply. “None of your other cohorts survived the attempt on us.”

“I assumed as much,” Zevran gave drily. “This does not need to be an issue; I was a Crow, I have failed in my task and Caden defeated me and then gave me the antidote of her own free will. I didn’t coerce her or trick her in any way.”

Caden's eyes darkened as she listened, Alistair assumed because of what Zevran was saying but she turned her gaze upon him instead, glaring at Alistair in a manner he had not seen in a while. “I’m not stupid. I know what he did, but he also saved my life.”

Alistair bit back his retort, deciding it would be more sensible to drop the subject for now. He had promised to follow her lead, but this decision was not something he understood nor accepted. He stepped back, close-mouthed and satisfied himself with merely watching Zevran Arainai, perversely pleased to see the bruise already forming under his pale skin.

Caden made her way over to Zathrian, who had hovered on the outskirts of the Wardens reunion and subsequent scuffle. His gaze alighted on Caden as she reached him, his brows furrowed. “You have not been successful. Why have you returned?” He asked.

“We found someone out in the woods,” Caden explained. “A herb picker. She was dead and her child was with her, still alive. We couldn’t leave him out there so we brought him back.”

“I am grateful that you care so deeply about my fellow clansfolk, but I must impress upon you the urgency of breaking the curse,” Zathrian said in a measured voice. Alistair knew it would make no difference if the werewolves were right outside the camp; if there was a child in peril there was no way Caden could leave them. Such was her way. He smiled at the thought, his ire momentarily forgotten.

“I’m well aware, but there’s more,” Caden replied just as evenly. “We met Swiftrunner. Spoke with him.” She waited to gauge the reaction from the Keeper. When none was forthcoming she pressed on. “We had a conversation with him. You didn’t say they could talk.”

“I did not deem that pertinent information for you to have.” The response was delivered almost monotonously, his face just as devoid of emotion as his tone. “I advised you that I believe they were intelligent. Did that not suffice?”

Caden snapped her mouth shut into a narrow line. Alistair watched her calculate something behind her eyes. Finally, she spoke: “Of course. I was merely surprised by their level of intelligence. I intend to head back to the forest today and find them again.”

“I wish you luck, Warden,” Zathrian said. “It is only when this threat to our clans has been eliminated and the curse is broken that we will be able to uphold our ancient bargain.”

“I understand.”

Caden turned away from the Keeper and strode across the camp, not waiting for anyone else, but they fell in line as Alistair knew they would. What surprised him was the way both Rhiannon and Zevran hurried to her, one flanking either side. Alistair walked behind, wondering at the level of closeness these three displayed so quickly. It felt uneasy and strange, but was that because he was concerned for Caden’s safety or because he merely felt left out?

When they had reached a suitable distance, Caden stopped and turned, her dog going to sit at her feet, leaning against her leg, the elves and humans fanning out around her awaiting her next move. Caden looked from Leliana to Eliza to Morrigan and finally to him, her features soft again now.

“I still can’t believe you all came to find me,” she said, awe lacing her words. “There were reports of our wagon leaving along the eastern road and I just assumed you were carrying on with the mission.”

“We are,” Leliana explained. “Sten, Wynne and Lorelei have continued that path and we are to rendezvous with them back at Redcliffe.”

“How did the split occur?” Caden wanted to know next. “Who chose the two parties?”

“I did,” Leliana said. “Morrigan tracked you in the air down the river and between us we carried on finding your trail on the ground. Eliza came along due to the potential need for a healer.”

Caden’s gaze swept up to meet Alistair’s eyes. The question remained unspoken between them as to what his purpose was on the tracking mission. In truth, he had no skills to bring to the table for that. He had made a mess of the thicket which Morrigan had cast aside, so even his brute force wasn’t required, and all he’d managed since finding Caden was to floor her newfound friend. He looked away feeling out of place.

“Sten, Wynne and Lorelei will be able to enter Denerim without alerting suspicion as they are no longer travelling with Grey Wardens,” Leliana spoke up after a moment. “I am confident that they will be able to find this Brother Genitivi and the next step in locating the Ashes. As for us, we are going into the forest?”

“I am,” Caden amended. “I do not expect everyone to come along. These wolves are big, much bigger than I expected and clever, but even with their intelligence, they are still deadly beasts with claws and fangs. They were hostile on sight with us, though they permitted us to pass as we had a child to return to camp. It was pure luck that we were able to leave.”

“Oh, well that’s fine then,” Alistair muttered, catching her attention. She frowned. “I mean, if it’s incredibly dangerous then that’s fine if you want to go alone. We’ll sit here and twiddle our thumbs while you go and hunt down these enormous, cunning beasts on your own.”

Caden bristled. “Funny,” she snapped.

“Alistair is right,” Leliana said. “We came all this way to find you; we do not intend to literally leave you to the wolves now.”

“I am so very loathed to agree with him, but I do,” Morrigan said. “Alistair has a point, though childishly put.”

“If the Dalish are in danger, I want to help,” Eliza spoke up softly. “I never thought I would live to see them myself, so I can’t let this clan fall to ruin when I could help.”

Caden’s shoulders tensed. “I understand.” She glanced at Rhiannon and Zevran. “I assume the pair of you are insisting on coming back?”

“Of course,” Rhiannon nodded. Zevran chuckled.

“You expect me to stay here and miss all the fun of seeing two Wardens in action? I will be by your side, Caden.” The elf gave a small bow, leaning towards Caden much closer than Alistair had ever seen her accept a strange man. Clearly Zevran was only a stranger to him, not to her.

Alistair swallowed, hard. “Right, well, shall we go?”

Caden nodded, reaching to scratch Rosas head. “No time like right now.”

*

They made good time. That was what Caden said as they traipsed through the woodland. It was dark in here, the canopy so thick as to hide the light of the day from them. Alistair was thrust backwards in time to the memory of creeping out of the Korkari Wilds right after Ostagar. That itching feeling of having to move silently, to avoid detection when the urge to run was infecting his legs, making them shake as he walked. That sensation was back, the same concern over being watched. Of feeling like prey.

Caden seemed less worried by their presence in the woods. She had trod these narrow paths before. It was her striding with confidence and him following meekly behind. He didn’t mind that so much, but her shadow… now him Alistair minded.

Watching the back of Zevrans head as he talked to Caden, bending her ear about who knew what. He had thought of their hair as being the same, but it wasn’t; where Cadens yellow was bright like gold or sunshine, his was much paler, shining like the moon. Not as bright as the sun. Not as eye-catching. Caden turned to listen to whatever Zevran was saying and Alistair watched her lips purse. Had he offended her? No, her mouth split into a smile. An ugly jealously settled inside Alistair. He didn’t like the way that felt, but he couldn’t shift it.

Eventually, the group came to a place that made Caden halt. She stopped their march and looked around, calling Rhiannon and Zevran to check something. When she turned Alistair caught her eye and saw that she was bothered by something.

“What’s the matter?” Alistair asked.

“I could have sworn this is where we found the wolves, but…” Caden spun around in a slow circle. “It looks different.”

“Are we lost?” Alistair asked. “If it was dark last night when you returned to camp…?”

“I’m sure this was the way,” Caden replied. “Right?”

“I agree.” Rhiannon nodded. “I’ve heard rumours, but never took them seriously.” She sighed and looked at her cousin. “They say the deeper you go into the forest, the more alive it is. The trees seem to move.”

“You mean we’re on the right path, but the path itself is different now?”

“Essentially.”

“Great,” Alistair huffed. Caden glanced to him and he looked down. He couldn’t help his bad mood, but he was sure Caden didn’t want to worry about it at that moment.

“I am happy to scout around in animal form if the rest of you wish to partake of a meal,” Morrigan suggested, surprising Alistair with her helpfulness. “I would say it is long past lunch.”

“How can you tell?” Eliza asked, gazing up at the thick branches and leaves above them. Alistair's stomach chose that moment as he considered the possibility of food to rumble loudly. Morrigan smirked.

“That is how.”

Caden nodded at Morrigan, ignoring the barb she had thrown Alistairs way. “Thank you, Morrigan, if you don’t mind.”

Morrigan nodded and performed her strange transformative magic, the feeling of which still sent shivers down Alistair's spine to see, and then the black crow took off flying higher and higher. Caden was already directing the makeshift camp to break for food. Alistair hung back as the women and Zevran started to make a small space for them to sit and dig into their small packs. Bread was passed around, various soft cheeses wrapped in large leaves emerged. Some tomatoes still on the vine, redder than any he had ever seen were added to the mix. The group talked quietly, their voices hovering above them as if afraid to unleash their words too far. Alistair took a tomato when it came his way and popped it in his mouth whole without thinking. His throat was dry when he tried to swallow; he choked and beat his fist against his chest, taking the water skin that was offered and gulping down three mouthfuls while his eyes streamed. Everyone was looking at him when he was well again and he could feel the blush heat his face.

“Caden, could I borrow you for a moment?” He asked, his words louder than he intended. Everything about him was so big and noisy here in this pocket of quiet. Caden nodded and stood, stepping over Zevrans legs who had been sat at her feet with Rosa, letting the dog snaffle some bread crusts and winning her heart. Alistair winced to see the mabari roll onto her back and offer him her belly to rub. Wasn’t Zevran just so beloved?

Alistair walked away from their small clearing a short way, just enough to create distance between them and the others. Caden followed dutifully until they came to a stop. She leaned against a tree and crossed her arms. “What’s wrong?”

Alistair stood beside a fallen tree and nudged a mushroom cluster with his toe. Anything to avoid looking at her. He suddenly felt very foolish. When he opened his mouth he gave no thought to the words forming on his tongue. “I thought you’d drowned.”

“I know,” Caden said, her tone more gentle at once.

“When the assassins attacked us I forgot all about you.” Alistair went on, still studiously watching the movement of the fungi at the behest of his boot. “There were so many of them and we were fighting and I just forgot you. I didn’t stop to worry that you might be in trouble. It wasn’t until Rosa came to get me that I thought about you.”

“That’s alright,” Caden said carefully. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to have gotten hurt because you were distracted by worrying about me.”

“You could have died.” Alistair stole a glance towards her. Her blue eyes round with concern for him. “I know you; you fought him off, didn’t you? Fought to the death or as near as. You don’t hold back, even if you get hurt in the process.”

Caden was the one who broke their shared look. Now she was looking down at the forest floor. “I fought, but he was better than me. Faster. More skilled." She sighed quietly. "I've never fought someone so equally matched and even then it was no real match. His instincts were so sharp. He seemed to know when I was trying to yell for you; he cut me off each time.”

Alistair's stomach gave a strange little flip-flop. “You shouted for me? For us?”

“For you.” Caden clarified. “I figured… better alive than dead, even if I had to call for rescue.” She shrugged wryly. “I didn’t really stop to consider that you might be busy with your own attackers. Anyway it didn’t matter; I never got your name out.”

The tension left his shoulders, a warmth spreading through him. She had tried to get help. That was a huge step forward for her in his eyes. The Caden he had known once would have never even considered that she was part of a team and could request backup, would have let her sense of self-sacrifice rule. She had tried to call for him.

Then his gladness turned sour again; she had tried to call and he hadn’t even thought of her.

Alistair sank down onto the log, his hands vanishing into his hair. “I should have been there for you.”

He heard Caden move, her feet disturbing the leaves and twigs on the ground. She stopped before him. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” She said. “We found the Dalish and each other again. It’s worked out just fine.”

“And now we have an assassin in our party.” He couldn’t hold back the bitterness the slid over those words.

“Alistair—”

“I know, I know,” he interrupted. “I’m not arguing; you know best and I swore to follow your lead. I’m just concerned.”

“Alistair—”

Alistair looked up and stilled her voice. Whatever was crossing his face was enough to steal her voice. “I trust your judgement.” He said softly. “But look… the thing I want to say is… you matter. You matter a great deal.” Alistair sat up trying to gather his muddled thoughts. “To me that is. You might be the only thing that does.”

Caden was quiet for a long moment before she moved to sit beside him. “What about your… what about Arl Eamon? Surely he matters to you.”

It wasn’t the same. He couldn’t put what he felt into words, couldn’t identify what exactly he was feeling, but he knew it wasn’t the same. “Yeah, of course,” Alistair said instead of trusting his clumsy mouth to figure out what he wanted to say. “Of course.”

Caden had her hands on her knees and his eye caught the glint of gold. His gaze locked onto the ring on her right hand. “You changed hands?” Caden lifted her hand.

“I did.” she murmured. “It didn’t feel right anymore to wear it on the left. I was never married after all.

Alistair completed what went unspoken in his head. She needed to move the ring from her left hand if she intended to pursue something with someone. It wouldn’t do to signal that she appeared to be a married woman, not if she didn’t want to use it to repel the advances of unwanted men, as she had explained it was good for. Her fingers tenderly touching on Zevrans face flashed up before his eyes. His head buzzed uncomfortably, but that was nothing compared to the remigold his insides were dancing. Nothing felt right, his skin was alight with discomfort. 

The only thing he knew for sure was that he would thank the Maker every night that she was still alive and watch that supposedly former assassin like a hawk. 

*

Their journey had not progressed much further into the woods after that pause. The route to the clearing that they had used to enter was barred when they went to leave; the path leading straight into thick tree trunks. At that discovery when no-one could think of a good, sound reason for this strange turn of events, a sombre silence had fallen over the group. They had found a new route to follow, which wended around the clearing they had broken bread in, but then took them into a deeper part of the forest. The trees were close together, the light even more obscured. So much so that it took them a while to realise that night had fallen. An owl hooted softly in the distance and then it’s burst of ghostly white had made Alistair almost leap out of his skin when it flew past them all of a sudden. Quite where it was going he could not have said; Morrigan had struggled to find her way through the thick canopy earlier. But the owl was seemingly used to the capricious nature of the Brecillian Forest and navigated it with ease.

It was Zevran who broke the quiet, his low voice still sounding loud as it echoed around the trees. “We should consider stopping for the night.”

“I’m a little concerned that if we do we might wake up in a whole other part of the forest,” Caden admitted, stopping and turning back to the group, her hands on her hips as she considered the suggestion. “What do you all think?”

“These woods are very interesting,” Morrigan said thoughtfully. “Older than any I’ve traversed and steeped in magic. You might be right that we would be in a precarious position sleeping under the watchful eye of the forest.”

“Surely it is nothing a vigilant watch cannot handle?” Leliana put forth. “We should be on guard for these wolves, too.”

“I doubt we’d hear them coming,” Rhiannon told the group. “They snuck up on us with ease last night; they know how to keep themselves quiet.”

“Then we post two for every watch,” Zevran suggested lightly. “We cannot admit defeat before we have tried.”

“I doubt we’d find our way back anyway,” Eliza said, her voice more upbeat than Alistair would have expected. She looked weary, but her eyes were bright and determined. Caden turned to look at Alistair.

“Alistair?” She asked. “What do you think?”

He waited a moment before replying. There really didn’t seem to be much of an option available to them beyond what the others had already said. “Sleep for a few hours, two to stay on watch. Makes sense.” Why was his voice so damn sullen? He hadn’t meant to sound petulant.

“Very well.” Caden nodded. “I’m happy to take first watch.”

“We cannot build a fire,” Morrigan said, crouching down to the ground that was littered with moss. “The trees are too close together; it would be most unwise and I feel… I do not believe the forest would take kindly to open flames.”

Alistair watched the witch as her gaze travelled up and around, almost reverently. A tremor stole across his spine as the delicate hairs rose at her words.

“Very well. In that case, those who are sleeping must wrap themselves in their blankets and huddle together for warmth.” Caden said. “I’ll stay on the outskirts.”

“As will I.” Alistair snapped his gaze to the speaker: Rhiannon. Relief washed over him and he found his eyes wandering to Zevran. Why Alistair hadn’t volunteered he didn’t know, but there was something awkward about the notion of spending time awake with Caden while the rest slept. Quietly he put down his gear and pulled out his blanket, tugging it around himself and settling down. Eliza and Leliana were already curling up next to each other, Rosa ingratiating herself with them. Alistair rolled onto his side, his back his Orlesian companion as Morrigan performed her magic to tuck herself into a small ball as a fox. Zevran winked at him before grabbing a blanket and lying down along the row of heads, his hair close enough to Alistair that he could feel it waft over his ear as he got comfortable on the ground. Alistair refused to move, to let on to the elf that his closeness was bothering him. He lay in the dark on the relatively soft ground and seethed quietly, listening to Zevrans breathing as it quickly evened into the soft sighs of the deeply asleep.

He had never loathed someone more on sight that the assassin who could have killed his best friend. That wasn’t unreasonable and he refused to feel bad about that. But it was with a sour attitude that he eventually dropped into sleep like a stone into a well.

*

The next day was beset with troubles.

Even though they kept two bodies on watch overnight and were left alone by any animal inhabitants of the woodland, when they made to leave they discovered that some of their equipment had gone missing. They were down one blanket, two cups, a pot and a length of rope. Nobody had seen the items taken and there was no sign of them around their small encampment. The only bright side was that they had been allowed to remain without attack from the wild creatures or the werewolves.

The forest made itself quite clear that the party wasn’t welcome to traverse through it, with paths vanishing the moment they stepped off them and moments where they were plunged into near total darkness as the branches intertwined and leaves flattened against the suns rays. Alistair's black cloud spread out and soon nobody could summon even a small smile as they made their way through. Rhiannon, Leliana and Morrigan were trying to fathom a route through the forest, after a while they became so disheartened by the mercurial nature of the place that they eventually seemed to give up. The last person with any belief in their mission was Caden.

She lead the way without faltering once, only pausing to consider the next path when all possible routes seemed to vanish before them. Alistair watched her march with resolve, seemingly taking the mantle of determination with moment that hope failed the rest. She didn’t try to rally them with a pep talk, didn’t offer meaningless words to spur them on. She just kept on putting one foot in front of the other and expecting them to keep up. It was plenty; as ever they followed her wherever she took them.

Alistair found himself at the back of the line more often than not, usually walking alongside Eliza. He appreciated the quiet companionship of the mage.

When they stopped for a food break they were dismayed to learn that their remaining food had spoiled in their packs. The food that had been fresh the day before, packed away with care in cloths and wrappings was now riddled with mold, the vegetables and fruit dissolved down to mush. The bread was rock hard and covered in green fuzz, the cheese rotten with the worst case of ageing he had ever seen. It all smelled rancid and they were forced to abandon the food on the ground with the leaves in the hope that they could leave the stench behind. Bellies rumbling they kept moving. At least their water seemed fresh enough and they were able to stop and replenish their containers at a gently running brook of clear, cold water.

Caden walked them along the small stream for a time. The water was soothing at first, but in the absence of other noises, it soon began to grate. The babbling brook and the breeze in the leaves was all they could hear beyond their own footfalls. Alistair hefted his shield and tried to ignore his empty stomach when they heard a new noise. Caden stopped short, her head turned at once towards it. They froze, listening. It came again; the sound a groan of pain. Caden took off running.

“Caden, wait,” Alistair stumbled past the others putting his large frame to good use to make it out ahead of the others behind his Warden-Sister. He broke through some young trees to find his friend approaching a wolf.

Not a wolf. Alistair looked closer. The beast was humanoid, almost as tall as he was, but notably canine; with a snout and sharp teeth. “Caden, be careful!”

The beast moaned again giving Caden no pause. She reached the beast and crouched where it lay on its belly, rolling an eye up to take in Caden's face. “Caden…?” Alistair murmured, edging closer, mindful not to make any hasty movements.

Caden stretched out her hand and placed it on the back of the wolf. “Are you hurt?” she asked.

“The pain…” Alistair almost cried out when the wolfish face managed a guttural approximation of their Common tongue. “It burns…”

“Where does it hurt?” Caden asked, her eyes scanning along the body of the werewolf. There were no obvious signs of wounds, but the creature was breathing fast, shallow breaths, its fur shifting with each gasp of air.

“Everywhere…” came the pitiful response. Alistair came up beside Caden and lowered himself down just behind her. He couldn’t speak, his eyes taking in the sight, but his mind struggling to believe what he was seeing or hearing. “It hurts everywhere.”

“I’m so sorry,” Caden said, her hand stroking along the fur on the beasts neck.

“My name… my name is… is Danyla,” the werewolf managed haltingly.

“Danyla?” Caden confirmed. “That’s a beautiful name. You are an elf?”

“I was an elf,” the wolf replied. “I was an elf… before the curse…”

“I’m here to break that curse,” Caden confided, bending lower to the wolfs head. Alistair tensed. Those teeth were glinting at each pointed end. His hand slipped to the hilt of his sword.

“You seek Witherfang?” Danyla asked. Caden replied that she was. “You don’t understa—” she began but her voice descended into a howl of pain, the animal smothering the humanity in her. Caden placed both her hands on the wolf as she writhed in agony. Alistair tightened his grip. He had seen dogs take chunks out of their masters while driven mad by pain.

“Danyla, how can I help?” Caden asked as the pain crested and abated briefly. “I’ll break the curse, but what can I do now?”

“You… you can kill me.”

Caden flinched and Alistair started to draw his blade before he noted that she had pulled back from the words, not anything Danyla was doing.

“Danyla, surely there is something else,” Caden tried. “We have potions of healing, we have magic…”

“Nothing can help,” Danyla moaned. “This fire is unstoppable. It hurts so much… please…”

Caden took a shaky breath and slid her shaking hand through the fur between Danylas ears. Alistair watched her fingers disappear into the thick mane. Her left hand reached for a blade.

“I can do it,” Alistair said softly to her. His hand was on her wrist, halting her movement. She turned wet eyes on him.

“It’s alright.” She answered in barely more than a whisper. “I’ll do it.”

Alistair took his hand back and watched Caden pull her blade, murmuring softly the whole time. Her words were low and calming despite the tremor in her hands, words designed to soothe and ease. He caught a sentence or two and realised she wasn’t speaking Common. The words had a lyrical aspect and when he recognised a single word— revas— he realised with a start that she was reciting the lullaby she had told him about when she had named her knife. Her voice never faltered when she drove the blade into Danylas throat with a sudden powerful thrust. Danyas moans cut off at once as Caden severed her windpipe and she held her arm fixed in place as Danyla bled out her life on the forest floor, Cadens lullaby the last thing she would hear.

Alistair laid his palm over Cadens shoulder, feeling her shake with quiet sobs that she kept to herself. She didn’t turn around for a long few moments, but when she did, her stoic mask was back in place. Nobody else had seen her cry over the body of the werewolf and Alistair wouldn’t tell. He nodded to her once and they rejoined the others who had hung back, ready to continue their trek through the forest.

Chapter Text

I did my best to tame, the beast that calls my name

Caden was fed up. Outwardly she did her best to project an aura of determination, but this bloody forest was working her last nerve and it was doing very well at that task. She had washed her hands in the cold, clear stream, letting Danyla’s blood flow away down the current. Killing the wolf…no. Killing the woman was a mercy, but it felt like a betrayal. A part of Caden was angry at Zathrian for sending her into the forest to retrieve a child from its dead mother, end the life of a woman in pain and eventually to cut out the heart of a living creature. None of it felt right. The stories her mother had told her when she was young whirled in her brain like the red liquid joining the water; carried along by a rush with little care or attention. She had always wanted to live out a real fairytale. Now she wasn’t so sure.

She was starving and tired and she wanted to go back. Back further than the camp; she was hit with a pang of homesickness she had not felt in a while. She wanted to open her own front door and climb inside her own warm bed sheets and go to sleep on the pillow that smelled like her from years of resting her head upon it. She wanted to be woken in the morning by her mother singing as she toasted bread, wanted to see her father enter the house with a beaming smile for his beloved wife. She wanted to be bundled up into their embrace and feel the security of the world being contained outside of the walls of their home.

None of which was as she’d left it. Her mother was dead going on eight years, her fathers' joy had died along with her. Their home was marginally safe, but the Alienage certainly was not. And she was a criminal, absolved by her recruitment maybe, but still unwelcome in Denerim where there was a bounty on her head thanks to Loghain. So where was this wretched homesickness coming from if the home she longed for did not exist?

Caden made no effort to be quiet as she trudged over the ferns. The trees seemed to have parted for them after her encounter with Danyla, or perhaps she was imagining it, but the ground was still a treacherous mass of trip hazards. Roots, moss, plants, bushes, all conspired to upend her and make her look foolish in front of her party. She refused to let that happened and took perverse delight in crushing plant life underfoot. Maybe she was courting danger, but maybe in being so loud and so rude to the forest she would draw out the wolves and hasten the end.

Morrigan landed on her shoulder in bird form and dug her small, sharp beak into Caden's hair. Caden glowered but let Morrigan find her ear and tug her so that she turned her head. A caw sounded loudly beside her as if to catch her attention, and it worked: Caden looked over to see something peaking through trees and vines. Bricks?

Caden stomped over in the direction of Morrigans oh so subtle guidance, the crow flapping to regain her balance as Caden took a sharp turn. The wings brushed her face and wafted tendrils of her hair back. Once again she was filthy and tired, longing for a bath, but it was all forgotten for a moment as Caden reached out to pass her hand through the handing creepers to press her palm to the cold stonework behind it. Rosa snuffled up beside her, poking her nose through the leaves.

“What have you found, Caden?” Zevran was right beside her, watching her curve her fingers around the greenery to sweep it aside. “A building?”

Leliana came up, too, touching the bricks. Then she backed up as best she could and tilted her head back to take in the sight. “It’s enormous. An old garrison perhaps?”

“Could be,” Alistair agreed. “Would have to be ancient though; I don’t know of any human construction in the Brecilian Forest.”

Caden considered. “Which way Morrigan?” She asked softly, letting the vines fall back to hide the building again. Morrigan took flight and made an assessment, cawing from the right. Caden turned as directed and headed that way.

“Could it be elvhen?” Eliza asked. “Rhiannon, do you know of any elvhen construction such as this?”

“It isn’t really the style of the Dalish,” Rhiannon said thoughtfully. “We haven’t settled down anywhere permanently since our times living in the Dales. Not since we built Halamshiral and it was stolen from us.”

Caden had no idea what Halamshiral was, but her mind was distracted from asking more as her hand, trailing along the length of the walls, suddenly felt nothing but leaves and vines under her palm. She pushed through the vines without a second thought.

It was a new type of darkness inside. The ceiling that had previously been tightly joined branches, now became a solid roof. Solid for the most part; up ahead a wide rough circle of light broke through a hole in above and illuminated the wide flagstones underfoot. A fortress after all. The soles of her boots created an echo as she took a few steps further inside. The plant life that had obscured the building outside continued on the inside, but to a lesser extent. Mostly Caden could see walls in shadow, stone bricks slotting together so perfectly for the most part, though there were portions of crumbled walls here and there. The fortress opened up beyond the doorway to a vast open space, disappearing into shadows where no doubt staircases lead the wanderer further inside. Caden hurried forward with Rosa beside her, but felt a touch on her arm.

“My dear, perhaps we should pause for a moment,” Zevran said mildly. “It is quite dark and we should find a light source if nothing else.”

“Of course,” Caden said, shaking her head in surprise at herself. “Sorry, of course. I don’t know what came over me.” She looked up to see the others entering the same antechamber. Alistair and Rhiannon both zeroed in on Zevran holding her arm and threw her very different expressions. Rhiannon's, Caden knew, was a smirk of encouragement and teasing. Alistair's she could not recognise, but he was being very strange since they had found each other again. He’d made it clear he wasn’t keen on inviting her would-be assassin to travel with them, but he had said he would let her lead. Evidently, his mistrust ran deeper than she knew. Caden slipped her arm back out of Zevrans grip.

Leliana and Eliza were busying themselves with something that became clear when flames blossomed, created by the mage, and caught on torches Leliana had wrested from the wall. Lelianas satisfaction was bathed in torchlight as the light bounced off her face. “The torches are still good.”

Caden nodded and let Leliana come up beside her so they could better peer into the gloom. Carefully they walked across the flagstones. Descending some stone stairs they found a smaller chamber beneath the entrance hall. Leliana gestured for Caden to go with her and they headed across the room to a raised stone platform.

“Not a fortress,” Leliana assessed. “A temple.”

Caden realised the stone block was, in fact, an altar, with a tattered velvet cloth spread over it and some small trinkets left at the corners. She reached out and touched the dusty things gently. “A temple to who? Andraste?”

Rhiannon scoffed behind her. “Hardly.” She derided. “We don’t need to look to the humans to find deities worthy of our worship.”

“Oh,” Caden said, feeling suitably chastised. Rhiannon seemed to realise the effect she had had on her cousin.

“I don’t suppose the elvhen gods were spoken about much in your city,” she conceded. “I don’t know who this Temple is in aid of, but it could just be a place of worship for the whole pantheon.”

“Multiple gods?” Caden asked, pleased to be able to move past the snipe Rhiannon had thrown her way without thinking.

“Oh yes,” Rhiannon nodded, letting mirth curl her mouth into a smile. “That’s way more fun than just believing in one god.” She reached up her fingers and traced the markings on her face with practised motions. “That’s what this is, my blood writing, my Vallaslin. We go through this inking on the cusp of adulthood.”

“We don’t have any such rituals back home,” Caden said. She was torn between the feeling of missing out and concerned about the intricacies of such a ritual. “Does it hurt?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Rhiannon grinned wryly. “And you can’t let on while it’s happening. I swear, I was on the cusp of passing out when they did my forehead.” She touched her finger to the offending spot, the decorative point travelling up between her eyes. “Andruil, the Huntress. She inspired my Vallaslin. I’m honoured to carry her symbol with me.”

Caden smiled. “Thank you for sharing that with me.” She turned around to glance at Zevran, her eyes travelling down the length of his own facial tattoo. “Is yours some gesture to the gods as well, Zevran?”

His laugh echoed around the chamber. “Certainly not. I have far more tattoos than this one beneath my clothes. Perhaps when we finally slay the beast and break the curse we can find time for some communal bathing and you can see the rest.”

“Oh please,” Alistair huffed. Zevran chuckled.

“You’re invited, too, Alistair,” he purred. “I know you don’t trust me alone with… any of these fine women, so you are welcome to join us to chaperone.”

Alistair's face went red, his jaw clicking in anger. Caden tensed as Zevran bantered with her Warden-Brother, half expecting him to swing for the elf again. But Alistair just turned away from his jokes and ignored him. Caden felt mildly guilty for having sown the seeds of Zevrans jesting at her friends' expense.

“I cannot think of anything worse than bathing with a male gaze upon me,” Morrigan spoke up. Caden hadn’t noticed her return to human form. “Then again perhaps it is merely the fact that the offering males are lacking in anything remotely desirable.”

“Cruel,” Zevran said, his hand over his breast. “I am wounded.”

“Enough,” Caden said firmly, but quietly, her gaze flicking back to Zevran who smirked but went mercifully silent. Alistair had gone over to stand by Eliza who was holding her torch up to look at the carvings on the stone walls. Caden fought an urge to go over to him. Best to let the matter lie and not draw any more attention to the fact that Zevran had gotten under Alistair's skin. “So, rest or onward?” Her stomach growled and she ignored it. They had nothing to eat unless they fancied trying their luck at hunting, but even with the elvhen god of the hunt on their side, she doubted they could ferret out anything worthy of eating. They’d seen precious little wildlife on their journey through the woods.

The faces before her seemed weary, but resigned. “I guess we carry on,” Rhiannon said. The others nodded or just looked back at Caden with grim determination.

“Very well,” Caden stated. “Let’s go.”

She chose an archway with an arbitrary glance and lead her group through it. Leliana fell into step with her, holding her torch aloft. Their path was lit, but barely. Caden turned to gesture for Eliza to come closer, but she handed over her torch instead, which Caden took without questioning the mage. Eliza had the means to conjure her own light after all, though she walked behind Caden with her hands at her sides, her staff at her back.

Halfway down the second corridor, Caden took them, she heard a low growl and stopped at once. The others followed suit, hands creeping to rest on weapons for those who had them. Leliana fingered her bow, but holding her torch she would be useless to an incoming battle. Rosa’s hackles were raised, her fangs bared.

Caden didn’t want to fight at all. She listened for any more growling, the soft padding of wolf feet on stone, but for a long moment, no sound could be heard outside of her group breathing. When another growl came from behind, the opposite direction of the first, Caden stepped forward, holding the torch aloft and her bare hand high, ignoring her swords. “We’re not here to fight you,” she called out, her voice echoing off the walls. “I’m looking for Swiftrunner. Can you help me find him to talk. Just to talk.”

The growls intensified, more voices adding to the initial two. The sounds crept closer, encircling her party, who instinctively clustered closer, turning outward so their backs were covered and there were eyes on all directions. Leliana handed her torch away and slipped off her bow, though she did not nock an arrow just yet. Alistair slipped his shield loose and ready. Eliza had the torch in one hand, her staff in the other. Caden took another step away from the group, hearing her name hissed by someone, but she paid it no mind. “Please, I am just looking to have a discussion with Swiftrunner.”

“Remember what I told you elf,” Caden turned sharply, her gaze finding the hulking form of Swiftrunner edging out of the gloom, his eyes alight in the dancing flames of the torch. “I swore I would kill you myself if you ever returned.”

“I know what you said,” Caden said as calmly as she could muster. More figures arose from the shadows, more than she had seen before. Her pulse shivered in fear. “I made no promises to stay away; I intend to see this task through to completion. I’m rather a pain in the arse that way.”

“I could snap you in half,” Swiftrunner snarled. His pack snapped at the air, but came no closer. It seemed like a good enough sign.

“I want to help you all,” Caden said, her volume increasing to be heard over the grunts and barks. “I want to break this curse, but mostly I want to talk with you. I’ve been told to find Witherfang and I wish to speak with them. Can you help me do this?”

“You are here to kill Witherfang,” Swiftrunner snapped, lowering his body on his strong hind legs. His forelegs were really more like arms, those paws ending in human-like fingers, each topped with a fierce-looking claw. Brute strength and potentially the dexterity of a person. Caden swallowed. “We cannot allow that.”

“Caden,” Alistair murmured. She caught his concern and half turned toward him. His face was dark, worry etched on his features.

“It’s alright,” she said back, but it wasn’t.

“You come here with greater strength,” Swiftrunner went on, his lips drawn back to expose his teeth. “I can smell the blood on you, elf. Wolf blood.” The heaving mass of werewolves swelled with rage, howls rending the air.

“I can explain that—”

She wasn’t sure exactly what happened or who started it, but once a riot of noise erupted from the pack she felt a great weight slam into her. She did not fall, could not as those huge fingers on the meaty paw were gripped around her neck, the claws piercing her skin. Any cry of alarm was silenced by the tightness of his hold on her. She hadn’t felt herself drop the torch, but her hands clung to the wrist and forearm of the great werewolf.

“Caden!” The shout was desperate, but soon subdued. She was separated from the group, the werewolves outnumbering her friends and creating a wall between her and them. Swiftrunner yanked her forward and then away, crushing her against the wall. Her head rang with the contact it made to her skull. Caden’s feet were dangling, unable to find purchase. She dug her fingers into the ropes of muscle over his arm, but to no avail. Her vision went grey.

“Stop, please, stop!” The yells from her friends were all she could hear, that and the blood rushing in her ears. The hold on her neck shifted, not quite letting up, but when she took a frantic breath she was able to fill her lungs. She could breathe a little now, enough to clear the fuzz from her head and focus on the wolf in front of her. Over his shoulder she could see the desperate fight between wolf and her companions; Alistair swinging his fists as his weapons lay somewhere she could not see. It was taking several wolves to keep him at bay. He was going to end up badly hurt if she couldn’t regain control of the situation, a situation that felt utterly hopeless.

Caden braced herself on the arm of Swiftrunner, pulled up her legs, then drove them south, eager to find a soft underbelly. Her heels dug into him, surprising him enough that his grip slackened and Caden found herself sliding quickly down the wall to land in a heap on the floor. She rolled and scrambled, but Swiftrunner was quicker, diving onto her legs and pressing his weight onto her. She couldn’t stop the croaked shriek at her inability to create space to fight. Her hand found the handle of the torch and grabbed it just as he hauled her back towards him. She spun, flinging the fire at his face. Swiftrunner howled and dug his nails into her thigh. Caden gritted her teeth and pulled the other leg back to kick his wolfish snout.

Something landed behind her, a new hand clamping onto her arm, tearing her from the grip of the wolf. Alistair. Caden was back on her feet, then pushed aside, hidden away behind him as he stood between her and the raging werewolf.

“We just wanted to talk,” Alistair shouted. His arm was out and curved back to keep her behind his protective limb. Caden struggled to catch her breath and watched the wolf from behind Alistair. “They think you are monsters; don’t become what they fear you to be. Try to remember your humanity and listen, Maker damn it.”

“Swiftrunner,” Caden managed. “Please.”

The great werewolf crouched to spring, his eyes burning with fury and Caden gripped Alistair's arm, pushing it aside to stand next to him.

But the leap never came.

The wolves stilled suddenly, their attention elsewhere from the group of elves and humans they were successfully subduing. Swiftrunner turned with a whine and Caden saw a great white wolf slowly walk out of the darkness into the small pocket of light. The wolves bowed and moved aside as it entered.

Caden took a shaky breath and kept her eyes locked onto the white wolf. “Are you Witherfang?”

She felt foolish as soon as she’d spoken; this impossibly bright wolf certainly didn’t look entirely normal, but nor did it look like the werewolves. It didn’t seem very likely that it would be able to use it’s wolf mouth to speak like Swiftrunner did. And yet there was some vast intelligence in the eyes that looked back at her. Something wild and free and old as the hills. Caden's mouth dried up so she couldn’t have replied even if the wolf had surprised her with speech.

The wolf looked to Swiftrunner for a long moment then turned tail and slowly walked back into the darkness, its fur illuminating the immediate surroundings, like it was lit from within.

“She wants to speak with you,” Swiftrunner growled at Caden. “You must leave your weapons behind.”

Caden dropped her swords at once. She hadn’t even used them since coming upon Danyla.

Alistair winced and muttered: “Caden, are you certain?”

She nodded without speaking. He already was bereft of his sword and shield so took a step with her as Caden started to walk in the direction of the white wolf, the sound of her companions placing staffs, steel and a bow on the ground.

Swiftrunner snarled and barked, halting her advance. “Only you, elf. The rest must remain here with my kin.”

Caden tensed, but nodded.

Alistair was beside her in an instant. “Absolutely not. No way.” He glared at the werewolf, but turned his concerned face to her. “Caden, we’ve walked knowingly into a trap before, but armed and with the security of companions. You cannot mean to go alone. Don’t leave me behind again to let you face Maker only knows by yourself.”

“I don’t like it,” Caden answered truthfully. “But we have to find a way to fix this mess without further bloodshed. I have to.” She offered a wan smile and set off again. Alistair turned on Swiftrunner.

“No.” He said, his voice deep and urgent. “No, she isn’t going alone. We’re both Grey Wardens, both here to break this curse and recruit an army to face the Blight. If she goes, I go.” He reached out his arm for her and Caden watched sombrely as he took her small hand in his and threaded his fingers through hers. She was touched by his care and surprised by her relief at his contact. She squeezed his hand in silent thanks, but wasn’t sure if he even noticed. His gaze was fixed on the alpha wolf. “Take it or leave it.”

“Let our friends leave in peace,” Caden added. “Let them go back the way they came.” This was thrown to her companions as a very pointed suggestion.

Swiftrunner threw his head around, teeth snapping at the air. But he did not refuse and instead nodded to them to follow him. Caden looked back once to the faces of her companions. Rhiannon looked stricken at this development, but she gritted her teeth and bore it.

“We’ll be waiting,” was all Rhiannon said.

“If anything happens, Wardens,” Leliana advised darkly. “Make a lot of noise.”

“And we’ll come running,” Zevran promised with more cheer.

Rosa whined and Eliza crouched to settle her down, but the dog stayed where she sat and allowed Caden to leave her.

The Wardens walked through the winding corridor, further away from where they had left their friends behind. Caden hadn’t expected to go quite such a distance, but the entire time she held onto Alistair's hand and just like their night sleeping in the tent together, it anchored her, kept her breathing calm. If being flanked by werewolves out for blood was a chaotic storm, tethering herself to Alistair was how she kept herself from being swept away.

Up ahead the shallow light vanished. Caden and Alistair were slowly lead through to a new chamber, one that was vast with high vaulted ceiling and plant life merging with the bricks in a way that put the exterior to shame. Trees grew in the corners, their mossy bark evident against the grey stones. The room had many corridors converging on it and in the centre, the ground was raised a step or two. On this small platform stood a woman unlike anyone Caden had ever seen. Her skin was a steely blue tone and her dark hair was long, tumbling down her back and over her shoulders, shifting as she moved over her breasts. Caden realised all at once that this woman with solid black eyes was nude before it sank in that this woman was most assuredly not human. Her hands and legs were wrapped in vines, her hands more like branches and twigs, her feet like sprawling roots. Her legs were more tree-like than her upper body was, the roots and creepers flowing up her body from the ground to cover her between her thighs and spread over her belly.

Swiftrunner went to stand beside her and she raised one bark-like hand to caress the fur on his head. He leaned into the touch like a dog with his master and the woman turned her gaze to the Wardens. Alistair was very still beside Caden, his grip tight on hers.

“I have watched your advance through these woods.” Her voice was low and soothing, as melodic as the brook they had passed, as lofty as the breeze in the trees. It was a voice that commanded to be listened to and Caden and Alistair complied without hesitation. “You came that first night, but turned back when you found a lost child.” This was directed at Caden, the deep black eyes fixed on her. “Despite the threat you knew followed you, you returned with reinforcements, and yet you did not seek to storm this temple. You did not move as an army through the night. You were not dissuaded from your quest by the disorientation of the forest, nor your hungry bellies when your food went rotten. You found a cursed elf and put her out of her misery.” The woman took a step towards them, her strange feet not stuck to the ground as it appeared when she was stood still. “You are strangers to the forest. What gave you the right to end her life?”

Caden wet her trembling lips. There was power in this room, surrounding this woman. So thick she could taste it. The golden warmth of her Warden-Brother kept her planted to the ground and she looked up into the depths of the wild in her eyes. “I didn’t want to do that.” She said, her voice cracking on the last word. “I wanted to help her by freeing her from the curse, but when Danyla asked me to let her die, I saw no alternative. I’m… I’m very sorry that had to happen.”

At the last moment of her apology, she held back from directing it to the woman. Somehow she knew in the pit of her guts that this woman was the Brecilian Forest, like a spirit of nature, ancient and powerful. And yet Danyla had been a person, with her own agency, her own life, not tied to these woods. She was sorry Danyla had had to die, but not sorry for taking away a wolf that appeared to belong to this woman.

She glanced around the room, the white wolf from before, Witherfang she was certain, was nowhere in sight.

“Interesting,” the woman said. “And why have you come to this forest?”

“I was tasked to seek out Witherfang,” Caden said clearer now. “I was advised that I could end the werewolf curse by cutting out the heart of the wolf, but I am loathed to shed more blood for this cause. I am set on breaking the curse though. Can you help me?”

The woman stepped down the dais and over to Caden, towering above her at a height greater than Alistair. He shifted where he stood and earned himself a glance for his effort. He averted his gaze.

“You are little more than a child,” the woman said matter-of-factly. “The man who handed you this grave mission is a man of many years and he has not been entirely truthful with you.”

“I’m aware there were holes in Zathrians tale.” Caden asserted firmly. “That is why I wanted to speak with Swiftrunner and figure out the truth for myself.”

The woman considered Caden's words, her head cocking to the side. “That is greater wisdom than I would have expected. I noted your earlier compassion, as well; truly you are a surprising guest in my home.”

“Who are you?” Alistair asked, his voice carrying across the room. “I’m sorry, I just… what are you doing here?”

“Who do you think I am?” She might have looked to Alistair when he spoke, but her gaze slid back to Caden for her question.

“I get the strong sense that you are… here.” Caden said hesitantly. “I know how that sounds, but with everything else we’ve seen and the way the forest seemed alive… yes, that’s what I think. You are the forest.”

“Astute.” She replied with a long smile, the edges curving up sharply. “I am the Lady of the Forest. I know what it is that you seek. I know what Zathrian told you about Witherfang, but the truth is far more complicated than you know.” She smiled sadly and reached to stroke Swiftrunners neck again. “It was Zathrian himself who set this curse in motion.”

That Caden had not expected and she frowned, glancing to Alistair who looked as perplexed as she felt. “Zathrian turned the elves into werewolves?”

“Not quite.” The Lady of the Forest replied. “I believe that was a side effect he had not foreseen; that his own people now suffer. Were it not for that he would not have asked you to break the curse. I suppose we should be grateful for small mercies. This curse was placed centuries ago on humans. Humans who had caused Zathrian grievous harm.”

“Centuries ago?” Caden frowned. Perhaps she had misunderstood the words, but Alistair seemed equally as bewildered.

“But we spoke to him.” He insisted. “Zathrian can’t be hundreds of years old.”

“The need for vengeance can be a great sustainer of life.” The Lady said. “In a manner of speaking at least. Allowing rage and hatred and vengeance consume you can grant you many years, but at such a great cost that you are truly not living at all.” Her obsidian eyes found Cadens. “You know of what I speak. You carry all of this inside you.”

Caden sucked in her breath, her insides squirming uncomfortably.

“In small doses now,” the Lady went on, almost soothingly. “But the rot is there. It needs only to fester and grow and you could be lost as well.”

“No,” Caden refuted, her voice thin. “I’m better now. I’m alright.”

“She’s fine,” Alistair added, stronger, more assertive. His hand squeezed hers and until then Caden had forgotten they were still clasped together.

“Why did Zathrian curse the humans?” Caden asked, desperate to shift the focus from her.

It was Swiftrunner who took up the tale, his gargling voice oddly soft as he spoke. “The humans stole Zathrians children. A young man and a young woman. They tortured and killed him. Her they raped and left for dead, but although she survived her ordeal she took her own life weeks later. She was with child.”

Caden swallowed. The words of the Lady of the Forest bounced around inside her skull and the sad story of Zathrians children wove unpleasantly with the assessment of the darkness she kept inside. She knew this tale far too well. She could understand the drive for taking revenge in whatever manner. “That’s… that’s awful.”

“What did he do?” Alistair wanted to know, not seeming to sense Caden's discomfort.

“Zathrian came here, to this ruin,” Swiftrunner said, his snarl returning. “Invoked a spirit and bound it to Witherfang.”

“Bound it to a great wolf,” the Lady amended gently. “Thus Witherfang was born.”

“Witherfang hunted the tribe of humans, tore their flesh and chewed their bones, but not all were killed,” Swiftrunner said. “Some were left alive, but changed in their very blood by Witherfangs terrible bite. The blood maledict grew from these interactions.”

“The werewolves emerged from this bloodshed.”

“We raged without reason, without end,” Swiftrunner went on. “We were wild and savage, until our Lady found us. She calmed the red mist. Gave us sense again. Peace.” He knelt as he spoke and the other wolves followed suit. The Lady smiled beatifically at them, like a pure and wild version of Andraste blessing her followers.

“Can the curse be broken at all?” Caden asked quietly, still rattled by all she had learned. “What can we do to help you?”

“I need to speak with Zathrian myself.” The Lady replied. “We have sent requests to parley every time they passed this way, but he has always ignored us. He can no longer ignore us. We cannot let him. Please, mortal, go to him. Convince him to return with you to speak with me. He needs to understand that what happened to his children was dreadful, but he is no longer harming their attackers; he is harming so many innocent victims.”

Caden nodded, her throat thick. She understood Zathrians motive, but she couldn’t bear the pain Danyla had been in. The Lady of the Forest was right; Zathrian had to break the curse. She had to make him see reason. Caden tugged on Alistair's hand and turned around, not willing to let go just yet. He went with her and the werewolves let them pass.

The corridor they had entered through was dark, but before they could reach it a warm light flickered from within. Caden stopped, curious, hearing the familiar bark of her dog and before she could even look at Alistair, she saw their friends burst from the corridor, weapons bared.

“Caden, are you alright?” Rhiannon had her bow drawn, arrows aimed at the werewolves behind, that were growling loudly at the intrusion.

“What—?” Caden began, noting the aggressive stance of the others; Eliza and Morrigan were wielding staffs ready with magic, Zevran had his swords drawn. Rosa, her hackles raised, bounded to Caden, sniffing at her as if to prove she was alright. A final figure emerged from the darkness.

“I see you have met the spirit of Witherfang,” Zathrian said, his voice cool and resounding. He looked past Caden to the Lady of the Forest. “Her heart is still intact so you have not yet achieved what you were tasked with. No matter. I will take it myself.”

He drew his staff and spoke harsh words on incantation. Caden had a split second to consider her actions and yet she found her legs moving of their own accord. She dropped Alistair's warm hand and leapt to stand between Zathrian and the Lady, hands raised, mouth open in a cry of “NO!”

Then the spell hit and her mind seized as her worst nightmares came to life.

Chapter Text

Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers

Alistair watched the magic hit, melting Caden's expression of concern and determination. Her eyes glazed over and widened, then snapped shut, screwing up tight against whatever she had seen. Her mouth fell open in a soundless cry. Her hands vanished into the hair at her scalp and she bent double, visibly shaking legs barely holding her upright. Alistair stood petrified as he watched the transformation upon her, sending her to her knees with a thud, curled over, her loosened hair falling over her face.

Then she started screaming.

Alistair went cold; the shrieks that rent the air in the chamber were high and terrified, the kind of noise produced in the throes of some great horror, cutting through the tension of the sudden showdown between Zathrian and the Lady of the Forest. For a moment he was frozen, his muscle locked in place by Caden's sudden terror, but then he saw her hands start moving. She was dragging her hands down her face, over and over, her golden locks obscuring the action at first, but then he saw the blood and he snapped into action with a shout of alarm.

“What did you do to her?” He yelled, scrambling to his knees before Caden. Her fingernails had made fresh grooves in her skin around her still closed eyes. “Caden, Caden, can you hear me?”

He sensed bodies around him, realised Zevran and Rhiannon had reached for her hands to drag them away from her face. She fought them with unseeing eyes, but her limbs lashed out, her legs kicking wildly. Fighting the assailants that only she believed were there.

“I did nothing to her,” Zathrian responded coolly. He walked past Alistair and the seen he had left, raising his staff to the angry wolves. “She got in my way.” Lights flashed around the chamber, that Alistair only saw out of the corner of his eye. The howls and yelps ceased all at once, but Alistair was fixated on Caden.

“How do we make it stop?” He cried. Morrigan and Eliza came closer, the latter peering anxiously at the Warden.

“It’s a nightmare curse.” Eliza assessed, though she sounded unsure. “I think. We were never allowed to cast these at Kinloch.” She looked to the witch for confirmation and found it in the set of her dark eyes.

“I believe so,” Morrigan said, reaching for Caden's chin and with a surprising amount of strength tugged her face so that she could look upon her. Caden was still crying out, though her blue eyes were still unfocused as Morrigan observed her. “There is no end to this spell or at least not soon. The quickest way to end it is with the death of the caster,” she glanced over her shoulder, meeting Alistair's eye for a split second during the motion and he could see that she was seriously considering that as an option. “That’s it.”

Alistair followed her gaze to Zathrian.

The werewolves were frozen where they stood, muscles coiled to spring for the most part. One or two were mid-leap, hind legs still on the ground, but all were still and quiet. The Lady of the Forest was just as statue-like, standing with her face drawn into a sorrowful glare, just the sort of expression he would have expected from a literal manifestation of an enchanted forest.

Caden wanted to end this without bloodshed. That was why she’d stepped in between the two opposing forces. Alistair ran a shaking hand through his hair as he considered his options, such as they were.

Zathrian had struck coldly, urgently, without waiting to hear what Caden had to say about why she had not recovered the heart for him. He had misled Caden about the intelligence, the humanity of the werewolves, and sent her into a forest that had tried to starve her and keep her out. It wouldn’t have been a huge leap to paint him as the bad guy.

The werewolves, on the other hand, had tried to kill them. Alistair could easily remember Swiftrunner overwhelming Caden and trying to tear into her body. The Lady of the Forest might have stilled their bloodlust, but was she trustworthy? If it was true that Zathrian had created her in a terrible ritual centuries ago, didn’t that mean they couldn’t believe anything she said when it came to the elf Keeper? Would the corrupted spirit say anything to end him in revenge for what he had done?

Caden screamed again, cutting a knife through his confusion. If there was no way to end this curse without killing Zathrian then he had to do it.

And yet, Alistair hesitated. Something else gripped him and he found himself looking to Morrigan and the witch looked back as if she knew where his mind was going. “I need some lyrium.” He said. He wasn’t asking.

Morrigan shook her head, but with reluctant hands, she went to a pouch at her hip and withdrew the shining blue liquid in a tiny vial. It would be enough, or so he hoped. “If you do this, it will render the elf and I useless.” She was talking about Eliza, but perhaps there would be a useful side effect of nulling Zathrian, too. And if not they would be facing a mage without magic of their own. Alistair didn’t see they had a choice. She was still holding the vial to herself and he opened his palm for it. “Think about it.”

“I have.” He replied firmly. “It’s the only way.” Morrigan's hand trembled where she held the vial fast. “You and Eliza are welcome to leave if you’re quick.”

“I hate you,” Morrigan said tiredly and without venom as she handed over the draft.

Alistair uncorked it, not caring where the stopper fell and knocked back the potion. It was cold, like drinking ice and just as sharp as it travelled down his throat and into his chest. He shuddered at the taste, metallic and sweet and somehow bitter as well, but his veins responded as he knew they would, lighting up with power. Morrigan had taken his advice and was bolting from the room, but Eliza had stayed, perhaps unaware of what was about to happen.

“Hold her still,” Alistair said, his voice imbued with temporary power and the authority of his decision.

He wasn’t a Templar, he kept saying so, but his change of vocation to Grey Warden wasn’t even a year through. The skills he had learned lingered inside him like muscle memory on his brain. He knew the way to hold his hands to invoke the Makers name and allow the power to flow through him. The lyrium leapt from his blood to his hands without much prompting and he focused hard on his goal, turning himself into the epicentre of a blast of power that blew out all around him. The powerful shock wave passed through most of his companions without them seeming to notice, but Eliza was staggered by the blast, falling back on her heels in shock. Alistair was watching Caden, who shuddered at the cleansing wind that rolled over her. Then she opened her eyes and finally focused on Alistair's face.

“What did you do?” her voice was hoarse and cracked as she spoke.

Alistair opened his mouth to answer, but then he heard the growls again.

“You brought a Templar with you?” Zathrian was incandescent with rage, whirling on the group as his spells died with Alistair's move. “You are a traitor to your kin!”

Caden pulled herself free of the hands that had been holding her and hurried to her feet, blood trickling down over her eyebrow and across her cheek as she fixed her gaze on Zathrian. “Interesting choice of words,” she rebuffed him, “given that the curse stemmed from your actions.”

Caden stalked across the floor to Zathrian, stopping only when she was right before him. Alistair remembered with a sick start that she had left her weapons behind and was unarmed, but he still knelt where he had performed the magic purge, exhausted by his actions. He was unused to the high of lyrium and the sudden, dreadful drain of being without it.

The Lady of the Forest watched Caden and held her wolves back with a wave of her hands.

“Zathrian,” Caden said, her voice laced with pity. “What happened to your children was awful. I’m so sorry that they were killed.”

Zathrian stared down at her, every inch of him tense. “I suppose she told you it happened hundreds of years ago?” Caden nodded. “It doesn’t feel so. It feels as though it happened yesterday. Even now, after all this time.”

“I know,” Caden said kindly. “What happened to your children happens to elves all over Ferelden to this day. There are plenty of humans out there who still take what they want from us no matter the consequences.”

“There have to be consequences.”

“I agree,” Caden said, force infusing her words. “There do. But the consequences have to be immediate and commensurate.” She paused for a moment. “I killed the man who stole me. The human man. I killed him and I killed every guard that stood in my way. Maybe it was too far and maybe in a perfect world he would have faced the law for what he did, but I wasn’t the first he took and I wouldn’t have been the last if he’d lived, so I made sure he couldn’t do that anymore. That was justice or the best I could achieve by myself.” She took a breath and levelled her gaze on Zathrian again, who appeared to be listening intently. “If you had killed the humans who killed your son and raped your daughter, that would have been right. No-one could have faulted you for that. But this curse… it’s gone on so long and hurt so many folk, most of whom weren’t even connected to the men who hurt your children. It’s now harming your own people. Is that what you want? Your hatred pushed you beyond justice and into revenge. It isn’t right and you have to end it.”

Zathrian’s jaw worked as he considered Caden. “Fine words,” he said after a moment. “I might even have listened. But you have turned your back on your kin. Your cousin was born with the Dalish, has lived with us and fought for us and you who lived side by side with humans and bring them into my camp cannot be trusted.”

Alistair managed to rally enough to get to his feet. He was tempted to walk over and defend Caden, but sensed that was probably the last thing she needed. He stood and glanced at the others who were watching intently, the Lady still observing without any insight as to how she was feeling about the interaction between Caden and Zathrian.

“So because I’m friends with humans I’m a traitor to all elves?” Caden asked, her voice calm, but Alistair could hear the tightness in her words. “Am I hearing you right?”

“You claim you delivered justice to the one who took you and yet you and the Templar walk in here hand it hand.” Zathrian sneered. “Tell me, what makes this human so special as to avoid your brand of justice?” He looked over at Alistair.

Caden crossed her arms over her chest. “How about the fact that Alistair has never done anything to hurt me.”

Alistair winced inwardly; that wasn’t entirely true, but he did not argue.

“Alistair has only ever been my friend and count myself lucky that of all the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, it was him who survived with me. I will not stand here and have you slander my best friend purely because he is human.” Caden was keeping it together, but there was a thread of emotion shaking the pitch of her voice. “Human men have been the bane of my life for a really long time, but I’m not going to turn my back on those who have helped me or stood by me out of prejudice. I think I’ll always be wary if not afraid of strangers, but I believe I have learned to tell the difference between a good person and a person who intends to cause harm. I can’t live my life in fear and I won’t do that. That does not make me a traitor.”

“Listen to her Zathrian,” came the melodious insistent voice of the Lady of the Forest. Her hand was on Swiftrunner, her touch holding him back though he still looked seconds away from leaping on Zathrian. “Your anger has been felt through the ages, but now is the time to make peace and end the suffering that has been wrought.”

Zathrian turned his blazing eyes upon her, his features twisted by anger. “Do not speak to me, spirit.”

“Keep your cool, Zathrian,” Rhiannon spoke low and forceful. “We all followed you in here because you told us that Caden was in grave danger, but the first thing we saw was you attacking and Caden getting hurt.”

“She stepped in the way of my spell,” Zathrian bit back. “That was not my error.”

“Caden was trying to do the right thing,” came the snapped remark. Rhiannon whirled on the Keeper, her fists clenched tight. “Maybe you’ve never heard of that before, but all Caden has done since she came here is try to help. She had to kill Danyla, did you know that? One of your own clan begged to have her life ended because of the pain the curse was inflicting on her and Caden had to do it for her.” Rhiannon strode up to Zathrian, who raised his staff straighter, like a snake coiling back ready to strike if a threat advanced. “Your curse is hurting your own people, can’t you see that?”

“What was the spell you were aiming for the Lady?” Eliza asked. Alistair turned to look at the other elf, her staff clutched tightly before her. “It wasn’t to kill her or hurt her physically; you wanted to torture her mind. With what? What horrible things did you put in Caden's head?”

It was to Caden that Alistair looked during the pause that followed Eliza's question. Zathrian was hesitating over replying and in that moment Cadens face pinched and she looked away, her cheeks colouring. He almost didn’t want to know, it almost seemed like a private thing for Caden that no-one had the right to know and rather than anger, she seemed swamped with shame.

Morrigan was the one who spoke next. He hadn’t seen her return, but she stood behind Zathrian, a stalwart guard of the exit she had fled through. “If I may be so bold, I would suggest he conjured up the very cause of his wrath. Am I correct? Did you wish the wolves to relive the trauma that befell your offspring?”

Zathrian glared at the witch.

“You put the images of your tortured son and raped daughter into Caden's mind?” Zevran asked coldly. His voice was still and quiet, but every muscle on his body was tense. Alistair shuddered as Zathrians returning grimace answered the question and then Zevran was shouting. He hadn’t known the elf very long, but he hadn’t lost his cool when Alistair had punched him, had been teasing throughout the trek through the forest, mindful of Caden at every turn. To see him lose it now, was most disconcerting. Rhiannon's voice joined his and the pair rounded on Zathrian.

Zathrian raised his staff again, yelling them down, or trying to. The chamber was a cacophony of noise, with wolf snarls adding to the mix. Alistair barely heard them, choosing instead to watch Caden. As if she felt his gaze she turned and met his eyes, blue to hazel, both sharing something across the chamber. A question over what to do next, a hesitation to strike while Zathrian was unguarded, a determination that whatever their choice was it would be taken together. Just as before when they had found each other in the camp, their feet drew them together, like drops of water following the same path over a pane of glass and once again they found themselves clasped by their hands. Alistair could only speak for himself, but his hand relished the feel of hers, knew it and wanted it, to feel the palm and fingers pressed against his calloused, clumsy hand. She was firm footing against a sweeping current, the shelter from the storm of sound that raged around them. Against all common sense, Alistair tugged her closer and Caden stepped towards him, confusion clouding her gaze. He didn’t really know what he was doing, some instinct deep inside was taking over. She looked up at him, her face, once only ever hostile and cross to look upon him, was now so open and lovely and then he knew what he wanted. The image shot through him like a bolt. It was the realisation that halted him. Now was not the time and she probably didn’t even want…

Alistair flushed, ever the Chantry boy, and dropped her hand as though it was red hot. Channelling his impotent wanting into something, anything, he rounded on the Keeper. “Zathrian,” his voice was booming. Where had that come from? “End the curse.”

The room silenced, but Zathrian would not be so easily swayed. “Or what, human?” he sneered. “You’ll cut me down? Before your elvhen friend? She may be a flat-ear, but do you think she will ever look at you favourably again if you do this?”

Alistair reached for the sword that wasn’t there and cursed inwardly. His hand groped and became a fist when it closed on empty air and with only a brief moment to consider, Alistair returned to his tried and tested method of dealing with elves he was angry at and swung his arm in a tight arc, connecting with the surprised Keepers cheek. He crumpled and Alistair heard a cry of delight behind him from Rhiannon.

“My that does look painful,” Zevran remarked drily touching his own bruise.

Caden passed him without a look and Alistair felt a sting of regret for letting his emotions get the best of him once again. He was all over the place and as she crouched down to Zathrians level and spoke in even, forceful tones, Alistair had to step back. He didn’t mind in which direction, he just needed space between him and his victim and his friend. He felt the hot, smelly breath of werewolf on his neck and shuddered, flinching aside.

“Apologies,” he muttered unsure whether he meant it for the reflexive step aside or the sloppy punch amid a delicate negotiation.

“You punch with a closed fist.” Came the murmured response, meant only for him. Swiftrunner snorted and nodded to his hand, which was throbbing painfully. “Open it up and keep your thumb on the outside next time. Punch where it’s soft; the belly. Or go for the throat and be done with it.”

“I… thank you.” Alistair managed. Swiftrunner nodded again. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

He returned his gaze to Caden. Zathrian wasn’t looking at her, but there was something in the way he was holding his head that told Alistair that he was listening intently. Caden had swept her hair aside to drape over her shoulder and he could see the long expanse of her pale neck, the tendons flexing with the quiet intensity of her words. Her hair was tangled from being pulled loose, clouding in a fine mass of gold. His hand twitched, his fingers fighting the urge to brush that hair out of her eyes. What was the matter with him? He had to turn away and break the contact he had with Caden. Looking at her, being around her was too much at that moment. He was forgetting where they were and who they were; while Caden, the dedicated Grey Warden, focused on the task at hand he daydreamed about touching her hair? Pathetic.

His hands landed on his hips and he drew in a few deep breaths, angry at himself.

“How long have you lived with this pain, Zathrian?” Alistair heard Caden ask. It seemed a needless question; they already knew he had been alive for centuries. And yet Zathrian looked up at Caden and for a moment the pain in his eyes was almost too much to bear.

The Lady of the Forest approached, kneeling with great difficulty beside Caden to better see eye to eye with the Keeper. “Zathrian, your magic is powerful and great, but you know as well as I that this curse is the very thing that sustains your life. You have let your people believe that you have rediscovered the immortality of the elves of old, but that is a lie. You have let your people believe it, but you and I both know the truth.”

“No,” Zathrian shook his head mournfully. “All I ever did was for them. For my people.”

“For your children.” Caden offered and Zathrian halted. “I understand it, but it has gone on long enough. Let their spirits rest.”

“Zathrian, you know what must be done.” The Lady said softly. “Aren’t you tired?”

“And what if I am?” Zathrians voice shook with frustration. “You would kill me now? Strike me down where I stand.” As if to further demonstrate his point he rose now, Caden and the Lady following suit. “You see how quickly it returns to bloodshed?”

“Is that the only way to end the curse?” Caden asked of the Lady. “There must be a kinder way.”

“A curse is not kind,” the Lady said. “But there must be a merciful way to end this. Zathrian? This is what I ask of you. This is what I have been trying to ask of you all this time. What can we do to help you break the curse?”

Zathrian suddenly seemed very old to Alistair's eyes. His weary eyes roamed the Lady's face as if searching for something and then he sighed deeply. “I am old and consumed by my grief and rage. There is no place in my heart for mercy and so I did not believe I would hear it from anyone else, least of all you.”

“It’s never too late to admit when you are wrong,” Caden said. “The time to make amends is now.”

“I… yes, I see that,” Zathrian admitted. “But I am… I’m afraid of dying.”

Caden reached over and touched Zathrians arm gently. “Me, too.”

“It is my greatest wish,” the Lady spoke up then solemnly, “to be ended. I was created out of suffering, but I have known wonderful things. I have known love and hope and yet I cannot abide living any longer because my life extends your suffering Zathrian, yours and your peoples. Let it end tonight. Please, Maker, end it.”

Her impassioned speech broke something in Zathrian. Alistair watched the old man, and he truly did look like a long-lived old man now, his face wrought with wrinkles, eyes deeply set beneath the skin that pooled around his face, crumple and his face dropped into his hand. Caden brought up her second arm to hold him and Zathrian let her embrace him. His shoulders shook and Caden held him quietly, offering no platitudes or rushing his outpouring of sorrow. She merely let him sob softly into her shoulder and bore the weight of all the years of missing his family. The Lady stood next to them, observing as silently as a tree, but her face was wet with sap that ran from her eyes over the rivulets of her skin, which was more bark-like than before. They were both changing outwardly as they had found common ground and Alistair realised his face was damp as he watched them.

After a while Zathrian looked up at Caden, his shrunken form making her taller than him. His head was still bald, but his eyebrows had sprung forth with great bushy white strands. His hands dropped his staff and clutched at Caden. The Lady reached over and touched his shoulder, her arm stiffening solid.

“It is time,” Zathrian whispered and Caden nodded.

“Yes, it is.” Caden’s face was in profile now and the torchlight lit up the wet streaks that cut through the dried blood and sweat on her cheeks. “Do you need me to…?”

“No, Caden of the Grey Wardens,” Zathrian said reassuringly and Alistair let out a breath. She didn’t need any more blood on her hands right now. The wolves clustered around their Lady, whining softly as she reached back with her other arm to caress Swiftrunners snout before her arm became another branch. “Caden, the Grey Warden, hero of elves, restorer of peace.” Zathrians voice paled to nothing and he sank to his knees. Caden went with him, holding him so he did not hurt himself, cradling his head against her as he took his last breath. With that breath, he closed his eyes and his grip slackened, dropping his hands to his chest. Caden arranged them over him and stood, wiping at her face as the body of Zathrian began to crumble into ashes, that were teased by an unknown wind. The same breeze that carried the ashes to the Lady, now rooted through the cracked stone slabs to the dirt deep beneath the fortress, swept her hair and tangled it through her extended twiglike fingers. She smiled gratefully down at the assembled wolves and swelled, growing taller, her waist thickening and her branch-arms rose up to the sky that they could see through the ceiling. As Zathrians final ashes blew to her, her branches opened and broke through the wreckage above, raining stones down upon the group, who scattered to safety to watch her final sigh before settling into place.

Where once had stood an old man and the Lady now stood an enormous tree, open to the night sky, her roots vast and deep.

The chamber was darkened by the sudden canopy above them and as his companions hurried to light new torches and cast light on their surroundings, Alistair heard a commotion beside him. The wolves tipped forward to meet the ground, their claws clattering against the stones. Their whines rose up and with a start, Alistair realised their noises were less of the lupine variety and sounded more like crying. Someone came over with a torch. Leliana. Together they watched the men on the floor shudder and complete their transformation and then Alistair hurried to help the first man up.

“Swiftrunner?” He asked, feeling foolish. He’d watched them changed with his own eyes, yet here he was questioning it.

“She’s gone,” he said rather than answer. He looked up at the tree and stumbled out of Alistair's arms to press his palms to the tree, as if listening. “She’s truly gone.” His head lowered to rest against the bark. “Sleep well, my Lady.”

Caden appeared next to Alistair and he felt her hand find his. He gripped her tight, both looking ahead at the men who each took a few moments to mourn at the tree, lamenting the loss of the one who had kept them safe, yet laughing when they took in the sight of one another. All human men of various ages, clasping each other's shoulders and weeping openly to look upon each other. Alistair didn’t let go of Caden's hand when they staggered over to them to bow before Caden and thank her over and over for setting them free. Caden seemed unable to speak now, exhausted by all she had achieved and Alistair finally turned his head to look at her as the men dispersed, offering to lead them out of the chamber. The rest of their party followed, Leliana glancing back at Alistair with a knowing smile.

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked when they were alone. Alone but for the tree. Caden had a torch in her hand and him in her other and it seemed to take an age for her to turn her head around to look up at him.

“I’m…” she trailed off. The warm light on her face bowed and Alistair cried out sharply as he realised the torch was swinging towards him. He grabbed for it and missed, clasping her wrist and the torch bounced off his arm and to the floor. Heat flared, but it didn’t linger enough to burn, nor was there anything for the fire to catch. The torch just burned quietly to itself. Caden had slumped against his chest and Alistair hurried to hold her upright.

“When was the last time you slept?” He asked softly. Caden murmured something against him and he couldn’t help an indulgent chuckle. “Alright fearless leader, you need to rest. Are you… may I carry you for a little while?”

“Yes please.”

Alistair's smile deepened and he scooped her up in his arms, beyond proud of the fact that she was permitting this. It felt like the greatest honour to hold Caden after all she had done. Her body was light enough, though he could feel the density of her frame with the muscles she had cultivated since joining the Wardens. He had no doubt that the malnourished, thin elf he had met back at Ostagar would have been easier to carry, but holding this version of her— the hero of elves and restorer of peace as Zathrian had put it— was worth the strain. He would carry her all over Thedas if she needed it if it meant being near her.

He dug around the exposed dirt with his toe until he could quench the dull flames of the torch safely and then strode out of the temple to find that the woods were just woods again. The birds sang, the breeze whispered through the trees that no longer felt alive enough to watch their movements. Alistair walked by more than one set of raised eyebrows and paid them no mind. Caden was already fast asleep, snoring softly against his plate armour.

Chapter Text

I am burning to tell her she’s all I’m needing

Caden would have hated to be carried into the camp, he knew, so Alistair made sure to wake her once the lanterns came into view. The forest had been totally different on their way back, the paths remaining steady and true as they walked them. The others had gathered their weapons so Alistair and Caden took back their blades and he replaced his shield, having been carried by Leliana until such time as Caden could stand on her own two feet.

No-one spoke of what had transpired or how they would break the news to the clan that the curse was lifted at the cost of their Keeper, and yet they were met coming out of the forest with shouts and yells that gathered the two clans before them. Alistair glanced from one face to another, concerned that this was some sort of ambush, but one woman broke out of the group to gather Rhiannon up into a hug.

“You’re back and you’re safe,” she murmured into her daughter's hair. “Thank the Gods.”

“As if there was ever any doubt, mamae.” Rhiannon grinned wryly.

The woman released her then went to Caden and cupped her face gently in her hands. She smiled down at her. “Your mother would be so proud of you.”

“Aunt Ffion, I have to tell you—” but she didn’t need to finish that sentence as a new woman holding a staff stepped up.

“You don’t have to explain anything,” she said. “I am Lanaya, formerly Zathrians apprentice, but now I am the Keeper of the clan. We know Zathrian has gone. I… felt him pass.”

“The afflicted settled at once,” Ffion said, still holding Caden. “We know the curse is no more.”

Caden nodded. “I’m sorry about Zathrian. He went peacefully in the end.” She said thickly and her aunt gathered her into a hug.

“It is a natural loss that we can sustain,” she said. Lanaya nodded.

“Indeed. We will mourn for the loss of Zathrian, but we know that we can survive safely with the curse broken.”

Ffion kept a protective arm around Caden. “Come on, it’s late. Sleep now and tomorrow we shall discuss our next moves.”

There were too many to fit in one tent so other elves stepped up and started to invite the party to their own homes, splitting the group into pieces. Caden was to go with her aunt, that was obvious by the way Ffion was clinging to her with all of the protective instincts of a mother. Alistair couldn’t help the pang of jealousy; both he and Caden were motherless, but here she had found someone who might well have been the next best thing. Her mothers’ sister, kindly, caring, proud. He quashed the feeling, but he didn’t feel like he was able to insist on following Caden to her aunts home. Rhiannon went with them and Rosa. For a moment it looked as though Zevran was going to automatically follow and that would have been too much to bear for Alistair and his newfound sick feelings of envy. Instead, as Leliana and Eliza were happily paired off to go to one tent and the cousins went off together and Morrigan, of course, declined all offers and stole herself away, Zevran came cheerfully up to Alistair.

“Well my friend, can we bury the hatchet following our mutual efforts with the werewolves?” Zevrans tone was cheery, but there was a watchfulness to his gaze. It made Alistair feel a little better to know that Zevran still considered him at least a slight threat. “Shall we head off to bed. Not together, of course, unless you are interested? I am a fine cuddle partner if I do say so myself and those big arms look ever so inviting.”

Alistair glowered. “How about you stay in your bed and I’ll stay in mine and somehow we’ll make it through the night.”

“You say that as if you are going into battle!”

“Yes, well,” Alistair glanced over his shoulder where Caden was heading into her tent. She didn’t look back. “It feels that way.” Would she be alright sleeping alone? Was he so far gone that he believed that only he could prevent her night terrors? Alistair shook himself and turned back where he met Zevrans gaze and flushed. The elf had one silvery eye hiked and a smirk on his face.

“She will be fine without you,” he said.

Alistair began walking with Zevran following the direction they were sent in to seek their rest and adjusted his shield for something to do. “She doesn’t sleep well.” He muttered against his better instincts.

“She slept fine when I was with her,” Zevran remarked lightly. He was swinging his arms as he walked. “It wasn’t perhaps the most comfortable sleep that we spent tied up together, but we managed.”

Tied up together? Alistair swallowed his retort. It went down like bile, bitter and caustic. So, he was fooling himself. She was fine without him.

He didn’t bother to speak to Zevran again as they settled into their pallets in a tent so far away from Caden and after a while the elf picked up on Alistair's surly attitude and dropped any pretence of trying to make small talk.

Sleep, when it came, was a mercy.

*

Caden dreamt in sadness. There were no clearly defined moments or images in her dreams, or at least none that she could remember the next day, but it was sadness that drenched her sleep and she woke with tears on her face. Whenever she had imagined herself running away to join the fabled Dalish she could never have conjured up a situation such as this one. She had been told as a child not to put any stock in the stories about the Dalish, that they were a fairytale and nothing more. Now she knew just how real they were and how difficult reality was when it came to meeting her heroes in real life. Zathrian had been a mess, not a wise, ancient warrior. Then again Leliana had claimed shortly before the assassin attack that Caden and Alistair were living legends, carving out their own story in the history of Ferelden and she was certainly more of a mess than a hero. Perhaps that was normal, that stories grew wildly out of a single small seed of truth. If she succeeded in stopping the Blight, would she be known as a rose bush; flourishing, beautiful, deadly, when in fact she really just felt like a weed that didn’t know better than to grow because she was too stubborn to die?

The Dalish had let them sleep and it was gone lunchtime when Caden finally roused herself.

Her group met up over a brief meal of some sort of small bird, whole-roasted and spiced and served on a bed of wild greens and cups of sweet, cool water. The mood amongst her friends was less sombre than her own they brightened her spirits. Leliana and Eliza sat together and ate their meal with light giggles and shared glances. Morrigan sat on the edge of their gathering, unable to shake off Rosa who seemed to think the witch was lonely and sat with her head on Morrigans lap. Morrigan made pithy comments about the smell of the mabari, but Caden spied her gently scratching behind Rosas ears when she thought no-one was watching.

Zevran and Rhiannon sat either side of Caden and acted as though they were old friends already; their back and forth of gentle ribbing making everyone laugh to see.

Alistair didn’t join them. He had already eaten and apparently wanted to do a few circuits of the camp, checking in on the previously cursed, a shadow to Lanaya the new Keeper. Caden missed him and couldn’t help but wonder if she was neglecting her duty.

Before she could rectify that, her aunt appeared and beckoned her back to the tent. Caden hadn’t been alone with Ffion yet, but found it strangely comforting to be with her aunt away from the others. She would have never begrudged Rhiannon being there—Ffion was her mother after all, not Caden's—but it was nice to find a peaceful moment with her.

“I know you won’t be staying with us for long,” Ffion said, rifling through a small wooden box decorated with carved flowers and leaves. “You have so much more to do, but I wanted to give you something to go with you on your travels. A way for me to be with you while you are far away and maybe a way… well, a way for Adaia to be with you.” Ffion lifted out a bundle of paper wrapped in a ribbon. “I know she’s with you, just as she is with me, but you haven’t heard her voice in so long and this isn’t the same, but…”

“Are those letters from my mother?” Caden asked. Her heart was skittering at the thought.

Ffion nodded and held them to her chest for a moment. Then she exhaled and handed over the bundle. “These date back to before you were born,” she explained softly. “After I left, after what happened and I knew I was going to have Rhiannon. I couldn’t have brought her into the Alienage. Your mother had her own reasons for staying and I could never hold it against her, but…”

“It didn’t get any better after you left,” Caden said quietly. She was afraid of the letters, couldn’t quite bring herself to touch them. “What happened to you almost happened to me. Did happen to others.” She stopped and wet her lips, her mouth as dry and full of ashes as a cold hearth. “I wish I’d known you were here.”

“You wouldn’t have abandoned Cyrion.” Ffion asserted. “Even if you had known.”

Caden gave a half-hearted shrug. “Maybe? After mamae died, I felt so guilty. I was sick so I was the reason she died and I hated being in the Alienage. Hated the walls and the tired, hungry people inside. Hated what was on the outside. At times I hated my father for trying to stop me from practising to fight. And look at me now: I have abandoned him. And Shianni and Soris and Valendrian and everyone. I’m out here and they are still trapped.” She glanced up at her aunt, who was still holding out the bundle. Caden reached over and grasped them. “I don’t know if the Blight can be stopped. Alistair and I are just two people.”

“Two people with a team around you,” Ffion smiled. “A good team and now you have the Dalish behind you. That’s not nothing.”

“I guess so.”

“Rhiannon will come with you,” Ffion went on. Her face held fear and pride at war with the other. “She hasn’t said anything, but she won’t let you go alone.”

Caden drew the letters to her and cradled them in her arms. “Thank you, Aunt Ffion.”

*

The forest was cool that night. The trees seemed to have opened up to let the sky in, bathing the elvhen camp in pools of silver light. The forest around the camp had closed ranks, creating dark, private spaces. The mood was one of cheer and Caden watched in wonderment as the Dalish came together to decorate. Woven branches created swathes of greenery, dotted with bright bursts of flowers that were strung along the aravels and temporary canvas buildings. Those with magic were capturing dancing coloured lights in glass jars to hang from the trees, casting pink and yellow and blue glows.

She couldn’t help but think back to celebrations at the Alienage. There were vast differences, that was obvious, but at the heart of the thing, they were very similar. The community of elves coming together to joyfully spend an evening for a good cause. Smells of earthy food wafted over, just like the huge cooking pots that came out back home to feed folk en masse. Her wedding would have been like this. A party after the ceremony that had food and a sweet treat for afterwards in the form of a honeyed cake, with flowers atop it. Dancing. She’d never danced before, preferring to stay on the outskirts during previous weddings, but she would have been expected to dance with her new husband. She closed her eyes, imagining Nelaros taking her hand and guiding her into the marriage dance. She realised after a moment that she wasn’t sad at this fantasy, nor was it plunging her into grief. She was able to think about this without it hurting. As she opened her eyes, Caden supposed that was what acceptance was, what moving on with her life was.

A trio of smaller elf girls were approaching her with a basket of flowers. Caden smiled at their approach and listened as they coaxed her into a seated position, loosening her hair from its tie and brushing it through. They giggled and hummed and made childlike observations over the colour of her hair and Caden closed her eyes again and let them lull her into an utterly relaxed state.

*

Alistair held out his hand to shake Keeper Lanayas. “We greatly appreciate your help.”

“It’s the right thing to do, to honour our obligations,” Lanaya said, smiling. “Of course we’ll fight by your side. Tonight, we’ll feast and dance and properly celebrate the lifting of our curse. Tomorrow we head to your Redcliffe.”

“Thank you.” Alistair nodded to her. Turning he couldn’t suppress a wide grin that spread across his face. Of the three treaties Duncan had entrusted them with, they had successfully fulfilled two of them. With the mages and the Dalish to bolster their forces, things felt a lot less desperate. He went through the next stage of the plans as he walked; the final treaty was for the dwarves of Orzammar. That one would be the easiest yet; they knew exactly where the dwarves were and they were people of honour. They wouldn’t be able to refuse the call to action through their own system of pride and duty. He had never travelled to Orzammar and he knew the journey was long and could be tough up the mountains, but they had a pretty good team following them, him and Caden, and between them he knew they could do this.

At the tents he changed into a shirt granted him for the evenings' festivities; essentially it was his cleanest shirt that had been embroidered with leaves and other patterns as a personal gift for helping the Dalish. He had been a little taken aback that this travelling band of warrior elves put so much stock in a party; it was a little like being back at Redcliffe as a boy and watching nobles arrive from all overdressed in their finery. Something to observe and not participate in. But he wasn’t a little boy anymore; he was one of the guests of honour. It was a strange feeling. Strange, but not unwelcome.

He ran his hands over the raised threads on his shirt, enjoying the bumps of various leaves in all sizes. It was remarkable the way this altered the plain shirt into something fancy, yet still down to earth. Alistair smiled and headed back.

Across the camp, lit up by a magical lantern hanging from a tree beside her, Alistair spied Caden. Her back was turned to him, but he recognised her in an instant and in that same moment, he felt his breath catch.

He hadn’t seen her all day and now it was her hair that caught his eye at once. It was up, it was down, it was something in between. There were no misplaced strands; every lock was braided or curled or tucked away. From small braids close to her scalp that all converged into one large plait that hung down her back and throughout the woven hair were dotted flowers. Large white star-shaped flowers, smaller blue buds and a few purple trumpets, her hair was like a garden. It was a work of art.

Caden was talking to Zevran who stepped around then and Caden turned with him, laughing at something that forced her eyes shut in mirth. Alistair could see that she had been given a brand-new tunic with fluted sleeves down to her elbows and a curved neckline that matched the curved hem that skirted her thighs. The material was dyed a light blue and there were embroidered flowers at the neckline. She wore a pair of short breeches underneath and she was barefoot on the soft grassy ground.

Alistair took in her attire and her joy and a stab of something bitter worked its way into his gut, making him frown. He watched her reach out a hand and touch Zevrans arm, the elf smirking as he told whatever amusing story was making her so happy.

It wasn’t fair.

That petulant thought twisted into his mind and he wanted to look away, but found he couldn’t. Caden was happy. That was a good sight, of course it was, he wouldn’t argue against that. Zevran was making her happy in that moment and that was the problem. It wasn’t fair. He, Alistair, had stumbled and fought his way to Caden's friendship and Zevran had it right away. Alistair had only ever looked out for Caden, gotten her through her Joining, been there for her after Ostagar, had taught her the things that Duncan was supposed to teach her. He’d put up with her snarkiness at best, outright hostility at worst. He’d made mistakes and apologised and struggled his way into her good graces. Zevran had driven a knife into her flesh and yet she laughed easier with him than with anyone else.

It wasn’t fair.

Alistair tugged his eyes elsewhere, annoyed at his feelings. Caden was his friend and there was room for more than one friend in Caden’s life. She’d declared him to be her best friend back in the Forest and held his hand and let him cart her away when weariness took over and when he thought of them like that he felt certain it was true. He was her best friend, just as she was his. And yet. As much as he relished that place in her life, it felt temporary and weak, like she was only friends with him because of their joint task against the Blight. They were the only Grey Wardens of Ferelden, it made sense for them to be friends, but would it survive beyond their success in this war? Why would she ever want someone like him when she could find a home with her fellow elves?

Alistair huffed to himself. He was just being silly. The important thing was that Caden was happy and that happiness made her beautiful.

Alistair caught his foot on something, possibly his own damn shadow, and stumbled. That was an unwelcome thought. Obviously, she was beautiful. He hadn’t seen it at first, to be fair, not back at Ostagar, nor after, but it was there, her beauty and it was stupid to deny it. It didn’t mean he found her beautiful. Well, no, he did find her beautiful, but not in a way that demanded anything from her. He wasn’t about to tell her she was beautiful.

Alistair gritted his teeth and glanced back at the pair of elves, now joined by Caden's flame-haired cousin. They looked thick as thieves and Rosa was very taken with Rhiannon as well. Alistair rather felt like an outsider, one of only a few humans in the camp. He sighed and headed to find a drink as a small band began to strum instruments into jaunty music. He couldn’t help but think that this was an insight into what Caden lived every day. He would have to remember it.

*

Rhiannon proved to be an excellent dancer and, more importantly, a patient teacher. Many of the songs that played in the forest that night only required feeling the beat and moving however felt right, but a few of the dances required lines of elves, weaving in and out of each other, twirling and bobbing in unison. Caden’s eyes had been on stalks as the elves whooped and gathered for the first of these dances, hesitating on the outskirts before being dragged into the fray by Rhiannon. Caden had stumbled and wobbled and laughed raucously for the whole dance, but she had managed a vaguely accurate version of the dance by the end and been applauded for her efforts.

After several more such dances and occasional paired up dances with Rhiannon and Zevran and one or two other elves, Caden had been too parched to continue and so had wended her way over to where the sweet wine was set up with cups and helped herself. The first drink she had gulped down to cool her skin and steady her breathing, it’s honeyed tones making her forget the alcohol content, which only heightened the warmth in her cheeks. The second she poured and decided to nurse. Turning around she cast her gaze through the darkened outskirts of the camp where the moonlight was not filtering through and the lanterns were fewer. In spite of the joyful occasion, she couldn’t help but scan for threats. Back home, celebrations were always over when the nobles descended. Caden shuddered, chilled by her thoughts.

Rosa was nowhere to be seen. Caden felt that a cuddle with the large dog would be welcomed, so she whistled low. “Rosa?” She called softly to the dark forest. She heard rustling and turned to see her mabari shuffle out of the treeline. Movement behind Rosa caught Caden's eye and she looked up to see Alistair looking back at her. She frowned; what was he doing in the dark on his own? Rosa snuffled her mistresses’ hand, and Caden gave her an absentminded pat then headed towards her Warden-Brother. Rosa didn’t follow; lured towards the same children who’d fancied up Caden's hair by the promise of snacks and fuss.

Caden broached the treeline with her drink in hand and quietly made her way over the forest floor, mindful of sharp twigs or thorns on her bare feet. Alistair watched her approach, saying nothing.

“What are you doing?” Caden asked finally when she came to a stop before him. Smaller than ever without her boots. She took a small sip of her wine and kicked herself for not bringing him a cup. She held out her own. “Do you want some?”

Alistair looked at the drink in her outstretched hand and silently took it. He took a sip, eyes downcast.

“Hey?” Caden asked, brows furrowing. “Are you alright?” She glanced back at the dancing they could see through the trees and the slightly faded music then back to him. “You know this is a party in our honour, right?”

“Right,” Alistair said quietly. He took another sip of the drink, wincing at the taste. Caden couldn’t help a small chuckle.

“You don’t have to drink that if it’s not what you’re used to.”

“You seem very happy here,” Alistair said, looking into the cup.

“I guess I am,” Caden replied. “My mamae told stories about the Dalish and I always dreamed about finding them. Learning that I have a cousin here was just an added bonus.”

Alistair nodded, still not looking at her.

“Alistair?” He glanced up. “What’s the matter?”

He didn’t reply for a moment. “It’s really stupid. I know, no change there. I watched you with the elves here and with Zevran and…” he sighed. “I’m jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Jealous of how easy you are with them all,” Alistair said. There was no note of accusation in his voice. Nothing picking a fight. “I’m cross with myself for feeling this way, but I watched you open up to all of them so quickly when we… that is I…”

Caden felt her cheeks flush again and she raised a hand to her neck, rubbing the back of it awkwardly. “Yeah, I know… I wasn’t the nicest person to be stuck with. I didn’t make it easy on you.”

“It’s alright, I understand,” Alistair said quickly. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I didn’t understand at first, but I do now and I don’t begrudge you finding happiness here. I’m really glad you’re happy. I’m still just a little jealous.” He gave a halfhearted shrug.

Caden felt rotten. It might not have been his intentions and she believed that—he didn’t seem to be trying to pick at her. She had been difficult with him; she had been immediately friendly with the elves. “But we’re friends now.” She said helplessly. “We got there in the end, right?”

“Right.” Alistair smiled wanly. “We’re… friends.” He handed her back the cup and she took it. “You look… that is tonight… I mean…”

Caden looked down and let out a small self-deprecating chuckle. “Silly, I know. It’s not very me.”

“No, not silly.” Alistair hurried to correct her. “Pretty.”

Caden's eyes rose to meet his. “Oh.” She said.

Alistair smiled a little wider. “You look very pretty. I like what you’ve done with your hair.”

Caden laughed, reaching back with her free hand and brushing over the braids and the petals of the flowers. “Thank you. I didn’t really have anything to do with it. I just provided the hair.”

“I can’t get over how much there is of it,” Alistair said, looking down behind her at the design. “You tie it up so often that I’m still not used to seeing how much there really is. And the flowers…”

“They’re my favourite part,” Caden admitted. “I’m going to be really sad to take them out.”

“They smell lovely,” Alistair enthused, leaning down and inhaling. Caden froze; his face was suddenly very close beside hers. She could see the dark blonde beard he had ended up growing since their arrival in the Brecilian Forest, removed from luxuries such as shaving kits. She could smell his neck, the freshly bathed scent of him. She swallowed. Once upon a time this kind of closeness would have provoked a fearful reaction in her… she wasn’t quite sure what this one wanted from her. It wasn’t to run, that much was clear.

Alistair seemed to realise how near he was and he pulled back. Even in the darkness, she could see the red tinge to his face. “Er, sorry.” He ran a hair through his own hair and the air between them became uneasy with nerves.

Caden heard the band begin to play something new and in desperation of something to do, she held out her hand. “Would you like to dance?”

*

Alistair was burning up. He had completely forgotten himself and was amazed she hadn’t tried to run or punch him. He stood in the dark forest and all he could think was how stupid he had been. When Caden spoke again it shot through those thoughts and struck him with terror.

“Would you like to dance?” He stared down at her hand, held out to him. They might be friends, but every touch was still measured, still at the behest of Caden. He tried so hard not to overstep their boundaries and let her lead in everything. She wanted to dance, with him. That made it alright. Even so, he felt a cold sweat break out on his neck.

“I, er, I don’t really know how.” He said thickly.

Caden shrugged. “Neither do I.”

“You seemed fine out there.” He refuted, then winced. What a nice way to announce that he had been watching her from the trees.

Caden set down the cup and stepped up to him. “If you were watching all that, then you’ll know there’s very little to it and it’s fine to just make it up.”

“I don’t want to step on your feet.” He looked down at her pale toes.

“Take off your boots,” Caden suggested. He glanced up at her face. Apparently, she wasn’t going to take his excuses. Alistair felt confident somewhere in his mind that if he were to tell her he really didn’t want to dance that she would let it go and leave him be, but then he realised that was the last thing he wanted.

He reached down and pulled off one boot, then the other. His stomach lurched in panic as he took in the sight of his socks and felt the dampness of sweat on them. Did they smell? Oh Maker.

Caden looked down and stifled her laughter. “I think you probably ought to darn the sock on the right.”

Alistair wriggled his toes, the largest one poking through a hole. “A fair point. There just hasn’t been time, what with hunting you down, then trekking through the forest to break a curse. Needlework hasn’t been on the top of my priorities.”

“But you do know how?”

“Of course,” Alistair chuckled. “The Templars insisted on it and in the Grey Wardens you have to mend your own stuff when you’re travelling so you need to know how.” Looking at his holy, damp sock was all too much, so he reached down to take them off and stuff them down his boots until he was also barefoot on the mossy ground. He reached for her hand with a slight tremor in his fingers. Their hands touched and clasped around the other.

“Now what?” He asked. She was leading.

Caden glanced back at the other dances and then to him. She reached for his other hand and drew it towards her, placing it at her waist. Alistair felt his blood rush and suddenly he felt very light-headed. She reached her free hand up to his arm, a more comfortable place to hold him than his shoulder. She looked up at him and Alistair's heart thumped faster and faster. “Now we just… move.”

She started to sway in his arms and Alistair felt his body move of its own accord, matching her movement as best as he could. He felt like a lumbering great bear trying to dance with a languid cat. He felt completely foolish. But then Caden smiled and he smiled back. It wasn’t so bad.

The music floated on their air through the trees hiding them from view and wrapped around the pair as they moved, feet planted on the ground. They were like trees themselves, rooted firmly in, swaying in the breeze.

Alistair was very aware of the moisture on his body, trickling down his back in a small rivulet and suddenly the thought shot through him that his hands were probably clammy. Would Caden realise? Would she be disgusted? Damn it.

As Alistair was thinking his panicked thoughts the dance went on and then Caden closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest with a pleasant sigh. Alistair's conscious brain froze up entirely, but that sigh was like a magic spell on his body. He slid the hand on her waist around to the small of her back and dropped her hand to wrap the other arm around her. She tucked her arms under his, around him, too, and Alistair dropped his head down to gently rest on the top of hers and closed his eyes. The scent of the flowers in her hair, the hair that was tickling his bare forearms so deliciously, was all around him, adding to the magic and the music played on and on.

They stood wrapped up together moving very softly as one in this slice of space and time that was wholly outside of their duty to Ferelden, removed from the crushing task of amassing armies to fight the Blight, a million miles from darkspawn and the Archdemon. Away from Alistair's confused feelings towards his best friend, away from people like Zevran who made him feel threatened even if he hated to admit that, away from the mess he was probably making of his and Cadens friendship. Alistair felt peace settle in. He welcomed it knowing that Caden was the source of that feeling. It was for her that he was there, for her that he was fighting, for her that they had to defeat their enemies. It was all for her. And even though she didn’t need it, he would be there at her side to keep her safe for as long as she would let him.

That was enough.

Chapter Text

Listen, listen, to the quiet voice of your heart

She missed him.

When Caden and Zevran returned from bringing water to their makeshift camp en route back to Redcliffe, she glanced around to find Alistair arranging logs to make a fire. He was the only solitary figure in the camp; Eliza and Leliana were inseparable since their venture into the Brecilian Forest and they were chopping mushrooms together with their heads close, Morrigan had a shadow in the form of Rhiannon, who was eager to learn about herb lore and surprisingly the two were finding each others company tolerable at the very least. Rosa was at Caden's side once more and Zevran had volunteered to go with her to the river and that left Alistair alone.

It wasn’t just this one night. They were more than halfway back to Redcliffe and she hadn’t spoken to him since their last night with the Dalish, who were heading to Redcliffe behind this smaller, faster group. Caden and Zevran set down the now filled water skeins and the pot that they had had to carry between them once it was full of water. Alistair stood and stalked back into the woods ostensibly to get more wood.

Caden watched him go and missed him.

They had shared that dance together in the woods in the soft night glow, the scent of flowers all around and Caden had felt… safe. Warm. Happy. She wished she’d started being nicer to him sooner now that she knew what she had missed out on. What if they’d held hands at Ostagar on the way to the Tower of Ishal? What if she’d embraced him that morning in Flemeths hut? How many better nights might she have had if they’d shared a tent early on?

Keeping track on the days, weeks, months they had spent together was difficult, especially given the times she’d lost through being unconscious for prolonged stretches, but they had been together for a long time now and that time had been filled with the most intense life or death situations. Caden couldn’t help but feel that every moment of her time with him was shaped by his presence. She had spoken truthfully to Zathrian; he was her greatest friend, the single most important person in her life. The dance they had shared had just solidified that further.

Evidently, he hadn’t felt the same way.

Eliza and Leliana called to Caden to get the fire going so that their prepared vegetables and fungi could be cooked and so she busied herself with the logs. They needed re-arranging; Alistair had left them scattered and not formed into an optimal position to catch fire. Zevran made a joke to the women that made them laugh, but Caden didn’t hear the exact words. She was drowning in her self-pity and willingly took a breath and let herself sink below the waves.

Their dance had meant everything to her. That he wanted to be with her in that space after everything she had put him through, that he had been honest with her about his jealous feelings. That he had told her she looked pretty.

Caden coloured even though no-one could read her thoughts. It seemed so childish to be getting tightness in her belly to think of a boy telling her she was pretty. She self consciously reached up and brushed a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. It was even sillier that since that night she had spent far too long each morning safely hidden in her tent, away from prying eyes trying to recreate at least one of the braids. It was sloppy work, but she wouldn’t ask for help. Hence strands persisted in slipping out of the braid on a regular basis. She knew she ought to return to her usual knot, which was a style she could easily manage and it was practical for fighting, but something light inside of her refused to return to practicality. This was just stupid and if they were attacked and her hair got in her way and she ended up mortally wounded it would serve her right.

Eliza knelt beside her and touched her hand. Caden started; she hadn’t sensed her approach. The eyes of the elf mage were kind. “Caden? I think you’re done here. Shall I light the fire?”

Caden looked down to where she had been arranging and then re-arranging the wood over and over. She nodded and moved back to allow Eliza to murmur over the logs before warmth and light washed over them, leaving flames flickering eagerly. Leliana and Zevran started to set up the tripod to hang the pot over the fire. Caden stood and moved away to sit a safe distance from the small group, absentmindedly picking up her armour and washing it with a lightly moistened cloth.

Alistair hadn’t returned from the woods yet. She sent out a quick burst of sense, feeling out for him and Darkspawn, just in case. The latter were nowhere around and her Warden-Brother wasn’t far. She wished she could summon an image of him. Her hands worked the leather. She found a stubborn stain and rubbed it. This was fine if she could concentrate on the task and not on Alistair. Morrigan and Rhiannon joined the group by the fire and offered the herbs they had found. The witch was the one to ask where Alistair was, though she called him a much ruder word than Caden would use herself — clearly still angry about whatever magic banishing ritual he had performed in the temple — shooting his image back into Caden's mind and breaking her record of going a whole one minute without thinking of him.

Their dance had ended in a warm hug, full of affection for one another and then it was over. It was all over. Alistair had looked up and without a word, collected his boots and socks and then he had walked away. It had been cold to be left behind in the darkness and without his warm embrace. Caden had watched him go, no breath to call after him with a tongue that felt heavy and stupid. That feeling spread out from her mouth until her entire body was a lump, standing dumb in the woods, no smart thoughts to help her navigate this sudden strange transformation. Eventually her feet had remembered to move and she had started to stumble from their enclosed dance space back out into the light, where Rhiannon had materialised as if from a dream, grabbing her wrists and tugging her into a dance, where thankfully her body had recalled the movements, preventing her from melting into a heap instead. Very quickly she had been pulled back into the fray with her cousin and Zevran in a riot of joyous celebration.

He’d been standing on the outskirts watching her and when she saw his eyes trained on her then she had stumbled, brushing off her clumsiness with a sheepish laugh that had brought loud mirth to the others. When she’d looked back Alistair was gone.

Caden liked to think that even at her worst she’d always been self-aware enough to know what she had done or said to Alistair to upset him, but this time she was coming up empty.

The others in the camp were chatting and cooking together. It was a lovely atmosphere, but the happiness was cloying and Caden felt smothered by it. She stood up quietly and walked away, over towards the packs and found hers, crouching down to rifle through it and withdrew the next letter in the series. Her mothers’ words were her constant companion through this journey away from the Dalish encampment and she was pacing herself quite deliberately. She could easily have read them all in one sitting, taking each word and spending it cheaply, but she wanted to savour it. She was starving, but every piece of her mother needed all the respect she could give and that meant taking each letter slowly and carefully. She pored over the script, the words penned by Adaias hand, read each letter through twice, three times, sometimes four times. A few letters were very short, but she kept to her rule and stuck to one per evening. It was all she looked forward to in the evenings, reading and re-reading instead of sleeping.

Her dreams were quiet of late, no terror induced screams disturbing the others, for which she was thankful. That didn’t mean her nights were kind. The sadness drenched dream she had woken from before the party with the Dalish was much more common these days, with her waking up exhausted and sapped of her strength, emotional or otherwise. But the group needed a leader and Alistair was sullen and quiet, so Caden forced her face into cheer and injected as much good humour into her demeanour as possible, until her nightly read.

The light was still fair over their camp. They had pressed on for as long as they could each day in the hopes that they would make it back to Redcliffe as soon as they were able, in the hopes that the other group would be there and their next route could be planned. In many ways the Dalish had been a side note, a lucky stumble into their road, rather than an actual plotted course, but at least that was done and they had their elvhen archers, fighters and mages to bolster their forces. As far as Caden was concerned, it still made sense to try to restore Arl Eamon to health if they were able, for which they needed the intel hopefully gathered by the others. If not, they would be forced to put aside the concerns over the Arl and head to Orzammer, which Alistair had said was a long journey north. The urgency of helping Eamon festered in her gut and Caden couldn’t help but wonder if that was the reason for Alistair being so strange with her. Perhaps he was angry that while she had found members of her family she had never known existed and was celebrating with wine and dancing, his father languished on death's door or was already dead. Maybe she should have been more considerate of that. Maybe she should have told him that she had figured it out, the truth of his parentage and that although it was uncomfortable to know, it wouldn’t change things. To think of Alistair, her warden-brother as descended from nobility, not born from nothing as she was, sat uneasy and perhaps he knew that. Knew that she would find the whole thing difficult to digest, especially if his mother was indeed from a lesser class and his father had just taken what he wanted, consequences be damned. But she had taken in the knowledge of Rhiannon's conception without holding it against her; the children couldn’t be blamed for their parents—their fathers—intentions.

It was these unpleasant thoughts that Caden hoped to chase away with her mothers' words and she settled down to read the latest letter by the waning sunlight, a small lamp beside her for when the light became too dim. With every word, the spectre of Adaia drew closer to her as if the Veil was very thin and her hands could press to her daughters back through the fabric of reality between this world and the next. Caden closed her eyes and breathed before moving on with the written missive from years ago.

*

He always took first watch. No-one questioned him or dared to argue. Alistair stepped up before anyone else and the rest melted into the night, to their tents and to sleep. Caden might have been the only one to fight him on this, but she was ensconced in her nightly ritual of reading herself to sleep. Alistair had checked on her once or twice to find the woman lying crumpled over her pages, curled around them protectively fast asleep. He had covered her with a blanket once before when she seemed cold and blown out the candle in her lantern twice, but never anything more and then stolen back out into the night.

He didn’t like to watch her while she slept anymore. Not since that night, they had shared before the assassins had struck and separated them. That night had been precious, perhaps because it was destined never to be repeated. If he had known then that they would be cleaved by the events that followed, he knew he would never have let himself sleep. Not when he could have held her all night and watched her sleep. It was a strange feeling and he felt oddly dirty to think like that, coveting watching someone at their most vulnerable, dead to the world, but it was more than that for him. Being granted the privilege of protecting her through her nightmares was the memory he held dear.

That night when they had danced, or his closest approximation of dancing, had meant the world to him. Once again holding Caden had turned out to be all he ever wanted without even knowing it. Before he’d met her he couldn’t have known what he was missing, but now he did and he ached to look at her asleep and so out of reach. Or to see her across the camp laughing with her friends or watching Zevran watch her, as attentive as Rosa at scanning for threats. That ache was even sharper, twisting in his chest until he was torn between wanting and loathing, still so bewildered that he could be so thick-headed as to miss out on seeing Caden, truly seeing her, until someone else arrived who saw her at once. Morrigan was right about him; Alistair was a fool and he had already lost Caden before he realised what she meant to him.

So he tried not to stare, kept himself busy and took first watch.

It was quiet. Alistair periodically felt for darkspawn, but finding none he partook of walks around the perimeter of their camp, and alternated with sitting by the fire, listening for footsteps, but watching the flames and maintaining them. Their light and heat were comforting in the darkness, that settled heavily over the land after the relatively long days of summer. The days were still warm, but the evening brought a new nip in the air to show that autumn was hot on the heels of the bright, long days they were enjoying. If they made it back to Redcliffe to find the answers to helping Eamon, they could end up delaying their journey to the Frostback mountains until winter, which would be a fools' errand, but Alistair still prayed nightly for the secrets to saving Eamon and that the man still lingered on in sleep, not death. Alistair broke up some twigs and tossed them blindly into the flames as if feeding a ravenous beast and sighed, thinking of Eamon.

Before he could delve too deeply into the usual run-through of regrets he had about how his last interaction with Eamon had gone, fingering his mothers' amulet and hating his younger self for being so angry, he sensed movement out of the corner of his eye and he turned, standing in one motion.

“Oh,” was all he could manage when he saw Caden emerge from her tent. “You’re up.”

She walked over to the fire, dropping down to the ground and a tightly wound seated position, hands gripping her knees that were crossed beneath her. Her eyes never left the flames. “I’ll take over.”

“I still have another hour.” Alistair countered. “I can—”

“I’ll take over.”

Alistair looked at her, but even a moment lingered on Caden was too much, so he ignored the signs of distress on her face and turned to head for the tent he shared with Zevran, hating once again that they were the only two men and that there weren’t more tents to split. Alistair focused on that instead of Caden as he crawled inside and settled down.

As he lay on his back in the tent, the canvas ceiling blocking out the light of the moon and the sight of the stars, a gentle rhythmic snoring to his right where the elf lay, Alistair’s eyes wouldn’t shut. He tried to turn his gnawing concern inwards, trying to tear strips off himself for the way he loathed Zevran, or the treatment of Eamon by child-Alistair or even the way he couldn’t stand Morrigan— a plethora of ways to beat himself up —Alistair kept finding his gaze turned to the slit in the tent opening. It wasn’t enough to see through, but out there was Caden and she was in pain. Then he was moving without thinking, his only thought was that sudden certainty that she was troubled and wanting to do something.

She had her back to him as he walked up to the fire and didn’t turn. She said nothing, gave no sign that she knew he was there, but of course she knew. Alistair hesitated over where to sit, but then dropped down beside her. She didn’t move. In profile with the firelight dancing over her skin, she still looked pale and wan. Her eyelids were down, like the tent opening had been, mostly shuttered off, but still one slit open. She was awake and she was radiating misery. The questions he had wanted to ask, the questions about her and Zevran and the obvious attraction they shared sensibly retreated back down within him where he could hold onto them like a hot coal in his chest.

“What's wrong?”

At first she gave no sign of hearing him. He maintained a safe distance between them, like the days before he’d forgotten himself and let him reach for her in her distress. He wasn’t sure if that was the right move or not, so didn’t move at all.

She spoke softly, as if she hoped it would be too quiet for him to hear and so he wouldn’t ask her anything else, but the nighttime noises were on his side and unexpectedly dipped into silence when her lips began to move. “My mother died.”

“I know.” He licked his lips. The air was dry and he had probably said something stupid again.

“No,” Caden turned marginally towards him. That crack between her lids opened wider so he could actually see the reflection of the fire and turning them orange. Those eyes snapped up to his, vanishing the firelight from them and returning them to their darkened sky hue. Alistair swallowed. “You don’t understand. I have… my aunt gave me these letters from my mother.”

“You read them every evening,” Alistair replied, causing a flash of surprise to cross her face. “You’re itching to get to them by the end of the day. Nobody can get a full sentence out of you because in your mind you’re already in your tent, reading.” Nobody but especially not him, because he wasn’t trying to speak with her at any point. His explanation seemed to irritate her and he almost softened with a laugh at the thought that maybe she believed she had hidden her obvious longing for her letters each night. “They’re from your mother?”

Caden shook off the annoyance and returned to the point at hand with a nod. “From Adaia to Ffion, from years ago. After my aunt left Denerim. After.” She stopped without further explanation.

“Isn’t that nice?” Alistair asked softly. “That doesn’t seem like the right word, but isn’t it a... a treat to read those letters?”

Caden looked down at her hands. “It is. I miss her so much. Every day I…” she turned to the fire and reached for a stick, nudging the logs and sending up a small flurry of sparks. The flash of light caught the small tear balanced on her cheek. Alistair wanted to thumb it away so he clamped his hands together and watched instead. “I miss her. It is a treat to read her words. It’s like I can hear her again, like she’s standing with me. But she is dead and… it’s a small bundle of letters. I’ve read four already and the fifth I finished reading just now. And now I’m sick.”

“What?” now he moved, hands reached for her, scooting along to close the gap between them, touching her chin and turning her face towards him, tilting her face as if he could see illness written on her skin. She was pale, but was that lack of sleep or something else? Had the werewolves sickened her, even though they had ended the curse? Terror gripped him, but Caden, although letting him manhandle her for a clumsy examination, shook her head, reaching for his hands and tugging them gently away from her face. His fingers were no longer under his control and they wrapped around her hands, holding onto her lest she suddenly slip through the Veil before his very eyes.

“Not now,” Caden clarified firmly. “Years ago. I got sick and then my mamae caught it and I got better and she died. And, well, I’m sick.”

“In the letter.” Alistair realised. It made so much sense and he could hardly believe his own foolishness, but the relief that this was an old sickness remembered and not a new problem was palpable. “Your mother told your aunt that you were sick?”

Caden nodded. Her eyes were damp. “Yes. I’m sick. Many of the other elves in the Alienage are sick. Sickness spreads so fast between families and it affected families outside of the Alienage. Those who worked on the docks, the women who worked in the brothel, the few traders in the market. The humans say we gave it to them and spread it outside our walls; we say it's impossible to know, but more likely that the travelling humans brought it into town and passed it on. In the end it doesn’t matter where it comes from, because we get the blame and we’re forced inside the walls, even those who live outside.” She looked into him, through him and into the past, the letter bringing it to life for her, her recollections painting a vivid picture for Alistair. “We have to find homes for the displaced elves and so we end up crammed into small houses, two or three families apiece. My father doesn’t get it, but lots of children do and I do. I’m twelve summers old, almost thirteen, but my parents don’t think I will make it that far. I don’t remember much of this time, but the letter… my mother recounted it all. Wrote the letter while I slept fitfully beside her. I become so sick that my parents call for the Revered Mother, but she isn’t permitted inside during the sickness, so they have to make do with a young Lay Sister to say the Chant over me.”

Alistair didn’t move. Could hardly breathe. He could remember sick people coming to the monastery for prayer, but they had always been mobile and usually were soldiers or farmers injured doing their jobs. He had never seen real, true sickness, the kind that turned a place of rest into a deathbed. Thinking of small Caden feverish and weak with the Chant of Light being prayed above her was too much. He dropped one hand and cupped her cheek with it instead. Her skin was fire warm and yet she was trembling.

“My mother writes that she’s got one last thing to try and she begs forgiveness from my aunt.” Caden's voice was shaking. “I don’t know what she was talking about; the letter ends there. But she’ll be dead soon and the letters will be done and I don’t know if I can… she can’t die again.”

Alistair stroked his thumb over her cheek just as he’d imagined doing before and there were plenty of tears to wipe away. His other hand was holding hers tightly and he drew it to his chest, pulling the rest of her along, his hand slipping into her braid and stroking her hair. She sobbed silently against his shirt.

Don’t cry, he thought, but he didn’t say it. Don’t cry, I’m here with you and I won’t let you be hurt again. He didn’t say anything because he couldn’t promise that. She was already hurting and he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop her from reading the letters and he wouldn’t have dared suggest that. She needed her mother again and he wouldn’t steal that time away from her, no matter how painful it was. What he wouldn’t have given to read something, anything penned by his mother. A shopping list, a scrap of measurements for a new dress, Makers Breath, her signature. He’d have taken it all, no matter how small or insignificant. And he couldn’t change the past, couldn’t reach through time to save her mother from whatever sickness killed her. He couldn’t change the past and be there for Caden when her mother died, but he could damn well be there for her now. It didn’t matter that he was hurting or confused or that whenever he was near Caden he felt like his head was about to explode. She didn’t need to know that and he wouldn’t bother her with his silly troubles.

Don't cry because if you cry I lose my resolve to leave you alone. 

“You are…” Alistair started, but his throat hitched and the words caught and on trying to speak again he lost his nerve and changed it to: “you should let someone else take over the watch tonight. Get some sleep. You look shattered.”

Caden pulled away from him, wiping the back of her hand under each eye and sniffing, but when she met his gaze again she was perfectly calm. Her tear-stained cheeks the only sign that she’d even lost control a little bit and cried in his arms. His arms, which were empty again and bereft. His heart thumped miserably and Alistair looked away. “You, too.” She countered, looking westwards. “We’ll be back at Redcliffe soon.”

“Within a day or two, I reckon.” He agreed. What was the matter with him? He was already the king of banal conversation so he added for good measure, “if the weather holds out.”

“Yep.” Her reply was curt.

He’d messed this up again. In his desperation, he looked towards his tent. “I’ll… go wake up Zevran. He can watch the camp.” It wasn’t for him, truly it wasn’t. He would have slept beside the snoring elf all night long rather than send him out to Caden, but she needed a friend and Alistair couldn’t be that friend. He couldn’t take what he wanted from her, because even though it was his love for her that wanted to shield her from her suffering, it was also his love for her that wanted to hold her close and that felt like cheating her when she was low. Just like the thought of watching her sleep; taking advantage because he wanted to be with her. He didn’t look back as he went and kicked the elf awake and sent him out to relieve Caden from her watch, most likely with some charming words and a joke to draw out her smile. Alistair crawled into his tent and reflected on the fact that he wasn’t hiding the truth from himself any longer: he loved her. He, Alistair of the Grey Wardens, loved her, unlike the love he felt for his warden-kin. Unlike the care he felt for them in life and the grief of their deaths. He loved Caden Tabris with every pitiful beat of his heart.

It wasn’t fair to expect anything in return from her. She could never love him back. He just had to make it stop.

Chapter Text

PART FIVE - The Quest for The Urn of Sacred Ashes 

All eyes on you, So much to prove

“Thank the Maker for sharp razors,” Alistair remarked, wiping a warm, damp cloth over his freshly sheared face. The mirror reflected a young man, aged down by the absence of the rough beard that grew whenever he was on the road too long. Perhaps other men might have relished the thought of appearing older given the role he now inhabited as senior Warden, but to Alistair, there were enough irritations that came from travel and he could do without the scratchy bristles on his chin, jaw and creeping up his cheeks. The scar on his chin was visible again without the beard and as he stepped back from the reflective surface he took in the sight of his bare chest where the rest of the scars lived. All of the wounds from the Tower of Ishal, arguably his most deadly fighting since the Blight began given the bloodshed and near-death experience, were scattered through the golden hairs that curled on his chest feeding a line that disappeared beneath his trousers. Alistair reached up and touched his fingertips to the largest silvery divet in his body, the crescent moon-shaped scar that came from an arrow that had pierced his breast. He barely remembered the events that transpired after they had slain the ogre and lit the beacon. He remembered the impact, like a punch and then another and another. Punches that made him reel and stumble to the ground. His hand trailed down to his abdomen, traced the hard muscle that had definitely built since their exhaustive travel all over Ferelden since Ostagar and found the next scar and then the next. All on his left side, in a line like a simple constellation. He wondered what the ancients would have made of this arrangement in the night sky and what they might have named it. The Stick?

Redcliffe was much the same as they had left it. Eamon was still in bed, being washed and turned regularly by Isolde and their servants. The castle was tidier and better staffed on their return; similarly, the town was looking much more put together again. One thing Alistair couldn’t fail to notice was the influx of elves in the town. At first, he had thought that the Dalish had made better time and were already in situ, but these were no Dalish elves. These were Alienage residents and some displaced refugees from villages around Lothering it transpired. Caden had seemed pleased that the Alienage elves were making themselves seen and heard within the town and indeed they were needed. The town had suffered and was trying to rebuild at the most difficult time. Teagan had explained that there had been one or two roving darkspawn attacks on the outskirts, but they hadn’t expected the resistance that the townsfolk and the mages in situ had put together. Even so, it was concerning that the darkspawn were sniffing around the town. It would be better when the Dalish arrived to bulk out the forces protecting the townsfolk, but it was another reminder that they couldn’t take forever before they took the fight to the Archdemon once and for all.

Alistair finished cleaning the foam from his face and grabbed a fresh shirt to tug over his head. Bathed, shaved and smelling a whole lot better than he had for a while he left his room and headed downstairs.

*

Caden didn’t want to leave the bath. She’d climbed into the human-sized tub— small by their standards, but roomy enough for her slight frame — when it was still too hot to bear, so hot that it felt cold, while Rosa slept on the bed. There was something cathartic about the feeling of burning away the past few days as she watched her pale skin turn angry red where the water touched her. Her hair was loose and long, so very, very long that it floated all around her on the surface of the water. Her body acclimatised to the warmth and she was able to lower herself further into the water until she was submerged from her shoulders down and she sank her hands into the water. She felt like some sort of mythical creature from a dark fairytale. The kind where women lived in pools of deep water and saved drowning men for a hefty price. There was a story in one of the books she’d lost at Ostagar in which an old hag lived on the coast and stole babies from the nearby town. When her mother had first told her the story she had omitted many of the more gruesome parts involving the babies being eaten by the hag and changeling children being left in their place, only to turn into monstrous witches on their thirteenth birthdays, leaving the town to join their hag mother in her cave. Eventually, a brave soul had confronted the beastly woman and put an end to her reign of baby-stealing terror, but sitting in her tub in the half-light and wishing she could melt into the water and become liquid herself just for a time, Caden couldn’t help but slightly identify with the antagonist of the story. There was something rather peaceful about the idea of living in a cave by the sea and removing oneself from society at large. She could do without the baby eating.

Caden let the water go from scalding hot to warm to tepid and finally cold before she dragged herself out. She’d washed her hair, all the excess tangles and locks, and it was heavy while wet. She dried herself off and did her best to wring the water from her hair before setting into the rhythm of combing it through. She sat at the small vanity, ignoring the mirror and her eye caught sight of the rose that Leliana had revered back in Lothering. It was still in full bloom, deep red and in rude health. It seemed quite unfair for the flower to stand up so tall and proud when Caden was so weary that she could have easily fallen asleep in the bath. What was most surprising about the rose was that nothing about it was surprising. Caden had all but forgotten about it on the road, but as soon as she’d pushed open the door to her room at the castle she spied it and remembered it all at once, snorting to herself that this Maker-born rose would, of course, out live all other plants and perhaps even outlive the people in the castle.

She pulled on a fresh set of smalls and her knee length breeches. Her hand hovered over the clothes from her pack, tempted to reach for the embroidery tunic the Dalish had gifted her. She’d worn it already and then it had spent the better part of a week with her other dirty clothes in her pack, and she was freshly clean so it would be silly to put one something dirty. No matter how pretty it was. Caden’s hand reached out and grasped the fabric, bringing it to her chest, just beneath her nose and then she inhaled. Her head was filled at once with the smell of him and her, dancing under the trees. Caden squeezed her eyes shut to bring that night even closer as she clutched the top.

After a moment her eyes snapped open and she hurriedly threw the tunic onto the bed, narrowly avoiding covering the mabari with the fabric. Rosa whined and Caden stood in shame at her silliness and frivolity. If anyone had seen her breathing in the memory of a dance with a boy she might have died right there on the spot. She shook her head to blow out the rest of the cobwebs, grabbing a clean tunic from the items that had materialised in her dresser since her group had last departed. She had to give credit to Isolde; her husband was still in danger and she was trying her best to make Caden's group as comfortable as possible in the midst of restoring the town and building up an army. There had been a greater presence of armed knights on the grounds, running drills where they had fought the Revenant. Caden was beginning to see her fingerprints all over this town, all the memories tied up with her friends. With Alistair.

Caden whirled. No. She refused to go down any more paths like that. She was expected downstairs. Rosa stretched and leapt down from the bed, ready to go.

She touched the strands of her golden hair, darkened by the moisture still trapped between her locks, and considered. Did she dare try another braid or should she just revert to her usual knot or perhaps pull it back to a ponytail, which she could just about manage and would be a happy medium? Who was she doing her hair for anyway, she wondered as the heat rose in her cheeks.

In the end, she left her hair loose.

*

Wynne, Lorelei and Sten had been back at Redcliffe for some time before Caden's group turned up and seeing the older mage, in particular, had warmed Caden's heart. The women were already seated at the vast dining table await the others. Caden had been sure that she would be the last after her bath, but apparently, the men were taking longer with washing off the travel before their meal. Caden smiled at Wynne and went to sit beside her, while Rosa took her favourite place beneath the table where she could rest her head on Caden's lap or feet as took her fancy. To the woman's other side sat Lorelei, beside Eliza where the mages were catching up and then Leliana. Rhiannon, who had been standing, went to sit with Caden and for a moment she just smiled to be sat surrounded by these powerful women she had met on her journey. Wielders of magic, expert archers, fast duellers, not to mention the arts they knew, of healing, of survival, of forest lore. What was more surprising to her was that Caden felt quite at home here, rather than worrying about what she could bring to the table. For the first time in what might have been her whole life, Caden felt secure in knowing her own value.

That lofty pride was dented somewhat when her cousin reached over and ran fingers through her still wet hair, coming to a stop when her hands reached a snarl. “This is too much hair for one person,” Rhiannon said drily.

Caden hiked a brow as she looked over Rhiannon's burst of dark red curls that seemed utterly untameable. “Says you.”

Rhiannon shook her curls. They flared like fire and then settled calmly into place. Controlled chaos. “I do say. Did you even brush this?”

“I did.” Caden bit back. Leliana, across the table, smiled.

“May I?” She stood and walked to hover behind Caden's chair as Rhiannon gently disentangled her fingers from the hair. “I remember what a treat it was to play with all this gold back in Lothering, do you recall? I swear this has grown yards since then!”

Eliza smiled indulgently up at Leliana. “You look like a child with a doll.”

Leliana laughed and began to finger comb the hair. Caden sat noting that she hadn’t actually agreed to this activity, but it was soothing to feel the masterful treatment by the Sister. Wynne fished a comb out of a bag beneath the table, giving Rosa a glance and a tut, and Leliana got to work.

Lorelei seemed bored by the activity. Her elbow was pressed against the tabletop and her head rested on her knuckles. “You know we were certain you’d died, right?” Wynne tsked under her breath but didn’t outright condemn the accusation. “Dead and drowned and that the ones who went after you weren’t even going to find your body.”

“That’s a cheerful thought,” Caden said, ducking her head forward as Leliana nudged her to move into position for her to begin to play with separate strands of hair. “Would you have mourned me?”

“Maybe after I’d stopped laughing.”

“Lorelei,” Eliza said sharply. “You aren’t fooling anyone. You were just as worried as the rest of us.”

Caden couldn’t see Loreleis reaction as she was angled towards the table, but she didn’t speak again. Rhiannon snorted.

“I can’t speak to the Tabris side of the family, but Caden is also a Mahariel like me.” She asserted. “It takes a lot to bring one of us down. Assassins? Pssh.” The dismissive sound was met with a thunk as she dashed her palm onto the table. “Shame on you for not believing in her.”

“It wasn’t so much the assassins,” Lorelei drawled, “as the river.”

“I can’t swim.” Caden clarified, finally allowed to look up again. Leliana had somehow acquired a few strands of thin fabric on the table and was tugging gently this way and that as she wove her hair into a secure design.

“You can’t swim?” Rhiannon asked sceptically. “At all?”

“Where would I have learned at the Alienage?” Caden went on, still surprised that this was a revelation to anyone. “I’ve ended up in the water twice since leaving Ostagar and both times it’s been pretty scary. But,” she reached her hand over, only able to look at Rhiannon out of the corner of her eye, keeping her head straight for Leliana. She touched her hand to her cousin's arm. “Thank you for believing in me.”

Rhiannon was quiet for a moment. “I’m going to teach you how to swim.”

“I’d rather learn how to shoot as you do.”

“Swimming is more important.” Rhiannon rebuffed her. “When you can swim, I’ll teach you to shoot.”

“Alright, fine.” Caden consented gruffly. “Thank you.”

“All done.” Leliana declared, stepping back to admire her creation. Caden crept her hand up behind her head to feel the bumps and tucked away locks going over and under the next until the mass of golden hair tapered into a narrow braid. The braid was centred behind her head, but much of her hair beneath it was still loose.

“Caden, you look lovely.” Wynne approved returning the comb to her bag.

“Is this really how you’re passing your time?” Caden turned to see Morrigan entering the room, disdain all across her face. “Playing with hair like little girls?”

“Apparently so,” Caden smiled. “Do you want to go next?”

Morrigan just threw her a withering look and went to sit beside Rhiannon. “Why are the men late? Are they to blame for your reverting back to being a child, Warden? Which one are you trying to impress?”

Caden coloured, she couldn’t help it. “I’m not — I wouldn’t…”

“Why don’t we wait and see which one looks more interested when they come in,” Eliza said, and Caden wasn’t sure if this was meant to come to her defence, or was more teasing. She tugged at the end of the braid that was falling over her shoulder with a wave of loose gold.

“Zevran, that’s my bet.” Rhiannon grinned. “He’s already keen on you after all.” The look she threw Caden was pointed enough to remind her of their discussion back at the Dalish camp. Clearly, Rhiannon was still backing her suggestion that Caden should have some fun with Zevran while she could.

“You don’t think Alistair would be more suitable?” Eliza asked. Now Caden was certain this was teasing and she felt her neck heat. Leliana sighed softly.

“Oh yes, there’s something so romantic about the idea of the last two Wardens falling in love as they fight the Blight.” Leliana said dreamily, resting her head on Eliza's shoulder.

Caden spluttered, unable to form any substantial words to refute any of this.

“Bit mean to leave Sten out.” Lorelei said and the women laughed, with only Wynne cutting through the noise chiding the rest.

“Leave Caden alone.” She said, throwing a reproachful look to all the gigglers. “She’s too busy for any of that sort of thing.”

“Thank you, Wynne,” Caden squeaked in reply. “We really need to start thinking about our next move and not dwell on… on anything else. We don’t have the time to waste.”

“Caden.” The murmured prompt had her turning to Eliza and then spinning in her chair to follow her gaze to where the men were entering the room with Teagan, who was explaining something about their current stock of arms, and Isolde. Zevran and Alistair both looked to her; the former glancing at her with an approving smile, the latter going pink and averting his gaze. Caden swallowed and turned back to the table. He was embarrassed for her and her stupid hairdo. She was embarrassed for her. She let go of the braid and tried to ignore her prickling unease as the others seated themselves and the dinner was brought in.

For the most part, Caden kept herself quiet during the meal of fish cooked in some kind of green, herby sauce and brown bread rolls that were still warm. Caden ate and drank the water provided alongside the wine on the table, ignoring the alcohol as she was already feeling hot under her collar without the added stress of a drink she wasn’t used to. Over the dinner, the two parties shared in full what had transpired with each and Caden learned that the smaller group bound for Denerim had made it inside easily enough, but that the trail had lead them to trouble. Brother Genitivi was not in Denerim after all and an interloper posed as his assistant had attacked them when they pressed him for answers. The true advisor, Weylon, was dead in the back room, soon joined by the pretender’s corpse once Sten was through with him. Further to the grisly discovery, Brother Gentivi had left some research notes behind, ostensibly to be collated and organised by Weylon, only to be left unfinished. Wynne had gathered them up and the trio had returned to Redcliffe and spent the rest of their time poring over the notes, trying to figure out the scribbles, some of which were written in a cypher that had taken a few days to crack. Evidently, Brother Gentivi was a paranoid sort, but given the fate of his assistant, Caden felt he might have had good reason to be.

Wynne concluded her tale with a direction. “It appears Brother Gentivi was heading for a village known as Haven.”

“We’ve already looked and it’s not on most of our maps.” Teagan picked up and explained. “Even those that do have it marked, they all differ slightly as to the exact whereabouts.”

“What does that mean?” Caden asked setting down her cutlery. “Can we find it or not?”

“It might mean that they don’t want to be found.” Leliana said thoughtfully. “Could be that cartographers were either paid or frightened off marking it on their maps or they couldn’t get close enough to discern its exact positioning.”

“That means they might well be unfriendly types.” Zevran remarked, upending the bottle and finishing the wine into his goblet. “How fun.”

“Have we definitely determined that this should be the next course, then?” Wynne asked not unkindly. “I seem to have missed that part.”

“Of course it should be next.” Isolde said. Her face was drawn, her tone weary, but there was a fervour to her words. “Haven is closer than Orzammer anyway.”

“The real question is how we want to play this.” Leliana said. “Obtaining the next clue as to the whereabouts of the Ashes. Go in with a show of force and the bulk of our number or do we send a smaller group and scout out the place first.”

“Do we have time for that?” Eliza wondered out loud. She shot a nervous glance at Isolde. “Does the Arl have time for that?”

“I say march into the town and demand answers.” Morrigan said abruptly. “Stop all this meek asking for help and start taking a firmer grasp of what we need. And if they have some dire problem, tell them to get on with it and help us first. Less of this ‘solving everyone's issues’ before we get anything in return.”

“Yes let’s start storming in everywhere we go,” Alistair muttered. “That’ll be sure to get people on our side.”

“Warden,” Sten rose from the table, eyes fixed on Caden. “A word.” Without waiting for her to respond, he turned and exited the room. Caden, bewildered, stood and with a frown to the rest of the group she started after him.

“Rosa stay,” she instructed before talking to the rest of the table. “Nobody has to come, but figure out amongst yourselves who’s coming and who wants to stay. Just the people at this table. The usual. Alright?”

*

The sinking feeling that accompanied watching Caden and Sten leave the room was not strong enough to force Alistair out of his seat. Or rather his sense of trying to keep his distance overruled the desire to follow them. He was a Warden, too. He had every right to be involved in whatever that was. Or would have if he hadn’t thrown the mantle of leadership off at the first chance he got.

They had a job to do at the table. That was something he could take charge of.

“I intend to accompany Caden,” Leliana said, stepping up before Alistair could. He sank back into his chair. Rosa moved over to him and rested her head in Alistair's lap so that he could scratch behind her ears. “The Sacred Ashes are important to me and I am a holy woman after all. I should be part of this quest.”

Eliza pressed her hand to Lelianas elbow. It was such a gentle intimate touch the sight made Alistair's chest constrict. That more than any of their recent closeness seemed to be the greatest indicator that the two of them were indulging in something greater than friendship and a pang of jealousy struck him. How easy was it for them to slip from one state of being to another?

“I’ll come, too,” Eliza said softly.

“The two of you must be tired,” Wynne said. “You’ve just come from another dangerous excursion; surely you’ll want to remain here and let others go in your place? I would be more than happy to provide magic assistance to the Wardens on this task and let you rest.”

“With all due respect Wynne, my status as a holy woman still stands,” Leliana said. “I can’t see anyone else fulfilling that role and what if it becomes crucial to success? A follower of Andraste might not be enough, She might require a more devoted acolyte.”

“She won’t be there,” Lorelei said sharply. “You’re going to find her remains, not the woman herself.”

“Even so,” Leliana said calmly, though there was a note of frustration threatening to come out. “I will go.”

“I better not,” Morrigan said flatly. “I am not a fan of piety. And if you think that will be required then not only should I remain here, but so should Sten, Zevran, Rhiannon, Lorelei I’m guessing, and perhaps even Alistair.”

“I’m pious,” Alistair replied quietly. Morrigan met his gaze for the first time since he had needed her lyrium. Cold fury washed over him from those amber irises.

“Oh, yes, how quickly I forgot.”

“Obviously I’m going,” Alistair said louder, sitting up straighter, trying to shake off the unease of Morrigans resentment. “Leliana is welcome to come, too, as are any for whom this will be a pilgrimage, but the fact of the matter is that we need to hurry to Haven and acquire the information we need to find the ashes, travel wherever that is and collect them and then return post-haste. This isn’t a holiday, this is a mission and Eamon’s life depends on it. We’ve delayed this long enough.” He glanced down the table. “As Caden said, no-one is forced to come with, but it’s helpful that we have a good group, with a healer and some distance fighters.” Alistair shrugged. “Who actually wants to come?”

Leliana lead the way by thrusting her hand up. Eliza was mere moments behind her. Alistair kept his face neutral, but he hoped Eliza's accompaniment wouldn’t put Wynne off from volunteering; she was the more gifted healer after all. Thankfully the older mage gave a sigh and held up her hand as well. Lorelei crossed her arms over her chest with a huff of irritation and Morrigan just glared back without moving her arm. Two magic users were better than one and Alistair took that as a win. He wasn’t surprised when Rhiannon and Zevran both raised their hands as well. They were both unlikely to want to leave Caden's side, even if Zevran could probably have used this free time to get out of Ferelden and back to Antiva. Maybe he really didn’t want to return.

“Right, good,” Alistair said, gesturing that they should lower their hands. “That’s Caden and me, Wynne, Leliana, Eliza, Rhiannon and Zevran. And we’ll see about Sten when they get back.”

The servants had time to remove the plates and bring in the dessert wine before Caden returned. She stormed into the dining hall in a ball of quiet fury; Alistair half rose from his chair, Rosa hurrying over to her mistress when he saw her with a bloody nose and a bruise already forming over her eye.

“Caden, wha—?”

“You’re bleeding!”

“Are we under attack?” That was Teagan, but when no-one answered and he hurried from the room to find a guard no-one paid any mind to him.

“Alright listen up,” Caden said, striding to the table and leaning over it, hands flat on the polished wood. Her hair was messed up, the braid still in place, but the loose sheet of gold was tousled. Her jaw clicked when she spoke. Behind her, Sten entered the room and stood guard at the door. His nose was bleeding more heavily than hers and he let it flow, his hands clasped behind his back, his back rigid, eyes fixed straight ahead. “I don’t care what you’ve all just planned, because you’re all coming. Every one of you. You’ve all chosen for whatever reason to follow me, so that’s what you’re going to do. I’m going to say this for the last time: you are following me because it’s the right thing to do to try and end the Blight. That means doing things you might not expect. Cleansing the Circle of demons. Breaking an ancient curse. Trekking across Ferelden to find a man who may or may not have the answers to healing the sick.” Caden glanced around at each one in turn, save for Alistair. Each person was shocked into silence and she was able to continue unchecked. “You might not like it, but damn it you are the best companions I could have asked for and I appreciate every one of you. That said I will not brook dissent. You’ve missed the part where you get to check out. That was the last time we spoke around this table. As of now, you follow and you help and you don’t argue with me about it, because as much as I need you all, you need me just as much.” Now she turned and walked up to Sten seemingly not bothered by their height difference and the inability to look him directly in the eye. He didn’t move from his position, which somehow managed to convey acquiescence without saying a word. “I take my duty very seriously. To this country and you all.” She glanced back at the group. “I can’t keep an eye on you if you aren’t with me and I intend to protect you all. You’re coming. We leave at first light.” The strange thundercloud of fury and compassion followed her out of the room.

For a moment no-one spoke. Alistair remained half out of his chair, one hand resting on the back, the other on the table.

Lorelei broke the quiet. With a huff of annoyance, she shook her head. “Damn it. Now I like her.”

Chapter Text

Yeah I'm tongue-tied and dizzy and I can't keep it to myself

The journey north was relatively easy going. Teagan organised a boat large enough for the whole group to travel across Lake Calenhad until they reached Nilson's Ford, at which point they disembarked and the boat docked to wait for their return. The plan thereafter was to follow the river as it wound it's way west until they reached the approximate location of the village of Haven. It was the least stealthy mission they had done yet, stopping at farms on the outskirts of the towns that cropped up between the Lake and the Frostback Mountains, seeing if they could point them in the right direction. Most of the villages nearest the ford were none the wiser about the existence of the town, but the closer to the mountains they got the more people’s reactions changed. One older farmer who was enjoying both the sun and supervising his sons from afar as they tended to the crop of wheat they were growing, huffed and refused to let the group even say the name, but told them they were too far north. Following the river had still proved helpful, but their new direction was an arm wave south, off-road. Far more pleasant was the offer for them to sleep in the stables due to the lateness of the hour, which they accepted graciously.

Caden had been close-lipped since her outburst in the dining hall. Alistair had nudged Rhiannon and Leliana and even Wynne to try to get the story out of her as to what had transpired between Caden and Sten, but none had been successful. Despite her assertion that she cared about them all very much Caden was not being especially friendly with anyone. In the end, he’d resorted to going to Sten during part of their trek between the ford and the first town to try to get him to explain, but all he’d said was that they’d had a disagreement and Sten had been wrong. Quite how their disagreement had ended with them both bleeding from their nostrils and a black eye that was still angry looking on Caden's face was apparently too much for the Qunari to elaborate upon.

They didn’t post a watch as they settled down into their bedrolls atop the hay, secured to the outside world by the large barn doors. An owl hooted from the rafters and then stole out through the hayloft window into the night to track down his next meal. Even Morrigan had come into the barn to sleep, though she was apart from the others and had resumed one of her animal forms to sleep in. Rosa was practically glued to Caden's side; they were all taking Caden's request that she have everyone nearby very seriously.

Alistair lay on his side, rolled towards the front doors where a shaft of light spread in a narrow line across the floor. The moon outside was fat and full so those beams cast plenty of light. Caden was sitting with her back to the group on the outskirts of the store, practically seated on the ground with no crops beneath to cushion her. Her back was bent and in her hand, he could see some parchment; his stomach lurched as he thought of the words that letter might contain. The last words of her mother? Was she there yet?

The noises of shuffling and getting comfortable died down over the next hour during which Alistair remained awake and wide-eyed, his gaze fixed on Caden who did not move once. He had half-believed her to have dozed off in that uncomfortable position, leaning against her mabaris form, when she rose with a click of her hip from moving for the first time in an age and made for the door. Alistair pushed himself up onto his arm to watch her slip the catch and crack the door open only enough for her to slip out, Rosa padded softly behind her. Her footfalls had been silent, the door only emitting a tiny groan as she went. Alistair waited for a moment; perhaps she only needed to pass water and would be back, but the minutes dragged on and he was forced to accept that she was seeking some solitude after all.

“Alistair.” The hissed whisper made him jump, his heart pounding into his throat. He turned to see Lelianas eyes reflecting the small amount of light. Eliza was curled against her side fast asleep, but Leliana carefully lifted her head to look at Alistair. “Go after her.”

“She wants to be alone,” Alistair whispered back. “Anyway, she’s got Rosa with her and I don’t want to intrude.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Leliana argued softly. “Or at least she doesn’t want to be lonely. Just go and sit with her, you don’t have to speak.”

“Are you sure?”

A silver fox padded down past Leliana to come to a rest before Alistair and fix him with a reproachful gaze. “See, Morrigan agrees with me.”

The fox glared at him with those same amber eyes that he was used to feeling on his back loaded with disdain. Alistair sighed and wriggled out of his blanket. “You just want us to be quiet so you can sleep, don’t you?” The fox didn’t move. “Fine. Bullies.”

Alistair stood carefully and left his boots behind to tiptoe from the barn, pulling the door shut behind him to prevent the whole group following him outside. He was embarrassed enough to be put on the spot like this and didn’t need a greater audience than the two who had already witnessed the Wardens leave.

Outside the sky was clear and the moonlight lit up the grounds around the barn with ease. Alistair let his eyes adjust and then scanned around for his friend; to the right of the barn was the field of wheat they had seen earlier and to the left was the farmhouse along with a small paddock of goats and chickens. Straight ahead was a pathway out of the farm towards the road, lined with more fields. There was no sign of Caden and Alistair had no idea where she might have gone for some privacy. If she wanted to be alone to read the letter she would need good light so she couldn’t be under the shade and if she wanted to keep the barn in sight so that she could fulfil her declaration to keep an eye on them all then she couldn’t have gone very far. There was no sign of any awake person outside the front of the barn, so Alistair turned and walked on the soft grass around the side between the building and the crops towards the back.

Rounding the corner he spied a well with a bucket on a rope resting beside the stone circle and leaning against it were Rosa and Caden, her head bowed towards the letter, her hair silver instead of gold. His heart gave a new thump, the strange skip it performed every time he saw her for the first time after a while, and he swallowed, hesitating, before carefully heading for her.

Words failed him as he approached and she didn’t look up. He was afraid he would startle her, but that didn’t stop his feet. The grass gave way to dirt and he kicked up tiny flurries of dust with each step. Then he was there, right before her and she still hadn’t given him any sign that she even knew he was there. Rosa didn’t lift her head, but he could see from the glint of her eyes that she was watching him and her stubby tail thudded gently against the ground in greeting. Alistair lowered himself to the ground beside her, his shoulder against the cool stone well. The light shone directly onto the parchment and although he didn’t mean to pry he realised she had the paper folded in such a way as to only display two words at the top. “Dear Ffion” was what it said. His mind was still blank so he remembered what Leliana had said and stayed quiet.

Caden was silent and still for a time, her eyes fixed on those two words on the paper. She didn’t acknowledge Alistair until she shifted her position ever so slightly until her shoulder was touching him. She exhaled and tipped her head to the side to rest on his chest and Alistair almost stopped breathing entirely. He held as rigid as he could to allow her this moment worrying that if he tried to move to put his arm around her she would panic and move away again. All the while he hammered out a tune against his breastbone, a mantra of “I love you’s” that he would never say.

A flash of white signalled that the barn owl was back. Alistair watched it swoop through the air with something in its talons back to the barn.

“My mother is dead.”

The words were barely louder than a whisper as if she was giving them both the option to pretend she hadn’t spoken. “I’m sorry,” Alistair said.

Caden craned her head up and around to blink at him, the dark mark on her cheek stark against her white skin in the nighttime. He looked back, his pulse skipping between ‘love’ and ‘you’, but picking up the beat again after they locked eyes.

“I can’t bring myself to read this letter.” She explained. “Not now I know she’s dead.”

“How do you know?” Alistair asked. It seemed an awful lot to infer from “dear Ffion”.

Caden turned back to the letter, her cheek still pressed to his shirt. “In the last letter, mamae said she was going to try this thing to help me and she asked for my aunts' forgiveness. She didn’t write this letter. She didn’t start letters like this, she wasn’t formal with my aunt. Her letters all start like they are in the middle of one long conversation.” Her index finger brushed over the words on the page. “This is from my father.”

“With bad news?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m sorry.” He said again. What else was there to say? His heartbeat had an idea, but he quashed it.

She wasn’t making any of this easier on him. That selfish thought burrowed into his mind as she sighed against his chest and he battled with equally strong urges to hold her close and push her away. He was trying, Maker damn it, trying so hard to do the right thing by them both and keeping a firm distance between them and now of all times, she had decided to break down every barrier she had constructed between them and seek out closeness. He had made a joke weeks ago, or what more accurately felt like years before — he was so tired — that she was like a cat and in this moment it felt like the punchline wasn’t quite as funny as before. There had been plenty of cats in Redcliffe swiping fish from the hauls the men brought from the lake and many of them came into the stables to find warmth amongst the hay, much like the group had done that night. Alistair had had to vie for space with some of them and had received plenty of scratches for his efforts of trying to cosy up with them. But on some nights especially those plagued with heavy rainfall and storms outside, he had awoken with the surliest, meanest of the bunch curled up in the crook of his arm. Purring.

“Oh Cat…” Alistair murmured, forgetting himself and almost pulling her close.

“Hm?” A jolt sped through him as he realised he’d spoken the nickname aloud. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” Alistair needed this cat to go back to her space in the haybarn. A yawn crept up on him as he thought of sleep and it distorted his words. “What are you going to do? Read the letter or leave it till later?”

The paper crinkled in Caden's grasp. “I should read it, shouldn’t I? I knew this was coming so I should just read it and get it over with. It can’t… can’t hurt me.” Alistair took a deep breath as he considered his answer and in that pause, Caden added: “can it?”

“I don’t… I think it can.” Alistair replied, mulling the thought over in his head. “Yes, I think it will hurt, but it doesn’t have to be now. Keep it safe and let’s find Gentivi and get that done. You can read the letter afterwards.”

Caden nodded and it was only then that Alistair realised she was going to take his advice. He had half suspected she was only speaking out loud to consider her options and that she already knew what she was going to do, but that wasn’t the case at all. She had actually been asking what she should do from him, Alistair, the joker and the fool. How desperate was she to seek guidance from him? The weight of the burden of being the one she turned to curdled his stomach; what if he’d messed up? Had he known she was truly seeking help he might have given different answers. He wished she’d gone to someone else, Wynne or Leliana or Rhiannon.

Caden, oblivious to the mental torture Alistair was putting himself through, got to her feet and dusted herself off. Rosa and Alistair followed suit, his backside half asleep from sitting on the hard ground unmoving. After a moment Caden thrust the letter at him. “Would you take it?” She couldn’t look him in the eye, but the folded parchment glowed in the moonlight. “Please? I’m not ready to read it yet and you’re right; we have more important things to worry about, but if I have it I’ll break. I don’t trust myself with it, so… could you hold onto it?”

Alistair's hand reached for it mutely. He hadn’t meant to imply that her letter wasn’t important. Her fingers grazed his as he took the latter, burning shame into his skin. He wasn’t cut out for this. Rosa sneezed dirt from her nose.

Eyes down he turned. “Come on.” He said thickly. “We should sleep.”

*

The mountains loomed larger than ever. In the mid-afternoon light they were quite lovely and would have inspired many an artist to sit awhile to capture their beauty, and yet the way they reached for the sky and cast shadows down into the thick forest where the group were walking through caused Caden to shiver more than once. The mountains were an ominous backdrop to their destination, rising up like an impenetrable wall on the outer limits of Ferelden. She felt like with every next step she might fall right off the map.

Alistair had her letter. She’d seen him tuck it into his shirt that morning, so she knew it was safe. Ready when she was. If she ever was. Caden brushed the thoughts aside. She had to focus on moving forward. They had to find Haven and they had one set of directions to help them find it. If they found nothing… they couldn’t find nothing.

Sten had questioned her authority. Until then she’d forgotten that would even be possible, especially after Alistair had decided to follow her unquestionably. Her shock had been great enough that she had stumbled over her words and before she’d had a moment to catch her breath and reassess her position, Sten had raised his huge fists to her. Caden blinked, relishing the wince of pain that still came from the battered eye socket. She had refused any healing for it. She deserved every moment of pain; she had let herself get distracted by her past and forgotten what mattered. Her mother was dead and couldn’t be helped, but she had a new family now. People who depended on her. She was determined to be the best person to lead them. Protect them.

There would be no more distractions in the quest to save Eamon. Not only because he mattered a great deal to Alistair, but he would be crucial to the fight against the Blight.

As they walked, Leliana and Caden up front, the archer gestured to Caden to come and see something. Caden held up a hand to pause the solemn procession behind them to go and see what Leliana had found.

“Here, look,” Leliana said as she approached, waving her hand towards the ground. Caden looked, her face blank.

“What am I looking at?”

“Look.” Leliana prompted, dropping to a crouch. Caden followed suit, though she didn’t think getting closer to the ground would help matters much.

The ground was damp from the rain that had fallen a few hours before sun up and all Caden could see on the ground were a few crisscrossing tracks of a bird that had hopped down from a bush and across the way into the ferns, perhaps. Caden wasn’t sure what this was supposed to be telling her and she frowned at Leliana, taking the time to reply in the hopes to delay the inevitable proof of her lack of tracking skills. But Leliana wasn’t looking back at her, nor was she looking at the ground where Caden had been scanning. Caden adjusted the angle of her head to follow Lelianas gaze to a pair of young trees. She shifted around to see better and there it was. A small pile of stones not casually collected by the hustle and bustle of natures movements; these were carefully stacked into a sloping tower with more stones at the bottom, tapering upwards. Sandwiched between some of the layers of stones was a small scrap of fabric, possibly once white but aged by the effects of the weather upon it. Leliana met Caden's eyes.

“What is this?” Caden asked.

“Look at this top pebble.” Leliana pointed, careful not to disturb the pile. Caden peered closer to see small overlapping circles printed onto the flat, smooth stone. Leliana looked mildly amused at the etchings. “Witch marks.”

“What?” Caden frowned. “Witches live here?”

“Quite the opposite,” Leliana smirked. “Whoever lives here seeks to ward off the influence of witches and their magic.”

“Are you talking about me?” Morrigan appeared over Lelianas shoulder. She turned around and craned her head up to meet Morrigans gaze, that same amusement playing on her lips.

“My dear Morrigan, have you seen these before?” Leliana asked.

Morrigan bent almost double to glance at the stones then sniffed. “I have.”

“And are you repelled?” Leliana wanted to know. “Do you wish to repent the sins of your magic to the Chantry?”

“Are you especially slow today, Sister?” Morrigan replied. “Is this some sort of joke?”

“I’m confused,” Caden admitted pushing up to stand again. “So someone left this painted stone here in the hopes that mages wouldn’t be able to pass it?”

“Pretty much.” Leliana stood up beside her. “Such trite country traditions.”

“Yes, my feelings are quite hurt,” Morrigan said drily. “All three of them.”

Leliana chuckled. “What this does tell us is that we’re on the right track for a town that secludes itself from the outside world and more modern sensibilities. These are clearly conservative people.”

“I look forward to receiving more outright hostility then, as opposed to the normal sneaked glances,” Morrigan remarked. “You had better warn your girl and the other mages, Sister.”

Leliana didn’t seem bothered by Morrigan calling out what they had all spotted; that Leliana and Eliza were very close. Instead, she beamed proudly and looked back towards the object of her affection. Caden, on the other hand, flushed with second-hand embarrassment and looked down. She wasn’t oblivious; she had seen the way Eliza and Leliana cared for each other in the little things they did for each other. The way Leliana enjoyed playing with Elizas hair, how Eliza always made sure that Leliana was served first when they cooked for the group. Light touches from one to the other, on their arms, their hands, their faces. But it seemed bewildering to mention it outright when the two women hadn’t announced that they were courting. Caden raised her head and found herself meeting Alistair's gaze as he drew closer.

“What’s the matter? What did you find?” He wanted to know. Leliana pointed and explained about the witch marks while Caden fiddled with a buckle on her bracers. At least they were on the right track.

Leliana found more witch marks as they progressed through the forest. There was no path to speak of, but by finding these small, secret landmarks Leliana seemed assured that they were on their way. More stones with prints collected in piles were spotted by the keen eyes of the archer. She found some marks scratched directly into tree trunks and at one point they passed through a woven archway of young saplings that had been hung with shards of mirrors, that winked in the low light. Morrigan sniffed at every single one and even flicked one of the mirror shards with her forefinger, sending it flying into the underbrush. After that archway, the symbols became more obvious so that even Caden could spot them. They came upon an old tree with a thick trunk and enormous branches spreading out in a wide canopy. Carved into the tree where the branches grew from the trunk were faces, peering down from the leaves at the group. They weren’t pretty; they pulled aggressively ugly faces, sticking out their tongues and rolling their eyes. Caden shuddered at the thought of these eyes, even wood carved eyes, watching their progression.

The wildlife hadn’t fared well in this part of the woods. Caden walked around a tree to find a snake nailed to the trunk at her eye height. The poor thing had been affixed by one long iron nail through the throat just under its jaw and Caden let out a soft alarmed mutter at the sight. Morrigan assessed this one with more derision than the others, but that was before they reached the tunnel. Just like the woven archway, this was older trees who had been encouraged to grow towards each other and let their branches meet over the heads of anyone passing beneath. It was a long tunnel, but the group headed inside, the trees around it much thicker, with brambles and thorns creating a wall that drove them into the tunnel.

Hanging from the branches were some twig forms, bound with knotted string. Shapes of diamonds, circles and crosses hung down and bashed the group on their heads as they passed through. Morrigan remarked that it was quite ridiculous that in trying to form idols of protection from magic and witches, they were utilising some of the most potent crafts available to witches. Caden learned that even something as seemingly simple as a knot held power if created with intent, though she didn’t really understand it.

Alistair yelped as something bashed against his cheek and all eyes went to him. He was fumbling for the cord that held the dangling thing, moving it away and staring at it. It was grey and fuzzy. “Do I want to know what this is?”

Morrigan looked. “Rabbit's foot.”

Alistair dropped it and pulled back so it couldn’t swing back against him. “Oh. Lovely.”

Caden turned and marched through the rest of the tunnel. This was getting ridiculous and she was ready to find this Brother Gentivi and get out of this crazy place and leave whoever lived here to fester in their own strange ideas.

Outside of the tunnel they finally found a path, which wound around rocky outcrops. The mountainside was closer than ever, looming over them like those watchful carved faces and the dead eyes of the snake. She hadn’t felt this oppressively watched over since their journey through the Brecillian, though there it was the forest itself observing them, and here she felt as though people were watching from the treeline. She kept her face trained forwards to project an air of confidence, but the things they had seen unnerved her. Out of the corner of her eye a deer skull, bleached by the sun and nailed to another tree, caught her attention. It was the first of several skulls, ranging from deer to bird and rabbit. Caden felt a snap of alarm with each one she saw, fearing the sight of human or elf skulls amongst them.

A wooden bridge up ahead was the first manmade structure she spotted that denoted an actual town. Beyond the fairly rickety looking crossing was the sight of homes in the distance, built of rough stones that were likely hewn from the mountainside itself and thatched with the same woven branches they had seen in the forest. The water beneath the bridge came directly from the rocks edging the town; it ran crystal clear and very fast. Threaded through the railings on the bridge were more of the same shapes they had seen before, some dangling low enough to wave back and forth as the spray of the water splashed up at them. A rabbit skull caught the sunshine at the other end once Caden crossed the bridge, causing a muttered curse word from Lorelei when she accidentally brushed it with her fingers on her turn. Caden turned back to see if the wards had managed to hurt her in some way, but the grumpy mage was merely disgusted to have touched it by mistake.

There was no town sigh that they could see, but it was clear. They had found Haven.

Chapter Text

You can’t outrun the wicked

“How are we going to do this?” Alistair asked as they stopped to face the town. It was empty, or so it appeared. Caden scanned the village looking for any sign of movement, standing with her hand on her hip.

“We’re looking for any sign that Brother Gentivi travelled here.” Caden mused out loud. “We can either go door to door and knock or head straight for whatever that building is.” She pointed to the furthest structure, much larger than the rest, set against the stone of the mountain. “I assume it’s somewhere for locals to congregate?”

It was an enormous building with a pointed roof and was set upon a hill so that it looked down over the rest of the village.

Leliana stepped forward, peering closer with her keen eyes. “It looks like a Chantry.” She said. “Though it is unlike any I have seen before.”

“Are those more of the same strange symbols adorning it?” Eliza asked, coming to stand beside her. Leliana nodded.

“I believe so.”

The village wasn’t vast but there were plenty of houses. It would take a while to check every one. Caden chewed on her lip while she thought.

“Should we split up?” Zevran wanted to know. “We could cover more ground that way?”

“No,” Caden said, turning to him. “Let’s stay together. If the village is mistrusting of outsiders and fearful of magic, I don’t want anyone caught unawares by that. We stay together and keep an eye on the mages.”

With that she rounded on the village and marched steadily to the first house, the others trailing behind. The house was roughly constructed but had clearly been standing a long time, judging by the moss and ivy that grew between the heavy rocks that made up the walls. A birds nest poked out of the eaves above the door, but it was old and empty. Caden raised her hand to knock and as she did so she caught sight of a pair of birds wings nailed onto the door. She hesitated, her fist raised in the air as she took in the sight of the wings, the stumps coated with dried blood and flies buzzed lazily around the old pieces. She swallowed and knocked three times, loud and firm. The sooner they found what they needed from this dreadful place and could put it behind them the better.

She heard the knock echo in the house, but after waiting a few minutes nothing happened. She knocked a second time just to make sure, but again no-one came. When she turned she could see that Rhiannon and Zervan were rejoining the party and she raised her brows in a silent question.

“We checked the back,” Rhiannon said. “There’s no-one in the garden.”

“Is it just me, or is it especially cold all of a sudden?” Alistair asked, rubbing his hands together.

“It’s coming down from the mountain,” Sten said, gesturing to the sky and the peaks that disappeared into the clouds. “The chill.”

“That and the oppressive weight of this place,” Alistair muttered, his breath misting.

Caden ignored the exchange, heading for the next house to repeat her knocking to no answer. Each of the next houses seemed empty as well, but there was no sign of where anyone could be. No fields needing tilling, no animals needing care. The village comprised of the houses and a well and then up the hill was that Chantry. Caden was starting to wonder about her urgency to keep everyone together given the emptiness of the village.

“Do you suppose they are all in the Chantry?” Zevran wondered aloud as they crossed the village square to the next row of houses. “Perhaps their elders claim excessive prayer can keep the evils of magic away?”

“You jest, but I suspect you may be right,” Leliana said as they passed a covered well that was adorned with hanging bones that thunked gently together in the breeze in a macabre approximation of a tune. Caden reached a house and headed for the door, only to stop dead at the gateway. A small boy was hovering just around the corner of the house, his large dark eyes peering at her from a white face. Caden smiled.

“Hello,” she said bending over to get closer to his height. “We’re looking to speak with some of the villagers here, are your parents home?”

He took one look at them and vanished around the wall. Caden followed carefully, gesturing to the others to hang back, though Rosa pursued close behind. The boy was in the back garden by a short apple tree, its boughs hung low by the weight of the fruit to practically drape across the grass. The boy kicked at the windfall clutch on the ground, scattering rotten apple flesh, releasing the sickly scent into the air. His back was turned to Caden and she caught snippets of a song he was singing in a quiet, high voice.

“—we’ve a bed to put you in.” He spun, arms flying as he jumped and stomped both feet hard on a pair of apples, splattering them and disrupting the flies that feasted on the rot. “Dear, dear bonny Lynne sleeps the peaceful crib within, A mossy stone, a finger bone—”

Caden suppressed a shudder and stepped closer, heedless of the spraying apple pieces. “Hey, what’s your name?” He stopped jumping on the apple and fixed her with a baleful stare. “Is your mother around?”

The boy kept his eyes locked onto hers as he extended a hand towards the Chantry on the hill. Behind the house, Caden could hear the soft strains of rhythmic singing weaving through the air towards them. Rosa lowered her head and whined softly. “Can you hear the chanting?”

“I can.” Caden nodded.

The boy turned and picked something up from the ground. Caden assumed it was a chunk of apple, but it was white beneath the dirt as he rolled it in his hand, brushing the debris from it. The song started up again under his breath.

Caden felt a rolling unease inside her. This small child was disturbing her, but she felt just as unhappy about leaving him alone in this dreary garden with only an apple tree for company. Her hand landed on Rosas back, feeling the comforting plush fur beneath her palm. “Do… do you want to pet my dog?”

Rosa stood up tall again, seeming to understand that Caden was offering her as a balm to another lonely child and taking on the responsibility with her usual readiness.

The boy eyed Rosa warily. Rosa extended her neck, sniffing at the boy. He pulled back and held his hand to his chest as if Rosa had tried to grab it.

“What’s that?” Caden asked for want of anything else to try.

The boy looked up at her and opened his hand; resting on his grubby palm was a short bone. Caden thought of the animal parts scattered about the village and the trees. “Where did you get that? The well?”

“No.” He held out his free hand to wave Caden closer and dipped beneath the apple tree. Caden took a breath and, leaving Rosa where she stood, followed him closer. She had to kneel and crawl underneath with him. The boy was crouched on the soles of his feet, knees bent like a frog over a pond. He held up the bone and then pointed to the ground between the roots of the tree. “My sister was born and died on the same day. Mother said she wasn’t right anyway. They buried her here, but when it rained last week the ground got all sloppy. Look.” He touched the disturbed dirt, which was risen in mounds. Another couple of bones poked through the bare earth and Caden's stomach clenched. “This one came out first.” The boy thrust the finger bone at Caden and she recoiled, falling backwards from her hunched position under the tree and dislodging an apple that bounced off her shoulder and hit the ground. The boy picked up the apple and bit into it.

Rosa let out another low whine and Caden scrambled out of the branches towards her, the sharp twigs curling into her hair and tugging like fingers, some snapping off and coming with her as she extricated herself from the space. The boy remained where he was, eating the apple by his baby sisters bones.

Caden couldn’t bring herself to speak as she hurried to her feet, legs shaking and turned to find the others.

“What’s wrong?” Alistair asked taking one look at her when she re-emerged.

“This place…” Caden said, gulping down breaths to steady her heart. “I don’t like it.”

“We can hear chanting,” Eliza said looking towards the Chantry.

“Yes, the villagers are there.” Caden nodded. “Mostly.” She added, thinking of the boy and his dead sister. She glanced over her shoulder, feeling a tug of responsibility towards the strange child, but her unease drew her away from him. “Let’s go.”

“What about the child?” Wynne wanted to know.

“I don’t know.” She admitted. “One thing at a time.”

There was one house at the bottom of the hill and something about it caught Rosas attention as they passed it. She stopped, ears flat against her scalp, emitting a low rumble in her throat. Caden stopped and turned to her dog who was staring down the house by the hill. “Rosa?”

Alistair touched her flank and the mabari barely even flinched, her attention so fixed on the house. Leliana looked to Caden and when the Warden nodded she headed for the doorway. Leliana pressed her hand flat against the wood and the door gave a loud creak as the door swung slowly open. Leliana flattened her back to the side of the door, a blade in her hand before Caden could blink. Zevran came up alongside her, equally armed and peering into the gloom inside. Rosa’s growl grew louder.

“Caden.” Leliana nodded towards the house, calling her over. Caden drew one sword and went to the doorway.

It was as dark as night inside and Caden's eyes couldn’t pick anything out. Her nose could; the scent of blood wafted out of the doorway towards her and her friends and she winced. She didn’t want to go in and be caught out in the dark so she turned her head to find Eliza.

“Can you light this up please?” She asked, holding her sword aloft. Eliza nodded curtly and within moments she was speaking the incantation to enchant Caden's sword with flames that lit the interior like a torch. She carefully stepped inside, flanked by Leliana and Zevran.

The smell was worse the further inside they went. It was a sparse home with barely any furniture. There was a door off to one side that Zevran opened and peeked inside before declaring it empty. Caden crossed the house holding her sword aloft following the smell of old blood.

“What have you found?” Alistair asked as he traipsed inside behind them. Caden whirled, her face tight.

“Blood.”

Alistair ducked around her, taking in what she had found: a large block against the wall, big enough to hold a large pig or a person curled in a foetal position, which was stained red and brown. The stains ran over the sides and down to the floor, which was tacky when Caden pressed the toe of her boots to it. Mounted above the counter was a roughly carved symbol of Andraste. Leliana let out a horrified gasp at the sight.

“An altar?” she murmured. “But I don’t understand… Andraste would never call for… for this.” Eliza moved beside her and slipped her hand into Lelianas.

Caden lowered her sword so that the flickering light revealed the stains in all of their terrible glory. “So much blood.”

“Tis human blood.” Morrigan assessed grimly.

“How would you even know that?” Alistair asked, aghast. “It could be animal blood for all you know.”

“Alistair,” Morrigan said drily. “Would you like me to explain just how well acquainted I am with human blood, or would one of the other women like to step in?”

Alistair gazed around at the women, who were mostly giving him looks that suggested they would wait for him to reach his own conclusions. Wynne tsked and Rhiannon let out a small laugh, that was slightly higher than Caden would have expected under normal circumstances, but that seemed remarkably composed given the place they were in. Alistair reached a realisation and flushed. “Ah… fair enough, but forgive me… that seems like a lot for…?”

“I am not suggesting this is menstrual blood,” Morrigan gave, exasperated. “Merely given an example of the blood we women see that rather makes us better experts that you on the subject.”

“Oh, alright.” Alistair shrank back into himself at her outburst, shooting Caden a pleading look to save him from her wrath.

“Unless this blood came from many different people,” Caden said, her mind still firmly on the bloody altar and still reeling from her encounter with the boy outside, “I can’t imagine anyone could have survived to lose this much. Right?”

Leliana hummed with discomfort, not quite answering her. “A bloodletting has no place within the faith.”

“No, Caden,” Morrigan agreed, speaking up over Leliana. “This would be too much for anyone to lose. If it was one person, they were slaughtered on this altar.”

Zevran had one hand crossed, the other working against his jaw as he considered their findings. “The Crows have certain rituals involved blood sacrifice.”

“Why?” Lorelei asked, her face scrunched up in distaste at the sight and now the suggestion of blood magic.

“Assassins,” Alistair muttered, that being enough for him to think the worst of Zevrans former crew, turning away from the group slightly. Zevran didn’t bother to respond to him, but he looked to Lorelei as he spoke next.

“It gave them certain abilities,” Zevran explained. “Uncanny abilities.”

Lorelei sneered. “Typical. This village tries to keep out mages by planting wards around, then they perform their own blood magic sacraments. I bet this village is run by men. Fucking hypocrites.”

None of the men in the room saw fit to argue with her. Wynne placed her hand on the younger mages shoulder. “Certainly this village has darkness lingering under the surface.”

Caden shook her head. “Whatever they get up to, it’s not making me feel very hopeful for Brother Gentivi.”

“You’re right.” Leliana agreed at once. “We have to see if we can find him.”

“To the Chantry?” Alistair asked from the doorway, where Rosa had declined to come inside. He was stroking her head in a rhythmic pattern, but she was still tense.

Caden nodded, grim. “Right away.”

*

The air was so still as they walked that the sky, miles and miles above them, felt closed in like some dreadful oppressive weight on their shoulders. Caden shivered in the quiet, feeling as though the windows to the empty houses were like eyes on her back, dried-out husks watching them ascend the hill towards the Chantry. The chanting was low as they approached, the noise a steady hum, a drone like a thousand flies hovering over a feast. It swelled and broke and swelled again. Caden’s mouth was so dry and her heart was skittering around in her chest, but her feet marched on because they had to speak with these strange folk and find the man they were tracking. It was for Eamon and so it was for Alistair and that was drive enough.

She looked back only once, but couldn’t see the boy or anyone else. From the higher ground the village looked especially strange, the houses plonked wherever with no obvious sense of why they had been built where they stood. There were signs of barely worn footpaths, but these wove around houses and didn’t seem to lead sensibly to anywhere. The only truly wandered direction was the one they had followed up the hill to the Chantry. This was the centre of their village life, and yet it was not in the thick of it like the Vhenadahl that stood where everyone in the Alienage could see it from their homes. It was a sense of connection with their community and it’s branches extended higher than the walls so that it would be visible to those elves who had sought to live in the rest of Denerim. It placed each and every inhabitant on equal footing and they spent many a night around the tree listening to stories as children or dancing as they grew older. This Chantry loomed above the village of Haven, it’s large windows peering down at the villagers as they went about their day, as if to remind them that they were being watched by the Maker at every moment. Rather than a comfort, it felt like a captor.

Caden paused at the heavy doors. Just beyond the wood were the sounds of the congregation, their droning never pausing around the sounds of something else she could not place. A rhythmic slapping was the closest guess Caden could make at the sound. Caden lifted her hand to knock, but at the last minute she changed her mind; chances were they wouldn’t be heard and regardless, this was a holy building into which everyone ought to be welcomed. She turned the latch and pushed the door.

The humming ceased so fast that its echo rang in her ears. It was there and then it was gone, like a couple of dozen folk had lost their voices all at once. Caden swung the door open and stepped inside, feeling pairs of eyes on her at once.

A man stood at the end of the Chantry behind a stone slab, much like the one they had found in the home, only much larger. Torchlight flickered in the breeze of the door opening and made shadows taller, bowing and writhing in the bounce of the flame so that for a moment it appeared that there were demons on the outskirts of the building, surrounding the people within. That might almost have been a blessing compared to what Caden saw when her eyes adjusted.

The leader of the congregation was a tall man with a heavy beard and he was holding a lash aloft. He had been leading the song, but now he held his free hand out in a cutting motion, stilling the many voices of the worshippers, who rose from their pews to turn to the invaders. The stench of blood lingered in the air. Strapped to the altar was the mostly nude body of a man, lying on his belly with tattered small clothes preserving the last vestige of his dignity, but that was the last of his worries; his back was a hideous mess of streaks of torn flesh and bloody welts. He turned his head with great difficulty as he was so tightly bound, but he managed a feeble: “help… me…”

“What in the Makers name is going on?” Alistair roared, pushing to the front of the group, his eyes horrified. Caden stood transfixed to the wreak of the mans back, her body planted in horror at the sight. The man behind the altar glared down the aisle at the group. Alistair drew his sword as he advanced. “What is the meaning of this?”

Caden felt the others brush past her, Zevran of all people shadowing Alistair closely, keeping an eye on the congregants while her Warden-brother was firmly staring down the man by the altar. Caden couldn’t tear her gaze from the man, to whom Leliana and Wynne made a move. It was this more than anything that brought the worshippers to life.

“Get out!” one cried, her voice ragged.

“You don’t belong here,” a man joined her call, his voice just as hoarse. The chanting had taken its toll on them it appeared.

“Get away!”

“Begone!”

“Strangers!”

The shouts were angry, filled with hatred. Caden was left standing alone by the door, only Rosa beside her, hackles raised growling at the people between the pews who were screeching and waving their hands. Alistair made it to the altar, driving the man behind backwards, placing distance between them, but he circled the stone slab — satisfied that the man was being seen to by the women — and with his free hand he reached for the collar of the robe of the man.

“Stay back,” the man cried. “We are doing Her work and you have no right to—”

“You are torturing this man,” Alistair shouted over him. The man dodged his reach with surprising deftness and placed more space between so that he could crack his whip at Alistair. Caden saw in slow motion how the thin strap sped through the air and slashed Alistair down the side of his face. Alistair clapped his hand to his cheek and released a howl of pain, but Zevran had come up around the man and his blade flashed in the light as he drew it against his neck.

“Drop it at once,” Zevran ordered sharply.

Someone yelled for Alistair and then Lorelei was with him, peeling back his hand and assessing the damage, pressing her fingers to the wound and infusing him with healing energy. That was too much for the congregation.

“Witch!” a hooked finger pointed her out as an old woman shrieked the word and then bodies descended upon the pair. The cries of her friends mixed with the shouts of their enemies, but still Caden stood, transfixed by the flayed back of the man on the altar. Her chest burned as she breathed too rapidly to nourish her blood, the shallow gasps causing her sight to grey around the edges until all she could see was the blood and the mess and the ruined flesh of her father. Valendrian shouted for her to move; he had to fix her fathers wounds, except that was right and it wasn’t Valendrian at all. Stens face obstructed her view of the altar, centring her back in Haven, back to the chaos that reigned all around them.

“Warden.” He said, his voice deep and rumbling through her mind. Caden blinked and snapped her eyes to meet his; he had bent down to be closer to her eye-line. “Fight now. Fall apart after.”

Caden nodded dumbly, her body still at odds with her mind and the two worlds she was inhabiting; Havens Chantry and her home in the Alienage. One of those was real and with Rosas bark at her mistress, Caden forced herself into the moment. One of the congregation was bearing down upon her and her dog and the mabari leapt through the air, clamping her jaws around the woman's arm. She howled, but her focus was on Caden and she threw something through the air towards her. Caden reacted on instinct, but her movements were sluggish and she felt the sting of metal across her neck and the burst of blood. Clapping a hand over the wound with a hiss, Caden staggered towards the woman held by Rosa. She didn’t appear to be armed, having thrown whatever blade she had held at Caden already and Caden was loathed to kill a woman restrained and helpless. The woman screwed up her face as Caden got closer, summoning what moisture she could and then she spat at Caden, striking her just beneath her left eye. Caden let out a yelp of disgust and then cocked her fist and drove it into the woman's stomach. Her breath was expunged in a strangled gasp that left her gaping. Caden pulled her dagger, using the small pommel to knock against the woman's temple, sending her into the depth of unconsciousness. Rosa released her arm as she sank face first onto the floor.

“Good girl,” Caden said, her hand still clamped around her neck, still wet with blood. Rosa let her mistress pat her head before barking once and then bounding off to join the fray.

It was pandemonium. The worshippers were piling on her friends, who seemed as reluctant as she had been to fight them off. Wynne was trying to focus on the poor soul on the altar while Leliana held people at bay who didn’t want him healed by the mage. Eliza leapt to aid the pair, using a barrier spell to cover Wynne while she worked. The man leading the congregation was held back by Zevran, though as loyal worshippers feared for their leaders' safety, they began to charge at Zevran, with Rhiannon and Sten going to his aid. Alistair was still bleeding from the laceration on his face and Lorelei had been pulled away from him, her arms held by congregants as she snarled vicious slurs at them. Morrigan didn’t seem to have the same reticence to hurt anyone as the others; she spied Loreleis predicament and within moments had transformed into an enormous spider, from whom the congregants fled is distress and she bore down upon the men restraining Lorelei.

Alistair was yelling, struggling to pull his shield, his sword turned away from the people before him. Caden couldn’t see a single weapon between the group until something shone for an instant. She screamed and ran, finally able to move freely, her words a jumbled mess as the knife flashed and then sank into Alistair. Caden slammed into his attacker as Alistair stumbled to his knees with a groan of pain. Caden and the attacker went flying, sprawled on the floor, the attacker hitting his head as they fell. Caden grabbed his hair and slammed his head a second time to be sure he was out before turning and crawling over to Alistair. He was bowed, leaning on one knee as though he were praying, but his hand had dropped his sword and was clutching his side where the knife hilt stuck out.

“Alistair,” Caden moaned, her fingers reaching for his hand. “Let me see.”

His eyes found hers, his face tight with pain. “I think I’m alright.” She ignored him, looking for the injury. The knife had driven into the plate metal on his side and she ducked down to see where the blade had gone. “Caden, I’m alright.” Where the plates overlapped the knife had driven upwards, jamming between the metal, bending the cheaply made blade so that the knife never made it to his flesh. Caden grabbed the hilt and yanked it backwards in vain; it was stuck tight. Alistair winced and she stopped, looking back at him with concern. “I might have a scratch. I definitely have a bruise, but it didn’t get me. I’m alright.”

Caden exhaled with a shudder. “Are you certain?” Her hand reached for his face, her fingers hovering over the partially healed cut on his face. His hand caught hers before she could make contact his jaw tensing at the prospect of being touched where his skin was tender and wounded, but he took her hand gently in his. She gazed back at him, heedless of the noise all around them. “This keeps happening.”

“What does?” He asked.

“One of us getting hurt.”

Even in the midst of fighting and noise in the Chantry, Alistair snorted with laughter. “It’s kind of a hazard of the job.”

Caden wasn’t amused, but she squeezed his hand and stood, turning to the fighting. Rosa had pinned another person down, but he was frantically beating at her head to get her to release him and Caden saw red. She charged towards the man, readying her dagger to knock the man out with a violent swung. He toppled and fell like a broken doll and Rosa let him go.

There were too many congregants and knocking them out wasn’t going to work. That much was certain as Caden surveyed the Chantry. The Morrigan spider scuttled before her, biting one of the men on Lorelei so that the mage managed to get one hand free. With a cry of determination, Lorelei slapped her palm to another man's face and with burning hatred, she set him alight. The other worshippers yelped and backed away, but Morrigan was ready with silks to wound around their legs, restraining them. Lorelei screamed in the face of the burning man, gripping him tightly beneath the flames. Caden opened her mouth to call her off, but the man dropped to the floor before she could. Lorelei didn’t pause; she turned and set her sights on the biggest group of worshippers who were trying to assault the trio by the altar, Eliza's shield flickering as she struggled to maintain it around Leliana and Wynne. Lorelei drew her staff and slammed it on the ground, her incantation loud enough to be heard over the shouting by the congregants and where the staff cracked on the stones a bitter roar of ice blasted outwards in a line that grew wide enough to encapsulate the villagers. Some froze solid while others made to flee but found their limbs heavy with the sudden influx of hard icy crystals weighing them down and they fell and stumbled away. Sten was upon them then, swinging his sword in an arc around his body, his long arms making good use of the space to slice the arms and backs of the scattering folk.

A war broke out inside Caden. These were not good people, not if they were torturing a man on the altar of a Chantry and yet beyond the knife that was still lodged in Alistair's armour she hadn’t seen any weapons. Lorelei was fighting to the death and Sten didn’t seem overly bothered about the wounds he was inflicting. Should she stop them? Could she stop them?

Caden heard her name and looked to the back of the Chantry were Zevran was still holding the leader at knifepoint and she made a decision. She stalked across the stones towards the pair, Rhiannon firing an arrow past her as she walked, where it found a home judging by the strangled moan that came from behind Caden.

“What are we doing here?” Zevran asked Caden as she reached them. She looked to the human he held. The man was tall and bearded, wearing a robe that didn’t look like holy. He didn’t resemble a lay brother; his robe was not the orange and yellow Leliana had worn when they met, there was no symbol of Andraste upon the breast. His robes were the wrong colour, worn and layered with wool and fur.

“Who are you?” Caden asked of him. “Call off the villagers. Do it now.”

The man huffed at her but he stood tall even as Zevran let the tip of the blade touch his neck. “Hold your fighting!” his voice carried across the Chantry, catching the attention of the worshippers who still could hear him shout. No matter what they were engaged in, whether they were running or punching or shouting, each one fell silent as their leader called to them, staying their hands. Caden watched her party hesitate, but withdraw, Sten, in particular, keeping a weather eye on those nearest to him. Lorelei turned back and locked eyes with Caden, her sheet of black hair tousled, her face blotchy with patches of angry colour. Caden tried to convey some sort of understanding to her with a look, but the mage seemed still frantic, as though she were fizzing with lightning and a desire to hurt. Caden knew that feeling well. Morrigan transformed back into a human and walked over to Alistair, who was pushing himself to his feet, wincing around the knife.

Caden turned back to the man. “Who are you?” She demanded a second time.

“My name is Father Eirik,” he explained. “I am the Revered Father for Haven and you, elf, have brought witches and sinners into my holy House.”

“Who is the man on your altar?” Caden asked, pointing towards the man who Leliana had managed to free. She couldn’t turn her head to look directly at him lest she see her father again, so she kept her gaze matched with Father Eirik.

Father Eirik looked down at Caden with a sneer. “A sinner. All sinners must repent and some sins are so great that they must be paid in blood. I was doing Her work.”

“Lies!” Leliana cried from the altar. “Andraste would never ask this of her followers.”

“I have never heard of a Revered Father,” Alistair said, his breath still short, but sounding better now that he was back on his feet and Morrigan had poured some healing into him. He moved to stand beside Caden. “There is no such thing.”

“You are an ignorant fool,” Father Eirik retorted. “You know nothing of our sacred duty. The protection we provide Her. The sacrifices we make to keep Haven hidden, to keep outsiders at bay.”

Caden shook her head at him. The bloodstained altar, the dead animals littered around the village, that boy and his dead sister. The man in ruins in the Chantry. The air itself felt wrong on her skin and being here with this arrogant man and his holier-than-thou attitude made her want to turn tail and run.

She stepped back and looked around. Free of attack, Wynne had enlisted Eliza to help her heal the man as best they could. They dug for bandages and salve and mixed healers remedies with the fresh green light of healing magic. He was bearing the pain of it all as best he could, his face a mask of stoicism. He was sitting on the edge of the altar to allow them to work on his back. Caden took a breath and walked to him, pushing away the overbearing memory she had forgotten until she had seen his wounds. Stens words flitted through her mind, that she could fall apart afterwards. “Who are you?”

“I am Ser Galien,” he said tightly. “Arlessa Isolde dispatched me and my fellow knights to track down the Urn of Sacred Ashes for her husband, Arl Eamon of Redcliffe.”

“That is why we are here as well,” Caden replied. “You’re safe now.”

“My brother knights…” Ser Galien started, breaking off to inhale sharply as something hurt behind him. “They did not fare so well.”

“Where?” Caden asked, her anger rising. Ser Galien lifted a hand to point to a door to the right of the altar. He attempted to turn his head, but another shudder of pain prevented that simple movement. Caden nodded and headed for the door.

“There is nothing for you to see there—” Father Eirik began, but Caden ignored him, grabbing the handle and shoving the door open.

The stench of blood and rot hit her at once and she almost staggered but held herself still even has her stomach heaved. She stepped inside. The floor was dark with tacky blood and it moved. Insects took flight as she disturbed their feeding frenzy, maggots writhing below. The bodies of naked three men lay in a heap on the ground, as though they had been tossed inside like rubbish, along with scattered piles of armour and shields bearing the familiar red cliffs with the white tower heraldry. The one at the bottom of the pile had his head turned towards Caden and she could see fluids leaking from his nose and mouth, his skin mottled and wet, his body crushed flatter than looked right by the two atop him. The two draped over him were bloated and strange colours, bruises that covered every inch of skin, yellow and purple and brown. They had been dead for weeks, maybe longer, she had no idea, but they were dead and they were lying discarded in this room of rot and filth. Caden felt her last meal rise up in her throat and before she could react she was bent over retching. She sucked in a breath without thinking and a second wave of nausea hit with the smell.

“Help me.” Caden froze bent double, hands on her knees and then she glanced around to find the voice. A man was tied up at the back of the room, obscured at first by the hideous remains of the knights. He was thin with a ragged bread and he looked torn between hope and desperation. Caden didn’t want to walk around the mess in the centre of the room, but there was no other option. She held her breath as best she could and hurried to him, her foot slipping in the muck for a terrifying moment as she rushed.

“I’m here,” she said, gasping a quick breath between words and regretting it at once when the stench caught her again. She made light work of the bindings that kept him tethered to an iron ring on the wall. “Come on.”

Caden had to support the man's weight as they walked, but he was skin and bones and easy enough to manage even in the tight gap between the bodies and the wall. Caden knew she was stepping in horrible things so she kept her eyes forward to the doorway and relative freedom. “Are you a knight?” she asked more for something to focus on beyond the bodies.

“No,” he said, rasping. “My name is Gentivi.”

Caden almost dropped him. She had been hoping for a clue in this awful place and now she had the man himself. Thank Andraste…

They burst through the door, her and Brother Gentivi to the surprise of her friends. Alistair's mouth dropped open at the sight and Leliana, who was closest, rushed to help her support him. Caden ignored them both, their kind hearts and easy dispositions of no use here even amid this terrible place. It was Lorelei that Caden looked for.

“Kill them.” She uttered and it was as if she were unleashing a tether on Lorelei that she hadn't known she held. The woman looked grimly satisfied at the order, turning to where the congregation had been gathered beyond Sten and releasing a torrent of lightning at the people, which leapt from one to the other to the next until each worshipper fell to the floor, their bodies softly smoking.

“Caden…” Wynne was the one to speak, but her focus was still on Ser Galien and his dreadful injuries and Caden did not listen. Eliza had gone to help Leliana with Gentivi and Caden released him to stalk across the floor to Eirik. She drew her knife as she walked, even though she felt certain that Zevran would have driven his blade into his neck to save her the task. She refused to look at Alistair and was only grateful that he did not speak. She hadn’t felt this consumed by rage since Vaughan's estate. Lorelei was right; these people were hypocrites. They were murderers, self-appointed judges of sinners. The dagger was heavy in her hand, but her aim was true and Eiriks eyes didn’t leave hers as his hot blood gushed over her hand and wrist as he sank to a kneel before her beside the altar.

Chapter Text

I promise you I will learn from my mistakes

In the silence that followed Eiriks death gasp, Caden yanked her hand back, spattering blood with the movement as the dagger shook. The light faded from the so-called Revered Fathers eyes and Caden couldn’t bring herself to feel anything approaching remorse. Even so, she was prepared for the questions when they inevitably came. Not from Rhiannon or Zevran, the two she assumed would be on her side no matter what and neither seemed squeamish about dealing a killing blow with little explanation. Not from Morrigan or Lorelei who were neither happy with the villagers in Haven and their prejudice against them.

It came from Wynne in the end. Ser Galian was patched up to the best of her ability and now she could focus entirely on Caden and the matter at hand. “I assume you have a very good reason for doing what you just did?” Wynne asked, ever the teacher, disappointing and barely contained anger encircling her words. “For what you told Lorelei to do.”

Lorelei turned back from the congregants, her face weary, body folding over slowly. She sank onto the nearest pew without a word. Caden felt a pang of regret at giving the order to Lorelei; perhaps she had been mistaken and Lorelei wasn’t filled with rage that needed to go somewhere. Or maybe she had been, but Caden should have known better than anyone that murder wasn’t the best outlet for such rage. As she looked back to Wynne her eyes passed over the doorway from which she had extracted Gentivi.

“I did,” Caden said, resolved to show no remorse no matter what. “Ser Galian, your fellow knights did not survive the treatment we liberated you from.” His face was closed off to her words, but he did not argue. He knew. Had he been kept in the same room with the rotting corpses of his fellows as they were killed one by one? “Did they give you a reason for beating you?”

“They… were not fond of outsiders.” Ser Galian explained. He cast his eyes over the dead and added drily: “I suppose they had a point about the dangers that could come into the village. But I am grateful for your arrival. I regret it was not sooner when my brothers in arms were still alive.”

“Me, too.” Caden agreed. Alistair hadn’t spoken yet and she was worried about what she would see on his face. She glanced back at him, catching his eye as he was already looking at her.

“Three of Eamons knights dead?” Alistair asked, not asking anything more of her than to confirm what she had already said. No judgement. Not yet. Caden turned fully around to face him and nodded. Alistair wiped his palm over his face. “Dear Maker.”

“It’s horrible,” Caden added, unhelpfully. Then she looked to Gentivi. “And Brother Gentivi was forced to live with them in that room. They deserved to die.”

As the others exclaimed over the revelation that Gentivi was not just some poor unfortunate captive, but the very man they were hunting, Alistair took a few steps closer to Caden and she felt him brush her hand with the back of his. She slid her hand into his grateful that he wasn’t calling her out in front of everyone.

Wynne snapped her attention away from Caden and back to the patient, ever the healer. Leliana's face was rigid, her pale blue gaze intense on the man they were tending.

“Brother Gentivi, I am Lay Sister Leliana,” she introduced herself. Her voice was quick and eager. “We’ve tracked your work in searching for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Is it… have you found it?”

The man raised his weary head to meet Lelianas gaze, but when Caden looked she saw fire within his eyes. “Yes.” He said fervently. “I believe I have.”

“That’s great,” Alistair said, starting forward, his hand vanishing from hers and leaving her alone. “Where is it?”

“Not here, if that’s what you were hoping,” Gentivi replied. Alistair grimaced and looked away; clearly that had been exactly what he was hoping. “But close. There is a temple nearby and I believe, no, I am certain that within it resides the Urn.”

“You staked your life on it.” Zevran put forth. “Coming here and almost dying… will it be worth it?”

“If it saves Eamon—” Alistair began, but Zevran held up a hand and shocked, Alistair fell silent.

“With respect dear Alistair, I was asking the holy man,” Zevran said mildly. “It is he, after all, who risked his life to get here.”

“I was stabbed, you know.” Alistair countered crossly. “Right here.”

“Gentlemen.” Leliana's sharp word cut through their noise, but Gentivi was speaking up as well and Leliana hushed her words to hear him.

“My life's work has been to find proof of the existence of Her ashes and the life-sustaining properties they hold.” He said, gripping the side of the pew he was perched on. “The past few days have been the worst of my life, but if we find the Urn and my work is validated then yes, it will all have been worth it.”

*

It was decided that they were in no state to travel anywhere that evening. Nobody was thrilled at the thought of bedding down in the terrible village, but the houses would suffice better than tents erected by exhausted travellers. Nobody fancied sleeping in the Chantry with the dead, but some quick work by Rhiannon and Zevran revealed a house behind the Chantry that was larger than those in the village and crucially it was clean and tidy, with no traces of blood or violence within the walls. Caden allowed the others to gather up their things and the two wounded men — Alistair was keen to remove his armour and Wynne wanted to check him over as well — before she remembered the little boy in the village. The little boy whose parents she had ordered to be killed. The sick, heavy feeling that began in her stomach had nothing to do with finding those decayed bodies.

She looked over at Lorelei. The other woman hadn’t moved from her place on the pew, her black hair obscuring her face as it fell across her head. She needed to do something about Lorelei and the order Caden had given her.

Then there was the flashback to a memory long forgotten of Cyrion Tabris bloodied and beaten, whipped raw and tended to by Valendrian. Where in Andrastes name had that come from and where had it been hiding all these years. Caden glanced back to Alistair who was talking to Leliana. She suddenly wanted to read that letter from her father to her aunt, as if the pages contained the answers she was seeking. Perhaps they did. She had been so ill when her mother died, there was every chance she had forgotten her fathers beating during her sickness or written it off as a fever dream.

There was so much to do. Caden wanted to curl up in a ball and hide from all of it, but that would never do. She would not crumble now, in front of everyone. She had to pick something and get it done. Anything. Rosas presence at her side was a comfort at least.

“Lorelei.” Caden's voice came out clearer than she had expected from her dry throat. Her neck was stained with blood, but the wound had long since ceased flowing. Lorelei didn’t move, but Caden pressed on. “Come with me.”

Lorelei stood up at once, not looking at Caden, but heeding her words without a sly comment or dig. That struck her as a very bad sign.

“Where are you going?” Alistair wanted to know.

“There’s a boy in the village,” Caden explained evenly. “We need to get him out of here, so he’ll have to come with us.”

“We’re taking a child into the temple?” Leliana asked, incredulously. “Travelling on the road and into danger?”

“Would you prefer to stay here with him?” Caden retorted, sharply. Leliana didn’t have an answer for that, but from the dark look on her face, she wasn’t happy about it. “Take Ser Galian and Brother Gentivi to the house and make them comfortable. Eat whatever you can find; we might as well save our rations. In fact take anything useful at all. This village, pick it clean.” Caden adjusted her sword belt and strode purposefully towards the door, Lorelei following behind. Caden grabbed a torch off the wall before heading out into the darkness of the late evening.

The two women walked silently back down the hill towards the village. Knowing the village stood empty in the nighttime gave the whole place an extra layer of eerieness, as if the ghosts of the villagers were already watching them pass.

“Are you alright?” Caden asked without preamble as they reached the houses. The Chantry stood behind them on the hill, bearing witness to their conversation from a safe distance.

“Fine.” The word was clipped, but quiet. Lorelei walked on, eyes down, not once turning to Caden. The quiet stretched between them before Lorelei snapped it back. “I’m not broken up about killing them. I don’t care that you asked me to.”

“I didn’t ask.” Caden amended. “Asking implies you had an option, a chance to say no. I ordered you to kill them. I didn’t ask.” They stepped over the path towards the house where the apple tree stood over the small bones of a baby. The torchlight lit their way under the velvet sky. “I gave an order and you obeyed, which is in many ways a relief. You were the only one I worried about taking direct orders, but you did. Regardless,” she came to a halt by the house where the boy lived and turned around to face the mage. Lorelei finally met her gaze, curiosity the apparent reason for her direct stare. “I shouldn’t have given that order in the first place.”

“They deserved to die.” Lorelei countered quietly. Her low tone was shot through with venom. “You saw what they did to outsiders. How they treat magic. As though it’s something twisted and evil, yet they are the ones twisting it for their own purpose.” Lorelei turned to face Caden head-on, her head tilted towards the smaller elf. Her cheeks were spotted with pink as she talked, her eyes narrow. “I can remember my home before going to the Circle. I remember my mother, Revka. We’re supposed to forget everything we are forced to leave behind, but I remember her and I remember her desperation when the Templars took me away. Being a mage means having access to skills and power that most can only dream of. If a mage is born that should be a source of great joy and pride, but it’s not. It’s terrifying for the families.” Lorelei pulled back, leaning her slender back against the wall of the house, gazing skyward. The moon illuminated her skin like she was constructed out of fine porcelain. “Some mothers abandon their mage babies, but mine loved me. Wanted to keep me. The Templars had to prise her hands off my arm to carry me away, screaming the whole time for her. My mother wanted me, magic and all. So when I find people like the ones in this village, who look down on magic and torture people… Caden, I’m glad you told me to kill them. I’m happy that I could use my gifts to end them.”

“It should have been me.” Caden countered softly. “I shouldn’t have given you that command; I should have done it.”

“What?” Lorelei scoffed, sounding more like herself again. “How? Line them up and slit their throats one by one? You would have changed your mind after the first few with the effort involved; I could take them out in one go.”

“Maybe I would have.” Caden agreed. “Maybe I should have.” She raked her hand over her head, catching her hair and frazzling it further than the fighting had done. “Maybe that’s why executions are carried out without comfort. Maybe it shouldn’t be so easy.”

“That’s stupid,” Lorelei said. “It pains me to say it, but you were right about them. Giving the order to kill them is the best order you’ve yet to give. Don’t feel bad about it or regret telling me to do it— you’ve got me for that. I’m on your side when it comes to putting down bastards with magic. Use me.”

Caden considered her words for a few long, quiet moments. This conversation was not going as she had hoped it would. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that Lorelei didn’t seem worse for wear after killing the congregation or concerned over her cavalier attitude. The memories of what Caden had done to get to Vaughan weighed heavily on her, but was she sorry about the men who had died at her hands? As they pushed into the small house she considered this question. Was she sorry? She’d most likely taken sons and husbands and fathers away from their families, but they had all stood by as the son of their Arl had stolen and raped countless women from the poorest members of society. That made them complicit. No, she concluded grimly, she didn’t feel sorry and perhaps she couldn’t expect Lorelei to feel bad either.

“Hello?” Caden called, wrenching her thoughts back to the present. “Boy?”

The torch lit up the interior, which was thankfully devoid of blood, though by no means clean. Mud had been tracked inside where it had dried and then crumbled so that the floor was liberally coated in dirt and dust. Cobwebs adorned the corners where the ceilings met the walls, old cobwebs, that no longer held their form and drifted above their heads like tethered ghosts. “Kid?”

There was a small alcove off to one side with a tattered curtain over the doorway, which twitched aside to reveal the boys pale face and dark eyes in the gloom. Lorelei, who had not seen him before, sucked in a quick breath as she took in his gaunt figure. Caden crouched down, but stayed where she was. She didn’t want to frighten him away.

“Hello again,” she said gently. “I’m back. I don’t think I introduced myself before, but my name is Caden Tabris, and I’m a Grey Warden. What’s your name?”

“Remi.” He said quietly. “The chanting stopped.”

“I know.” Caden nodded.

“I heard other sounds.” Remi went on. “Screaming. But you’re here so you didn’t die.”

“No, my friends and I didn’t die.”

“So my mother did?”

Caden nodded, her brow bent in sympathy. “Yes. I’m sorry. They attacked us and we were forced to defend ourselves.”

Remi just nodded mutely. His small hand fiddled with the curtain. He seemed a lot less strange in this house in the dark than he had appeared outside under the apple tree in the sunshine. “That’s alright. She said if outsiders came that everyone would probably die. And she’s not been well since she had the baby. She said the next one would finish her off.”

Lorelei made a small sound of disgust behind Caden. “This is no place for a child.”

“You can’t stay here on your own, Remi,” Caden said. “We’re spending the night at Father Eiriks home and then continuing our quest tomorrow morning. My friends are settling in now and making a meal. Will you please come with us so we can keep an eye on you?”

Remi looked away for a moment, over his shoulder back into his room. Caden wondered if he was thinking of his room or his belongings.

“You can bring anything you want with you,” she added helpfully, though inside she was dreading him asking to bring the finger bone. “A toy or a book?”

Remi looked back at her. “Nothing to bring.” He said bluntly. “Father Eiriks house is where the babies come from.”

“What do you mean?” Caden asked with a frown.

“That’s where mother would go and then she would come back and there would be a baby afterwards.”

Caden swallowed down the rage that crawled up her throat from her belly at this simple child's explanation. "Eirik was your father?” He nodded. “And your sisters?” Another nod. “Are there any other children in the village, Remi?”

“Just me,” Remi said. “The babies die a lot.”

Lorelei turned away at this, muttering under her breath. Caden clenched her fingers around the torch she was holding. Not only did this mean that there were likely pregnant women amongst the dead, which felt like a whole other level of wrong, but a part of her wished she could go back in time and kill Eirik again. Slower. The guilt and the wrath twisted in her gut.

“Remi, do you have anything at all that you want to bring?” Caden asked. He shook his head. “Alright then. I swear to you that I will protect you when we’re at Eirik's house. Nobody will hurt you; my friends are all incredibly kind and brave and fun. We’ll look after you and you can play with my dog for as long as you want. Alright?”

Remi stood in the doorway for a time, staring back at her unblinking. Caden didn’t dare move in case she frightened him away, but then he let go of the curtain and without looking back, crossed the floor to reach Caden. She smiled at him and stood. He didn’t try to take her hand or seem overly distraught about the news he had heard, which was a niggling worry in her mind, but given the life he had led in this dreadful village she decided to put those worries aside for the immediate moment.

They avoided the Chantry when they reached the top of the hill and made a beeline for the house instead.

*

“Alistair?”

He had never heard his name used so much before this brief time after the battle at the Chantry. He supposed it had partly to do with Caden leaving almost immediately afterwards and perhaps even something to do with the fact that the fighting in the Chantry couldn’t even be called a battle. It was a purge.

Alistair turned to the latest call and headed into the small room in which the two injured men had been installed. There was a wide bed in there, wide enough for both men. Brother Gentivi was on the side by the window with Wynne fussing over him, Eliza her shadow. Ser Galian was on his front on the other side, his arms wrapped under a pillow onto which he lay his head, too exhausted to raise it. Alistair, his armour removed and his wound assessed as little more than a scratch, went and crouched beside the bed so that he could look the man in the eye.

“What do you need?”

Ser Galian rolled his eyes around to lock onto Alistair's concerned face. “How is… Arl Eamon? Does he live?”

“He is alive.” Alistair replied. “He lingers on unwell, but that’s why we came. We’re going to heal him.”

“That’s good.” Ser Galian said wearily. “My brothers and I failed. I would not suffer to be saved only to know that the Arl died due to that failure.”

“No,” Alistair reached forward and gripped his upper arm tightly. “No. You didn’t fail. None of you failed. You got closer than anyone by coming here and you couldn’t have known what dangers lay in this village. Nobody knew what they were capable of. Please don’t be disheartened. Your fellows’ lives will not have been taken in vain. We’ll get the ashes and we’ll take you back to Redcliffe and you and the Arl will get better. I swear it.”

“Thank you, Ser.” The mans eyes were drifting shut as he spoke, the tonic Wynne had fed him seemingly taking him under. “Eamon was right to take you in.”

Alistair swallowed, maintaining his mild expression has Ser Galian slipped into unconsciousness. He wished he believed that to be true.

Once he was sure Ser Galian was asleep he stood and headed out of the room only to walk into an ambush.

“Alistair.” This was no question; Lelianas voice was an order, for what he did not know. Looking around he spied Zevran, Rhiannon and even Morrigan flanking her. Whatever it was, this proved to him that it had to be bad.

“Yes?”

“You have to talk to Caden.” Leliana said curtly. “I did not join up with the pair of you to slaughter villages.”

“I have fewer concerns over the morality of that action,” Zevran added. “However I have experience in this field; Caden less so. I am worried for her.”

Alistair looked from one to the other. Lelianas anger was bubbling just under the surface and she looked like she might explode at any moment, yet there was something of concern in her eyes. He looked to Cadens cousin next. “What about you, Rhiannon? Why aren’t you volunteering to talk to her? What are your thoughts?”

Rhiannon shook her red curls over her shoulder as she mulled the questions. She looked torn. “I will talk to her. But I don’t know if I’ll be any help. I think she made the right choice here.” She shrugged. “I want her to be alright, but I couldn’t give a damn about these people. I’m with Lorelei; they’re hypocrites and they tortured and murdered people. I will not grieve for them.”

“Sinners they may be—” Leliana began but was quickly overwhelmed by a chorus from the elves that there was no maybe about it. “Alright, they were sinners, that much is clear, but we are not the Maker. It is not for us to judge them.”

“We kill people all the time.” Alistair offered with a wince. “We killed mages in the Circle. And,” he cast his mind back, “those bandits outside of Lothering. Do you remember them Morrigan? They were holding the food to ransom.”

“I recall our encounter with them,” Morrigan said drily. “I also recall you stopping Caden from beating them bloody while they lay unconscious, not dead.”

Alistair opened his mouth to argue, but had to concede she was right. “I guess.”

“Furthermore, while I understand that blood mages and so-called abominations were put down in the Circle,” Morrigan went on, “I cannot recall us ever leaving a bloodbath in our wake. Caden has expressed a regular concern for laying down weapons and relying on the power of her words to turn the tide of battle. Just look at her actions with the Dalish only recently.”

“We killed many in Redcliffe.” Leliana gave softly. “However they were undead, with no hope of salvation. We do not murder. We are here to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes and I am concerned with these recent actions that we are walking a dangerous path; surely only the most just will be permitted to find the Ashes. We must be above board, now more than ever. We cannot suddenly give up trying to do the right thing and begin to murder anyone who gets in our way.”

“As I understand it, my previous assassin crew were killed,” Zevran added without condemnation. “However they were the top of their game, heavily armed and prepared to slaughter you all, so I would imagine in the eyes of the Maker it was a fair fight with a reasonable outcome for you.”

Alistair rattled off their battles over the last few months since Ostagar and couldn’t find fault with anything they were saying. Caden was always a voice of reason. She had freed an admitted killer because she couldn’t bear the idea of leaving him in a cage to be eaten by Darkspawn. Alistair looked over at Sten who was hanging back from the conversation, but had to be listening; he had lingered in earshot. “Sten? What did you and Caden ‘discuss’ at Redcliffe before we left.”

Sten didn’t move a muscle, but he replied after only a moments pause. “I expressed my displeasure at this course of action when the Blight grows day by day. It seemed like a waste of time. The Warden disagreed.”

“A waste of time to try to restore Eamon to health?” Alistair clarified. Sten didn’t argue that so he had to assume he was correct in his assessment. “Even though he has an army that we can utilise against the Darkspawn?”

“The Arlessa and her boy could grant that access,” Sten responded. “While the Arl is incapacitated.”

“That’s not…” Alistair pinched his nose between his eyes as his frustration grew larger. “We don’t do that. Not if we can help.”

“Exactly!” Leliana's outburst was remarkably composed given the way a vein was pulsing on her forehead. “We help, we don’t hurt if we can help it.”

“We all promised to follow her,” Alistair snapped, tiredness and irritation getting the better of him. “You all promised.”

“And we will, but you have to speak to her.” Leliana retorted, just as biting.

“Why me?” Alistair wanted to know. “I’m no good at talking; that’s why Caden always does it.”

“Because you’re a Warden, too.” Rhiannon pointed out wryly.

“She doesn’t want me to sit her down and lecture her on her choices.” Alistair rebuffed. “Trust me, that won’t go well. I’ll say something stupid and she’ll get defensive and we’ll be right back to where we were at the start of this whole bloody thing. I’ve worked too hard to be her friend to jeopardise that over a choice I can’t say I disagree with.”

“Your friendship doesn’t trump morality,” Leliana argued. Alistair huffed out a frustrated breath.

“Leliana, please will you get off my back?” Alistair turned away, his hands finding his hips and taking a breath to try to calm down. He was too weary for this and his side ached where the knife had almost got him. This place was a curse; it was awful and made people do terrible things, or maybe the terrible things made this place horrible, he didn’t know, but it was not where he wanted to be. Not here, not fighting over Caden's decisions, not being hounded by Leliana.

Rhiannon came up beside him and found his gaze. He meant to wrench his eyes away, but there was a new expression on her face that he hadn’t seen aimed at him before. It was gentle and almost kind. “Alistair,” she said. “You need to talk to her precisely because of your friendship with her. She cares what you think and you care about her, too. Just go and see if she’s alright. That’s all you need to do.”

Alistair wanted to snap something cruel at her, something that would make her go away, but he couldn’t bring himself to lash out. The words wouldn’t come. Instead, he found himself heating up under his collar, his throat working quicker as he swallowed down the urge to fight back against her calm sensible words. His hand found the back of his neck, rubbing at the tension there. His palm became damp with sweat and he winced, pulling his hand back and rubbing it surreptitiously over his shirt.

“I don’t think she wants me to.” He finally gave in a murmur.

“She will.”

They were all so damned sure of themselves. Leliana had practically forced him to go after Caden that night in the barn and now they were all on at him to speak to her again because they were adamant that she wanted him to. What did any of them know? They weren’t there at the start. They hadn’t witnessed the missteps or the panic of saying the wrong thing. All those times when she’d flinched away from him and his touch when he’d thoughtlessly tried to treat her like anyone else, not appreciating her history in his ignorance. They came in after all the hard work had been done to soothe her frantic nerves and anxious mind. She wasn’t a kicked cat, he knew that, and neither was she a head-shy horse, but both required patience to befriend and either could easily revert back to fearful type. He’d been scratched and bitten and trod on enough times as a boy to know that and he was so very clumsy.

The others left him alone to follow the order to seek out food and while he stood and seethed at their directions and worried over how he was going to broach the subject with Caden, the bustle of food preparation began in earnest. The house was well stocked with plenty of meat, fruit and vegetables and even with her dire outlook, Leliana was pleased to find the larder and get to work. Rhiannon and Zevran made fair assistants, in part because they were eager to help and took direction well, and soon the smells filled the house. Alistair decided to make himself useful by moving furniture around; if they were to sleep beneath this roof and the only bed was rightly occupied, they would need space to lay out their bedrolls. Sten moved from his guard by the fireplace to assist him without speaking.

It was to this that Caden returned. Rosa, who had been camped by the door with her nose pressed to the bottom of it, stood up with a wag of her tail and a bark of delight. The door opened and inside stepped Caden, her hand on the back of a small, thin boy, with Lorelei coming up behind. Rosa went to her mistress and snuffled into her side and the boy turned warily to the movement. “This is Rosa, my dog. Do you remember?” He nodded mutely and stiffly held out his hand. Rosa, the consummate professional child comforter, licked him and seemed to smile as her mouth opened with a pant. Her tail wagged so fast it was nothing more than a blur behind her. The boy looked up at Caden, not smiling. “It’s alright. You can stroke her.” He jerked his hand onto Rosas back and awkwardly patted her before pulling back. It might have unnerved any other dog, but not Rosa, who took this wary movement as an invitation to pad up to him and sit down next to him, resting her head against him and gazing up with her warm brown eyes. The boy finally cracked a tiny smile and ran his slender fingers along her head. Her tail bumped against the floor.

Caden looked relieved to see the boy and the dog making friends. “Everyone, this is Remi. Remi, these are my friends. We’re all going to look after you tonight and tomorrow we’ll… figure out what the best plan is.” She looked up and found Leliana over the stove looking back at her with an unreadable expression. “Something smells amazing. Are you hungry Remi?”

Remi nodded, not taking his eyes off the dog now. Leliana looked for a moment like she wanted to say something or perhaps a hundred things to Caden. Alistair could almost see her mouth fill with them as her jaw twitched, but then she sighed and smiled.

“I’m cooking up a feast,” she said cheerfully. “I hope you brought your appetite, Remi.”

Zevran had just finished chopped some tomatoes and mushrooms and he swiped one of each from his unchopped pile and went over to the small group in the doorway and crouched before Remi. “How about an appetiser, kid? Which do you prefer, the sweetness of the tomato or the earthiness of the mushroom?” He held up both, one in each hand.

Remi looked at the two items and shrugged. Zevran seemed unconcerned by Remis reluctance to join his game. He gave them food an appraising look. “Hmm, a connoisseur I see. I also find it difficult to choose between them. I enjoy the burst of flavour from the tomato, but also respect the way a mushroom can fill me up.” He lifted one hand then the other as if he were literally weighing up their merits. “I just cannot decide. What am I to do?”

Remi, one hand still on Rosa, pointed suddenly with the other at the tomato then pulled his hand back quickly.

“Ah, you fancy the tomato?” Zevran grinned. “Excellent choice.” He lowered his voice to a loud whisper. “That one was my favourite, but I was playing coy so as not to hurt the feelings of the fungi. You must always be sure not to upset your food I find, lest it upset you in return!” A ghost of a second smile flitted over Remis face, so fast blinking would have meant missing it. Zevran held out the tomato towards the boy with a slightly bowed head as though this simple red orb was a ruby instead of a piece of food. Remi hesitated, but hunger seemed to win and he snatched it and crammed it into his mouth in one motion. Morrigan made a tiny noise of distaste from somewhere behind Alistair, but Remi didn’t appear to notice. Zevran chuckled.

Caden seemed relieved that Remi had eaten something and wasn’t running for the hills. She looked over at Alistair and caught his eye. “Can we have a quick word?”

Alright, maybe she did want to speak to him, Alistair thought grumpily. Fortunately, nobody made a sound to that and he nodded, going over to her. Lorelei passed by him as Wynne and Eliza finally came out of the room, the former wiping her hands on a cloth.

“Lorelei, you’re back, good—” Wynne broke off seeing Remi. “And we have a young guest? How lovely.”

Zevran coaxed Remi to follow him towards the cooking area and possibly only due to the promise of more food, the boy complied Rosa walking with him. Zevran lifted Remi up to the plain table and sat him there, slipping him the mushroom to snack on while Wynne came over, itching to pass her healer's eye over the malnourished looking child.

“We’ll be back in a moment,” Caden said over her shoulder, checking one last time that Remi was settled before heading back into the night with her torch. Alistair followed meekly behind.

Chapter Text

And I’ll keep trying to help you heal

When Caden came to a stop by a tree behind the house, she placed her palm flat on the old trunk and bent forward to rest her head on it. The torch danced in her other hand, a little lower now that she had stopped. Alistair frowned, unclear as to what she was doing when she had requested his ear for a talk. He hovered behind, his hands finding his pockets and slipping inside not knowing what else to do. Talk to her, they had said. He hadn’t imagined being faced with her back and her silence. He imagined the eyes of the others upon them. Leliana had been angry enough with Caden's order that he imagined she would be seething at his inaction, tearing strips off Caden for her choices. She wanted him to have it out with Caden, tell her in no uncertain terms where she’d gone wrong and make her swear to never do it again, yet standing by the tree it was Alistair who felt as though he had done something wrong and was waiting for a dressing down from a superior.

He didn’t know how he felt about the deaths of the villagers. That was the problem. How could he stand there and admonish Caden when those people had tortured and killed knights of Redcliffe? Ser Galian had been a knight since before Alistair had left for the Chantry and all of his years of experience and loyal service to Eamon and Ferelden had culminated in almost being slaughtered on an altar of a false holy man. Deep down he knew the law would have demanded to take Eirik and his cohorts into custody to face a trial, but how could they keep an entire village contained while they sent word to Redcliffe for back-up, soldiers they could not spare while the Blight loomed larger. His stomach twisted around his desire to abide by the law at all times; it wasn’t a feast from which he selected the tastiest morsels and left the pickled cabbage to sit untouched because it had a habit of upsetting his belly. Rules were rules and they had skipped straight to execution.

“Caden,” he started reluctantly, eyes fixed on the grass at her heels. “We need to talk about the villagers. I know they were our enemies and maybe Eirik needed to be put down as he seemed like the source of their animosity, but at the very least we needed to discuss a plan before getting Lorelei to kill them all. I’m concerned about how we’ll explain that when people find out about Haven and what we’ve done.” He risked a glance, but she was still turned away from him. A spike of annoyance narrowed his eyes. “Caden, are you listening to me?”

A breeze stole through the trees and he couldn’t help but shiver in his thin shirt that was still damp with the sweat that had dried on his skin from the fighting. Caden seemed to shudder as well, but the motion across her back continued after the breeze had dissipated and it took him a moment to place what that meant. The muscles in her back were heaving gently— she was crying. His hands flew out of his pockets and he moved at once to stand beside her, turned towards where she was sobbing against her arm on the tree.

“Hey, don’t,” He touched her shoulder and felt the tension in her frame beneath his fingers. “Forget I said anything. It’s really not important.”

Her head was bowed, obscuring her face in shadow, but he watched fat teardrops plunge from her chin towards the ground, watering the roots of the tree that held her upright. The torch swayed with the movement of her sobs and Alistair gently took it from her. He turned and planted it at the base of the tree, far enough from the wooden trunk. It stuck at an angle but continued to burn at knee height. The shadows were different when he looked back, catching a glimpse of her now illuminated face before the now empty hand came up to join the other and she buried her face in her arms against the tree. Her eyes had been squeezed tightly shut against the night and her mouth was open in a grimace as she tried to suppress the noise of her tears. His heart ached to look at her and he placed his hand on her back again, rubbing from side to side over her shoulder blades. He didn’t know what else to do.

“It’s alright,” he said after a moment of watching her helplessly. “You don’t have to talk. We can just stand here for a while. I’m here if you need me.”

Caden let out a small sorry sigh before turning towards him. Alistair reacted quickly despite his overwhelming shock as she melted into him, moistening the front of his shirt all over again with hot tears. Alistair wrapped his arms around her, holding her once again, being granted the precious gift of being able to embrace her. Her hand balled up the fabric of his shirt, but she didn’t speak while her body was wracked with sobs. Alistair's hand found it’s way into her hair and he softly brushed over the gold in a rhythmic motion. He didn’t speak.

After some time passed, and truthfully he had no way of knowing how long that time was as he lost himself in the feeling of her in his arms and the sadness he couldn’t stop, Caden exhausted her reserve of tears. Her breath hitched as the weeping slowed and subsided. He didn’t stop stroking her hair until she pulled away slightly, not quite disengaging from his hold of her.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked with a sniff. “It was… Ser Galians injuries… I couldn’t…”

Alistair fished out a somewhat clean handkerchief and offered it to her. “Hey, it’s alright. No apology necessary.” She blew her nose and scrubbed her face with the back of her hand, creating some space between the pair. Alistair missed her at once, but let his hands drop away from her. He was weary and the light was so low down that he found himself leaning against the tree, before electing to slide down the bark and sit against the trunk. Caden glanced at him, then followed suit, dropping down into a cross-legged position opposite him. The torchlight was closer now and he could see more clearly just how bereft she was. “Do you want to talk? You don’t have to.”

Caden looked down at the handkerchief as she worked it between her fingers.

“I… I think I need to read my fathers’ letter.” She said. She seemed embarrassed to be asking. “I know I promised I’d wait until after we were done here and we’re not, but—”

“Caden, don’t be silly,” Alistair said, pulling the letter out of his breast pocket. It had one slightly damp corner from Caden's tears, but he had guarded it as best he could. “You didn’t have to promise that, because it wasn’t necessary. This is yours to read when you want. Do you want me to go?”

“No, stay.” Caden shot back at once, glancing at his face and then the letter. She clasped her fingers around the parchment. “Please. If you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” Alistair rested his hands on his knees, at a loss of what else to do. She was so close and so sad and he wanted to take all that sorrow away, though it was very likely she was about to get a second helping of secondhand tragedy if she read the letter she was so afraid to read. Even as he sat and hoped he could somehow guard her against the worst of it, he had breathed in the smell of her hair when he had held her. He watched her lips move silently as she read the first two words, the dire opening of “Dear Ffion,” and as much as he wished he was a better man, he couldn’t help but imagine what those lips might feel like on his. His cheeks heated in the dark and he bit back a scowl at his inner thoughts. Now was not the time.

“I am sorry,” Caden said, breaking his thoughts. She set down the paper, having only read the words she had already seen and looked at him. “I’m sorry that I keep overstepping our boundaries. That’s… I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Alistair paled. Had she read his mind. “What do you mean?”

Caden chewed on her lower lip, her gaze dropping from his. “The dance we shared at the celebration with the Dalish? I know it bothered you and I’m really sorry for doing that to you. It wasn’t fair of me to do that to you.”

“What do you mean?” His heart was hammering painfully in his chest.

“You don’t have to pretend,” Caden said looking down. “I know you didn’t like it. You left and you were strange with me afterwards. I’m not mad about it, I’m just sorry for putting you in that position and I won’t do it again.”

Alistair couldn’t speak. His throat was tight, his mouth dry, his jaw hanging open slightly. That wasn’t it at all, she had it all wrong, but trying to form the words to say so seemed impossible. He had to find a way to let her know that he cared about her, that their dance had meant everything to him, that he was the one who had pushed things and was trying to pull back to tread carefully. Another breeze teased her hair towards him and he felt a yearning greater than anything he had ever felt before to confess everything to her. But how?

Caden returned her attention to the parchment and began to read and the moment slipped away from him. Alistair closed his eyes as she read, crushed by his ineptitude.

It seemed strange to him that she considered their dance to be crossing boundaries, and yet since they had returned from the Circle and shared that first embrace walls had been falling between them at a steady pace. She had come to know him prepared for months or years of living under siege, even though he had only ever tried to extend the hand of friendship, barring perhaps the odd stumble along the way. Then all at once she had dropped the ferocity and opened the gates wide, welcoming him to a feast of friendship and now she was apologising for overstepping when he was pulling away because he thought he had gone too far. Not for the first time, he felt a rush of irritation towards his enforced monastic upbringing, the somewhat cloistered life of running drills and praying, skipping out on all the necessary lessons to interact with his peers in a meaningful way. He might know of religious edicts, of sword and shield drills, of how to hunt for meat and light a fire and a fair amount of the history of the Grey Wardens, but when it came to social skills he was found wanting every time. His heart thrummed a solemn regret as he wished, not for the first time, though it was the first time for this reason, that he had a mother he could ask. He needed advice, badly, and who could a motherless child turn to in those circumstances. He couldn’t even imagine what she would say as he had never even known her. His fingers snaked beneath the collar of his shirt and found the restored amulet, clutching it in his hand tightly. What was he supposed to do?

“Caden,” he started, his voice thin and a few octaves higher than he intended. He coughed and tried again. “Caden, I want you to know—”

She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, the fingers holding the parchment crinkling the letter. Alistair's thoughts of himself fled, at once turned to her with concern.

“What is it?”

Caden continued to read, her eyes darting back and forth at great sped, funnelling the words into her mind like it was food and she a starving woman. Her mouth was open behind her hand and he could already see her lip trembling. He reached over and made to touch her arm, but she twitched hand with her letter to her chest, crumpling it to her. Her blue eyes were large when she turned them towards him. Alistair couldn’t tell if he was more eager to hold her again or leave before he said something stupid and upset her further.

“My mother…” Caden drew in a shaky breath before continuing. “She didn’t die of the sickness. She was never even sick.”

Alistair frowned. “What do you mean? What happened to her?”

“I was sick.” Caden went on, but not as though she were answering his question; she spoke aloud, but without any seeming thought to Alistair hearing her. “I was so sick and they thought I might die because it had been a hard winter and we were all so thin. My mother, she wrote to Ffion to tell her she was going to do something foolish and to ask her forgiveness for that and she meant she was doing something for me. To help me.”

“What did she do?”

Caden swallowed, hearing him now when his voice dropped to almost a whisper. “She went to the Arl to plead my case. My father writes that they heard that his son had become sick, but had been given some medicine they did not have.”

“His son?” Alistair grimaced. “The one who…?”

“Vaughan Kendalls. Yes.” Caden agreed. “My mother thought she could petition Urien for the medicine. For me and the other sick children in the Alienage. She must have been desperate.” Caden's gaze dropped, her gaze haunted. Alistair reached for her hand and plucked it from her lap, holding it between both of his palms. She looked back up to meet his eyes.

“What happened then?” Alistair prompted gently.

“She went to the estate,” Caden answered thickly. “She met with Urien and my father wrote… she returned with the medicine. She gave it to me and I took a turn towards getting better, but before I could recover the guards came. They came to our house and they tried to arrest her for theft.”

“She stole the medicine?”

Caden gave him a dark look. “According to my fathers' letter, mamae claims she was giving a single dose. I wouldn’t put it past the Arl to have given it to her and then changed his story to say that she stole it, but if she truly felt hopeless and felt stealing it was the only option… no, she would have stolen enough for everyone if she was going to do that. I think he gave her the remedy and then used it to have her arrested.”

“What was the punishment for theft?” Alistair asked. “Not death, surely?”

Caden looked wanly back at him. “No. Incarceration. But she resisted arrest. My father wrote that she fought back. She protested that she was innocent and refused to go with them. If they were going to take her to the Arl with a charge for theft she maybe thought that… maybe he had threatened her with something worse. My aunt Ffion, she was… the Arl forced her…” she flushed as she spoke, the torch picking up on the red colour in her skin as she explained.

“That’s why she apologised in her letter?” Alistair wondered. “Before your mother went to the Arl?”

“Maybe,” Caden said. “I suppose that makes sense. To go asking for help of the man who got her sister pregnant and drove her away.”

Alistair felt the usual twist of helpless rage when he heard a new morsel of Caden's past at the Alienage and the cruelty she had lived under every day. He squeezed her hand to remind them both that they were here, far away from Denerim and the nightmare she had left behind. She was safe from that time. He needed to remind himself of that fact, let alone reminding Caden. She took a breath before continuing recounting the letter.

“Mamae resisted arrest when the guards came. She fought back, hard. She knew how to fight.”

“She taught you.”

Caden nodded. “She got hold of a knife and then there was a dead guard. Her punishment for that crime was worse, but she just fought harder. More guards came. This happened right outside our front door and no-one ever told me. She was a great fighter, but she was outnumbered.”

“She was killed?” Alistair asked, holding her even tighter.

“She was.” Caden's head bowed. “Right there, in the street outside our house. My father saw the whole thing, being restrained by the guards. They didn’t let him say goodbye. They took her body away without funeral rites or anything. They just took her as a criminal. And my father, who never ever raised a hand to anyone that I ever saw, he assaulted the guard holding him and then they took him away as well.” There was a tremor in Caden's voice as she told this story to him under the veil of stars above. “They gave him lashes and I… I forgot. I forgot until we walked into that Chantry and saw Ser Galian and his back.”

“You were young.” Alistair offered to soothe her. “You were sick.”

“I was, but how could I forget that?” Caden's voice was reedy. “I remember it in pieces now; I woke up and I was thirsty and I couldn’t find my parents when I called for them so I got up and went outside. They were dumping my father on the ground, the guards. His back was… it was…”

“I know.” Alistair murmured.

“There was so much blood and tattered skin.” Caden shook her head, her eyes not seeing him now. “I don’t know if he was awake when they brought him back, but I must have cried out or something because Valendrian shouted at me to go back home. To move because he had to fix my father. I think someone took me back to bed. When I woke up again he was resting and my mother was dead and maybe they lied to me or maybe I just got confused, but I thought mamae died from the sickness. I don’t know how I managed to forget all that or that father had been injured. How could I forget that? I always thought he was a coward, never standing up to the humans who came to the Alienage. He never wanted me to fight, didn’t want me to train. He must have been so scared.” Caden swallowed a sob. “And then I created such a mess and almost suffered the same fate as mamae. He lost her to violence and he lost me, too, to the same thing. I can’t believe I ever thought he was a coward. I have so much I need to apologise to him for. I was wrong to fight them all the time and he was right.”

Alistair could feel a lump rise in his throat as she spoke, but he spoke around it. “No, listen, what happened to your mother was awful and what happened to you was awful, but neither of you was to blame. You had to fight back, both of you. You had no alternative. I think, bold as it may be to assume, that your mother would have been proud of you for fighting back.”

Caden's head tipped back and she blinked up at the sky, keeping tears at bay. “She didn’t even get the Chant spoken for her. Nothing. She was probably thrown in a mass grave with others who were executed. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not.” Alistair agreed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that happened and your mother was killed. And I’m so sorry that you saw the torture earlier and had that memory again. I’m sorry that the world has been so unkind to you and yours for… forever.”

Caden looked at him, setting down the letter and wiping her eyes. She let him keep holding her other hand and he could feel her fingers work between his. He gripped her firmly, unwilling to release her any time soon. “I’m so sick of it. All the injustice against elves all the time. It’s exhausting.”

Alistair didn’t have anything to offer for that. There wasn’t anything to say that would help, but perhaps his previously maligned upbringing and Templar training had been of use after all. It was years after the event, but he could say a few words for the passing of Adaia Tabris. For Adaia and for his mother, both taken far too soon, leaving lost children behind in their wake. He wet his lips, bowing his head towards Caden and began to recite: “The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world, and into the next.” He hadn’t expected to remember it so well, but the words flowed through him as if he had just come from his lessons on the Chant of Light and it’s many verses. “For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees light and goes toward the flame, she should see fire and go towards Light. The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword.”

He looked up to see Caden watching him, her face open and raw with vulnerability. Wordless now, because he couldn’t speak it any better than Andrastes sermon had, Alistair tugged her closer and she folded into him as if he really could protect her from every bad thing that she had ever lived through. Alistair held onto her, for a split second believing he might have that power.

*

Eventually, they had to go back to the house. Alistair's stomach was rumbling and Caden couldn’t ignore that even she was hungry, despite the events of the day and her outpouring of grief. Perhaps her hunger was fuelled because of that, or simply the famous Warden appetite was rearing its head. She was too tired to wonder, but she could eat. That she could do. She didn’t want to leave the cocoon of warmth that Alistair had given her with his embrace, but she couldn’t let him starve, so she pulled away and got to her feet. Alistair picked himself up behind her, brushing the leaves and dirt from the seat of his trousers and his legs. Caden let herself steal a glance at him as he tidied himself off. She wished she was braver and could thank him properly for his kindness and care. His jaw was still smooth after leaving Redcliffe only recently, but before too long he would have bristles sprouting from his face. That was the pattern, how she was able to watch the passage of time bloom on his chin, but right then at that moment, his skin was smooth and probably soft. She watched that skin and tried in vain to will herself to get closer, to touch him lightly enough to stay his movements so she could press a thankful kiss to that space between his chin and his ear, the skin that was fallow ground for now but would soon be planted with a fine crop of hair.

Alistair turned while she was waxing lyrical in her mind about his as yet not grown beard and caught her eye. She heated at once and looked away immediately, embarrassed to be caught staring.

“Thank you for being there for me tonight.” Caden stammered, gaining traction with each word. “Will you please not tell anyone about…?”

“Of course not,” Alistair said. “Your secrets are always safe with me.”

Caden's smile was a wisp on her face, but her heart was singing. Would she ever deserve his kindness?

Alistair glanced at the house and then back at her, hesitating before heading back.

“Caden,” he said, his tone careful. She winced feeling very exposed as if her ridiculous thoughts had been written across her forehead. “I just wanted to say… earlier, that is, I started to say that I… have come to care for you a great deal.”

Caden swallowed and fixed a bigger smile on her face when she looked back at him. “I know. I mean, I do, too.” She reached up and scratched at her ear, her tongue feeling fat and stupid around the words she was trying to say. “I meant what I said to Zathrian; I consider you to be my best friend and I wouldn’t ever want to see you hurt. I care about you.”

Alistair watched her speak with an impassive face. His jaw that she had wanted to kiss clenched and he blinked, looking away. “Yeah, that’s what I meant. You’re my best friend as well.” He walked over to the torch, which was almost puttering out by now and tugged it out of the ground. “Come on, let’s go and see if they left us any food.”

Caden nodded and fell into step with him, folding the letter from her father and sliding it into a pocket as she walked.

*

Caden was grateful that Alistair hadn’t laid into her about the killings. The fact of the matter was that she didn’t feel good about it and she didn’t think she would have been able to maintain her stoicism about her decision in front of him. When she’d taken him outside to talk it had been for selfish reasons; the desire to read the letter from Cyrion. Falling apart and sobbing into his shirt had not been part of the plan, but oddly she felt much better to have done so. She recalled the time in Flemeths hut when she had broken down and wept and how he had bade permission to touch her in comfort then, wary of her flighty nature up to and beyond that time and here she had collapsed against him as though it were the most natural thing in the world to do. It wasn’t fair on him. She wasn’t being fair on him. Just because she harboured this tiny secret flame for him didn’t mean she was allowed to take advantage of his kindness. She had warned him away back when they first met and put him through the wringer since then— that he was her friend and considered her such in return was more than she deserved.

Caden forced her features back into neutral as they reached the house and walked through the door, hoping the dim light would obscure any tear tracks left behind. The group were sitting where a seat could be found, some on the floor, some behind the table. Their group was all together once more, the invalid men out of sight. Remi was sat between Zevran and Rhiannon on the floor, licking his bowl clean.

“Is there any food left?” Caden asked looking to Leliana who was sat beside Wynne. The Sister's face was guarded, but she slipped off her stool and when to the pot.

“It might not be terribly hot,” she chided. “But I trust you worked out what was needed while we were eating?”

There was another question layered beneath that one. Caden could hear it clear as crystal. She inclined her head, even though they had not discussed anything that Leliana would have known about. “Absolutely we did.” She replied evenly. Lelianas brows narrowed a fraction of an inch as she considered this, ladling out the food into two bowls.

Eliza grabbed the last two hunks of bread and added them to plates and then the pair passed stew to the Wardens. There was nowhere to sit, but Caden lowered herself to the ground besides Zevran and began to eat. Alistair remained standing, leaning against the wall by the door. For a short while, the pair just ate and listened. Zevran launched into a retelling of how many portions of food Remi had consumed, wildly exaggerating to a figure in the hundreds, claiming that Remi had eaten all of their bowlfuls and left them with nothing, all to make the boy smile. He was too focused on finishing every last morsel in his bowl to respond, but Caden swallowed a mushroom and asked: “How many servings did you really eat, Remi?”

Remi lowered the bowl, licked clean. “They let me have three.”

“Three?” Caden asked, the edge of her mouth curving into a smile. “That many? That’s a good meal.”

“He told us he doesn’t often even have that in a day.” Rhiannon murmured over the top of his head.

Caden watched the boy eye up her food and picked up the bread to hand over. Remi gave her a cautious glance before taking it and tearing it gently apart. “A growing boy needs his vittles.” She said.

“Has Brother Gentivi discussed more about the temple?” Alistair wanted to know. His bread was already gone, wolfed down in mere seconds by the hungry man.

“He did,” Wynne replied. “He’s finally sleeping now, but we’ve marked it on our map. It shouldn’t be far, though he claims it will be dangerous. He’d like to accompany us.”

“How badly injured is here?” Caden asked.

“Starved and exhausted, but nothing we can fix.” came the answer. “I should imagine that with some support he will be able to help us find the entrance.”

Caden nodded. “Fine, he should come. It’s his life's work after all.”

“What of Ser Galian?” Eliza asked. “And…?”

Caden followed her gaze to Remi who had polished off the bread and was starting to look incredibly sleepy. Rhiannon took his bowl and spoon and stood, heading to the kitchen area. Remi's head dropped forward, his stomach full for once and that making sleep come all the more easy. Caden remembered that feeling well; it was amazing what one extra serving could do for a malnourished child, let alone three. “We’ll part here,” Caden said. “Alistair and I will go to the temple. Leliana, I presume you will want to come along?”

“I… yes I would,” Leliana said, seeming surprised to be invited. “I feel I can be useful. Brother Gentivi suspects there will be a need for true belief in Andraste to find her ashes.”

“That makes sense,” Caden said. “Hopefully She will guide us knowing that we have only Fereldens best interests at heart.”

Lelianas shrewd eyes watched Caden, but she said nothing else.

“I would very much like to be considered for this mission,” Wynne piped up. “I may not be a holy woman, but I would very much relish the opportunity to look upon Andrastes final resting place.”

“What of Ser Galian?” Alistair asked. “Who can tend to him in your absence.”

“Eliza,” Caden said. “She is Wynnes right-hand man, as it were. She seems quite adept in the healing arts and if he is out of the woods and merely requires a watchful eye?”

Eliza had immediately turned to Leliana, her face clearly displaying concern over her companion. Leliana had kept her gaze on Caden. “I have to agree with you.” Leliana gave before looking at Eliza. “She is right. You could tend to Ser Galian better than anyone else.”

“Yes, Eliza, you would be the best person for the task.” Wynne agreed.

“But—” Eliza began.

“Morrigan, you will stay as well?” Caden asked of the other mage. “Add your skills in healing to Elizas?”

“Very well.” Morrigan agreed easily. “I have no desire to travel to a dead woman's remains after all.”

“I suspected as much, thank you.” Caden considered the remainder. “Lorelei and Sten, you will accompany us. Zevran and Rhiannon, you will stay here.” Remi was leaning against Zevran and Rosa had snuffled up alongside the boy. “Keep an eye on Remi and Rosa will stay with you, too. They like each other. It’ll help.”

“I’d like to come with you,” Rhiannon complained mildly. “But I understand.”

Zevran said nothing but nodded.

“Good, then it’s settled,” Caden said standing. “Get some rest. I shan’t imagine we need a watch, but I’ll take it anyway. Tomorrow we head for the temple and hopefully, Andraste willing, we shall locate her ashes and have a hope of saving Arl Eamon.”

Chapter Text

I’ll tend to the flame, you can worship the ashes

Brother Genitivi was overawed by the temple. The rest of the group was too exhausted to take it in having spent the best part of the day climbing the mountainside to find the exact location of the entrance, set into the rock high up where the air was cold and thin. Genitivi had required a lot of assistance, despite his eagerness to find the place, so between Alistair and Sten, the pair had taken shifts in supporting him up the mountain, relieved once or twice by Leliana. Caden had taken one shift for a brief section of the journey, but she was just too short to be of adequate help. Lorelei had refused and Wynne was struggling on her own, so to the men and the Sister had fallen the task. Now they stood at the opening of the temple, Genitivi having unlocked the way inside using a medallion they had scavenged from Eiriks corpse and they caught their breath.

Caden peered down from the mountain. She couldn’t see Haven, which was just as well as Caden was learning that she did have a limit to how high she felt comfortable and she had passed that a fair few hours earlier. She didn’t relish the job she had left for those in the village. While she hoped Eliza would be contained with the care of Eamons knight, she had taken Morrigan and Rhiannon aside to request that at some point during their stay they could distract Remi away from the Chantry and gather the bodies. She didn’t expect them to bury the bodies— she would have left Sten behind were that the case — but with the efforts of Morrigans flame spells she hoped when Caden's group returned with Andrastes ashes, there might be a whole lot more on the wind. She had wrestled overnight with the question of whether Remi ought to see his mother to say goodbye, but how she would find the woman without making the boy gaze upon a dozen dead women she didn’t know. When the morning had come, grey and misty, she had spoken to him about his mother and he had claimed not to have any great connection to the woman. Not for the first time since meeting him, Caden worried about his past and his future and how she had affected the latter.

Caden had dreamt between her watch ending and dawn breaking. Dreamt of Adaia and Cyrion, but not as she feared she might as she fought back sleep, fearful of nightmares that would frighten the boy or the injured men who had never seen her lose control in her sleep. She had pictured the memories that would flood back to her sleeping mind, the blood and gore and destruction she had uncovered, but that was not her dream. Instead, she had dreamt of them together, happy, dancing slowly with bare feet on the worn wooden slats of the floor in the Alienage. Him curled protectively around her, Adaias head resting on the neck of her beloved, smiling. The music was outside the home — someone's wedding — but they had stolen themselves away to dance alone, in private. Caden, smaller then, much smaller, had intruded upon their moment and hovered in the crack of the doorway, watching them silently as they turned so slowly, eyes closed. When she woke up it was not in screaming terror, it was with floods of tears on her face. It was fortunate that her sobs had been as quiet; she had had to face down her fears and admit them to the others when she dreamt of nightmares, but she did not want to give away this private sorrow to anyone. Not least because the memory of her parents felt untrustworthy, a picture with blank spaces that her mind had papered over with more recent, more personal memories of her own secret dance with a man she had complicated feelings about.

She was falling apart little by little. Her seams loosening, her edges fraying like a worn-out woollen tunic when she had thought she was made of sterner stuff. The tears proved that much. Caden straightened up having gathered enough breath to progress and marched ahead, leaving behind her worries over the people in the village below and the wider world beyond Haven. She would take Sten's advice to fight now and fall later, even if later would only come when the Archdemons head lay cleaved from its monstrous body.

Genitivi kept pace with her as they walked through the cavernous temple. The ceilings were high and there were tall, thin windows hewn into the walls that shone light down into the chamber, though the light felt dusty, as though the windows hadn’t been cleaned in years. In fact, it was snow, not dust that dimmed the lights, great flurries of the stuff having piled up around the windows, with some sprinkling through so that it appeared as though the snow was falling inside. Their footsteps echoed as they walked slowly through the hall towards a central brazier that was enormous and bore what appeared to be whole tree trunks inside the bowl, burning gently. The heat teased ashes skywards, meeting the snow that fell into a bewildering image of the earth and sky meeting in the middle somewhere. It was very still and quiet.

Caden looked back at the others who were following behind. Leliana was swallowing hard as she walked, tears gathering in her eyes. She was mad at Caden, angry at her actions in the Chantry and annoyed that she had had to agree with her about leaving Eliza behind, but her tears moved Caden. In truth, Caden hadn’t wanted to separate the pair. They drew comfort from one another and their closeness warmed her heart. If they hadn’t been leaving the injured behind Caden would never have split them by choice.

Wynne and Alistair were both equally impressed by the place, though neither at the same level as Leliana. Nevertheless, they walked with wandering eyes, taking in all of the crumbling pillars, most carved with images some of which had fared better than others. One pillar was broken in half, jutting up into a sharp point from the ground with it’s remaining bricks scattered towards the outer wall. Alistair stepped over a piece that was eerily whole, a woman’s face staring at the roof with blind marble eyes.

Lorelei and Sten walked on without a care, neither breaking the silence, but neither one appearing all that reverent either. That figured. Caden turned back and began to climb a staircase behind the fire pit with Genitivi, who was muttering under his breath, his soft words conveying his excitement despite the low cadence of his voice.

“This is absolutely remarkable.” He murmured, breaking away from Caden and hurrying over to a wall that was etched with markings and pictures in the stones. His fingertips ghosted over the scripture. “Look, look! These were inscribed right after Andrastes death. Can you imagine what knowledge I can glean from reading them?”

Caden came up behind him and looked past his head to the wall. It looked like a mess to her untrained eye; marks hither and thither with faces and figures carved in random insertions in the text. She rested her hand on her hip as she gave the wall a second look, wondering if she looked long enough, might she suddenly decipher whatever meaning Genitivi found there.

“My goodness,” Genitivi said softly. “So much of our Lady's life is contained within these walls, documents in the stone.” He turned his head to take in the rest of the temple, the walls that went on for yards and the statures peppered throughout. His eyes were full as he took in the vastness of the space and the delights he could see there. “I’d wager I could spend weeks here and still only scratch the surface of what I could find.”

“I suppose it’ll still be here when we’re done,” Caden said. “Perhaps when he’s been restored then Arl Eamon will be able to spare a small expedition group for you to get back here to investigate what you’ve found.”

Genitivi looked back at her, his brow furrowed. “Or… I am injured, after all. I couldn’t possibly keep up with you and you fellow warriors.” Caden didn’t think now was the right time to point out that of their group, only Alistair and Sten could be classed as warriors. “I could stay here and start work, while you make your journey deeper into the temple.”

“You won’t feel like you’re missing out?” Caden asked wryly. “On the chance to see Andrastes final resting place?”

For a moment he appeared torn, but then he shook his head, resolute. “Once you have secured the location it will be possible to return later, will it not?”

“What do you expect us to find?” Leliana asked coming up beside Caden. Her expression was a familiar one of shrewd intelligence. Caden kept her mouth shut, trusting that whatever line Leliana was following here, she would be wise to observe. “Secure the location how?”

“I expect cultists,” Genitivi explained as though it were obvious, and Caden had to admit that it was. Nevertheless, she waited and watched Leliana take in what he was saying. “The villagers were only one branch of a diseased tree trying to keep outsiders away from Her ashes. Eirik, he talked openly of their brothers and sisters of the mountain. He led prayer chants for ‘those who held the line’. He didn’t mean those in the village.”

“There are more of these zealots within?”

“Yes, Sister.” He confirmed.

Leliana took a moment before asking her next question, but whether she was hoping Genitivi would fill the silence unasked Caden didn’t know. “What else do you fear we shall find within?”

Even Caden could see the way Genitivis eyes darted away from Leliana at this ask. “Brother Genitivi, please don’t send us in without the full depth of your knowledge,” Caden said, softer than Lelianas words as if together they could wheedle out what he was holding back, through kindness and firm pressure. “That will only put future expeditions in grave danger.”

Genitivi’s eyes stole to hers, then immediately back to the ground. “Understand, I have done my research for decades to track the location of the ashes and it has not been easy. That is, I fear because these people have been so set on keeping people away. I worry that they have had plenty of time to put all manner of deterrents within so that the path to Her is littered with danger. Some of this I only know because Eirik was so secure in his knowledge that he spoke freely around me, a man he expected to die and take all of his words to my unmarked grave. He spoke of Her children and the dangers of crossing them.”

“Andrastes children?” Leliana pounced. “You mean Her followers?”

“No.” Genitivi shook his head quickly, his nostrils flaring, his eyes wide. “Not followers. Actual children. You see, they believe that Andraste has returned and I do not believe they worship a human woman.”

The chill that spread down Cadens back was colder than the snow falling from the ceiling. “Then what?”

“That I confess I do not know,” Genitivi said grimly. “But whatever they have found is not something I wish to encounter.”

Caden and Leliana found each other in a shared look of trepidation, but Caden couldn’t help the small thrum of relief that they were on equal footing again with this. It was a short-lived flash of something good in the moment, overtaken at once by the rising dread of what they might find.

The others had gravitated towards the small group so they wouldn’t require any additional explanation, for which Caden was glad. She wasn’t sure how she would put it to them. None of them looked particularly thrilled, though Sten was impassive as ever. The two mages wore looks of resigned determination. Alistair was the one to speak up.

“So to summarise, we have to make it through a ruined temple that’s probably filled with traps, to fight a bunch of somethings that cultists have determined are directly descended from what they have decided is Andraste reborn?” He reached up to scratch the back of his head, his lips curled in dark amusement. “That about the sum of it?”

Caden shrugged. “Looks like it.”

“Will you be safe here?” Wynne asked of Genitivi.

“Safer, I believe, than you all.” He had the good grace to look sheepish at the statement, but Caden reached over and clapped her hand on his arm.

“You said yourself that you are no fighter and you are injured.” She gave. “I would feel better leaving you with a chaperone though.” Caden turned and looked at the group. “Sten, I’d like you to stay and assist Brother Genitivi as best you can and to keep him safe.”

“Are you certain about this?” Alistair asked. “It might be helpful to have safety in numbers?”

“If there are traps up ahead then might won’t serve us.” Caden pointed out. “Remember Ser Jory?”

Alistair grimaced and nodded. “Maybe I should stay behind as well. Leave my clumsy feet out of it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Caden chided gently. “We go together or not at all.”

Alistair looked up, startled, meeting her gaze with confusion, but she did not wish to linger on what she had said. She looked to Sten instead.

“Will you stay?”

“Are you ordering me to stay?” Sten asked, answering her question with one of his own.

“I am.”

“Then I will stay,” Sten replied easily. “For how long?”

Caden wasn’t sure. She looked in the direction the temple continued for and wondered. How long indeed? “Three days.” She spoke with clarity, but in truth, the number was somewhat arbitrarily settled on. “Three days to return here with the ashes or you both go back to the village and gather the others to return to Redcliffe. Send Morrigan on ahead to expedite the news.”

“And if the elves won’t go?”

That stumped her. She hadn’t considered that Rhiannon, Eliza or Zevran would refuse to follow her orders, but then again, if they came secondhand from Sten because something had happened to their group? Rhiannon and Zevran had already displayed rebellious attitudes where danger was concerned and she did not doubt that Eliza would join them to track them down, to find her own news of Leliana. “Tell them from me that restoring Arl Eamon to health is important, as is recruiting armies to stand against the Blight. If they do not carry on the work Alistair and I have started then they might as well give up then and there. The mission is what matters and they will see it through if Alistair and I fall.” Caden turned to Alistair. “Right?”

He looked back, calm and steady. “Absolutely.”

“Very well,” Sten replied then abruptly turned away and went over to Brother Genitivi. “You have three days, Warden.”

Three days. They would have to make them count.

*

Their progress was painstakingly slow. Glacial to the point that Caden considered sending someone back down the length they had traversed to tack on another couple of days to the time limit she had given Sten. Were it not for the traps they had left in their wake, many of them circumvented and left armed, she might have done it.

That they had expected some traps saved their skin, but even with Leliana and Caden scouting ahead and keeping their eyes peeled for pitfalls didn’t prepare them for just how many traps there were. The first two traps were easy enough to find and handle; Leliana found a false step in the flagstones, which released a spray of acid when depressed and Caden spotted a more obvious spring trap on a gap between the stones which had been filled with loose dirt. Both had been triggered from a safe distance, the first by having Wynne cast over the stone the illusion of a weight to trigger the spray until the acid ran out, the other using the cruder efforts of a brick tossed onto the stone to snap shut the mechanism. Their eyes were more drawn to the floor on which they walked until Alistair was unfortunate enough to be taller than Caden and a stooped over Leliana and so discovered an almost invisible wire, which very nearly ended up wrapped around his throat in his panic. It was only Lelianas quick thinking and nimble knife work that freed him without much damage. After that a shaken up Alistair and Wynne went to the back of the group and Lorelei walked before them holding her staff higher and out before her.

Caden had lost track of just how far they had managed to trek, but she knew they couldn’t have gone terrible far from the entrance. Another few floor traps revealed the tell to Leliana; the flagstones that were false and concealed something dreadful were marked with a symbol that Caden had been unable to see until Leliana drew the mark for her. What looked like a simple crack that ran through the middle of the stone and branched left and right so that altogether it looked like a Y with a third line in the middle of it. This was not, in fact, a crack, but a design to show anyone who knew where to look which stones to avoid, which had to mean…

“…they must use these corridors,” Leliana advised from her crouch by the latest find. Caden was back to being her eager student just like when they first travelled together from Lothering, Caden looking up to the worldly woman to glean whatever expertise she was willing to dish out. “They wouldn’t have marked them otherwise.”

“But,” Caden said slowly, her mind working the detail over. “Perhaps they need the markers because they don’t use the corridors that often. If they used them regularly they would work out which stones to avoid, like knowing which is the creaky floorboard or the loose roof tile.”

Alistair muffled a chuckle at her words, but she snapped her gaze to his evenso. “Sorry.” He said quickly, smiling. “I used to creep around the monastery after lights out to filch cheese from the larder and I’m sure Wynne and Lorelei have broken curfew in the Circle, but you might be the only person I know who has experience on rooftops.”

Caden pursed her lips. “I might not be speaking from experience.”

Alistair didn’t look convinced by her glibness. “Uh-huh, sure. And I might be two dwarves standing on top of each other in an elaborate disguise.”

Leliana stood up and Caden followed suit. “You might be right, Caden. They might not come through here that often and therefore they need to mark the stones. However, have you noticed how easily we have found these marks once we knew where to look? What does that tell you? Look.”

Caden chewed on her lip as she inspected the ground. She turned back the way they had come to hope to reveal the answer and finding none she turned forwards to the location they had yet to traverse. An itch on the back of her mind prodded her to hurry up. They were on a strict timescale. She let out a frustrated huff. “I’ve no idea.”

“Dust.”

Caden narrowed her eyes in the direction of the word, finding it spoken into being by Lorelei of all people. Leliana was either not caught unawares or covered it well, as she simply nodded to the mage. “Precisely.” She didn’t elaborate and Lorelei looked up from the floor, momentarily flummoxed at the silence and stumbled to fill it.

“It’s not dusty on the floor. Or it is,” she corrected herself hastily. “But only on the edges. People walk through here, although they clearly avoid that step.” She jerked her staff towards the trick stone, thankfully from a safe distance to avoid triggering it by accident. “As he says, I’ve spent time out of place and found the best hiding spots. Robes tend to dust the ground better than plate metal, so the Templars looked for those telltale tracks and cleaner floor.” Lorelei shrugged, her voice shrinking as she looked down again, suddenly meeker than Caden had ever seen her. “If you want to sneak you have to hitch your robes up.”

“Who’s ‘he’, the cat’s mother?” Alistair teased gently. Lorelei offered a wisp of a smile in response.

Caden thought of the young man in the tower and how personally Lorelei took his refusal to trust her; the dream the Sloth demon had given her to lure her into staying put so he could feast upon her life energy. She had a sense of how Lorelei had come to know about sneaking around in robes. “Does that mean we’re expecting people in robes?” Caden asked, holding her chin in her hand in thought. “Minimal armour, but probably magic types?”

“Seems likely,” Leliana said. “The villagers were all regular folk, but Eirik was clearly a mage.”

“Told you,” Lorelei said without fire. “Hypocritical men being bastards.”

“I still want to know who this ‘he’ is,” Alistair joked as they began to head forwards again. “Personally I think ‘he’ sounds like a spiffing fellow: brave, dashing, and dare-I-say handsome?”

Caden bit back a smile as he talked. Lorelei rolled her eyes so hard she could practically hear it.

“Dream on, Warden.” came the retort, but it was teasing, not unkind. “If you must know he is far too fond of cheese to ever be called handsome. It’s addled his brain.”

“Ouch,” Alistair clutched his chest, feigning injury. “You have hurt me greatly.”

“You?” Lorelei smirked. “I thought we were talking about someone else.”

“Oh, of course, the great unknown ‘he’. Well, I think ‘he’ is very wounded by your words.”

“Well, I think—”

Caden stepped forward with Leliana and met empty air. The stone she had expected simply wasn’t there and then she was falling. They all were falling, tumbling through the air with gasps and cries so that Caden didn’t know whose voice was whose. She hit the wall with her shoulder and hissed, Alistair gave an unmistakably male yelp from somewhere above her. The world spun and spun in the dirt and darkness and then floor smacked her, hard. Caden lay for a moment, her body mercifully still, but her head and insides still spinning. A body came to rest beside her and she opened her eyes to see Lelianas light blue pair blink, then the Sister was hurrying to her feet too fast, grabbing her dagger and wielding it against assailants that weren’t there; she swooned and cracked her head against the wall and sank to the ground again.

“Leliana,” Caden croaked, forcing herself to get up as best she could. Her mouth was bleeding and she spat on the floor and partially on her hand as it filled up with another cry to Leliana. She crawled towards her, but someone landed on her and she staggered face down again. A staff clattered along the ground and black hair draped over Caden's face. “Lorelei?”

“Fucking Maker, fuck—” Lorelei winced and rolled off Caden, seeming less impaired for having landed on the elf. “Ow, shitting bollocks.”

“You have such a way with words.” Alistair groaned. Caden turned to see him sitting up, cradling an unconscious Wynne in his arms. “I managed to grab her as we fell and cushioned her, but she’s not alright.” He looked down at the mage with grave concern, holding her like she was made of glass. She looked suddenly so old and frail in his large arms, not like a battle-hardened warrior mage.

“Oh Wynne,” Loreleis cursing ceased at once and she hurried to Alistair to assess Wynne leaving Caden to push on to Leliana, who was in a crumpled sitting position against the wall.

Caden fumbled for a vial of healers draught, pricking her finger on a shard of glass instead. She winced and pulled it back, finding the last drops of that particular vial on the wound, knitting together the rent skin before she could even begin to bleed. The next one was thankfully whole and she tipped back Lelianas head to feed her the contents of the vial. She could smell the sweetness of the elfroot as she fed it to the dazed woman. Soon Leliana was blinking again, her eyes managing to focus on Cadens.

“How do you feel?”

Leliana smacked her lips together once or twice. “Like we fell down a chimney.”

“Understandable,” Caden said with a grim nod. “Wynnes hurt.”

Focus drew Leliana to look around Caden at the scene of Alistair holding Wynne with Lorelei passing her hands over her prone body, doing her best with skills she was quite obviously not comfortable with.

“I do better lighting things on fire,” Lorelei said shakily.

“You can do this.” Alistair encouraged softly. “Concentrate.”

Caden let Leliana descend upon the three knowing that she was better with field medicine than Caden would ever be and she stood, bracing herself on the wall. A glance up showed her exactly where they’d fallen. The trap had been so easily sprung to send them hurtling down an angled dirt tunnel onto a smooth stone floor with rough stone walls. She looked up but couldn’t see exactly where the tunnel began and wondered if Alistair gave her a boost, might she be able to climb her way back up? But then, to what end— she couldn’t pull the rest up, nor did she think she could find where they were from up there. Along the wall she stood at two heavy wooden beams were bracing the stones and holding them in place. There was a source of light and she followed it to find that it was coming from a torch just outside the small chamber beyond a wooden door set between wooden wall braced with yet more support beams. The door had a square window to the corridor beyond, iron bars obscuring the view. She tried the handle. Locked. Naturally.

All in all, this seemed like a terrible place to have ended up.

Behind her, Wynne was coughing and the others were soothing her, finding her some water from their skins. Caden would have turned to see for herself, but the corridor was suddenly darkened by the shape of a tall, bearded man walking towards their door. She planted her feet and watched him approach. He was flanked by two others, both men, both bedecked in burgundy robes. As the man drew closer to the torch, Caden's stomach gave a horrible sudden lurch as his face was lit up; for a split second, she had thought it was Duncan walking towards their cell.

“Hello,” Caden said as coolly as she could muster. She was determined to speak first as if she could put herself on equal footing with them, even though she and her friends were trapped like rats in a cage. “We’ve come to survey your temple and I’m sorry to tell you that it’s really not passing inspection thus far.”

Alistair let out a sharp bark of laughter, which must have earned him a withering look because she heard him defend himself: “What? That was funny.”

The man smiled through the bars at her. “Welcome pilgrim. You who seek our Lady Andraste have found her. But for what purpose I wonder? Will you restore Her or will you feed her?”

Caden felt her brows twitch together. “I’m sorry, what?”

Chapter Text

My heart is a church of scars, that’s hallowed ground

Caden narrowed her eyes through the bars but remained at a cautious distance. The man who had spoken was looming through the small window so that she could no longer see the two mages who had been flanking him, but she had no doubt that a wrong move from her would send vicious magic through the opening towards her. She adjusted her stance to appear as non-threatening as possible, though there wasn’t much more she could do— she was already caged in with her friends. Nevertheless, she dropped her shoulders and rocked back on her heels, opening herself up with hands out, palms up. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re saying. Feed who?” And why. And most importantly how?

The man turned his head, one eye large and fixed on her. His beard was straggly and poked wildly through the metal. “Our Lady Andraste of course. She has arisen and she hungers.”

Caden's mouth was open, but no sound came out. She couldn’t fathom what he was saying. “Andraste died.” She finally spoke, compelled to state the obvious knowledge to the room. “She died a long time ago.”

“And now she has arisen.” The man countered, his tone suggesting that he was used to dealing with slow learners. “I take it you have not come seeking pilgrimage like so many others? A pity. You’ll make a stringy snack for her, elf.” He peered through into the gloom of the cell and spotted the others in the background. “Maybe your friends will sate her hunger better.”

Caden heard a disgruntled huff behind her and stuck a hand backwards, waving it in an effort to keep any dismay quiet. Despite the village below them being overrun by cultists who partook in torture and murder for outsiders and strange rituals for their followers, this interaction was the last thing she would ever have expected. She was finding her way through this conversation as delicately as she had tried to tread on the levels above where traps and pitfalls lurked.

“Are you saying that Andraste is alive? And… eats people?” Caden asked, keeping her voice as level as possible. She didn’t want to offend the man with outlandish questions no matter how oddly he seemed to see the world. He nodded, which stumped her; his acceptance of the wildest questions was not soothing her in any way. “Alright, wait. We’re getting ahead of ourselves.” She placed one hand over her chest. “My name is Caden Tabris of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden. I would very much like to know your name.”

He straightened up, moving away from the bars a little bit. That small movement did wonders to alleviate some of the oppressive weight of being stuck in a cell with a strange man bearing down through the door on her. She was still trapped, but that little bit of extra space to breathe settled her galloping heart to merely a canter. She tugged at the collar of her armour.

“My name is Father Kolgrim.”

“Father?” The word slipped out before she could stop it, but she clamped her mouth shut before she could mention Eirik.

“Yes, indeed,” Kolgrim said. “I am the liaison to the Our Lady Andraste reborn. How have you come to be here?”

Caden plastered a smile over her face. “Why, Father Eirik sent us.” She lied breezily. “We spoke with him about our needs and he understood. You asked before if we came on a pilgrimage and we have.” Emboldened, she stepped forward and gripped the bar with one hand. “Not to see your Andraste, but to seek out her ashes. There is a Blight on Ferelden and it’s growing day by day. We’re gathering allies to fight it back and stop the spread, and we need to save someone who lingers on the precipice of death in order to do so. We’ve been told of the vast healing properties of the Sacred Ashes and that is why we are here. We may not be here for the same reasons your usual visitors' journey here, but I assure you that we are no less reverent of Andraste.” She paused, the tip of her tongue darting to her lips, dry in the arid cell. She tasted dust. “Please, may we be granted leave to seek the Ashes?”

Kolgrim watched her unblinking, his stare boring into hers with each word, but he never moved a muscle. Giving no sign of his inner feelings, Caden forced her voice out, layering the concern for Eamon over the top. It was easily done; they were once again being delayed during their mission and Eamon had waited far too long already.

A rustle beside her and Caden spotted the shape of Leliana, still holding her palm to her head where spots of blood still remained after her collision with the wall. “Good sir,” the Sister began, picking up on Cadens attempts to make nice with the probably crazy person to seek their end. “I am a holy woman myself, so I—”

Kolgrim was back at the bars in an instance, turned to the side, his great wild eye displaying so much white around the dark iris as he peered at them. Caden twisted, one foot going behind her automatically separating her from him despite the presence of the door. Her hand landed on the hilt of the sword on that hip, hidden from view. She forced herself to relax and not grab it, but her fingers were soothed by the feeling of the wrapped hilt. Leliana had yelped and cut off her words, but she was still stood fast, refusing to cower.

“A holy woman.” He sneered. “You mean you follow the false doctrine about Andraste. You follow the tainted Chant which keeps her from being reborn to us.” He spat through the bars, narrowly missing both women.

Caden wrenched her hand away from her sword, wishing she could draw it. Her fingers itched for the feeling of her mothers knife. She would have to rely on her wits, Andraste preserve them all.

“Father,” she breathed, standing next to Leliana, laying her hand on her arm. “You did not let her finish. This woman is reformed. She once was a cloistered Sister following a call to service to the Maker, but during her time with the Chantry she knew she had been called to something higher. Something more important. She knew of the danger to Ferelden because she believed the Maker showed her.”

“Pah!” Kolgrims face scrunched in distaste.”

“I know, I know.” Caden agreed. Sweat was steadily pooling at her scalp and trickling slowly down her spine. “Ridiculous, right? Our friend was too clever for that. She was told to listen to the Maker, but everyone knows that He has left us. She knew that meant the call could only have come from Andraste herself. She knew she had to join up with the Wardens to help us defeat the Blight. Andraste brought us here. She wanted us to come.”

Kolgrims hand slipped around the bars, displaying fingernails that were overly long, brittle and jagged, dark with dirt. Caden clutched Leliana a little tighter.

“She’s right,” Leliana said. “I have seen the light and it was Andraste.”

“Who else is back there,” Kolgrim asked, perhaps assuaged by the women. Now his sight passed over them towards the dim back wall of the cell.

“My brother Alistair,” Caden said. “Warden-brother that is. He is tending to one of our companions who was injured by the fall into this cell.” She glanced back over her shoulder, hesitating on how to address the two mages with them. Haven had not been kind to them with a collection of magic users and she was loathed to present them to the deranged man. That he had two mages of his own flanking him did nothing to ease her worries; if anything they ramped up the tension coiled inside her like a snake. “They are also weary pilgrims, drawn to aid our quest that Andraste can assist us with.”

She locked eyes with Alistair through the gloom. Wynne was awake now, but looking blearily at Lorelei, who was softly murmuring to her teacher. She still lay in Alistair's arms across his lap and his eyes were dark as they met Cadens. She sucked in a short breath and turned back to Kolgrim. “Please will you let us go?”

Kolgrim vanished from the bars, pulling away faster than she would have thought he could move. Caden stepped closer, rising on the tips of her toes to try and see through the window, but then the blessed sound of a key in a lock, made her pull back, tugging Leliana with her. The women backed away from the door, Caden releasing her friend as the pair adjusted their stances. No weapons were drawn, but they were poised and ready. Just in case.

The door swung inward and Kolgrim stepped inside. He was even larger than Caden had expected, tall and broad, his armour dirty but seemingly unbroken. Into the cell around him stepped the two mages, roughly fashioned staffs at their backs. At least they weren’t readying their spells at them, that was a small mercy, though Caden had no doubt that they could fire something at them in a matter of moments.

Behind her she heard the scrape of armour on stone and with a risked glance over her shoulder, she saw that Alistair had struggled to his feet, still holding Wynne in his arms. Protecting the older woman, but not wishing to be left sitting if trouble began. She understood that, and having his additional presence behind was comforting.

“Pilgrims you say, seeking the ashes,” Kolgrim stated. Caden knew it wasn’t a question, but she found herself nodding anyway, heart hammering. “Our Lady arisen has no need for the ashes. These remnants of her earthly form. Her weak, female form.”

Caden couldn’t bring herself to agree with that. He was speaking on anyway and probably didn’t care one jot for her opinion. Her weak, female opinion.

Kolgrim crossed one arm over his front and rubbed his beard with his other hand. “It is probably asking far too much of you, scrawny elf girl that you are, flocked by women like starving cats. You there, Alistair, was it? I would speak with you alone.”

The air stilled. Caden could feel the rise in the temperature of her blood, as his words stoked the fire inside her and brought her anger bubbling to the surface. She clenched her fists and the words she longed to say swelled in her chest, but she forced them to remain inside. Gritting her teeth she turned back to Alistair, her face a mask of deference for Kolgrim, but her eyes flashed at her friend. “I guess this one is on you.”

Alistair opened his mouth, but nothing came out. On his face, she could read a combination of embarrassment and then a jolt of panic when he realised she really was going to let Kolgrim have his way without fighting. She couldn’t see the point of pushing it; Kolgrim, like Eirik, seemed to have some outdated views on women and was potentially not afraid to wield the power he felt he had over the woman in the cell. Her eyes stole up to the ceiling, wondering if she would be able to climb back up through the tunnel from which they fell. But even if she could, the others could not and she wouldn’t leave them. To get out of their cell, she needed to let disparagement of women win. It would be a bitter victory to obtain their release such a way, but they were not at full strength for a fight. Caden stepped aside.

Unhappily, Alistair set down Wynne, Lorelei taking her arm to rest over her shoulders with Leliana going to assist. Wynne grumbled softly about the fuss, but she allowed them to help while she regained her composure. Alistair made to walk past Caden, but stopped beside her. His jaw worked like he was trying to talk, but still nothing came out. What was there to say? He lifted his hand and touched her shoulder, gripping her in a squeeze. Then he walked over to Kolgrim and let himself be lead outside. The cell door shut, but the two mages remained, eyes fixed on the women.

Caden turned around to face them, feeling a creeping sense of dread as she felt Alistair's golden warmth retreat with the self-appointed Father. One of the mages regarded her coolly and casually lifted his staff off his back, setting it beside him. The other one left his staff in place, but flicked his wrist and summoned a small hot ball of flames at his fingertips, which he let scurry around his hand as if it were a living pet. It took everything she had, every ounce of strength to turn away from them and show them her back. To show them that she was unafraid, though in truth they could have killed her in a heartbeat. She couldn’t watch their posturing. She knew she was smaller than them, but that was nothing new. That was why she had taught herself to be faster. To use cover. To rely on her friends.

It didn’t help now. She couldn’t be faster. She couldn’t hide.

She wrapped her arms around her front, her back feeling raw and exposed. The memory tugged at her mind, dragging her from this cell in the mountain temple back through time and space until she was in Denerim once more. In the Arls estate, waking up next to Shianni. That wasn’t helping. She dug her nails into the exposed skin at her elbows, trying to snap out of it. She wasn’t there. Shianni was safe at home, protected from the men who tried to hurt her. These mages weren’t looking to rape them, not as far as Caden could tell, and they wouldn’t hurt them. Not yet, not without an order. She hoped.

The memory of Shianni played in her mind and she decided to let her stay. Caden pushed away the bad thoughts of her wedding day and tried to open herself up to better thoughts. What was Shianni doing? She imagined her and Cyrion together eating dinner. Shianni had been like a sister to her since her own parents died and had practically moved in with them; it would be no great leap for Shianni to fill the void left by Cadens conscription. That thought gave Caden hope for them both. She had never been the right daughter for Cyrion anyway. Too headstrong, too quick to anger at the humans, too preoccupied with scrapping and training herself for a battle she always knew was coming. Shianni was a better fit. She hoped the pair were happy without her.

As for herself, Caden swallowed and allowed the feeling to wash over her: she was glad that Duncan had taken her from her home and brought her to the Wardens. She belonged with Alistair doing something for the greater good and doing it well. It was a hard truth to stomach, and yet she felt a great sense of relief at the feeling. She had refused to admit it to herself for this time and while she had not always felt so, she had certainly not regretted joining the Wardens for a while now. She was where she belonged. She only wished Duncan had lived long enough for her to acknowledge that to him. Maybe even thank him. In the cell in the mountain she took a moment to think of him and hope he knew.

After a while, Alistair returned with Kolgrim. By that time Wynne was standing unaided. Alistair was pale, or as pale as he could be having developed a ruddy warmth from all of their outside travel over the past months. His eyes were round, forehead creased in consternation. That more than anything made Caden turn all the way around to face the men re-entering the cell.

“Follow me,” Kolgrim said. At first, Caden assumed he meant the mages, who turned and strode behind him from the cell and so she did not move. Not until Alistair caught her eye and nodded them all over. Caden closed the gap at once.

“What’s happening?”

“Come on.” He muttered. “Before they change their mind.” Then louder he called. “Wynne, can you walk?”

“I’m fine now Alistair, thank you,” Wynne replied shrugging off the hands of her helpers and relying on her staff for balance as she followed the Wardens. Lorelei was hovering close by. Leliana came up to the Wardens. Her mouth was a thin line.

“I don’t trust this.” Her words were barely louder than a breath.

“I’ll explain when I can.”

*

They were escorted from the cell through a labyrinthine tunnel system that seemed to have no rhyme or reason for any of its hairpin turns or inclines up and down, but which was traversed by Kolgrim and his lackeys with apparent ease. Caden trudged behind Alistair uneasily, the skin on the back of her neck crackling like a small fire. Kolgrim didn’t say a word and Caden knew better than to press Alistair. He was worried and that was infectious, sliding under her flesh and making it creep. The sooner she saw clear skies again the better.

Even with her hope to see the outside world again, she was surprised when they came out onto the mountainside. The air was crisp and she sucked down one breath after another without thinking. Being trapped in the mountain had not suited her well. Even with her gulping breaths, she found her lungs wheezing, not from the cold air, but from lack of substance. Like broth flavoured with bones, no meat or veg, this air was thin and wouldn’t fill her up. She shook it off to follow the rest as Kolgrim walked them to a platform and extended one hand towards another entrance across the open summit.

“That is where you must go.” He said, speaking only to Alistair. Caden bit her tongue and focused on breathing. “The Ashes reside within. Remember what I told you.”

“Of course,” Alistair replied with a nod. Leliana snapped her head around to glare at him suspiciously but mercifully said nothing. “Rest assured I will not forget.”

“Very well.” He glanced at the others surrounding Alistair. “Are you quite sure you wish to take them with you. I can have them removed.”

“We all go.” Alistair said with more authority. “We’ll uphold our part of the bargain if you keep yours.”

Kolgrim harrumphed. “Very well. I shan’t expect you back soon with them holding you back, but it is your decision. Good luck. Don’t anger Our Lady on your crossing.”

With that, he turned and disappeared back into the mountain with the others. Caden waited only a few moments before turning to Alistair.

“What exactly have you—”

“Quiet,” Alistair cut her off softly. His face was still wary, but he looked away from the entrance to the mountain and up to the skies. “We have to move quickly. Wynne, are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Alistair, what is it?” Caden pushed before the bewildered Wynne could reply. She clutched his forearm to get his attention as he was still scanning the horizon. Alistair glanced down at her. “Just tell us fast and we can get going.”

He cast a concerned look where Kolgrim had gone then back up. “Right, let’s walk and talk, but walk fast and talk quiet.”

“Fine.” Caden agreed, letting him go, but then he surprised her by reaching for her hand and curling his fingers with hers.

“Stay close.” He bade, then still clutching her hand, he turned and reached for Wynne. “Link up.”

Wynne complied, taking Lorelei in hand as well after stashing her staff at her back as Leliana took hold of Caden. As a V shape, they began to move, Alistair setting a fast pace, but adjusting for Wynne with the first few steps. Even then the speed was quicker than Caden would have expected. Leliana quickly caught up with her so that Caden was slightly behind both her and Alistair, reshaping their formation into a wonky W instead.

“Those crazy bastards think Andraste is alive of sorts,” Alistair said as they walked, making an effort to temper the volume of his voice, which was shaking. “There’s a dragon here living on the mountain and they’ve decided that’s Andraste.”

“What?” Leliana yelped. “That’s preposterous.”

“Yep.” Alistair said. “You’ll hear no argument from me.”

“A dragon?” Caden asked, unable to keep the awe out of her tone. “Like the Archdemon?”

“I guess so.” Alistair said. “That’s the craziest part— their theory has some grounding in fact as the Archdemon is an Old God returning to Thedas in a new vessel. That’s what they believe of Andraste.”

“It’s bullshit.” Leliana snapped, surprising Caden with her ferocity.

“That’s what they were going to feed us to. The dragon.” Caden said, almost to herself, but Alistair caught it.

“Yep.” He said again. They were halfway across the open plain, the breeze gaining in strength and chill factor, buffeting them as they moved. Lorelei slipped on some ice and went down on her knees with a cry of pain. The group had to stop, Alistair grabbing Wynne so that she wasn’t pulled down with Lorelei.

“You alright?” Caden asked, letting go of her hands to go to aid the mage. Lorelei let Caden help her up, which she had no doubt was due to worrying about Wynne rather than wanting Caden's assistance.

A keening cry sliced through the air, chilling Caden's blood. She froze with her hands on Lorelei and turned. With a thunderclap of enormous leathery wings, a shadow crossed in front of the sun and darkened the space around the group. Caden’s head craned back as the beast swooped above them, calling out again from its impossibly long throat.

“Run!” Alistair tugged at Wynne, breaking into a run which the older mage fought to match. Leliana let go of him to draw her bow and reach for an arrow, though once nocked she followed Alistair, her weapon a last resort if she looked like dinner. Caden and Lorelei broke into matching sprints from under the shadow of the dragon, though Lorelei soon pulled ahead, hitching her robes and putting her long legs to good use. Caden fell behind, refusing to call out and watching the others draw further ahead. Alistair wasn’t running at full speed as he was mindful of Wynne, but he was fixed on the safety of the entrance.

They had almost reached it when Caden fell.

When it happened, time slowed. Just like Lorelei before her, Caden's foot hit the ground only to find slickness that she had not prepared for. Her toe shot out from under her, disappearing the wrong way, twisting her back as she pitched over, crashing into the ground with a wrenching thud. Her shoulder and hip took the brunt and she hissed in pain, rolling over and over, propelled by the momentum of the fall. When she came to a stop she was on her back gazing up as the dragon banked sharply, massive wings outstretched to catch the current in the air. Caden hefted herself up, crying out involuntarily at the jagged burst of pain that shot up her arm as she braced herself. She had to be faster, a lot faster, than this great beast. It was turned towards her now when she took a terrified glimpse at it and that gave her the adrenaline rush she needed to get on her feet, but it was getting closer and bigger with every second. Wildly her thoughts went to praying with the lay sisters back at Denerim when they would visit to teach the Chant. Caden was up, but her leg was complaining. She backed away from the fast approaching dragon and almost buckled. Faster, fast, go!

It opened it’s mouth, drawing heat from somewhere inside it. She could see the roiling flames belching up its throat. No, no, no.

An arrow whizzed past her into the mouth of the beast, sticking between two teeth in its gum, but the fire breath came forth regardless, even as the creature shrieked and another arrow quickly followed the first. The second arrow sizzled to ash without finding it’s mark as the flames headed towards Caden. She could never outrun it. She dove to the ground and covered her head with her arms, hoping the flames would pass overhead, but the heat never reached her. She looked up hesitantly to see Lorelei standing over her, sweating with great effort and groaning as she maintained a golden barrier between the women and the fire. The flames licked at the shield but did not pass through.

Caden hurried to try to regain her footing again, her knee wobbling and refusing to hold her weight as the dragon's flight took her over them, ceasing the fire. Lorelei dropped the barrier and swayed from expending the effort. Alistair's arms were there all at once, wrapping around Caden, curving under her legs and cradling her close as he turned and ran for the entrance to the mountain once more where Wynne waited. She fired a spell past the pair guided by grim determination. Alistair set Caden down safely inside, then turned and bolted back out again. Caden wanted to shout after him, but reached for the wall instead and hauled herself to her feet, leaning on the rocks for support. Lorelei was running towards them, but Leliana shouted and the mage turned, already throwing up another barrier, just about in time to save her from the second bout of fire. Leliana swung around and fired three arrows one after the other, the third finding a home in the nostril of the dragon, which let out another, more piercing scream than the last. Alistair reached Lorelei as she dropped the barrier and grabbed her arm, tugging her back with him. Leliana covered their sprint, but the dragon had had enough and curved away and disappeared out of sight.

The rest of the party joined Wynne and Caden in the entrance, breathing hard. Alistair doubled over to catch his breath and Caden pushed off from the wall to limp over to him and rest her hand on his back. He glanced up at her. “Are you alright?”

“Messed up my leg.” She admitted. Wynne bustled over and inspected, laying her hand on Caden's knee to pour healing energy into the joint. Caden looked over her to Lorelei who looked exhausted. “Thank you, Lorelei. You saved my life.”

“Fuck off did I,” came the reply through pants. Caden just smiled grimly.

“You did. I won’t forget.”

Leliana was checking her quiver and taking a quick count of her remaining arrows before she rounded on Alistair. “I think you need to tell us the rest of the bargain, Alistair. Before we go any further.”

Chapter Text

I love that little smile you keep in the corner of your mouth

Alistair peered past the women to the outside world, gleaming with ice and snow on the rocks. The sound of the dragon pierced their hiding spot, but it was further away. Still close enough to raise the hairs on his neck, but far enough to not be a bother. They were safe. Relatively speaking.

When he turned to the others, Lelianas eyes were burning blue fire and suddenly he felt a lot less safe. He was so the wrong person for this; had been the wrong person to go with Kolgrim and discuss what they needed to do. Negotiation was not his forte, not unless he had someone in authority to back him. Duncan had tried to help him by getting him to ferry messages between the Wardens and the other camps at Ostagar, at least until he “sassed” one too many mages. His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch with this accidental step down his memories. Ostagar was still a box locked up tight in his head, too big to unpack in full. He settled his gaze onto Caden, still leaning on the wall as magic soothed the pain in her knee. Her eyes were soft even as her mouth was set in a grim line at the hurt she was still feeling. She could have pushed him to talk, but she was waiting.

What was the matter with him that he could not look at her while he talked and instead turned from the face of his friend to Leliana who was openly angry?

“Those men back there,” he flung an arm in the direction they had come from, back to the temple, “are completely insane.” As far as opening remarks went that was possibly his worst one yet. Alistair huffed out a breath and swept the outstretched hand over his hair. It was gritty and damp from exertion and yet again too many days on the road without a proper wash. He suddenly wished he wasn’t in full armour so that he could surreptitiously wipe his palm on his trousers, though no doubt he would get in a pickle trying to do that smoothly. “They think Andraste is a dragon, but obviously the dragon in question is… well, a dragon.” Yes, this was going very well. “So it’s a beast, with the same hunger and predator instincts as any other dragon and so it’s not very Andraste-like at all. I mean, I assume; Andraste could have been a hunter for all I know and loved the tasted of human… flesh?”

Wynne ceased her first aid to turn and stare at Alistair, her eyes wide and her mouth open a fraction more than was reasonable. Her incredulity was matched on the faces of Leliana and Lorelei, the latter of whom buried her mouth in her hand to try to hide the snigger that she couldn’t help. Caden made her way over to Alistair, obviously still favouring her leg as she walked, but when he dared to meet her gaze, his face hot and awash with a fresh layer of perspiration, she still had the same gentleness in her inky blue eyes. When had that become the norm? The thought shunted him out of his messy embarrassment and into something that felt like the bottom had dropped out of the world. With his feet on solid ground, he felt himself falling and his heart crashed against his ribs with a deafening roar that only he could hear. When had she stopped avoiding his gaze, stopped with the withering looks of contempt? When had the kindness begun? It wasn’t the first time he had questioned the change between them, but just when he thought he had reached the dizzying heights of the top level of Caden's friendship, she revealed another inch to him, another layer of closeness. He was a mess in so many ways, but here she was to save him once again.

“Alistair,” her tone was calm and listening to his name on her lips centred him despite the rising panic that came from him unravelling his plans to the sceptical audience. Thank the Maker that Morrigan and Zevran weren’t there or he would be nothing more than a puddle on the ground, melted by the heat of their disdain. “Take your time. What was the bargain Kolgrim mentioned?”

She didn’t reach for him, but he still felt tethered to her in some way. He took a deep breath through his nose and nodded.

“They began as an order to protect the site of Andrastes remains.” Alistair started his breathing even again. “He called them the Disciples of Andraste and they go back as far as Andrastes death. That’s where Haven came from, the founding of the village I mean.”

“That was over a thousand years ago.” Leliana put forth. Alistair nodded.

“It was.”

“Plenty of time for corruption to set it, don’t you think?” Lorelei remarked, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. Alistair nodded again.

“Certainly looks to be the case, yes.”

“I don’t understand how anyone can believe that a dragon could be the spirit of Andraste reborn,” Wynne said shaking her head slowly. “That is a level of madness that I cannot fathom.”

“It’s not… unheard of.” Alistair said weakly. “The Blight began when the darkspawn wake an Old God and somehow transform them into their leader. That’s what the Archdemon is, what Caden and I have to defeat to end the Blight.”

“And he is a dragon,” Caden added darkly, her sight miles away, underground from the visions of her dreams.

“Fuck.” Loreleis breath was shaky when she dragged it in. “Who’d want to be a Grey Warden?”

To his surprise, Caden laughed at that. A short, sharp bark of mirth that twisted the heavy tension in the space and shattered it. Alistair couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh along with her.

Leliana let them have a moment. “What does this have to do with us today? What are we doing, Alistair?”

That sobered him up. “They don’t like women. At all. Any of you…” It was probably the wrong way to break this news, all at once in a sudden dump of information, but he had skirted it — badly — for too long. “They wanted to keep you locked up or get rid of you or something. I didn’t want the details. For an order that purportedly reveres a woman they have a very damaged view of actual women.”

“I don’t think any of us missed that,” Caden said.

“I’m sorry,” Alistair said. “Of course you knew that. But when Kolgrim took me out he was pretty clear that he didn’t know why I was travelling with any of you. A holy woman, two mages.” He nodded in turn to each of them. His ears flamed when he landed on Caden. “He didn’t know what to make of you. An elf and a woman, talking for all of us? I think he thought you were mocking him.”

“She was a little bit, right?” Lorelei smirked.

“I was trying to keep us safe.” Caden shrugged and Alistair latched onto that.

“Exactly! I mean… so was I. That’s why I agreed to their terms. It was the only way to keep you all here and safe.” Alistair scratched at his ear as if he could rub away the consternation he was feeling if he targeted the flush on his skin. “They believe that for Andraste to return properly, be a sentient dragon or whatever, they need to destroy her ashes. Her last link to the human she was.”

“And you agreed to this?” Lelianas’ disbelief was all-encompassing. “No. I refuse.”

“I know,” he held up a hand. “I know. They gave me some blood to pour over the ashes. To defile them would be barbaric no matter what you feel about Andraste. You don’t mess with final resting places or peoples remains.”

“But you have this blood?” Caden asked shrewdly. “You agreed to do this to let us all get here?” When he nodded she smiled. “That was smart. But I don’t understand why they can’t do this themselves?”

Alistair hardly heard her question; he was soaring from her casual judgement of him being clever. It wasn’t anything he had ever expected to hear about himself. Brave, yes, strong, ever since his first major growth spurt as a boy. He had been called both enough to believe they were true, but most often he was thought of as clumsy and witless. Useless, that was something he had heard about himself. Trouble, that was a ringing endorsement from Isolde that had never left him since he heard it as a ten-year-old. Stupid, that was a big label he carried, most recently given weight by Morrigan, and sure he liked her just as little as she him, but even with that in mind the snipes bit him. Smart was nothing he had heard before. Not concerning him.

Caden thought he had made a clever move. His chest tightened, the pride that swelled inside him filling him up in every way. It was all he could do not to burst into a wide grin from the sensation, but of course, they were still in the middle of their task. The time for celebration would be afterwards. But he tucked away the feeling alongside the dragging labels he carried every day, hoping it would lighten the load.

“Um, yes,” he pulled himself back to the moment. “Apparently they can’t enter here. This place where her ashes are interred. There’s some old magic that lingers here and it keeps threats at bay.”

Caden nodded. “I see. Well, the magic is working if it keeps them out, but what about us? We’re not going to harm the ashes, but will we be allowed to take some for Eamon?”

“If our hearts are true I don’t see why not,” Leliana said. She seemed flustered by the entire conversation, reeling from the concern over what Alistair had agreed to and what he was saying about tricking the cultists. “Perhaps we should leave the blood here, though?”

Alistair nodded, fishing out the glass bottle with it’s thick, dark contents and setting it down where they stood. It clinked against the stone then waited, unobtrusive as any other ordinary bottle would be, lingering in the cold. He watched the contents settle, the thick dark liquid slowly sliding down the inside of the glass, leaving a deep, dull red behind. Dragon blood. How that had obtained it was beyond him. He didn’t want to know, nor did he ever fancy getting up close and personal with a dragon to find out how they bled, though that was part of his destiny. His and Cadens both, but for now they had to enter the tomb of Andraste and tackle this next part. There was always one more thing to do before they would need to figure out how to get to the Archdemon, one more item on their checklist.

“Well,” he said trying to inject his words with jollity. “Shall we?”

*

They walked through the hallways without speaking. The only sound came from Alistair's heavy footsteps, always thudding despite his attempts to soften his tread. The mages walked on with a whisper of robes swishing along the floor, while Leliana was practically silent. Caden tried to emulate the older rogue as much as she could and managed to step lightly enough that the sound was somewhere between the mages and Leliana. As they walked they watched for the protection magic to kick in, though how it would present itself they had no way of knowing. Caden kept her eyes moving, sweeping the walls, up to the ceiling and down the other side, not forgetting the floor before them. She did not want another tumble through the dirt to another cell.

The hallways were easy to follow. They lead from one to the next with no option to deviate from the path. It reminded her somewhat of the time spent in the Sloth demons lair, though these corridors were notably lacking in doorways. Straight as arrows they travelled, on and on.

Eventually, they reached a doorway that stretched up to the roof above them in a point. The wood was thick and heavy, carved with all manner of pictures. Andrastes symbol had pride of place at the highest part. Caden looked back at the others. “I guess we’re here?” She was wary— where was this fabled magic? Could it be that the cultists had the wrong idea and the only thing they feared inside was fear of what might lurk? Were they running from nothing more than their own nightmares? Could they for once have caught a break and be allowed to complete their journey unimpeded?

Caden took hold of the large bronze door handle, wrapping both her hands around the ring as it was larger than any she had ever seen. Alistair came up alongside her with a clank of metal and then his hands were beside hers, adding his strength to the task. She caught his eye with a smile, pleased to be with him in the face of the unknown, feeling the warmth of their bond in the space between them so that it felt as though they were shoulder to shoulder.

Together they pushed and the door yielded with far less resistance than she would have expected given the vastness of the thing.

The door gave way to a room that was cast in pitch black. Caden heard the mages mutter to bring light to the small party, but before they could complete their spells, flames bloomed along the walls. They sparked into life by the door where she stood and seemed to catch the next, lighting one after another after another, until the entire square room was cast aglow. Another door stood opposite them and before that, a single knight. His eyes were hooded, but his face was turned their way. Caden swallowed her nerves and stepped forward, crossing the stones to reach him.

“Steady, Caden,” Alistair muttered, hurrying to catch up with her. Yet she did not feel afraid as the knight grew closer. She felt strangely safe in this strange room of magical torches, certain that nothing in these walls would try to harm her.

“Hello.” She said, her voice small and echoing throughout the room.

“Greetings, pilgrim,” the voice did not appear to come from the man, or rather it did, but also from the ceiling, from the walls, the floor. It echoed without source until he spoke again and this reverberated from inside her own skull. The knight looked up with a creak of old bones, his face gaunt and ancient, his eyes deep-set and filmy, his beard long and wispy. He looked as though he might crumble into dust the minute he moved, but he seemed solid even so. “I am the Guardian of the Sacred Ashes, the last remains of Our Lady Andraste.”

“Well met,” Caden inclined her head in an effort to press how deeply she respected the status of his charge. The closer they got to the ashes, the more her mind broke at the thought. Perhaps not the most devout Andrastian, she only ever prayed when she wanted help in some way, but she revered Andraste nonetheless and she knew this was a great honour to walk her hallowed halls. If nothing else she needed the Guardian to know that and not kick her out without seeing the ashes for herself. Eamon depended on it.

“You have come from Haven and been lead by those who would destroy Our Lady, yet I can see that you are not the same as them.” The Guardian said assuredly. “You have come for the ashes even so.”

“Yes,” Caden said, glancing at Alistair, who was staring baldly at the Guardian. “There is a man, a good man, in Redcliffe who is desperately ill and we have heard tell of the restorative powers of the Ashes.”

“I know of the sickness that lingers inside Arl Eamon Guerrin.” He said sombrely. “A pinch is all you may have, but it will be enough to save him.”

At that Alistair almost folded over with relief, finally hearing that their quest could have a happy ending after all.

“May we take a pinch?” Caden asked.

“Alas, nothing in life or death is ever that simple.” The Guardian said. “No matter how much you may wish it so. You must prove your worthiness before you may enter her tomb.”

Caden took a deep breath. It wasn’t straightforward, but then she hadn’t truly expected that. They were so close. She looked over her shoulder at the others. Leliana was looking dead ahead with a determined glint in her eye. “We’re ready.”

“Very well, Caden Tabris.” The Guardian said with a dead-eyed gaze at her. Her stomach flipped over at the sight and the sound of her name from his booming voice. “You may proceed with your companions. You will face three trials, three tests of your faith. After you have proven yourself, the way will be open to you.”

He stepped aside away from the door, each movement a hideous jerk on stiff joints and rattling bones before he came to rest beside the door, which cracked ajar. Caden nodded to him again, then slipped through with the others in hot pursuit.

The next room was identical, with the same rippling pattern of lights sparking up with their entrance into the room. A lurch of worry hit Caden as she saw the room, reminding her again of the Fade and the fact that nothing there could be trusted. She looked for the Guardian, but he was nowhere to be seen and then the door closed behind them with a note of finality. When she turned back to the room her heart leapt as she saw five people standing in a line before them.

All five of them were shadowy figures and with a closer look, Caden realised why they appeared so familiar to her. Standing roughly opposite her and her companions were faded mirror images of them all.

“Oh good…” Alistair lamented as he took in the sight.

“What the fuck?” Was Loreleis hissed question.

As if the Fade flashbacks couldn’t have gotten any worse, Caden surveyed the versions of them standing and watching. They made no move forward so, after a few moments of waiting for them to do anything, Caden took a step. Lorelei made a sound behind her, but she didn’t stop. Someone had to be first. Her shadow self looked up as she reached them. The likeness was remarkable, but she was struck by how hollow the face was. Did she really look like skin and bones? Caden stole a look at her real body, the flesh and blood she carried. Maybe once upon a time she had been so thin, malnourished as life often was in the Alienage, but now she was strong. Lean muscles coiled over her limbs and her belly, which had never been more full since joining the Wardens. This wispy looking version of her was stuck in the past. It looked her in the eye and opened its mouth. The voice was her own, but it sounded as insubstantial as the body looked. Smoky and fleeting, untethered to a true form.

“I am you, Caden of the Grey Wardens.” her image said. “I know the truest parts of you that you keep most hidden and I have to ask… are you still the person who left the Alienage?”

Caden almost laughed in response; it was so close to her very thoughts as she had walked up to the ghostly version of herself. “Of course not,” Caden said evenly. “How could I be after everything I’ve seen and everything I’ve done?”

Her own face regarded her sombrely. “You count the days since your wedding day. The day you took up arms and were almost hanged for your crimes. You know you were due to die that day and you slipped the noose, leaping into a life of death and destruction, but you know that death is every just behind you. Death waits for you with the patience of the immortal and you feel in your bones that you cannot outrun it.”

“No-one can avoid death forever,” Caden replied, but her mouth was dry and her voice crackled like the embers of a dying fire. “I am no different.”

“Except you know you cheated your death. Not just then but several times since. Are you resigned to your coming end?”

Caden swallowed, desperately trying to draw moisture to her lips. She answered in a whisper. “Yes.”

The shadow with her face nodded and stepped back, dissipating into the air. Caden felt a tug in her belly towards the next door. The way was open to her, she was certain of that. She turned back and looked at the others. “Who’s next?”

Leliana stepped forward, her eyes set on the version of her, but her forehead was damp with sweat. “This feels familiar.” She muttered coming to a stop.

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” The shadow-Leliana agreed lightly. “Your life is a wheel that turns and turns, only to come back to the same destination every time. A compass that always points to the same endpoint.”

“And what is that?” Leliana snapped.

“You tried to escape your life so many times, but here you are again. Even cloistering yourself in the Chantry didn’t stop you from taking up arms and drawing blood over again.” The shadow version cocked her head and regarded Leliana. “Do you honestly think you can escape it when you carry it in your heart of hearts?”

Leliana looked away, taking a moment before she replied and when she looked back her eyes were shining. “One day this will be over.”

“That is not the question.”

“That is my answer.” Leliana snarled. “Yes, one day this will all be behind me, but I will not leave now when the war is not yet won. I won’t abandon my friends to their fate without my help.”

The shadow version nodded and vanished, startling Caden— it sounded to her ears that Leliana had given a crooked answer, but if the spirit had gone then that had to mean it was satisfied with the answer.

Wynne went next, acknowledging that she did feel at times as though she were nothing more than an instrument of the Chantry, followed by Lorelei who snarked at herself back and forth until the shadow version seemed to hit on whatever answer she was waiting for, though Caden couldn’t have identified what that was. Alistair stepped up last, his mirror image not seeming surprised to be the last one standing.

“Well,” the real Alistair tried for a light tone, falling back on jollity as was his way. “What have you got for me? Some scathing diatribe about how I am too fond of cheese no doubt. It is a flaw I am well aware of.”

“Jokes? Really?” The shadow-Alistair shook his head with grave disappointment, stilling the real man's tongue. “Always with the stupid jokes. You know what they all thought of you, don’t you? All the Wardens ever thought of you was as the little brother no-one wanted. Someone of no consequence to demand all of Duncan's attention, someone needing protection, someone foolish.”

Caden watched the real Alistair take on this news and to her horror she did not see the surprise she expected. Without thinking about it, she started to walk around to see his face, hoping to find the shock on his profile, but his mouth remained a sad smile, his eyes tired.

“Of course.” Alistair agreed softly.

His mirror went on. “You know they made jokes about you behind your back, don’t you? Teased you about the things you’d say, the japes you tried. They laughed more about you than with you.”

“I know,” Alistair said quietly.

“The Wardens thought you were a joke.”

“That’s not true.” Caden’s voice shot out of her with all the power and precision she never managed to fire arrows with. She strode over to Alistair and took his hand, facing down his other self. The shadow version was a pale imitation of her friend. The face sneering, the words cruel. The man she knew would never — could never — be that way. “I am a Warden, one of the last in Ferelden and I have never, ever made a mockery of Alistair. Your facts are wrong.”

“Caden—” Alistair murmured, but she wasn’t finished.

“You speak in absolutes, but I saw the way Duncan was with Alistair. Saw the way the others were with him. There was respect and it went both ways. You’re wrong.”

The shadow-Alistair smiled at her. “And you always have to save him, don’t you?”

Rather than slowly vanish like morning mist in the sunrise, this shadowy figure popped out of existence in the time it took to blink. Caden gaped, waiting for something to happen — she had interfered with Alistair's trial and certainly, there would be repercussions. But after a few moments, nothing happened. She glanced at Alistair, suddenly embarrassed and dropped his hand. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Alistair said with a shrug. “It’s ironic really. Of all the Wardens back at Ostagar, you are the one to stand up for me like that. You hated my guts back then.”

“I didn’t,” Caden said, but the look he threw her killed her argument. “I wasn’t your biggest fan, I admit.”

“There’s a story there.” Lorelei snorted as she pushed past them for the ajar doorway. “As long as I’ve known you you’ve both been sickeningly friendly.”

Now it was Alistair who looked away, his ears flaming red. Leliana’s grim expression cracked into a smile. “When we get out of here I’ll tell you about meeting them at Lothering. I can assure you they tried really hard not to become friends.”

“No, actually,” Caden countered, her heart pushing her to be humble now. “That was all me. Alistair was never anything but kind.”

They moved through to the new room, which was once again a perfect copy of the room that came before it. And once again there were ghostly shapes in their way, these ones a more diverse collection of heights, but none fully formed into recognisable faces. They floated, their feet nonexistent above the flagstones.

“I’ll go first,” Lorelei said, rolling her shoulders. “I’m ready for more spooky bullshit.”

“Be my guest,” Caden said, gesturing her forwards.

One of the ghostly shapes hovered forwards, their features forming out of the smoke into a tall man with curled hair. As Loreleis breath hitched and she took a shuddering step backwards Caden recognised the figure.

“Cullen?” Lorelei managed in a choked voice. “But… are you dead?”

“No,” he spoke with a low timbre to his ethereal voice, but it was the same as Caden remembered it to be from her brief moments with the man. “But I’m here for you. You and I knew each other in the Circle. I was assigned as a protector, to watch over you and the other apprentices. I was given the task of overseeing your Harrowing and if you had failed, the duty would have been mine to end you. Did you know that?”

“You never said.” Lorelei was visibly shaking.

“I never wanted to hurt you. I meant everything I ever said to you. But did you? Was I merely a game to you? A sport to pass the time in Kinloch? Did you lie to me?”

Lorelei made a jerky movement as though she wanted to reach for him, but held herself back at the last moment. “Cullen, I did lie to you about my feelings, but not in the way you think. I played them down. I could never… I never told you how I felt because I was scared.”

The ghostly figure of Cullen smiled then soothing Lorelei as a tear dripped down her cheek. “Don’t be afraid anymore. Let go of the past and make different choices in the future. You deserve love. You always have.”

His smile was the last thing to disappear, but Lorelei had already turned away, dissolving into sobs. She staggered into Wynne's arms, who embraced her warmly with the gentle touch of a parent as Lorelei cried loud and messy into her shoulder. “What the fuck was that?” Lorelei wept. “I wasn’t ready.”

Leliana spun to face Caden. “Of course. We have already faced ourselves, now we must face our choices. Wonderful.”

Caden was still reeling from that when Leliana stormed towards the ghosts and readied herself for her own spectral vision.

It was a woman for Leliana. A tall human woman that Caden had never seen, but judging by the way Leliana lifted her chin when she faced her this was a complicated vision.

“Marjolaine,” Leliana said tightly.

“Ah my Leliana,” the shade spoke in the same Orlesian accent as Leliana. Like honey sliding over the point of a dagger. “How long it has been since I have seen your face. Do you remember?”

“You had me framed.” Lelianas voice was shaking, but she stood tall before the other woman. “Tortured. Leaving you behind was the best decision I ever made. What is it you want to ask me, shade?”

Marjolaine's image flickered briefly. “I taught you everything you know. Tell me, will you ever be free of me? Or will I haunt you as long as I live? Will you hunt me down and finish our small part of the Game?”

Leliana looked away, murmuring under her breath. At first, Caden thought it must be the Chant and that Leliana was seeking guidance from the Maker, but then she caught some unfamiliar words and realised she was no longer speaking the common tongue of Ferelden.

“I have no desire to kill you Marjolaine,” Leliana said after a moment. “I regret much of what we accomplished together, but I cannot change what we did. What I did. All I can do is move forward with honesty and piety and hope that I can make a better difference in the world.”

The spectre of Marjolaine smiled and nodded. “Forgive yourself of your past, but do not forget. That wisdom is all your own.”

Like the image of Cullen before, Marjolaine disappeared.

Lorelei had stopped crying so Wynne walked forward, passing Leliana and patting her on the shoulder as she went. Caden glanced past Wynne to see a young man form before her, talking in a low voice, but her attention returned to the women who had already seen their visions. Lorelei’s alabaster skin was splotchy with pink under her eyes and her nose. The tear-stained effect on her face gave the effect of making her appear much younger than what Caden could only assume was an age akin to her own. Leliana looked resolved, but she was gently bouncing on the balls of her feet, eager to move forward. They had faced down themselves much easier than this, although both visions here had given them hopeful words to carry with them. Caden had no words of comfort to add and could only think about who she might see from her past. Friend or foe? Was she ready to face either?

Alistair was watching Wynne intently so was able to see before Caden that she was finished and one of them was up next. He pushed himself forward before she could and so she took her position as last as his shadows formed into the tall figure of Duncan. She smiled sadly; she would have bet money on it being him that Alistair would see. She heard Alistair choke out their later Commanders name, but he held himself together remarkably well. Had enough time passed to lessen the pain of seeing him like this? Or was it just as difficult as if the man had died only yesterday?

“Alistair, you have done well since you last saw me.” Duncan’s shade said. “Do you remember our last words?”

“Yes,” Alistair replied. “You told me to do my duty as a Grey Warden.”

“So you promised you would.” The shadow said. “So you have. You would have made me so proud, Alistair, but in your heart, you do not believe that to be true. Do you?”

“No.” The word was already short but seemed to cut off halfway. Alistair ducked his head and sniffed. “No, I don’t.”

“Because you still wish you had fought beside me at Ostagar.” Duncan's voice seemed so much more real in that moment, soft and gentle with Alistair. “You still dream about what you imagine my death to be. How many darkspawn took me down? Did I suffer? Did I curse your name with my last breath? You believe you should have died beside me and Cailan.”

Her throat was a trap and her chest froze without air. The moments passed. Alistair answered, clearer now. “Yes, I do.”

With a smile, the shadow bade Alistair forgive himself for not standing by Duncan and urged him to feel at peace with where he was in the world. With living. Caden hardly heard them. At some point she was aware that Duncan’s image was gone and Alistair had stepped to the side wiping his eyes, not returning to the group and her feet carried to towards the final figure, bringing her face to face with her own shadow forming features before her eyes. Her mind was reeling from Alistair's trial, but when the elf emerged from the smoke she couldn’t help but feel relieved.

“Shianni.” Caden breathed, knowing it was not her, but she was so grateful to see her.

“Hello cousin,” her voice was different but close enough. It didn’t take much for Caden to allow herself to pretend that this was real. “My, you’ve changed.”

“Have I?” Caden asked. Her heart was full and it spilt into her eyes, making them warm and wet. “I’ve missed you.”

“Have you?” Shadow-Shianni asked with a quirk of her placid expression. “How often have you thought of us back home?” Caden faltered as the shadow added: “Our home.”

Her eyes were damp, but her lips were dry. “I think of you all the time. I wish I was back in Denerim with you, but it’s too dangerous right now.”

“It was always dangerous.” the spectre had an answer for everything. “Isn’t that why you left? You always wanted to and you got your chance. Don’t feel bad about it, cousin. You’re living your dreams. It’s no wonder you haven’t spared much thought for us.”

Caden swallowed. “I… you’re right.” Her voice was a whisper. “I escaped and I’ve stopped thinking of you as much. I didn’t want this at first. I hated Duncan for taking me away from you all, but in truth he saved me. Being a Warden saved me, gave me a purpose and something to do. The chance to make a difference to the world, and yes have great adventures the likes of which I’d never have been able to have back home. I let myself get distracted and forget about you. I’m… I’m so sorry, Shianni.”

“Will you ever come home to your family?”

Caden could feel Alistair's eyes on the back of her skull as she considered the question. She knew the answer right away; the delay came from struggling to put it into words. “I am home.”

The spectre smiled then, satisfied by her honesty. “The bridge between the past and the future is you living this moment. Walk forwards with your head held high.”

Even though it was not the real Shianni, Caden's heart bruised as she watched the features smooth into smoke and vanish on a nonexistent breeze. Her face was wet and she scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand before turning around. Alistair's eyes were a wonder. The gold in his hazel eyes glinting through his own tears. “You’re home?” The words were barely audible, but she caught them, carried through their invisible bond as Wardens. She could feel his hope and grief, the terribly strange mix beating out of him like rays of light. He looked like he might break into pieces if he took a step, so she did it for them both, closing the gap and wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him to her. His arms held her so fast she could barely breathe, but she squeezed him tight and then pulled back just enough to look up at him. For once all the trappings of what they had to do, how desperate they were to survive, the dangers they faced every day and the awkwardness of becoming close with someone so unexpected fell away.

Caden locked eyes with his and spoke true. “I’m home with you.”

He searched her gaze bewildered but hadn’t she told him so? With every overture of friendship, the trust she placed in him to keep her secrets, to keep her safe, keep her alive as she did for him. They were a team. They were the same in all the ways that mattered. But perhaps she hadn’t told him enough.

She was so small compared to him, but pushing up on her tiptoes with him tugged down towards her she could reach his lips and without a single doubt, she pressed herself to him. He made a noise against her mouth, a noise she had never heard anyone make. It startled her, but she was bold and did not pull away and then he held her closer to him, so she knew the noise was a good one. His lips were soft, but his jaw was hard and her fingers traced the harsh stubble along his skin until she found his hair, digging into the damp curls. His hands didn’t move, but she could feel them tremble less and less with every second until he was holding her as if he had always been holding her. The scents swirling through the air were of battle; leather, metal, sweat, but underneath all of that there was something undefinable. Something quintessentially Alistair in a way she had never known him before. Something that felt like home.

Chapter Text

The fight is all we know

Everything had to end. Her first kiss was no different.

That it was to have taken place in the middle of a set of trials inside an ancient temple, observed by three women and who knew how many ghosts that walked the hallowed halls came as a surprise to Caden, but nothing threw her quite as much as the person she was attaching herself to at that moment. This kiss was never meant for him. This kiss, the kiss she carried on her lips since she was a little girl had been destined to land on her husband. Nelaros was dead, but regardless she was never supposed to fall for a human man. If a human had captured her first kiss it would have been a travesty, something precious stolen by a thief who only wanted to destroy the most secret parts of herself. Yet there she stood on the tips of her toes willingly sharing it with a human man who she had been determined to loathe when they first met. And she didn’t want it to end.

Wynne cleared her throat rather pointedly and cut through the whirling maelstrom that was Caden's mind while her lips moved against Alistair's, learning a new language without words. She heated up swiftly, as though all of the sun of summer was burning down on her all at once and sprang away from Alistair, not feeling the cold space between them as she was aflame. Now apart she couldn’t look at him. She stole a quick glance at his boots and her insides swooped uncomfortably so she had to turn away from him, lest she accidentally see him out of the corner of her eye and actually combust into ash.

Wynne’s face was wearing an expression Caden thought she had perhaps perfected in the Circle. The pinched mouth, the disappointed raised brow, her arms crossed with one foot tapping lightly on the stone floor. Caden wanted to crawl on her hands and knees and beg forgiveness from this disapproving matriarch. “If you two are quite finished, there is still one more trial to complete is there not?”

“Er, I… that is… yes.” Caden winced harder. Just like when she had allowed Leliana to play with her hair back in Redcliffe Castle she felt very young and silly and girlish now, hardly the battle-worn leader of the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden. She swallowed, trying to force her heart to still, but she had never learned that skill if it was even possible. Surely older generals could summon genuine calm at will — Duncan had always been a stoic presence in the time she had known him. Thinking of Duncan now turned her stomach and her heart picked up the pace so that she didn’t think it would be possible for a healer to differentiate the drumbeats. What in Andrastes name would Duncan think of his two youngest Wardens, his favoured protege and the scrappy elf girl, cavorting in the middle of a mission?

It was Duncan's impassive face that finally shook her out of the fluster she was in. He disapproved in her head and Wynne continued the motif in the flesh and Caden pulled herself together.

“Absolutely,” Caden said, her voice clear, if a little higher than she had expected. She straightened her spine and locked eyes with Wynne. “Apologies. We should go.”

Her gaze swept over Lorelei, who was struggling to hide a laugh behind her hand, but in the few seconds Caden spent taking in the sight of her, she noted that Lorelei was really trying to keep it in. It struck her as possibly the kindest thing Lorelei had ever done for her, barring, of course, saving her life from the dragon outside with her barrier spell. Caden felt like she would gladly face down a half dozen dragons over the teasing laughter from one ascorbic mage. Thank Andraste Morrigan was not there. Or the rest; really having three witnesses was too much.

Leliana looked happier than Caden had seen her since they had found Haven. Layers of intense concentration, her religious zeal, missing her partner and struggling with the past few Trials had slipped off the older woman and she was beaming just as she had done when Caden and Alistair first met her in Lothering. When they had appeared to help her realised her apparent destiny. She looked like they were making all of her dreams come true. Caden decided she would have preferred the mocking laughter after all.

Alistair cleared his throat and Caden almost leapt out of her skin. The mumbled cough came from just over her shoulder and felt weighty, as though he had placed a hand on her back. Caden ignored him and made for the door.

The final room opened up to them, and they could clearly see that it was the final room. The ceilings were vast like the Chantry buildings Caden had seen, with carved windows that shone dim light into the room. They must have been closer to the surface of the mountain than she thought, but then again Caden wasn’t sure what of this place was magical space, given the suddenly appearing doorways. Raised up at the back of the room atop a platform was a high pedestal with a woman carved from white stone looking down upon an urn. Where she had expected stairs to climb there was only worn, smooth stone.

“My goodness,” Wynne breathed as she gazed at the sight. “I had never thought… I was still certain it would be a myth.”

Caden glanced at Leliana. “What do you think?”

Lelianas eyes were very round releasing a steady trickle of tears over her cheeks that she did not seem to notice. She murmured something in Orlesian before switching to Common. “I never dreamed… I…” she blinked and looked to Caden. “I have no words.”

“Is this it?” Lorelei asked with a frown. As Wynne began to chide her for irreverence, Lorelei shook her head. “I don’t mean the Ashes. I mean is this it? Is the final trial climbing up there without any stairs? Don’t get me wrong that honestly sounds like the worst, but that can’t be it.”

“Maybe we have to face a barrage of questions from our pasts as we climb?” Caden said drily. Alistair laughed and she almost turned to him, but her eyes caught sight of an alter instead. It was much closer than the urn at the foot of the stairs. She began to walk.

She would have hoped to have become somewhat used to the appearance of ghostly figures, but when they materialised on the platform around the urn and started their descent she jumped and held fast. Each wispy white person was ostensibly stepping despite the stairs being worn away, but their bodies vanished into nothing below their knees so it was jarring to see them step onto feet that were not there, taking steps that did not exist. They floated noiselessly across the room past the alter towards the group who had caught up with Caden.

“More spooks?” Lorelei grumbled quietly. “Can we just fight them?”

“No,” Alistair countered before anyone else could. “Our weapons would go right through them.”

“That’s not the reason why not,” Leliana snapped, scandalised.

“It’s a big part of the reason.” Alistair shrugged. Once again Caden caught the movement of him and almost smiled right at him until she remembered that she couldn’t do that without suffering some horrible embarrassing fate, like kissing him again.

“Who are they?” Caden asked, scanning the faces and finding none she recognised. Leliana stepped forward staring them down.

“I don’t think they are our memories.” She decided after a moment.

“Then who…?”

The first spirit drifted closer to them. These beings were far removed from the shadowy figures of themselves and the others; they were more ethereal, far less substantial than even the most smoke-like of their memories. But Caden could see that this was a human woman who took shape in front of them.

“The smallest lark could carry it, while a strong man might not. Of what do I speak?”

Caden opened her mouth, but she had no idea what was going on. She gaped for a moment as the spirit waited patiently and turned to Leliana. “I don’t… what is this?”

“It’s a riddle,” Lorelei said starkly. “I hate riddles.”

“Of course,” Wynne muttered at the same time as Alistair huffed: “Oh great.”

Leliana didn’t speak. Her brow was furrowed, but as Caden watched a light spark in her eye. “Music… a song?”

“That is correct,” the spirit said. “I was Ealisay, a childhood friend of Andraste. It was said her songs could move the Maker himself until she could sing no more. Well reasoned, bard of Orlais.”

The spirit drifted away and behind them Caden watched a short set of stairs emerge from the stone. Not enough to climb the whole way to the top, but it was a start.

The next spirit brought with her a wave of all-encompassing sadness that drew tears to Caden's eyes before she could even register what she was feeling. This female spirit was grieving as she spoke in a whispered verse: “Echoes from a shadow realm; whispers of things yet to come; thought’s strange sister dwells in the night; is swept away in the morning light”

Caden turned at once to Leliana again. This more than the first sounded like a poem and Leliana had already solved the first puzzle, but she was holding her face in her hand, tears running freely down her cheeks. Caden felt the same wetness on her face and wiped the back of her hand across the deluge. It wasn’t the words so much, though they were certainly sad, but the sense of grief that came with the proximity to the spirit. She caught the movement of Alistair sniffing and scrubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, but turned away to see Wynne standing tall despite her own sorrow evident in the depth of her eyes. When she spoke it was in a clear voice. “Dreams.”

The spirit nodded fixing the full force of her gaze and her suffering onto Wynne. “Dreams… yes. A dream came upon me as my daughter slumbered beneath my heart. It told of her life and of her betrayal and death. I am sorrow. I am regret. I am a mother weeping bitter tears for a daughter she could not save. Mother to countless mages, torn from their trueborn families, you know this regret well.”

Lorelei slipped her hand into Wynnes as the spirit moved away, summoning a further handful of stairs behind them all. She looked like a small child reaching for comfort, but Wynne smiled at up at her, Lorelei taller than the older mage and Caden felt sure the condolence went both ways. Once the spirit was away from the party, the blanket of despondency lifted so fast that it made Caden's heart spin.

“So this is the last trial then?” Leliana asked, her voice weary. “These riddles from Andrastes past?”

“It seems as though Andraste favoured the clever.” Alistair mused. “That’s just great, isn’t it? I almost wish they would fight us instead.”

“You’re not stupid, Alistair.”

Caden’s eyes widened at the assertion, turning towards Lorelei who was straightening herself up and smoothing her hair off her face. Readying herself for the next riddle. It was easier for them all to breathe now that the oppressive misery was gone.

The next woman was wearing ethereal mage armour, unlike any Caden had ever seen. There was a hardness to her despite the ghostlike appearance. “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A debt of blood must be paid in full.” She turned and swept her cold eyes across the companions, sliding from the mages to Alistair, pausing on Caden until finding Leliana. The way she stared her down seemed almost challenging and the air changed around them all.

As the metallic tang of blood crept into Caden's nose, she almost doubled over with the sudden wave that came with the hard woman in mage armour. For a moment she gasped for air, clean air that was not charged with bloodlust. The stone beneath her feet shimmered and bowed, merging with the floor of Denerims estate. The righteous anger that had propelled her to seek out Vaughan Kendalls was a physical blow to her gut and forced the little breath she had out of her lungs. Her hands clenched into fists hard enough to break the skin beneath her nails and her entire being was solely focused on remaining upright and aware of the fact that she knew she was not back there, back in her red mist. She was better than that now, she had come so far and was no longer a slave to those feelings. But she couldn’t open her mouth to speak, not bereft of air as she was.

“That is correct.”

The shade spoke and the waves of vengeance drew back as quickly as they had come. Caden blinked. She had not moved throughout and though it had felt like hours, nobody had paid her any mind. She twisted her neck, feeling the tendons pop and tried to shake off the feeling.

The spirit was still facing Leliana as she inclined her head and went on. “Hessarian would have chosen a quick death for Andraste, but I convinced him that she must die publicly, brutally for her transgressions. That was all would know of the Imperiums strength and never seek to make challenges again.”

Breathless, Caden watched the shade slip away and the next approach. Her hand groped for the hilt of her swords, anything to ground her as she awaited the next assault to her senses. While they had all seemed to suffer under the pain of Andrastes mothers’ mourning, the need to sate ones anger in blood and revenge seemed to have not affected the others as it had Caden. Her gaze dropped to the floor. She was alone.

“I’m neither guest nor a trespasser be. In this place I belong, that belongs also to me.”

The voice was male, quiet and composed and the gentle words made Caden look up to see an elf with long pointed ears, much longer than her own, his face marked with the tattoos she had seen on the Dalish. The smell of the Brecillian forest swept through her, taking her back to her time there. The promise of freedom, of moving from place to place, the land giving up its bounty to sustain and treating it with kindness in return. She thought of Rhiannon, her wildness and ferocity, and of her aunt making her way to find the Dalish while pregnant all those years before. Peace settled over her, the freshness that came after a storm. Dancing. That memory heated her cheeks, but she let it sit with her, remembering Alistair under the shroud of trees in their tiny private moment together.

“Home.” It came from Wynne, proving to Caden that the smartest pair were her and Leliana, and feeling immensely grateful that she had brought those two along.

“It was my dream,” the shade elf said softly, every word slow and deliberate, “for the people to have a place to live to call their own. We followed Andraste to make this dream a reality, but she was betrayed, and so therefore were we.”

He made to move away and Caden stepped forward, urgency in her movements. “But… you did. You did free the elves.”

The shade stopped and turned to her, fixing her with a look that was centuries old and halted her approach at once. “And are you free, Warden?”

Her tongue darted over her lips that were suddenly dry, but the moment stretched on and she found she had no answer. Not with the thoughts of Alienages in her mind. Did freedom mean living anywhere the elves chose or was it deeper than that? The freedom to stand up and speak and know that she wouldn’t be shot down at once because of her ears? She was a Warden and that had opened doors to her that would previously have been closed, but it also came with a new set of shackles. Was she free?

The elf shade nodded and moved away and Caden couldn’t help feeling that she had failed something. She watched the spirit drift away to where the first three had gone until he had entirely dissipated and then she continued to watch the space where he had been for some time.

*

It had been kind of Lorelei to say that he wasn’t stupid and Caden had told him he had done something smart before, but even so, watching Leliana and Wynne power through the wordplay that had him stumped was a humbling experience. He was glad of the distraction because without this last trial and all the brainpower it entailed he had the horrible feeling that he would be still stood in the room before, dumbstruck and gaping at Caden. He couldn’t even think about what had happened between them, about the choice that she had made. They didn’t have the time to spare on his breakdown over the kiss.

Alistair watched the next two riddles with a sense of detachment now that he had welcomed back the image of Caden leaning up towards him with eyes closed, lips gently parted into his brain. His throat was squeezed shut.

He had tried so hard to keep her at arm's length. The delicate balance of being there for his friend and keeping at bay the longing he felt for her had tied him up in knots since they had been reunited after her tumble into the river with Zevran. It felt like such a long time since that had happened, longer still since he had met Caden in Ostagar. The skinny little ball of rage, the angriest of stray cats, that had been her. He would have sooner expected her to stab him between his ribs than to kiss him, but somehow over time, she had grown from a lost girl in the world for the first time to a leader who people respected. He hadn’t loved her from the first moment he had met her, but he felt like he had loved her forever. One kiss wasn’t enough to blurt that out at her, though he wasn’t sure what he would say to her when they finally had a moment to talk. He was terrified.

Leliana answered one riddle that he barely heard and then Lorelei stepped up to claim her place with the other women by correctly identifying the notion of jealousy. Two more spirits were remaining and the two Wardens had hardly said a word.

The next man who stepped forward to speak his riddle and once more Alistair was lost by the words. Something all men had known despite having never seen, sharp, light, coming from nothing. Something couldn’t come from nothing, that was impossible.

Caden had retreated towards the back of the group after her brief conversation with the elf, but now her voice floated on the air towards the man posing the riddle. “Hunger.”

Alistair turned to her frowning, but the spirit declared that she was correct.

“Yes, indeed. Hunger will fell even the most ferocious army and you know it well. The Maker blighted the crops of the Imperium, scorched their land with his sun and slew their men before they could reach the field of battle. I knew then that He was on our side. You know the crawl of empty bellies, the weakness of thirst. You know this feeling intimately and yet you have used this tactic already on your enemy, Commander of the Grey.”

Alistair flinched at the title, turning back to the spirit. Duncan was Commander of the Grey. The kneejerk reaction knocked the wind out of him. Duncan was the former Commander.

Caden, when he looked back at her, wore a face clouded with indecision. She didn’t seem thrilled by the title, but neither was she arguing against it. The rest of their party had taken the name in stride. Was it really only Alistair who was struggling with it?

“I starved the darkspawn to save a town,” Caden said after a moment and Alistair realised it was that which she had been wrestling with, not the title after all. “The people of Lothering would have been helpless against the darkspawn and it would have been a massacre. Maybe I did use an underhand tactic to starve the darkspawn, but it’s not the same starving people to keep them compliant. I won’t… it’s not the same.”

The final spirit spoke so close to him that he jumped— he hadn’t noticed them move. This man of all of them seemed familiar to him in the way that Maferath had been. The betrayer husband and the Archon who had fought Andraste stood out amongst the rest to someone raised to recite canticles and learn the story of Andraste over and over. The women, the disciples, the elf who gave her an army, they faded away, not deemed as important as the pair of men who engineered her downfall.

“She wields the broken sword, separates true kings from tyrants.”

Alistair met the ethereal gaze of Hessarian and for the first time, he did not hear a jumble of nonsense words. It was as though the others had spoken their phrases in Orlesian or Antivan, but this man spoke the Common tongue, and Alistair understood with a bolt through his very core of what he spoke. “Mercy.”

“Yes.” Archon Hessarian spoke ruefully. “I could not bear her suffering although it was I who ensured it came to pass. Fear and hate drove me to war, but it was mercys hand that guided my sword to end her suffering. When she stood aflame for all to see she let out not one cry and in that silence that we bore witness to, we were shamed. Beware the words of the Old Gods, Warden, for they will lie and deliver you to evil. Dragons with wicked eyes and wicked hearts.”

Hessarian shook his ghostly head with remorse, never breaking the gaze he shared with Alistair, who stood frozen in place, the dire warning clenching his heart.

In the quiet that followed the spirits leaving the party alone, Leliana made a move towards the stairs, now fully realised. Lorelei glanced over and caught his eye, frowning at their surroundings. “Are we done now? Did we prove ourselves?”

“Leliana, hold on—” Caden started, hurrying to catch the woman whose eyes were locked onto the ashes, but she was cut off by the sudden plume of fire that erupted from the ground between them and the stairs.

Alistair gave a shout as Caden leapt back, her arms covering her face in an instant. He drew his sword and shield in an instant, casting his gaze to the ceiling in case the dragon had found them and was hungry. There was nothing above them but carved rock. Leliana yelped and he watched Wynne hurry to her, pressing her hand to Lelianas arm, which was singed an angry red.

“What is this?” Lorelei snapped. “What now?”

He couldn’t help but agree with her complaints— these trials seemed endless and surely they had completed their last challenge, the third of three. What more could this temple throw at them?

Caden was stood by the altar and Alistair found himself watching her back until she turned around, wreathed behind in flames, teasing the loose strands of hair in the heat. Her eyes were hollow. “It’s one more riddle.”

Leliana shrugged off Wynne's care and was by Caden's side in a flash. “Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit.” She read aloud. “King and slave, lord and beggar; be born anew in the Makers sight.”

“Which means… what?” Lorelei asked. Wynne sighed and went to check the altars inscription herself.

“I have a hunch. Leliana, what do you think?” She asked.

“It’s like a fairytale,” Caden said first. “There was a story my mamae read me when I was small, which had a riddle like this one.”

“What happened in the story?” Lorelei asked, her face still, eyes fixed on Caden who seemed only partially present recounting this tale.

“The story was about a king and queen who longed for a child, but the years went on and they grew older. Eventually, the queen fell pregnant and had a baby girl, a princess, and they loved her very much, but one day the princess grew sick and in time she died. The king and queen were grief-stricken and prayed to Andraste to restore their child to life. She appeared and told them they could have one chance to save their daughter, but the journey would be long and difficult. Their daughter was only just over the Veil and they had to cross rivers to reach her. Rivers that didn’t run with water, but with magic. They crossed ice and lightning and great empty trenches that quaked and tossed rocks onto them or were filled with biting insects or fierce animals. Each crossing hurt while they were in it, but they persisted and were unharmed when they were through and onto the next one.”

“So… what? What does that tell us?” Lorelei asked, but Alistair had a horrible feeling that he knew where Caden was going with this.

“One of the rivers was a raging fire,” Caden said. “It burned away their clothes and hair and blistered their skin, but when they were through it they were alive and unhurt.”

Alistair sighed, never so unhappy as to be proven correct. “I guess that’s what we need to do to finally prove ourselves worthy.”

“It’s a little more than that,” Leliana said. She turned around and to Alistair's surprise and alarm, began to unbuckle her armour, dropping it behind her on the altar. “It says to ‘cast off the trappings of life’ and wear only the spirit of goodness.” She settled her bow and quiver next to her sword, slipping off the leathers she wore until she was in her undershirt and breeches. That was far enough for Alistair, but then she unlaced the breeches and shimmied out of them. He had to avert his eyes at that point.

“Are you fucking serious?” Lorelei hissed.

“What she said.” Alistair seconded, his gaze directed back at the ceiling.

Wynne huffed. “Oh, honestly you two.” Then came the distressing sound of robes catching the air as she peeled them off. “It’s nothing we haven’t all seen before.”

“Speak for yourself.” Alistair squeaked, but when he risked a gaze he found that Leliana and Wynne both had their backs to him, and with the flames, just beyond them they were cast in shadow as he was forced to squint into the brightness of the fire. Leliana bravely squared up to the fire. It blew her hair back and roared at her, but she seemed to only see the urn just beyond. Then she stepped into the fire. He let out an unconscious guttural noise, a visceral reaction to seeing something so wrong, so terrible as someone willingly casting themself into flames. Beyond her stood the statue of Andraste, stone eyes unseeing, but somehow it felt very much as though the prophet was watching Leliana take her steps through the fire.

And then she was through. Turning back she laughed nervously. “My goodness. It was just as you said, Caden; terrible, but now that I’m through I feel… I do, I feel cleansed. Ready to approach Her now. Come on through all of you.”

Wynne turned kind eyes to Lorelei, who whined in distress, but reluctantly pulled her clothes off and dumped them on the altar, grabbing her mentors hand and closing her eyes to be lead through the fire. Lorelei shrieked when the flames touched her, but she did not burn and Wynne cajoled her through it.

Finally, it was only Alistair and Caden on the wrong side of the fire. He swallowed and reached for a jokey tone. “Well… walking through fire is just one way to practise for the Archdemon, eh?”

He laughed weakly and turned to Caden, but she had moved. She was no longer next to the altar but had retreated, pulling back from the fire, blue eyes wide and almost black against the wall of light and heat. Alistair didn’t have time to think before he was moving to stand before her. “Caden?”

“I can’t do it.” Caden’s voice was almost inaudible, just one more thing for the hungry fire to try to consume. Her lip was trembling and her hands, clutched at her chest were shaking even harder.

“It’s just like your story, right?” Alistair tried, placing his hands on her shoulders to halt her retreat. “It’s an illusion of sorts. A trial and then it’s done. I’ll go with you—”

“It’s not that,” she choked out, dropping her gaze, shame catching her voice. “I don’t… I don’t want to be seen…”

Realisation dawned, bringing with it the dreadful truth that within a hairsbreadth of their first kiss they would be seeing more of each other’s bodies than they ever had and that was almost entirely awful, though he was ashamed to admit that there was a sliver of a thrill at the thought as well. He half expected the Maker to strike him down at that moment of weakness, the curiosity of innocence. There was a tiny part of him that wanted to see her, but that part of him was quashed at once. Yes, he wanted the honour of knowing her intimately, but only if she was willing to give it. Whenever she let him hold her it was perfect knowing that she had chosen him. When she had kissed him it had been because she chose him. This was not intimacy, this was vulnerability and it was being forced upon them both.

Alistair took a break before speaking, casting for the right words to convey what he felt. They were fleeting and the noise in his head was overwhelming before he blurted out: “Why did you kiss me?”

She finally met his gaze and he almost looked away, afraid to see regret. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Alistair dropped his hands from her shoulders. “Why?”

“If you didn’t want to… I didn’t ask you first after going on and on at you about warning me if you were going to do anything, and…” Caden trailed off. There was remorse in her gaze as it slid to the ground, but it wasn’t as he had expected.

Alistair's hand went to her chin, tilting her face up to meet him again. “Don’t be sorry. I… I really liked it.”

A blush. A smile. He couldn’t help but match both. “You did?”

“Caden, I’ve come to… to care about you,” Alistair managed, avoiding the big scary declarations he wanted to make that would surely frighten her away. “A great deal. I’m so happy we became friends, but it’s not enough for me. It hasn’t been enough for a while. I thought I lost you so many times since we met and I know that if I did it would destroy me. I was just… surprised that you wanted to kiss me.”

“I, er,” Caden cleared her throat. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

His stomach swooped with a sudden lurch. “You have?” She nodded. “Wow. That’s… wow.”

Caden chuckled low, her crisis momentarily forgotten. “I know. I don’t know where it came from, but I care about you, too, Alistair. A lot.”

His grin was crooked, spreading widely over his face. He figured he probably looked foolish. He didn’t really care. “Can I kiss you?”

Caden smiled. “What about the trial?”

“If you’re that eager to walk through the fire we can do that first,” he shrugged, “but why not take a moment for ourselves first?”

“You really are a smart man, Alistair,” Caden said. Alistair’s laugh was captured by her kiss and it was just as wonderful as he had wanted it to be. Not much time had passed between the first and second kisses, but that time had felt long enough to second guess every movement he had made, certain he was clumsy and unrefined in his actions, leaving her unhappy with their new conjoining. This time he felt some force drive him to slide his hands behind her head to tease the hair that had fallen from her plait, finally getting his fingers into that molten gold that delighted him so. She was reaching up for him again, their height difference being far less of a problem than he would have guessed as they came together in their kiss.

All too soon they broke apart, both breathing hard, eyes locked. His hands were still holding her. She sighed resolutely. “Right. Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

Together they walked to the altar and without speaking they began to doff their armour. His clattered against the stone, while hers was practically silent in comparison, only the buckles and metallic bindings making a sound when she set them down. Their swords were propped against the altar on the floor with the limited space above and when Alistair set his shield down he marvelled at their weapons casually resting together. Their lives were so entrenched in each other that it felt strangely normal to be doing this awkward activity together. It felt safer now.

They paused only when they reached their undershirts. Caden dropped her breeches over her armour, breathing harder as she drew closer to her smallclothes. “I’ve never… no man has ever…”

Alistair pulled his shirt over his head and set it on the stone, taking her hand and turning her around. “I know. Me, too.” Her eyes widened as she took in his shirtless chest and she looked down but did not let go of his hand. “Well, no, lots of men have seen me in various states of undress. Communal living and all. But you’ll be the first woman to see me…” He frowned and tugged at his ear as he considered the situation. “You and Leliana and Wynne and Lorelei and probably even Andraste. It’s a good thing I know I’m pretty, eh?”

The laughter he managed to pull from Caden burst out in a snort, but he was happy with that. Anything to ease her mind. “Hey,” Alistair added after a moment, suddenly earnest. “I won’t look at you. We can hold hands to get through it, but I’ll close my eyes if you want. Or you can close your eyes and I’ll guide you through. Whatever you need. You just say the word.”

Caden looked up at him and nodded, but stepped back dropping his hand and turned around. Her quivering hands found the hem of her shirt, soaked through with sweat and she peeled it off her body, letting it slip to the floor where she stood. Alistair made to turn away, but before he could his eye landed on the jagged scars that peppered her back and he froze.

Her skin was pale, but the scars where varying soft shades between pink and silver. The scars down her side where the darkspawn had run her through in the Tower of Ishal were newer, a darker pink. Another slash of a stab wound crudely healed sat opposite. Crisscrossed over her back were thin lines of silver and white. Strikes, a tally of lawbreaking painted on her body. Long healed memories of punishments from the Alienage he assumed. Caden reached for her plait and pulled the braid loose, shivering the golden waves over her back and pulling it down over her shoulders to cover her front as she turned, hesitant in what she would read in his face. Once again he had meant to look away politely, but the dark spawn wounds were just as fresh on her front. They really had run her through completely and the bursts of scar tissue clearly showed the size of the swords that had sought to end her life that night. Her body was a patchwork of wounds longed since closed. A mark on her hip made him wince; that could not have been a pleasant place to find a knife. Fresh bruises, cuts and grazes marred the skin on her arms and legs.

“I know.” She said simply. “I’m a mess.”

Alistair shook his head. “Maker’s Breath Caden, you’re beautiful.” It seemed like a terrible moment for it, but he unbuckled his trousers and kicked them away, holding out his hand to her again.

Her teeth sank into her lip, hands playing with the thick ropes of hair tumbling over her. Caden managed a wan smile then took his hand and together they faced down the fire.

“It’s just an illusion.” Alistair assessed, blinking against the very real heat.

“It’ll hurt, but only until we’re through.” Caden agreed.

Hand in hand they stepped into the flames.

Chapter Text

Yeah, these things take forever, I especially am slow

She had heard of cleansing fire. Wasn’t that part of the reason the Chantry set their blasphemous enemies to the stake and lit a flame beneath them? The idea being that their bodies would be charred with heat and fire, but their souls would pass cleanly across the Veil into the afterlife. Caden had heard about this practice and it in no way prepared her for her own pass through flames. The only thing that kept her grounded was the feeling of Alistair's hand his fingers tightly wound with hers.

The fire burned. It lacerated her skin, boiled her flesh, scorched her body. And then she was through it and whole. Hale. Alive. She followed the line of her arm to his and up to his shoulder, passing over his skin towards his face, turned to her, smiling. She had been so preoccupied with her own denuding that she had almost forgotten that he had stripped down to his smallclothes as well, even less than she was wearing. The fire had made her as bold as her assertion that he was her home before she had kissed him for the first time, and she could feel her gaze roam his chest. She had never seen him without a shirt on and her eyes were hungry now that she could see what she was missing out on. Taut muscles coiled under soft flesh. She could read volumes in his body. His waist was too slender, muscles standing out too proud where there ought to have been reserves of fat. The story of their time on the road. His body was scarred, but nothing like hers was. Morrigan had spoken truly when she had declared that her mother was the better healer; Alistair’s scars were small and neat, the marks of the path the arrows had take through him tidied into little silver scars that were half obscured by the golden hairs on his skin.

How had she never imagined he would have hair sweeping across half his body? Caden could feel the heat under her own skin at that thought which had nothing to do with the wall of flames. The whorls of gold spun around the plains of his chest, gathering in a line between his muscles that flowed like a stream down to his belly button and then…

Caden caught herself before she was washed away down that stream to uncharted waters, wrenching her eyes up to meet his. The hazel orbs were dark, but the fire beside them picked out the flecks of gold that she had never truly noticed until that moment. Every part of him was wreathed in the refined glimmer of gold, but whether that was their Warden connection made real or he was actually made of precious matter she didn’t know. The way he was looking back at her, having watched her consume him with her sight, made her heart shudder in a very new way. Caden moved unconsciously, stepping closer with her free hand outstretched, reaching for the parts of Alistair she had missed for so long without knowing. His skin tightened in anticipation, but Caden paused close enough that had he flexed, her fingers would have brushed the hair across the lines of muscle. She pulled back, fingers retreating into a fist.

“I… I didn’t mean…”

Alistair took her clenched hand in his and raised it to his lips, ghosting a kiss on her knuckles relaxing her hold, then pressed her hand to his chest. Granting her permission to look, to touch, to want him. It was so much power for one person to hold inside them. Caden wanted to shrink away, but she could feel his heartbeat beneath her palm. How did anyone ever do anything when they could do this? It was like holding his heart in her hand. It thumped in rhythm, faster than she would have expected given that they were standing still, but the beat spoke to her own heart, raising her tempo to match his. They were two creatures in one space, one moment in time. All that they were, reduced to their hearts beating in tandem.

When the flame wall vanished with startling abruptness, Caden dropped Alistair’s heart and his hand, turning in shock to the absence of that living barrier. “What…?”

“We’ve got it.” Lelianas voice was a reminder that now was hardly the time to be exploring Alistair’s body and Caden winced. “A pinch of Ashes, with thanks to Our Lady.”

“Excellent,” Caden said, trying to hold herself with the authority of a leader once more. She raised her chin. Alistair took that moment to steal towards their clothes and hurriedly yank his trousers back on with his back to the group. “Let’s get out things and head back. Oh—” Caden bit back a curse. The others looked on with curiosity. “We’ve got to get past the bloody dragon again and deal with the insane cultists.”

“One thing at a time, my dear.” Wynne soothed. “Let us redress and begin our return. We can take each moment as it comes.”

“Of course.” Caden nodded. “Yes, you’re right.”

“Can we hurry up please?” Lorelei muttered. “I can’t wait to immolate some cultists.”

*

When it came down to it, the dragon was nowhere to be seen and neither were the cultists. The group tried to move with stealth and purpose, but eventually, they turned a corner and came face to face with an oncoming force. Both sides let out cries of surprise, of alarm and finally of recognition, before Caden was enveloped in the arms of Rhiannon and Zevran. Eliza and Leliana had a reunion that was much the same and then Eliza went to Wynne and Lorelei and dragged both into an embrace, despite the resistance of the latter. Alistair found himself face to face with Zevran once the elf had released Caden and Zevran held out a hand to him. After a moment he took it, the pair clasping each others forearm in a genuine display of friendship.

What if the elves won’t go, Sten had asked her. Caden hadn’t actually believed they wouldn’t go. That they would follow in her footsteps.

“What are you all doing here?” Caden asked.

“The big man came back without you,” Rhiannon said, unwilling to release her cousin just yet. Her grip was firm on Cadens elbow. “Said you’d given him a deadline, then missed it.”

Caden blanched. Had they really taken longer than the three days she had assured Sten they would be? They hadn’t even slept once since entering the temple. What new trickery, what ancient magic was this?

Taking a moment to breathe again after the Trials and feeling somewhat secure in the relative safety of their friends, she couldn’t help but think that it did feel like an era had passed since they bade farewell to Sten and Genitivi. Were they ever going to be able to count time accurately again? After the nightmare in the Circle, the strange forest in the Brecillian and now this sacred mountain, Caden was starting to doubt her own ability to mark the passage of time. Everything picked them up and spun them around and set them down again, lost and confused.

“But he told you all to leave, right?” Caden asked, wrenching herself back into the moment. “He said to return to Redcliffe?”

“He did.” Rhiannon agreed. “He said you had orders to pass on to us through him, but we told him to save his breath.”

“Where is he now?” Alistair asked. “Not trekking back alone? Or…” He glanced around at their reformed group. “Him and Morrigan heading down to the lake?”

“I believe they are still in Haven.” Zevran explained. “With Rosa and Ser Galian and young Remi. He has found his way slightly out of his shell since you’ve been gone, but there is still a ways to go for him.”

“We ran into some unpleasant men,” Eliza said from her place beside Leliana.

“They’re dead.” Rhiannon added with a sharp grin that displayed most of her teeth.

“So you all disobeyed orders,” Caden cut through the noise, her voice terse. “You all came here when you were told to get back to Redcliffe for reinforcements. Just so that I’m clear, that’s what happened.”

Rhiannon refused to drop her gaze, even as Eliza looked shamefaced. “Yes, that’s right. We killed the bad guys and came to make sure you were alright because you and Alistair have this sacred duty to do and we all pledged to get you through it.”

“It was quite safe,” Zevran said smoothly. “We were sneaky and quiet. Look, see, we have nary a scratch between us.”

“Morrigan gave me all of her lyrium potions.” Eliza added, emboldened now by the others’ assertions. “Well, she probably kept one or two back.”

“I’m certain she did,” Leliana said archly, winding her arm around Eliza and squeezing her tightly to her. “Caden, the Ashes have been procured and now we can easily return to Haven. Can you let this pass?”

Caden chewed on her lip as she considered. In truth, the lack of sleep had hit her all at once and she was too tired to care about the possibility of disobedient companions. They had saved them the trouble of fighting the cultists and she wasn’t inclined to make them feel bad about that. She was, however, happy to let them wonder for a moment or two.

“Alright, fine.” She said finally. “Let’s get back to Haven.”

*

Nightfall chased them to Haven. Morrigan had cooked a meal for those left behind, but with the expanded group she hurried to rustle up something for the rest. While Ser Galian and Remi ate a filling pheasant stew, Caden and her fellows tucked into cold rations; meat cuts, bread and cheese. Alistair’s eyes grew as round as the moon outside when he saw that they had found an underground store of food while the party had ventured to the temple. There was little chance of them being able to carry it all away and it would eventually spoil if left behind, so he bravely volunteered to take on the great wheels of cheese they had found. Caden watched him play up for Remi as he held the wheel in both hands and dove his face into the great yellow disc. Flecks of cheese clung to the bristles on his chin and Remi laughed so hard he momentarily couldn’t breathe. Caden’s chest grew tight at the image and she smiled hard enough to hurt her cheeks.

It did not go unnoticed that she was stealing glances at Alistair, nor that he was returning them. Their smiles and blushes weren’t as subtle as either had hoped and once Remi had fallen asleep in the back bedroom, Leliana uncorked a bottle of something that was at once both sweet and bitter and poured it into as many receptacles as she could find. Alistair returned from the washstand having cleaned the cheese from his face and took a cupful from Leliana with thanks, before starting for Caden, then faltering at the small space beside her. Caden blushed as he hesitated and that was the last moment Rhiannon could stand it. She groaned and sat forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I take it the bet needs to be settled?”

Caden frowned at her cousin, but Leliana laughed, the sound lighter than she had been in what felt like a month. “Oh yes,” She replied easily, pouring the last goblet for Wynne, who was smiling primly and sitting down with Eliza. “I believe those who need to pay up are you, Zevran, Lorelei and… Morrigan wasn’t it?”

Alistair sat down across the room, his ears red.

“What are you talking about?” Caden asked slowly, looking from Leliana to her cousin and then Zevran who was sniggering. “Anyone want to fill me in?”

Morrigan, as ever apart from the group as best as she could manage in the small room, rolled her eyes. “Some of us were foolish enough to bet coin against the Sister in the matter of you and him.”

She gave no indication of who “him” was, but Alistair choked on his wine.

“What?” He croaked, the pale liquid running down his jaw. He wiped hastily with the back of his hand, coughing again.

Caden glared at Rhiannon who was smirking even as she fished a flash of silver out of her purse. “Explain.”

“It’s nothing really,” Rhiannon said. “We kept the bet low.”

“I don’t care how much you’ve lost,” Caden all but snapped, her head hot. “What was the bet?”

Rhiannon seemed to realise then that the jolly atmosphere had passed over Caden at that moment. She shrugged, aiming for the same easy-going attitude she was handing the money over with, but now she couldn’t quite meet Caden’s eyes. “It was just a bit of fun. Some of us bet that you and Alistair would, well… get your act together.”

“Some of us, meaning your short-sighted cousin,” Zevran teased her, “thought it would take longer is all. Leliana was adamant that it would be sooner.”

“And I agreed with her.” Eliza smiled proudly. “Wynne abstained.” Wynne sipped her drink and arched one brow as if to denote how silly she found the whole endeavour.

Lorelei was cursing softly as she counted out her coins. “I was sure you’d be too focused on your great quest to do anything.” She muttered crossly. “Didn’t count on those trials making you go all honest and finally making a move.”

“Oh, what happened?” Rhiannon all but bounced in her seat, as eager as a puppy. Rosa snuffled over to her, infected by the enthusiasm and Rhiannon rubbed her neck as she went on. “I want to hear the story.”

Alistair looked like he wanted to be swallowed up by the earth itself. Caden couldn’t help but agree with him.

“It was very romantic,” Leliana said with a sigh, the coins clinking as she slipped them into her purse.

Caden stood up in one motion. Once on her feet, she realised she had no plan beyond standing. She downed her drink and set the cup down for something to do. She had succeeded in pausing the story, but now everyone except Alistair was looking at her and that was the opposite of what she needed. Her eyes alighted on Rosa and sparked an idea. “Rosa, come here girl.” The mabari bounded over the pair of elves she was sitting with and went to her mistress. “I’m going to take her outside.”

She hadn’t needed the explanation, but Caden was twisted up inside her head. The words tumbled out and then she turned on her heel and slipped into the night with her dog.

Looking down at Haven in the moonlight Caden made the snap decision to head down the hill to the village. Rosa was with her even if she had left her weapons behind and the sky was clear. It was cold outside, but bright enough to see as she picked her way down to the houses. Rosa happily bounded at Caden’s side, darting into shadows every now and then to chase the smells and sounds only she could pick up on. Caden walked and seethed and tried to make sense of the fun and games the others were having. It was good that they were all bonded. That it was at her expense was irritating as was the fact that Leliana was certain to wax lyrical about the moments shared between her and Alistair, inflating what had happened into a romance for the ages. She remembered Leliana promising to tell Lorelei about her first impressions of the pair. She was manufacturing their lives into a tale. Caden wouldn’t stop her, but she didn’t relish the idea of hearing it.

Rosa barked and passed her by, calling out a greeting to someone behind her. Caden turned, realising as she did that she was smiling before she registered who it was. She had been expecting him.

Alistair was bent over the dog, giving her side a scratch before something caught her attention and Rosa hurried towards a bush, no doubt on the tail of a mouse. Alistair straightened up, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’m not… did you want to be alone?”

Caden couldn’t shift the smile from her lips. It was embarrassing. “No, I assumed you would want to escape, too.”

Alistair chuckled. “Yes. It’s, er, a new experience this whole thing.”

“The bets? The story?” Caden prompted. He nodded.

“Yes, both.” He took a step towards her, closing the gap slightly. “That and just…”

“I know.” She said.

Caden took a breath of the chilled night air. She was happy to see him, but this was the first time they were properly alone since she had launched them into new territory. She hadn’t quite got her footing yet. Alistair seemed just as lost.

They both spoke at the same time.

“Why did—”

“Are you—”

Caden met Alistairs gaze and the pair laughed softly. Caden reached behind her, resting her palm on her neck. Alistair was still holding his arms around himself. “You go.” She offered, gesturing with her other hand.

Alistair licked his lips. “I was just wondering why me. Of all the people for you to want to be with. I guess I can’t quite believe it’s me.”

“Why?” Caden hadn’t expected that question. For a moment she didn’t know how to answer. “I needed you.”

“What do you mean?”

Caden dropped her hands, her thoughts all jumbled in her skull. She pressed her hands together. “You are… unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Alistair, I’m… you make me happy. I never thought that I would feel that way again after everything that happened. My mother died, my wedding was ruined, I had to leave my home. I thought I would die at Ostagar. Then we woke up to an impossible task. Where was happiness supposed to fit in all of that?” Caden shrugged, raising her head to met his eyes. “It turns out it was in you all along.”

Alistair dipped his head, but she caught the curve of his smile.

“That’s why I kissed you,” Caden said. “Because you make me happy and I feel safe with you.”

“Caden, I…” Alistair shook his head slowly, before catching her eye. The his body, so tightly held, burst apart. His hands flew to the sky and his voice chased his movements, spilling out without decorum. “Maker’s Breath, my words are all… I know I’m hardly the most eloquent speaker, but something about you makes me feel like my heads about to explode.”

“I’m… sorry about that?” Caden offered, confused. Alistair hurried to correct her.

“I don’t mean that in a bad way…” He clapped a palm to his face and dragged it down. Then he took a long breath and started again. “Being near you makes me crazy, but I can’t imagine being without you. Not ever. Not just as Grey Wardens, though that is what threw us together in the first place; the Wardens, the Blight. The path towards the bloody Archdemon. More and more I’m finding myself thinking beyond that.” Alistair’s eyes were soft as he watched Caden and she felt herself moving closer, taking his hand when he offered it. “I admit I can’t think too hard about exactly how we’re going to kill the Archdemon, but once we do and we have the rest of our lives before us… I don’t want to spend it without you. I know it’s a lot to drop on you right now, but—”

“I want to be with you, too.” Caden murmured.

His smile swept over his entire face and she stepped into his arms, letting him envelop her. She felt his lips press to the crown of her head. “I can’t believe I could be so lucky.”

They remained in their embrace for a while. The night passed them by and Rosa eventually returned from her snuffling hunt for nocturnal rodents without a bounty and lay at their feet. It was already dark so Caden closed her eyes, weaponless and defenceless, but safe with Alistair. It was a new feeling; the sensation that although the world was scary and filled with big things with sharp teeth that could and would hurt her, right then in that very moment she was perfectly safe. Caden tried to track back to the last time she had felt that soothing feeling and struggled to place it. Eventually, she realised that was because the last time someone had held her for a long time and she had felt utterly secure about her place in life was before she had caught the sickness in the Alienage. When her mother had held her and told her how special it was to be her mamae. Caden tightened her grip on Alistair, burying her face into his chest, smelling his distinct scent. It wasn’t the same and yet it was. He truly did feel like home.

*

The journey north from Redcliffe had been difficult to plot due to the secretive nature of Haven, but the return trip was much less arduous in that way. They knew the right route and they were heading towards civilisation, not away from it. It was a simple matter of going from village to village until they reached Lake Calenhad, where Teagans boat was waiting for them.

The rest of the party talked about them. They weren’t subtle about it, but Caden found that she could tune them out easily enough and anyway, she was happy. Truly happy. The kind of happy that made her smile to herself while she walked along the road. The kind of happy that startled her with the sound of humming that was coming from her own mouth as she sharpened her swords. The kind of happy that felt as though bees were turning nectar into honey in her heart.

She and Alistair weren’t overt with their burgeoning relationship. They did none of the things her parents had done in public, such as sharing kisses or walking with their arms slung around each other’s hips. Even so, there was a new language that was being spoken between the pair. Every time Caden slid an extra sliver of cheese from her plate onto his, whenever Alistair reached his hand to steady her over a bridge, when they waited for the other to walk side by side, they were speaking to each other without words. It was born of a similar core as the language Eliza and Leliana shared, though it branched off in a different direction. One root, different trees. Leliana had clearly missed her paramour as she began to add extra touches, pecked kisses for no other reason than she wanted to. Caden felt no desire to imitate the behaviour around the other companions. It was different matter after dark.

On the way to Haven Caden had wished the day away to get to her letters and bring her mamae back to life while there were words on pages to read. Now she found herself longing for the sun to vanish over the hills so that the darkness could bring on night watches and snatched moments in the relative privacy of night.

The first night after leaving Haven didn’t bring them into a village. They were forced to camp out in sparse woodland on a new blanket of leaves. The sun was going down sooner and the trees had burst into the colour of flames, those that still bore their leaves. The group had eaten around the fire in the moonlight and, tricked by the hurried sunset, stayed up later than they ought to have. Caden had found herself getting antsy at the wakeful eyes. Their tents were limited now with three extra bodies to contain, bringing their numbers up to six men, including young Remi, and seven women plus Rosa. Where three two-person tents had been manageable before, now things were getting cosy fast, even with Morrigan and Sten both electing to sleep outside. Ser Galian was still healing and needed space so Caden had decided to pair him with Brother Genitivi, losing them a full tent in the process, but the others had to start squeezing tighter. That first night began with the two free tents being packed with Wynne, Lorelei and Remi in one tent, Eliza, Leliana and Rhiannon in the other, leaving Caden, Alistair and Zevran on watch, with the Qunari bedding down beside the tents and Morrigan taking a bird form to sleep up in the branches of a nearby tree. It was hardly the private space Caden had hoped for, but then Zevran had thrown her a bone by suggesting that the Wardens take a few laps of the woodland while he guarded the campsite. Just to check for darkspawn, of course, and they ought to take their time. Caden had half expected Alistair to argue or fluster in embarrassment, but he had grabbed her hand and practically sped the pair away from the smirking Antivan elf.

After that night they hadn’t needed to worry about the lack of tent space as they made their bed in a haybarn again, and thereafter spent two nights in two separate taverns on the road. On the last night before they reached Lake Calenhad, Leliana pooled her winnings from the bet and bought two bottles of Rowan’s Rose and the elves, Leliana, Lorelei and Alistair had stayed downstairs in the bar while the rest took to their beds (Sten and Morrigan choosing to sleep outside as was their preference). That night the group of seven laughed and talked and drank and for a little while could pretend that they were a normal group of friends who didn’t have some impossible fight looming over them. Alistair and Caden sat side by side, his thigh against hers and at some point their hands met under the table and they sat with fingers entwined as the liquid in the bottles got lower and then Zevran bought them all a nightcap of something that tasted like the fire roaring in the great hearth and the smoke it produced all at once and Caden could have sworn she felt that heat all the way to her fingers and toes. After that, her eyelids could barely remain open and she found herself snuggling into Alistair’s side quite openly, her ability to notice the smirks from her friends gone and her care about being so brazen vanished. Alistair had chuckled and nudged her awake enough to walk and the group had all stumbled up the stairs. This time it was Rhiannon who had orchestrated some alone time for the couple, slipping a key into Caden’s palm and giggling as she followed Zevran into his and Alistair’s room, leaving Caden blinking down at the heavy key and flushing hard at the implication. Alistair matched her in colour, but his eyes gleamed at the key and the promise of a soft bed and taken Caden into his arms all night.

Whatever grand plans Rhiannon might have had for the pair, they more than likely fell short. Caden had a suspicion that those plans were realised by Rhiannon and Zevran, now that her cousin knew Caden had made a supposed choice between the men, leaving Zevran free and Rhiannon able to follow her own advice about snatching some joy and companionship while they could. In Caden’s view, what she and Alistair did in their room was already several steps ahead of where they had been. The simple matter of being in their undershirts (and trousers in Alistair’s case; he was firm about keeping his clothes on even after slipping between the covers) and kissing brought a whole new level of excitement to the act. They didn’t kiss on the bed. That would have been too close to kissing in the bed and Caden could not cope with that image at all. They stood in the small room by the window and held each other, him bending down to meet her, she up on her tiptoes like a dancer and they kissed until their lips were swollen. The heat of the act and the alcohol seemed to connect parts of Caden that she hadn’t known could talk. She had never known that feeling something on her lips could ignite a fire much, much lower. At first, it was contained in her chest, then her belly where fireflies swooped and trailed their light. After some time the feelings crept lower until Caden squirmed where she stood, pressing her thighs together at the unexpected sensation. That was when she broke the kiss, panting, her hair a wisp of wild cloud around her scalp.

Then they did get into bed, with nervous smiles and somewhat choked laughter. Caden climbed up first, scooting across the covers to allow Alistair the room he needed after he adjusted his trousers with a flash of red across his ears. Caden smiled at the sight of the blush, momentarily innocent of the reasons why he might need to sort his attire out before getting into bed.

“Your ears go so red,” she remarked as he pulled back the covers and hesitantly got in beside her. Her knees were up before her, her arms crossed and resting atop them. Caden perched her chin on her forearms and watched him. “It’s sweet.”

Alistair cleared his throat as he sat against the pillows and looked to her. His hands were holding the covers tightly, curling into the heavy fabric. “This is… it’s all very new.”

“To me as well,” Caden assured him.

“Yes, but you were a bride at least,” Alistair countered with a shrug. He didn’t let go of the covers and there was a swathe of empty space between the pair. “I’d never even kissed a girl before a few days ago.”

“I was a bride to a groom who arrived that day,” Caded dropped her hands down to her ankles and held tight through the blanket. “We barely got to say two words to each other before he died, let alone kiss.” She lifted one shoulder and rolled her eyes towards him. “It’s alright. We can be… beginners together, right?”

Alistair’s throat tightened as he swallowed. “You recall, I was raised in a monastery. They were kind until we reached our thirteenth year and us boys were moved into the young men’s dormitory. Then the Sisters changed tack with us, started telling us all the dangers of impure thoughts and ‘bad touching’. If any of us were to ever even think about anyone in a way they deemed immoral then we were sure to be struck down by the Maker Himself.”

“Seriously?” Caden frowned, but she couldn’t stop the smile from quirking her mouth.

“Unfortunately so. It rather had an impact on me; I’ve been a little bit terrified of women since then. I suppose and men, too, but I’ve never found myself thinking about the feel of their skin or the touch of their hand.”

“How many women have you thought—”

Alistair’s strangled laugh cut her off. “Not that many I swear.” His hands finally released the covers to wave in alarm. “Not any really. The women at the monastery were mostly Sisters; I never knew many of the Templars outside of my small, very male group, and then I was a Grey Warden. It’s really only been you,” Alistair’s face flamed once again, “who I ever thought about like that. And I’ve not yet been struck with lightning, so… big liars, all of them. Thank goodness.”

Caden reached over and brushed the back of her hand across his face. Her hand felt cold against his boiling skin. “I wrote to Nelaros and tried to imagine what he would look like. What it might feel like to touch him or maybe kiss him. It’s so odd to think of a stranger and wonder what their kiss might feel like, but it was expected. All the wifely things I needed to do after the wedding. It was hard to think about moving in with him and getting to know him.”

Alistair caught her fingers in his and squeezed lightly. He didn’t speak, but he wanted her to know that he was with her as she reminisced. She smiled gratefully. “I was lucky though. I got to see true love when I watched my mamae and father. I knew what it would look like so I thought I’d know what it would feel like and Nelaros seemed kind and handsome and hopefully patient. I didn’t count on everything going so far off track. Maybe that’s why I make you feel crazy.”

“I really didn’t mean that in a bad way,” Alistair hurried to say, but she laughed and hooked her arm around his, closing the gap between.

“I know.”

Alistair kissed her head and pushed their pillows together so that he could slide down the bed and pulled Caden to his chest. She came easily, glad to be close to him. It struck her that she was probably a little drunk on that wine, the spirit and the feeling of the warm body under her cheek. He was stroking her hair in slow, languid movements, lulling her eyes closed, but she fought it as long as she could. She was desperately tired, but equally, loathe to miss even a moment spent with him. She had wasted all that time antagonising him and they still had tasks to complete, but now she just wanted to slow down their time together. Delay getting back to Redcliffe, put off their mission to Orzammer, beg the Archdemon to wait. It was selfish. She couldn’t help it. She had thought any kind of closeness with another person would not be on the cards for her, not after Nelaros, not after Vaughan Kendalls, but Denerim and all the horrors she had escaped seemed so far away. Alistair was a blissful dream and she was happy.

She was happy.

Chapter Text

PART SIX- Orzammar

And when you smile those sad eyes look sadder and sadder still

Redcliffe was better. It was the town that marked the turn of the seasons, their touchstone, their home base. Caden was glad to see it again after the strangeness of Haven and the heaviness of Andrastes temple. It glided into view as they cut a line through the smooth waters of Lake Calenhad, blessed with a fair wind in their sails and clear skies overhead.

Alistair became visibly more eager on the boat, his stride longer, more purposeful once they reached the shore again. He all but charged up the hill towards the castle, practically dragging Leliana behind him with her precious cargo. Caden waved them ahead, but in truth, Alistair didn’t seem to be too preoccupied with thinking of her or her inability to keep pace with him. She walked behind with Rosa. Eliza also hung back, her gaze following Lelianas back as she hurried up the hill with Alistair, though at least in their case Leliana had waved over her shoulder. Eliza stuck with Caden, the pair stopping with Rosa and to discuss various sights of interest, conspiring together to make it seem as though they were happy at this pace, not left behind at all. Rosa found lots to smell and Caden was happy to wait for her. The women came upon some late-blooming flowers and although a part of Caden wanted to leave it behind to spend its last days in the autumn sunshine, a bigger part of her wanted to return to her old habit of plucking pretty blooms. There were two delicate blossoms and so Caden offered one to Eliza, who took it with a smile. The flowers had six lightly pointed petals of white, darkening to pink in the centre. It reminded Caden a little of the flower she found in the Wilds for Rosa, but it had a very different smell.

While Wynne and Lorelei oversaw getting aid for Genitivi, Galian and young Remi, Zevran and Rhiannon caught up with Caden’s small group as they wandered through the town. Everywhere they went there was life. The fishing boats were hauling in their catches, the market was bustling. It was a far cry from the desolate ghost town they had found all those weeks ago when the nightly undead plague had tried to ruin the town completely. Mayor Murdock caught Caden's eye as he discussed something with his militia and she was surprised when he tipped his head towards her in a polite nod. Caden made a beeline for him, intent on seizing the moment. Rosa bounded alongside her, letting out a happy bark as some drowsy butterflies swooped past them.

“Mayor,” Caden returned his nod. “The town appears to be thriving.”

“Aye, that we are,” Murdock replied as his militiaman moved off. “Almost like it once was.”

“Good. Any sign of trouble? Darkspawn or bandits?”

“Times being what they are, yes, both,” Murdock admitted gruffly. “We saw off some bandits only last week, but they were fleeing north and didn’t seem to have a heart in the fight to steal our resources. The darkspawn on the other hand…”

“What is it?” Caden pressed.

Murdock seemed uneasy, but with a sigh, he explained. “Had a pocket of those things outside of town. Not sure where they were coming from, but some cattle turned up dead. We sent men to investigate and kill them, but the two who returned became sick.”

“Where are they now?” Rhiannon asked, her tone unexpectedly sharp. Murdock’s bushy eyebrows flew up as he seemed to realise at that moment that Caden wasn’t the only elf he was being forced to interact with. “If they are Tainted they could be dangerous.”

“They are in the Chantry.” Murdock gave. “With the Revered Mother, praying over them. They are not long for this world I reckon.”

Rhiannon turned to Caden and grasped her arm. “If they are like Tamlen, the final part will be all the more awful.”

Caden could recall Rhiannon using that name before. Tamlen, the man she loved, who died of the Taint sickness, but who begged Rhiannon to end things for him. She had never really thought to ask about the Taint on non Grey Warden folk. She had, of course, seen what had happened when the Joining Ritual didn’t take and would never forget seeing Daveths painful death after ingesting darkspawn blood, but had spent no time wondering about the civilians who were unfortunate enough to come across their enemies and contract the Taint. She couldn’t be certain whether it was guilt and morbid curiosity that propelled her to the Chantry, or kindness to Rhiannon, who was obviously concerned, but she left Murdock behind and headed towards the large building trailed by her friends. The sanctuary that had warded the townsfolk from the worst of the undead before the demon inside Connor had been contained stood wide and imposing, at odds with the other buildings in Redcliffe. Most of the houses along the lakeside were tall and narrow with little space between homes, which was why Caden recalled the fire had spread so swiftly. She still hadn’t taken Rhiannon up on her offer to teach her to swim, which meant she hadn’t received any archery lessons. Another couple of tasks on her neverending to-do list.

The Chantry looked a lot cleaner and tidier than it had when she had last ventured inside. She didn’t really see a need for prayer in the huge building and now that she had been to both the Circle of Magi and Andrastes final resting place it seemed all the more like the trappings of a religion with blood on its doctrines, but she spied the townsfolk here and there, heads bowed on the pews or humming as they swept the floors and she had to admit that there was a comfort in such a routine. If the Chantry could grant others peace then that was something at least.

Caden’s reputation preceded her and she was spotted by a Sister. With a brief conversation, she was lead towards a small room at the back and allowed inside. It was dark and dank, hardly the place to foster healing or a peaceful passing, but the Sister threw her an apologetic look. “We air the room our regularly, but it doesn’t last. They are so very cold; we can’t have the doors and windows open if we hope to give them comfort.”

Caden nodded and pressed further inside, breathing through her mouth to avoid an accidental gag at the smell. Rot permeated the air, but the two men on cots looked perfectly normal with no outward signs of injuries. They were deathly pale and Caden had to really concentrate on their chests before she could see the shallow, slow rise and fall. She glanced at Rhiannon with a question in her eyes that she couldn’t bring her lips to form. Rhiannon shook her head.

“They are not like Tamlen was.” Rhiannon murmured turning her head from the men as if to spare them hearing her words as they lay dying. “Mamae said what happened to him was unique. Most never become virulently Tainted. Most simply waste away.”

“How awful,” Eliza whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. Her fingers curled. “There must be something we can do.”

Caden looked on helplessly. “I don’t think there is any chance of healing.”

“No.” Rhiannon agreed. “No-one survives the Taint.”

Except for the Grey Wardens. Caden couldn’t help but let that thought worm its way through her mind, but she held it back from being spoken aloud. She was Tainted strong enough to sense the darkspawn and enough that the Dalish had been able to sense it in her. It was a death sentence but not like this. For her, it wasn’t some fast-acting disease to strip her of her dignity and life within days of contracting it. Thirty years, that’s what Alistair had said, which sounded at once like a blessing and a curse. Thirty years in which time she could prevent more innocent people from being hurt, especially if she was able to defeat the Archdemon. Thirty years seemed like a long time given the often young mortality rate among Alienage elves.

Thirty years also sounded like no time at all when she imagined spending it with Alistair.

As she let her eyes roam the room taking in the frail bodies clinging to life beneath their plain sheets. A fire was crackling softly in the hearth to try to warm the icy skin of the afflicted. Beads of sweat broke out along her hairline and above her lip as she drew closer, coming to a rest before the cots. Her heart picked up speed, thudding firmly inside her chest. She was Tainted. She was alive. Was there something in that? Could the Joining ritual save those Tainted, or were these two too far gone either way? She didn’t even know the recipe for the concoction she had been forced to drink back in Ostagar, though she knew it had darkspawn blood in it. She could easily recall the journey into the Korkari Wilds to obtain the brackish blood, but other than that ingredient she was in the dark. She knew nothing of magic despite having been to the Circle and been travelling with mages for weeks, but surely someone could do something to help.

“How did your clan treat the Taint, Rhiannon?” Caden asked, turning to her cousin. Rhiannon looked back darkly.

“There’s nothing to be done.” She said after a moment. “There’s no known cure. We can treat the symptoms with various tinctures and balms, but we cannot save them. The best we can hope for is to aid their passing.”

Caden’s heart sank, but she was not terribly surprised. All she had heard since learning of the darkspawn and the Blight was how dreadful a disease it was. How the man in charge of Lothering, Bann Something-Or-Other, had abandoned his people to face the horde without giving them the means to escape was beyond her and she was grateful that her small group had made it to Lothering in time to help organise an escape. In doing so she had driven the darkspawn to hunger, going back underground, though she knew now that it was not that simple. Rhiannon’s clan had been one of what she could only imagine were many casualties caught by the roving bands desperate seeking something to eat. Did she have Tamlens blood on her hands, this young man she had never met, but who had meant so much to her kin? Not to mention the others from Rhiannon’s clan that had suffered and died at the hands of the darkspawn, or the others she did not know about. Those who hadn’t been able to leave the land surrounding Lothering, farmers who hadn’t received the news perhaps. She hadn’t personally overseen the refugee efforts so she couldn’t even say with certainty how many had been saved. And would they find a new home wherever they had ended up? She had funded the mission to get the elves from Lothering to Highever, but that was a long way and she had no idea how many, if any, had made it there in one piece. She glanced down at her hands as they worried over and over, fingers trembling where they rubbed against the opposite knuckles. She knew she wouldn’t see literal bloodstains, but for a moment in the dim room lit by the crackling flames from the hearth, she could have sworn for a moment at least that there was the ugly red marks of all those she had not saved or had placed in harm's way. Inadvertent though it might have been, she was responsible for every death. Ferelden was so much bigger than she had ever anticipated and she could see it in her mind’s eye as an enormous scale. She could help people on one side, but that would press more of a burden, more woes, more death on the other. She couldn’t keep it all balanced.

The oppressive weight of the responsibility buckled her knees and she sank into a chair beside the cots, hoping it would look like she had meant to do so. She couldn’t keep everyone safe, not everyone in all of Ferelden, not until the Archdemon was dead and he was still underground as far as she knew. She couldn’t do anything now.

But she could sit with these men who had helped to put down a pocket of darkspawn, taking out a few more of the creatures so they couldn’t hurt anyone else again and wouldn’t be able to defend the Archdemon when it came to it. They couldn’t know how much she appreciated them, nor how sorry she was that the price was to be their lives. But she could sit with them. She reached over and took the hand of the nearest person. He looked like someone’s father. Caden squeezed her fingers around him and hoped that wherever he was in his mind, he knew someone was with him.

*

It was late by the time she finally made it up to the castle. She had been the last one remaining at the Chantry; Zevran having bowed out right away with Rosa and taken the news of where they were to their companions on the hill and Rhiannon and Eliza staying for a time until they could no longer face the laboured breathing and gasps for air from the two men. Caden refused to hold it against them when they left. It wasn’t for her to tell them to stay in the sad, warm, foetid room. It was for her to bear witness. Only her. Rhiannon had tried but had followed Zevran not long after, though Eliza had sat with the other man and mirrored Caden in her gentle care, adding small green waves of healing energy from time to time, when the strangled moans grew louder. It wasn’t going to save his life, she had explained, but it would settle his pains. She did it for both men and eventually the man whose hand Caden clung to died. The second followed shortly afterwards, no less devastating than the first, though for him Caden was alone in the room. Eliza had been overcome by the first death and left seeking Leliana and although a Sister popped into the room from time to time, she missed the quiet event of the man’s lungs exhaling the final, damp breath. Caden waited long enough to speak to the Sister about funereal rites and promised she would be there. She watched the Sister find the families of the dead men and that had been the point that had broken Caden, forcing her to turn her head away in shame and hurry back up to the castle.

Dinner had been and gone when she arrived, though her starving belly had propelled her to the kitchens, where the servants had been taking their meal at the sturdy, plain table. They stood when she entered, noting the armour she wore, which had only served to twist her gut all the more, interrupting their time just because she was hungry. Waving them down and trying to slip away without further disruption had no effect; instead, her hands were filled with bread, dried fish, an apple and a triangle of soft cheese with a hard rind. It was fare that she was well used to on the road, a far cry from the feast they had no doubt served in the dining hall above and they apologised to that tune, but Caden was all the more grateful of the humble meal and thanked them profusely. An elven girl found her a square of muslin to wrap her bounty in, which meant she didn’t have to trek back to her room with a pile of seemingly pilfered food. She was tempted to fish out the apple and take a bite but resisted while she was on the move.

The trek to her room took her past Alistair's room and she knocked at his door, telling herself that she was merely interested in catching up with each other on their respective days, but truthfully she knew she just wanted to fold into his arms after the slow deaths she had borne witness to. He didn’t answer even when she called through the wood, so on a whim, she tried the door to find the room was empty. His armour stood on a stand that had been brought to his room since their last stop at Redcliffe, gleaming in the moonlight that peeked through the window. Her mind leapt to her room and she hurried along the corridor to check if he was waiting for her in her own quarters, but that room was empty as well, the only movement coming from the log that had been set in the grate of the small fireplace and was lightly burning. She hadn’t thought to request an armour stand so that was a marked difference in their rooms, but another was the small glass vase on the chest beneath the window inside which was surprisingly clear water — the servants must have changed it regularly — and the still proud bloom of the Lothering Rose. Caden’s eyes locked onto the deep scarlet petals, open to the sky behind it capturing the light that stole into the empty bedroom. It had been months since it had been plucked by Alistair completely by accident, the rose which had moved Leliana to see the fate of Ferelden in Cadens and Alistair’s hands. All of her other blooms had fallen apart in their travels except this one. Caden recalled plucking the sweet bloom on her way through Redcliffe and although she was concerned for Alistair, she set down her food on the bed and fished out the flower as carefully as she could. On the writing desk opposite the bed were some sheaves of paper and a selection of books. They were slim tomes and Caden hadn’t glanced at them much beyond the florid text on the covers, denoting what looked at once to be bland stories that were probably full of writing that would be beyond her reading ability. Still, they would suffice for the purpose of pressing the flower, the first she had remembered to do. The flower slid between two pieces of paper and then inside the fattest book. She lay it flat on the desk and added the small pile of books. It didn’t look like it would be enough, but perhaps she could borrow some more books from the others. She would also have to write a note to ask that the servants didn’t disturb the pile while they were away. How long did it take to fully press a flower?

Caden was starting to feel a little silly, but the silent act was soothing in the wake of her day. It felt like something she might have done back at the Alienage if only she’d known of the practice then. She cast around for another weight to press down on the books. There was nothing suitable; a washbasin stood by the door on a stand with a filled jug in the bowl, but she didn’t dare risk someone else’s books becoming water stained or ruined. Not after being given her own room to return to, food in her belly and access to the armoury. She felt awkward enough using the Arlessas books to press her flower.

Since there was nothing else for it, she left the flower where it was beneath the small pile of books and began to strip her armour off. She took her time with each buckle and strap, pulling piece after piece away from her body. It was second nature to her after months of donning and doffing the leather and chains, yet another way in which this time had shaped her. She had barely known how to put the armour together and now she could put each part on with her eyes closed, which is practically what she was doing. The tiredness washed over her from their travels and the day and just being back in a relatively safe place, the castle on the cliff, was enough to draw her in. Her stomach rumbled, daring her to choose sleep over her meal.

Out of the armour and feeling the uncomfortable chill on her skin from her sweat-soaked undershirt, Caden left the leather parts on the desk as tidily as she was able and turned to check the drawers to see if yet more fresh clothing had materialised. Once again she felt the sting of gratitude towards the Arlessa; no matter her transgressions towards young Alistair, the woman had come through for them time and again. Caden pulled off the old clothes and tugged on the new. Someone had taken note of her measurements and while they had to have been guesses — she certainly hadn’t let anyone mark ribbon with her size — these clothes fit a lot better than anything else she had worn thus far. Only her armour won in the challenge of the best fitting attire and even then it was because she was able to adjust the pieces due to the straps and buckles. The tunic she wore was a plain light grey colour and nipped towards her body where her slight curves were, the material rising and falling over her small breasts in a way that she had forgotten clothing could do. It was still too long, but she preferred that for the moment; quite comfortable with the almost knee-length hem. She could throw on some breeches for heading outside the room, but for her alone this would be quite comfortable. Her food beckoned.

A knock at the door interrupted her first bite. She froze with her hand halfway to her mouth, eyes darting to the door. The knock had come so softly that she might have thought she had imagined it, but she slipped down from the bed and padded over to open it a crack, keeping the door as a barrier against her bare legs. The doorway was empty and she opened it wider to peer out, spotting the sight of a retreating back that she recognised at once. “Alistair.”

He turned, barely halting. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Caden frowned. “You’re not. Come in?” She had meant it as a statement but he looked worn and hesitant so the inflection slipped out turning it into a question. They hadn’t seen each other all day and Caden was desperate to see him. Surely he felt the same way.

Alistair looked away for a moment and her heart lurched to think that he might not want to spend time with her after all, but then the moment passed and he smiled wanly, starting back for her door. Wordlessly she stepped aside and let him in, shutting the door behind him.

“Are you hungry?” She asked. The food was still lying on the muslin cloth on the bed and her stomach was loudly protesting the time she had last fed it. Alistair shook his head no, but she saw his eyes alight on the cheese. She moved past him to the bed, scrambled up onto the covers and used a hunk of bread to smear the cheese — of course, she had forgotten a knife — and held it out for him. He couldn’t resist that and went to sit across from her on her bed, smiling in thanks for the morsel. Caden busied herself with the fish and the remaining bread, happy to leave him the rest of the cheese. In silence they ate, the fire crackling every now and then to punctuate the quiet with a pop. Caden’s mind sped back down to a few hours earlier when she had sat with the dying men and she could feel the corners of her mouth turn down as she dwelled on the experience. She fought the overwhelming urge to crawl across the bed and curl into Alistair's lap and possibly cry for an hour, where she would fit neatly and felt certain he would welcome her, but his face stilled her. He was eating with his eyes distant. The silence dragged on from companionable to awkward.

Finally, Caden had to say something and she lurched for the first topic that wasn’t about her, her chest too tight to let herself dwell. “How’s Eamon?”

Alistair swallowed his last bite and coughed behind his hand. Caden hadn’t thought to ask for a drink, but she was sure she had something left in her water skin, so she hurried from the bed to grab it with a shake to hear the slosh of water inside, and offer it to Alistair. He took it and drank, clearing his throat. “Thank you.”

Caden was worried. She had blithely assumed that once they had the Ashes the healers among their group would work their miracles and set him right.

Alistair fiddled with the cork on the skin, wedging it back in place, but fumbling the move and then taking an overly long time to right it. Caden was starting to wish she hadn’t asked and she could quite work up the courage to ask if Eamon had worsened. She felt fairly sure that he hadn’t died or the news would have spread even down to the Chantry and the hospice room. After a moment she wrapped up the crumbs in the muslin and set it on the bedside table then scooted along the bed, not to draw comfort from him after all, but to reach over with her hand and press her palm to his leg. His breath hitched at the move and he laid eyes on her that were so filled with woe that her heart ached. She slipped her free arm through his, crooked at the elbow and rested her head on his shoulder. Let me share the load.

Alistair set the water skin on the end of the bed and scooped her hand into his, rubbing his thumb lightly across her knuckles. “They administered a concoction to Eamon hours ago. I watched Wynne give it to him; they had to make it into a sort of paste and rub it onto his gums because he’s struggling to swallow. It took ages because it had to be really small doses so they could be sure it was absorbed before doing the next bit. Isolde was there. She didn’t flinch at any of it. I think I kind of respect her now. That’s new.”

Caden listened and stroked her fingers down his forearm.

“When it was all done I half expected him to open his eyes and sit up, but… well. He didn’t. Stupid, right?”

“No,” Caden said softly. “Hope is never stupid.”

She felt him shift and she moved to allow him to move his arm around her, the wordless ballet of limbs as second nature to her now as it was when they fought side by side. A tiny part of her buzzed at the joy of being pressed to his side, the place she had missed being all day. That would be enough for her — she wouldn’t bring up the day she’d had to him when he was so obviously hurting.

“They’re watching him overnight.” Alistair went on. His hand found her hair and wound it through his fingers. “I volunteered to take a watch later, but I wanted to let you know first.”

“When does your watch start?”

“Not until later.” He replied. “I’ve got some time now. I didn’t want to disturb you if you were busy or tired though.”

“You’re not.” Caden hurried to say. “I understand that you want to sit with Eamon, but selfishly I’m glad you don’t have to go right away.”

“Oh?” Alistair twisted around to look down at her, a half-smile playing on his lips. Caden sat up straight again, his fingers keeping her hair so it swept over her shoulder. “Don’t you want to sleep?”

Caden shrugged. “I’ve always slept better with you. Haven’t you noticed?”

Alistair's smile became shy. “I had, but I tried not to let it go to my head.”

“I told you: I feel safe with you.”

Alistair leaned forward, then hesitated, his eyes dropping to her lap. She saw the familiar red peak over his ears as he took in the expanse of bare legs and hurried to return his gaze to her face. She didn’t think she would ever get tired of that. Far from the discomfort she had felt when other men had ogled her body in the past, miles from the danger and dread of protecting herself from some men, when Alistair looked at her and saw her as a woman she could have burst with joy. That joy ignited within her and pushed her to close the gap and meet him in another kiss, something else she would never become tired of.

It was Alistair who kept the kiss short, speaking against her lips when he broke it as though his mind was elsewhere, but his body was firmly invested in kisses. “We should talk.”

“Oh?” Her insides crunched in mild alarm. “What about?”

Alistair sighed lightly; she could feel his breath ghost across her cheek as he moved aside. She missed his lips at once. Who could ever miss lips?

“My parentage.”

Ah. This was it. Caden took a steadying breath. This was the moment he would tell her that he was Eamons bastard, the reason why the man kept him at least for a time, why Isolde hated him on principle, why Alistair was so committed to saving the Arl. Her fingers trembled against his hand and she clamped her palms together hard to cease it. The smell of him was all around, the feel of him, the sight of his beautiful, sad face and yet even with her senses telling her that she was with Alistair, the man she trusted wholeheartedly, the frightened small part of her mind opened up the box where she kept the horrible memories of Vaughan Kendalls. His hot breath that reeked of strong wine, his teeth stained red with it when he laughed at how easily he overpowered her. The lace of her mothers dress bunched at her thighs. She pushed at the thoughts intruding into this private space, but they overwhelmed her, pushing back as though she were back on that bed. Her fingers twitched for her mothers’ knife but of course, they would not find it.

Alistair was saying something, but it was as if she were underwater, the words muddled and unclear. I’m alright, I’m safe. The words she told herself were meaningless to the onslaught of memories. A hand covered hers and she jerked backwards. “Caden? What’s wrong?” The bastard of an Arl spoke to her, but it was a different Arls son who spoke inside her head.

She forced her eyes up to meet his, worry swirling in the hazel orbs. He held her fast. “Caden?”

Caden opened her mouth to speak, but only a dry gurgle came out. Alistair reached for the water skin behind him and let her go to uncork it. Caden reacted on instinct, drawing her limbs to her body and skirting backwards to sit against the headboard, her arms wrapped around her legs. Making herself a tiny ball, no threat, not worth the hassle. Alistair frowned when he turned back and saw the gaping chasm between them, but he remained in place extending his arm without getting closer to hand her the water.

What was the matter with her that she couldn’t free herself from that night? She was happy, why couldn’t she just let herself feel that without the complications of her past? She swallowed the water as hastily as she could without choking.

Hurt swam across Alistair’s face. “I thought you felt safe.”

It was a knife to her gut. The old scar on her hip twinged. “I do.” she insisted, her voice strangled. “I am.”

The doubt went unspoken between them but it was clear to see that Alistair didn’t believe her. Caden willed herself to move to him, but her body refused. Her legs were locked, her hands clenching the waterskin so tightly that had it not been emptied it would surely have spilt. Her body was shaking violently, knocking her knees together. She didn't know how to tell him that it wasn't Alistair frightening her at all. It was a ghost. 

Alistair stood.

“I should go,” he said softly. “I don’t want to upset you.”

“Please stay,” the whine that crept into her voice nearly killed her to hear.

Alistair looked at her with a strange mixture of yearning and guilt. Caden couldn’t make herself move, but she had to do something. She raised one arm and held it out to him, praying to Andraste Herself to move him to take it. He stood stock-still on the floorboards cast in the milky light of the moon and the orange flicker of the fire, indecision halting his movement or perhaps, Caden’s heart sank, he was thinking twice about the sheer effort it took to be with someone like her. Perhaps he could understand her nightmares — he had experience with those — and it was rare that she flinched away from him anymore, but this rejection of him, though unwilling on her part, had clearly stung him. She couldn’t blame him. There he was about to share with her the truth about his father and she had frozen then fled. Now she was reaching for him, but it was too late. The damage had been done.

“I’m sorry,” Caden said. The image of him bowed as her shivers brought tears to her lids and threatening to push them over the edge. “Please stay.”

His eyes darted to hers, then back to the door until returning her gaze with a sigh. “Alright. As long as my being here won’t bother you.”

Caden nodded, dropping her hand as he came closer and ignored it. The tears stayed put, which was a miracle, until she wiped her hand over her face, hoping to steal them away before he could see them fall. Her limbs felt exhausted all at once, the jagged burst of adrenaline fading now, so she moved aside in the hope that Alistair would sit beside her. He hesitated only a moment before doing so and she all but threw herself into his arms. He wouldn’t lie down, remained sitting upright against the headboard, but she was able to curl around him with her face on his chest. He automatically gathered her into his arms, but he didn’t move once she was in his embrace. He didn’t kiss her head, didn’t stroke her hair. If not for the slow rise and fall beneath her cheek or the dull thudding from inside his ribs she might have been holding a statue. Unlike the night before Caden tried to fall asleep as fast as she could knowing that Alistair needed to see it happen as if she could prove how secure she felt by passing out in his arms. Whether she was too tense from the experience or frightened of what nightmares she had unleashed by letting Vaughan into her head again she didn’t know, but it felt as though hours passed before she drifted off.

When the nightmare struck she fought herself free and woke alone.

Chapter Text

You bring me to my knees

When Eamon woke, Alistair didn’t spot it at first. Isolde was asleep on a couch that had been brought into the room sometime when Alistair and the others were away and he had been closing his eyes for longer and longer blinks, so he had gotten up from his chair and crept to the window. The view from Eamons chambers looked out over the town towards the lake, it’s still waters acting as a mirror to the world above so that it appeared as though there were two moons in the inky black night and thousands of stars that had fallen from the sky. Alistair watched from the window, seeing no movement, no flicker of life down below. The townsfolk were tucked up in their beds just as Caden was. He thought of her and thought of all he had left unsaid as regret and guilt fought over which would twist his guts the worst.

It was a cough that alerted him to Eamons wakeful status. Alistair spun towards the bed. His guardian was struggling up in bed, trying to sit upright and failing, his arms weak. Alistair heard himself utter a noise he had never heard anyone make as he hurried to Eamons bedside, grasping the frail arms to steady him. “I’ve got you.”

“Alistair?” His name was breathed out in wonder. 

“I’ve got you.”

He grabbed for pillows and tugged them up behind Eamon, securing him in comfort. Eamons eyes were searching his face as he drew back and poured a goblet of water from the pitcher beside the bed and pressed it to Eamons hands. His grip was ghostlike and the cup almost tipped up before Alistair was able to grab it. Eamon managed a few swallows, the rim held to his lips by Alistair. His hand shook, but he forced them steady. Eamon needed him to be strong.

His eyes never left Alistair even when he pulled away and set the goblet down. He slumped back into the chair by the bed. “How do you feel?”

“You’re all grown up,” Eamon said, ignoring the question. “A Grey Warden no less.”

“Yes.” Alistair nodded. It seemed like the right thing to say, if obvious. “It’s… it’s been a while. How are you feeling?”

Once again his question floated into the air like a mote of light that Eamon could not see. He reached his hand across grasping for Alistair’s and he took it. Eamon seemed so old all of a sudden. It had to be a remnant of the illness brought on by the poison and fighting it off for so long. Eamon wasn’t old. Older, certainly, but not old. The grey of his hair and beard argued softly otherwise.

“I am so glad to see you, my boy,” Eamon said. “I regretted so much that I stopped visiting you at the monastery.”

Alistair looked down. “I didn’t make it easy.”

“You were a child.”

He shrugged. “Still. I’m sorry.”

“And I am glad to see you all grown.” Eamon smiled, brightening his face exponentially. It made him appear almost well once again. “You look so like him.”

His mouth went dry and the words, when they came, were forced. “I can’t help that.” His gaze darted back to Eamon. He was smiling still and patted his hand weakly. Then he rolled his neck with a click and the beatific smile vanished replaced by a look of determination.

“Now tell me, how did the battle go?” Eamon asked. “Is the Blight over or is there another stand to take before that is done?”

Alistair blanched. How in the Makers name was it falling to him to break the news to Eamon? He yearned for Caden’s matter of fact explanations, wished she was beside him, but she couldn’t be here. Not if Eamon was going to be so indiscreet about the man Alistair couldn’t help but resemble. He cleared his throat, the dry scratch never quite leaving him.

“We… that is…” Alistair wiped his mouth with the back of his hand but there was nothing to clear. His mouth was as arid as a wasteland. “We…”

Eamon took a deep breath, his dark eyes sombre. “We lost. How badly?”

Alistair couldn’t look at him when he answered: “As badly as you can imagine. The Grey Wardens are gone, save me and one other. Duncan died.” His voice broke, but he had to say the words Eamon needed to hear. It would be a step forward he could never retreat from. When he said the words to Eamon then Eamon would know and Eamon would be changed. He would be the one to spin Eamons worldview, to upset the solid foundation on which he stood strong. He would be the one to do that. “Cailan was lost.”

Eamon closed his eyes and moaned, a long, low, dreadful sound which seemed to penetrate Alistairs ears and drive nails through him all the way to the floor. He clenched his hands so tightly that he felt blood in his palms. The noise was neverending, the grief a wave that swept away all that was good. He wished Caden was there to hold him fast.

The noise roused Isolde from her slumber, her lovely face speeding through the realisation that he was awake and in mourning and all the emotions that came with that. She was by his side in an instant, perching on the bed, cupping her husbands face in her hands, holding him while he rode through the grief for his monarch, for his dead nephew. Alistair wanted nothing more than to leave, but he forced himself to remain. Where would he go?

The dreadful noise came to an end after what felt like forever, but Eamons voice cracked and he coughed again, accepting water from Alistair as he hurried to help, sloshing water onto his chest until Isolde extracted the cup from his shivering fingers without reproach.

“Perhaps you should come back in the morning, Alistair,” Isolde suggested, not unkindly. “If you wouldn’t mind alerting the healers that the Arl is awake?”

“'Course,” Alistair managed, standing.

“But I think we should be alone for a time,” Isolde spoke to Alistair, but she was wholly focused on Eamon. She stroked his hair from his eyes, overly long as it was and murmured to him about everything he had missed, starting in Common but slipping into Orlesian as she went on. Alistair picked up the word ‘Connor’ and the tender way she uttered her son’s name. Alistair nodded even though they couldn’t see and sped from the room to find healers.

Mages from Kinloch were still around and he rushed to the first room to knock and explain the situation. Then he found himself stumbling on clumsy feet towards the rooms his companions shared. Bleary-eyed he knocked on one door, heedless of the lateness of the hour. His chest was too full, razors clawing inside him. He needed an outlet.

Wynne opened her door with her hair in a wrap, a nightgown reaching to her feet. She was small compared to him, but he looked to her as though she were ten feet tall. “Alistair?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, tears spilling over his cheeks. “Eamons awake and I…”

“Come in, my dear,” Wynne reached her arm around his shoulders, leading him inside to sit beside the embers of her dying fire. “Tell me all about it.”

*

She had finally pushed him away. Caden walked without seeing where she was going as she staggered from her room. There was probably a part of her that was looking for Alistair, but she had deliberately turned away from the corridor towards Eamons room, where he was most likely to be found. If he couldn’t bear the sight of her then she would not force it. No matter how badly she ached for him.

She had pushed him and pushed him ever since they had met. Her first ever words to him were in anger, she had needled him since. She had hoped he would abandon any pretence of friendship early, but he had never given up on her. A laugh which sounded more like a sob slipped the confines of her lips as she made her way down the stone stairs: had she known the key was to let him in then shut him out she could have saved them both so much time.

They had wasted months in an intricate dance around each other in which they probably should have split up to cover more ground. Might they have finished everything on their list by now. Perhaps it would all have been over by then if they had done that. Instead, she had opened to him, shown him her scars, let him know her better than anyone had ever known her, and he had rejected what he had seen. She was too much trouble to be worth it. She couldn’t hold that against him.

The dawn was breaking when she staggered into the cold morning light. Her feet, bare of course because she hadn’t stopped to grab her boots, like the biggest fool in Ferelden, slipped on the dewy grass and when she moved to the stone slabs of a path she left wet prints as she padded along the route.

How long had she held herself together? Since her wedding? Since before that? It was only in the light of feeling true contentment that she realised how long she had been drowning for. Treading water until her feet touched a sandbank, believing it was solid ground, but no. In the dark so long she had forgotten what it was like to feel the sun on her face, alone without the sense of knowing that she was lonely. Wound so tight she had believed she might have healed herself back together.

Wrong. Stupid. Worthless.

Caden was climbing a grassy hill without aim when the slabs ran out in the direction she wandered. The grass was slick with dew and her foot shot out from under her as she created the knoll, wrenching something in her thigh, bringing her back to the moment with the pain right before she pitched and fell, tumbling head over feet down the wet hill. She landed in an inglorious heap at the foot of the hill. Her leg and back sounded alarms, and though she felt them it was from very far away. She was a crumpled piece of paper, discarded.

It was too cold to linger, even if she desire to move was slow to return. She rolled onto her back, letting the damp seep through to her skin. Her hair was a loose pile around her head with a few strands clinging across her forehead. There was a tree close enough that it’s branches stretched out over her, dappling leaf shadows over her face. The sky was very far away, with the stone castle walls reaching up towards it. She was a tiny creature in the vastness of the world.

After a while, she heard noises over the hill. The sound roused her finally to sit up. The sun was higher now, it was officially morning. The day was happening whether she wanted it to or not. She was small and time did not heed her wishes, marching onwards. She could hear shouts and the clanging of metal, but there was no urgency to any of it. It wasn’t an attack. She climbed back up the hill and spied the warriors running drills further down the valley.

Most of the knights were warriors, schooled in wielding swords whilst carrying shields and it was fascinating to watch as someone who eschewed this heavy fighting style. Caden watched entranced. She had never fully observed the way Alistair stood when he was fighting; she was aware of stances he would take before entering a fray, but now she could see the specific way the warriors tested the ground with their toes before planting their feet. They were surprisingly light on them when they needed, despite the armour that must have weighed a ton. It was surprisingly soothing to watch them line up and spar off against one another, the shine on the metal and the banging of sword on shield lulling her to sit atop the hill, her thoughts scattering. She began to spot the mistakes the knights made here and there, predicting where the next blow would strike with surprising accuracy. She found herself rooting for one particular knight who was faster than the others. So fast that they moved a shade quicker than the others in the line-up drills and ended up being forced to run laps while the rest sparred. They would take some work to bring in line, but Caden was rather impressed by their eagerness. Perhaps it was because she herself was no rigorously trained soldier, but she didn’t see the point of punishing someone for their fire.

A shadow swooped across the ground. Caden followed it up to the sky and the large wingspan of an overly large crow, which circled overhead. Caden leaned back until she was almost flat against the incline and raised one hand in a salute that also served to block out the glare of the sun when the shadow passed over it. The crow cawed and began its descent, landing behind Caden and transforming back to a woman with little fanfare. Morrigan peered over Caden, upsidedown.

“You are required.”

“Am I?” Caden asked wearily. She shut her eyes. Maybe she would take a nap on this hill. Maybe she would stay here forever.

“Your presence has been requested.” Morrigan went on undeterred. “Your absence has been noted.”

“Has it?”

A toe dug into Caden’s shoulder from above and she squirmed at the force exerted onto her. “Get up.”

“I thought I was in charge.”

“I thought you were, as well.”

Caden swallowed that answer like a heavy stone which settled in the pit of her stomach. She was weak. She was foolish. Why would anyone ever follow her? They had all only done so because Alistair had stepped backwards —she had never stepped forwards. Morrigan’s foot increased the pressure. Caden snapped her hand to the bridge of the foot and shoved backwards. Morrigan couldn’t have been expecting it as she toppled backwards. Caden didn’t see if she caught herself. She busied herself in getting up. Moving felt hard. Caring felt hard. Morrigan’s face was stony as she regarded the woman before her.

“The Arl awoke this morning,” Morrigan explained. Caden had expected to receive some form of stern talking to about her rough handling and was so surprised that Morrigan had not chosen to do so that she shut up and listened. “He has taken on board everything that you have achieved and pledged his armies to your cause. He is alive because of you.” It seemed like an oddly sweet thing for the witch to fixate on. “Now is the time to negotiate: strike while the iron is hot and he is indebted to you to get what you want.” That was more like it.

Caden brushed stray pieces of wet grass from her backside and legs instead of answering. Morrigan regarded her with a look of insouciance, but Caden caught the twitch in Morrigans brow that seemed to say that it was very much an affected look. Playing on a hunch, she kept quiet and focused all her efforts on cleaning herself, though she didn’t much care to look such a fright. Morrigan’s foot tapped out a quickening pace against the grass. “Alistair’s mad at me."

Morrigan rolled her eyes and huffed, though whether it was due to the change in subject or merely mentioning Alistair’s name Caden didn’t know. “And that is why you are out here getting grass stains on your backside? Because a boy was unkind to you? Warden, I say this with the respect you are owed at this moment: grow up.” Caden didn’t react to the witch’s rudeness. She took her lumps. Morrigan was right; they were owed to her. But perhaps the lack of reaction softened Morrigan somewhat and she sighed, her tone easing off the scathing barbs. “Men are inevitably disappointing. Your Alistair is no different. Take what you need from him and expect nothing in return. He won’t be there for you.” Morrigan’s dark eyes were hard stones fixed on Caden. “You can only ever rely on yourself in this world. Do not forget that.”

Caden nodded. Her chest felt hollow and her stomach heavy as though her heart had slipped south with grief. She crossed her arms and shrugged. “I guess I should get cleaned up.”

“And quickly.” The witch agreed. “You are expected.”

*

She wore her entire set of armour. Not the somewhat plain pieces from Redcliffes armoury, her full Grey Warden attire. Caden couldn’t say exactly why she had chosen to take the time to don her armour, other than if she was meeting Arl Eamon for the first time she would be damned if he overlooked her in some way. She would go to him as the current leader of the Ferelden Wardens, not as some small elf girl. Even if that was how she felt inside.

The great hall was set up with pews of benches facing the head of the hall where on the small raised platform stood the chairs for the Arl, Arlessa and their child. All of those chairs were occupied, Connor fidgeting in his seat somewhat, stealing glances to his father every few minutes as if to prove he was truly there. Isolde was sitting primly in her seat on the other side and then between them was a man Caden had only seen in the midst of seemingly eternal sleep. he sat upright on his chair, his skin sallow, but he appeared a lot brighter than she had expected. The healing powers of Andraste no doubt.

When she entered the room she was surprised to see that the room was fuller than she had expected. Her friends all sat upon the benches along with some of the mages from the Circle and a handful of Templars. The room was surrounded by Redcliffe Knights. Teagan was speaking to his brother from the floor beneath the chair and standing in chains was Jowan.

Faces turned to the door as she cracked it open and slipped inside, taking in the scene and hurrying at once to Jowan’s side. Teagan broke off mid-sentence as she approached, surprise evident in the roundness of his eyes. “What’s the meaning of this?” Caden asked coming to stand by Jowan and reaching out to touch the chains that hung between his wrists. “A trial?”

Eamon was the first to recover from her clear flouting of the protocol. “Indeed it is. I take it you are the Grey Warden Alistair mentioned?”

Feeling his eyes on her Caden couldn’t stop the flicker towards him, though he was averting his gaze when she found him between Wynne and Leliana. She turned to Eamon and nodded. “Warden Tabris. I am glad to see you well again, Arl Eamon.”

“Yes quite,” Eamon replied. “And I understand I have you to thank for it along with the others, though as you were not present this morning I will share my gratitude with you now. My family is greatly appreciative of all you have done thus far for us and for Ferelden. Alistair tells me you have one more duty to attend, and we will get to that, but for now, I am hearing the crimes of this mage.”

Caden planted her feet, turning to stand before Jowan. She got the sense that Eamon was being as polite as possible given that she had no doubt spoiled the proceedings of court with her lateness and march to the man in chains, but she wasn’t ready to concede the floor. Morrigan had said Eamon would be in her debt. Well. She had something to use that for. “Jowan has atoned for his crime already, my lord.”

Teagan sucked in a breath beside them, but turned away and pretend it was a cough. A murmur broke out from some of those in the pews, but she didn’t look to see who. She fixed her gaze on Eamon and waited.

He scratched mildly at his newly shaved cheeks where the beard had crept slightly out of control during his illness. The skin was pink and raw. “I see. I was planning on asking your opinion at some point, Warden, though you seem to have leapt ahead of things. I was still hearing of his crimes.”

Teagan cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. To recap, Jowan of Kinloch Hold entered into a forbidden relationship with a member of the Chantry, then utilised forbidden blood magic to destroy his phylactery and engineer his escape, only to be drafted by Teryn Loghain to poison you and unleash chaos on Redcliffe. I think that about sums it up, Knight-Commander? First Enchanter?”

“That’s correct,” Greagoir said as Irving nodded. Caden narrowed her eyes.

“We had him thrown in the cells beneath the castle after you took ill, Eamon, but the Wardens freed him as they made their way to the castle.”

Movement caught Caden’s attention out of the corner of her eye and she turned just enough to see Alistair shift in his seat as though he wanted to leap up and defend himself, but thought better of it. She sighed.

“My lord, that was all my doing,” Caden explained flatly. “The town and castle were under attack and that extended to the cells. I did not believe that anyone would be safe even behind bars, especially as mages powers rely on reserves of mana, which Jowan has expended trying to ward himself from the creatures at his door. He was willing to accompany us as we made our way inside the castle and proved invaluable to that end.”

“As I understand it, Jowan performed more blood magic during this time and wounded Warden Tabris in the process,” Teagan added. Caden rounded on him.

“I consented to aid him with my blood,” Caden argued. Even as she looked at Teagan, her mind was elsewhere, seeing the revenant gripping Alistair. “There was a creature unlike any I’d ever seen in the courtyard and my team were at risk of serious harm or death. If there was a way I could stop the fight I was prepared to take it.”

Eamon was considering her quietly, his hand at his chin. He had very dark eyes, much darker than Alistair’s and his hair and beard were almost completely grey, though there were some darker brown strands woven throughout. Alistair must have taken after his mother, Caden thought, realising in the same moment that that might have been the reason Eamon agreed to send him away. If he reminded him of a lost love. Or a mistake made that could not be undone.

“The way I see it there are two options with this mage,” Eamon said finally, each word spoken slowly, meticulously organised. As weak as he was, Caden could see the authority in the man, see why Alistair believed he was an important ally. She got the impression that when Eamon spoke, people listened. “For the serious crimes of apostasy and assassination, he should be executed.”

“He remained here after I freed him from his cell and helped keep the castle and the town safe from monsters when he could have escaped.” Caden interrupted. Teagan made another stupid noise, but Caden ignored him, striding towards the chair were Eamon said, fixated on him. A clank of metal sounded to her right, but Eamon held up a hand to stall whoever was worried for her motives in approaching him. “My lord, the only reason Jowan was here in the first place was because the Arlessa was searching for a way to teach your son to handle his magic without sending him to the Circle. I do not under any circumstances condone his lack of judgement in trusting Loghain or in poisoning you, but he has already made amends for those crimes. He helped keep Connor safe along with another magic user while we acquired the lyrium and mages we needed to restore him. Without apostates you would have awoken to a saved Redcliffe, but,” she glanced at Connor, saw understanding in his young eyes. She tried to soften her words but there was no way to take away the sting of what she needed to say, “you would have lost your son. Or your wife.” That she delivered flatly, not overly bothered about sparing Isolde’s feelings. The woman coloured, her eyes darting to the ground. So. She hadn’t filled Eamon in about that. Caden pressed her advantage while the room was stunned into silence. “You can’t execute him. Not when he’s clearly shown how sorry he is and how hard he has worked to make amends.”

“The Circle then,” Eamon said. His face was passive, but there was something familiar about his tone. “Return him to the custody of the Knight-Commander and the care of the First Enchanter and they may do with him as they see fit.”

Valendrian. That was who he reminded her of. Valendrian and Duncan, when they had rescued her from the pillory and the executioners’ axe. The way they had carefully talked around the subject before revealing their clearly thought out plans to conscript Caden. Eamon had played her into revealing her hand in what could be perceived as an emotional outburst in favour of a criminal. She cursed inwardly and stepped back as Greagoir and Irving rose, neither seeming surprised by this course of action. Perhaps if she hadn’t wasted so much time wallowing in self-pity or dressing to impress she might have scuppered any chance for the trio of men to make these plans. She might have spared herself.

Caden turned back to Jowan to see the panic on his face. The Rite of Tranquility, that was what he was afraid of. Did that wait for him if he returned to Kinloch? A guard stepped up to take Jowan down. The matter was over. Caden shook her head and marched to him. Eamon owed her.

“Tell me, will Connor be moving to the Circle, my lord?” Caden asked over her shoulder. She rested one hand on the hilt of her sword and eyed the guard who halted his approach. “A place you have just decided to be the perfect jail for a known criminal. A place your wife was so afraid of sending him that she chose to bring an apostate into your home to train him, something you just described as a serious offence in the same breath as assassination.”

Eamons brows drew in and down. Caden was clearly overstepping now. She felt oddly comfortable over the line.

“I do not make the laws for all of Ferelden,” Eamon said. “I merely pass judgement in line with them.”

“And Connor?” Caden asked. It didn’t matter that they weren’t sparring — she had found his weak point and would drive the point hard. “What is his crime? You cannot blame him for being born with magic in his blood.”

“The Circle is a safe place to train mages.”

“So safe that when my companions and I entered to seek aid for the Blight, we found demons running amok and many mages abandoned by the very people who were supposed to keep them safe.” She let her gaze fall on Greagoir, still standing by his pew. “The Knight-Commander had called for the Rite of Annulment to purge”— her stomach heaved at the word, but she forced herself to use it, marching her diatribe onwards despite the images of her home under attack that blasted through her mind — “the tower, which would have killed countless innocents who were still awaiting salvation that was not coming. Both Alistair and I were inside the tower and were just as at risk of this purge, despite my explaining to Greagoir that without the only two Grey Wardens, the Blight would never be stopped, so Ferelden would be lost.” She waited a moment to let that sink in, confident she held the attention of the room in the palm of her hand. “I can forgive that of Gregoir because he admitted that although the Rite arrived from Denerim, he held off implementing it. That action gave us the time to destroy the threat to the Circle, gather the survivors and kept us alive. Maybe Gregoir has kept this from you because all things considered he disobeyed the rules, but by doing so he saved lives and gave Ferelden a chance.” She turned back to Eamon. “Laws are all well and good, but consider that they are often made by people like you. People with money, who never go hungry, who live freely, who can love whoever they choose. Laws are not made for the benefit of people like us. Elves and mages. When faced with choosing to follow blindly the laws of the land which will inevitably lead us to personal ruin, or bending the rules made for men to fit us so that we might live safely for one more night, what do you think we would choose?”

Eamon’s eyes were hard beneath the grey, bushy brows. She could hardly see the whites of his eyes they were so narrowed and fixed on her. Caden stood tall right beside Jowan, close enough that she could feel him trembling where he stood. She had made her stand and maybe she hadn’t thought it through before she began talking, but she would hold the line.

“Very well Warden.” Eamon said after a moment. “You decide. Execution as befits an attempted assassin or return him to the Circle. I owe you and your companions my life so take this choice as my thanks.”

There it was, just as Morrigan had predicted. Caden hated both options. She spun slowly to Jowan to see what she could read on his face. The fight seemed to drain from him when she locked eyes with him, peace settling over his features. He had to hate the options, too, but perhaps having the decision pass to someone who had declared herself to be the same as him felt better than having Eamon do it.

Jowan had done bad things. She couldn’t argue against it. That she couldn’t quite see the problem with blood magic as a whole probably showed her own ignorance; as she’d said to Isolde months back any magic was no more dangerous than a sword and she had been given those weapons after Duncan knew what she had done with them. She had been given a second chance. She had passed that on to Sten and to Zevran, letting them serve a purpose rather than letting them die for crimes they admitted to. As for her, she had committed murder. Chosen to kill rather than walk away and live in fear. Duncan had saved her from facing the consequence of her actions, punishments set by men who had no idea what it was like to exist in a waiting place, feeling danger draw ever closer, the threat of being raped by the men in power who were supposed to be protectors of the subjects. No-one would help the elves, so she did it. Who was she to enforce the laws of a land that did not worry about why only what?

It struck her then that she had a third option. She finally looked over at Alistair, facing him head-on. He didn’t understand either. The rules of the kingdom were built for men like him; despite his struggles, he had never fought against the specific chains of oppression that wound around her or Jowan. She would be alone in this fight. Maybe she would be alone entirely after what happened the night before. Alistair still couldn’t meet her eye.

“You wish to pass this judgement onto a Grey Warden, then I will make my decision the way I have made all my decisions thus far.” Caden said flicking her gaze back to Eamon. “The Blight is threatening the country and if Fereleden falls it will spread to the rest of Thedas. The Grey Wardens consist of me and Alistair and we need all the help we can get. I hereby conscript Jowan to aid us in the fight. He will serve under my responsibility to continue what he has already begun; giving penance for his crimes.”

“Caden—”

She ignored Alistair and turned to Jowan. “I assume you accept?”

Jowan’s mouth was hanging slightly ajar, but he nodded hastily. “I… yes, I will.”

“Good.” Caden looked at Teagan. “Release his shackles and let him sit with the rest of my companions.”

Teagan glanced at his brother, wary. Caden watched the exchange between them as Eamon nodded, his jaw tight and eyes glinting. He had given her the chance to save someone. Now he knew she would take that opportunity. And she knew that he would wax lyrical about the laws of Ferelden, yet seemed to have no trouble in passing unpleasant decisions onto some unknown quantity. Finally free, Jowan rubbed his wrists and Caden nodded to him to find a seat behind the others. Lorelei looked openly shocked at Caden’s decision, though Eliza and Wynne were managing to keep their faces politely neutral. Rhiannon and Zevran welcomed Jowan with guarded smiles, the latter of the elves in no place to judge a would-be assassin after all. Alistair was shaking his head slowly, but his face was angled towards the ground again.

Teagan moved away with the shackles leaving Caden standing alone. She probably ought to have moved away, but she had grasped control of the reins of this meeting and she wanted to move on. “My lord, you are right to say we have one task left to complete. We need to head to Orzammar and speak with the dwarves in the mountain, which can wait no longer now that we are satisfied that you are well.”

Eamon nodded, still decidedly frosty. “Of course. When you have the dwarves on side to bolster our forces we will march on Denerim.”

“To battle?”Caden asked, too surprised to hide her confusion. “Against Loghain?”

“Nothing so bloodthirsty just yet. I intend to call a Landsmeet.”

She didn’t know what that was but sensed the control of the room slipping back to Eamon and so she didn’t want to ask. Fortunately, Eamon had more to say.

“Not only will we hold Logahin accountable for his actions at Ostagar, but I intend to present the court with an alternative to Anora.” Eamon went on. “Her claim to the throne is weak without Cailan alive, especially as her father seems to have seized ultimate control due to her place on the throne.”

Caden frowned. “What? You’re pushing the queen out? For who?”

A commotion in the benches to her left almost made her turn, but she was running through the options of who Eamon could mean. She seemed to recall Alistair telling her that Eamon was Cailans uncle. Did that mean he could put himself on the throne?

“I realise not many are aware of this though there were rumours of course,” Eamon said with a resigned shake of his head. “Always rumours.”

“Eamon, wait—” There was a clatter as Alistair tripped climbing over the pew before him and almost fell. His face was white as a sheet. “Please—”

“You’ll all find out soon enough though,” Eamon continued without pause. “The rumours of Marics bastard are true.” Alistair stopped in his tracks as Eamon waved his hand over towards him.

Mutters rose up, voices mingling in confusion as the news hit the members in the hall. Caden didn’t understand. Maric was… who was he, again?

“The king has another heir?”

Someone uttered it in the maelstrom of voices and it shot through Caden like an arrow. Maric. The king. Cailans father. Cailan was his son, but he had another child. A bastard child. A child who Eamon intended to position as a challenger to the throne. The king of all Ferelden. Eamons piece to play.

She wanted to laugh. As the thoughts built the face in her head of who Eamon meant she could have laughed hard enough to split her sides, but the feeling that exploded inside her chest was not mirth. A hysterical sob worked its way up her throat and she turned to force it down. Not here, not now. But when she raised her head and inadvertently locked eyes with Alistair who was watching her with his hands clenched at his sides terror struck her. The expulsion of emotion sucked back inwards, turning her chest concave, shrinking her lungs to tiny masses that couldn’t draw enough breath. She hadn’t put herself back together since the night before, she was still tying the cords and straps and buckles to keep her together. She’d scored a win with Jowan that had made her feel unstoppable, but she was just a small person who could barely manage to put one foot in front of the other most days. She was nothing.

And he was one of them.

The stone floor was hard and unflinching as her knees hit the ground, spiking pain up her thighs as Caden’s legs gave out and she knelt before the prince.

Chapter Text

This is gonna hurt like hell

No, no, no, no, no.

Alistair watched Caden wrest her vision from him to the floor and then she sank down to her knees.

This was all wrong.

“Don’t, please…” he started, but his throat was raw and his voice came out very small.

He stole a glance to the group of their companions, watching him with mixed expressions. Most were open with shock, but there were frowns among them. Leliana. Zevran. They both had more going on behind their eyes that he could possibly hope to glean, and he knew in his gut that none of it was good. Wynne, of course, was not surprised, having been his confidant hours ago, when he had cried to her about what he had to say to Caden. He had hoped to find her before Eamon brought up the Landsmeet, planned to tell her everything no matter how hard. She hadn’t been in her room when he had finally been brave enough to face her and no-one had seen her, but then the meeting was being called and he was being shepherded in as the representative of the Grey Wardens and everything had gotten away from him. He should have taken his leave to find her. He should have told her before. He shouldn’t have let her be blindsided.

His eyes fell on Caden again, her golden hair falling in a sheet over her face, obscuring her from him. He wanted to cross the room and touch her arm, tug her to her feet and look her in the eye once more. But how could he do that? It was his fault.

You did this to her.

Alistair clenched his hands into fists as they rested at his sides. Every eye in the room was on him. Every eye but Cadens. He didn’t know how to break the spell. He didn’t want the crown, had never wanted it. He felt no kinship with Maric, a man he had met only once before, or Cailan, the half-brother who was his king and nothing more and now nothing at all. He was a Grey Warden and that was who he was. He was no more the king than he was a dragon. He didn’t want this.

He wanted Caden.

“Please, rise,” Alistair said, his voice clear even as it shook. A dark shadow caught his eye and he looked over Caden’s head, his eyes leading to the sight of Morrigan standing at the back where the candles didn’t quite reach. Her arms were crossed and she was staring at him from hooded eyes. A smirk played on her lips. It hit him then in the deepest recesses of his being that she had known who he was all this time. Flemeth must have known. Was that the only reason she had saved them from the Tower of Ishal? Or was he special being both Grey Warden and heir?

Illegitimate heir. With no claim to the throne. As Alistair started for Morrigan, anger infusing his core wanting desperately to lash out at anyone and finding the witch an easy target to blame, Eamon started talking again.

“Of course, Alistair’s birthright was a secret well kept over the years.” he was saying. “His blood is Theirin blood, passed down from Calenhad himself.”

Alistair whirled where he stood, finding himself unable to pass Caden who was still on the ground unmoving. “Illegitimate blood.” He barked. He fought the urge to find a knife and open a vein to show off his very ordinary blood as he put words to his feelings. “The nobles would never accept a bastard king.”

Eamon looked at him for longer than was comfortable. A few moments longer than was sympathetic. Long enough for Alistair to read that Eamon had kept more things from him.

“Papers were drawn up when you were small, Alistair,” Eamon explained as gently as he could. “In an ideal world Maric and my dear sister would have filled the palace with heirs, but as you know Cailan was their only blessing and Rowan died only a few years after his birth. Maric was heartbroken, but as it sometimes goes, he was blessed with another son. With you. Despite being born out of wedlock Maric knew it wouldn’t do to rest the entirety of his lineage on Cailan and so he made preparations.”

Something twisted inside him, swooping out from his chest to his throat. His hand shook. “What are you talking about?” He managed in a choked voice.

He had lived for so long with this sword above his head, but he had always felt safe from its fall. Safe in the knowledge that he was a bastard and nothing more, even after Maric vanished long enough to be presumed dead, even after Cailan died. He was nothing more than the unwelcome consequence of a fumble between the king and some woman and there was no-one left to make him a legitimate heir.

Now the sword fell. Cutting through everything he thought he knew, everything he had taken for granted. He thought he had more time. He thought he had all the time in the world.

“I have a copy of those papers,” Eamon said, but Alistair was distracted by the sight of Rhiannon going to Caden’s side and tugging her gently upright. They passed close enough for Alistair to catch snippets of Dalish, which Caden didn’t speak, but her eyes were glassy and unfocused so Rhiannon could probably have been speaking Rivaini for all Caden understood. Her tone, however, was kind and soft as she led Caden to sit beside her just as he would speak to horses spooked by a sudden clap of bird wings. Alistair held his hand back from reaching for her. “Bryce Cousland had another set of papers. I wonder if they survived the attack on the castle. No doubt that is at least partially why Loghain targeted us both, because of the knowledge we kept.”

So, it was his fault that Eamon was poisoned. His fault that the entire Cousland family were dead. Because of his stupid blood that didn’t mean anything without papers, like he was some bloody prize-winning mabari stud dog. Eamon had kept the full truth from him. Would he have told him as Alistair grew had he not been at the monastery? Or was that partly why Eamon stopped visiting him, to delay what no-one wanted?

Duncan… he had known of Alistair’s parentage and had never treated him differently. Would he have told him about the papers if Cailan had died at Ostagar and Duncan had lived? Would he have taken Alistair aside and sat him down to explain that he was the back-up option all along and here was the paperwork to prove it?

He would never know, but how he wished that had been the case. That if Cailan had to die Duncan would live on and help Alistair. He needed that, didn’t anyone see? He didn’t need Eamon blurting out his heritage to the assembled before he could prepare Caden. What damage had been done?

It was his fault. All of it. His hands still trembled and he couldn’t move; he was rooted to the floor. Every fibre of his being rang with heavy sorrow. He never knew how deeply a person could feel regret until that moment.

Caden was sitting beside Rhiannon, Zevran on the other side, both trying to speak to her in low voices, but she didn’t respond. She still didn’t seem to see anyone in the room. It seemed so far fetched to think that only last night they had been together and he had tried to speak to her, that the night before then they had shared a bed after an evening of revelry. That he had ever kissed her, that she had ever let him. His beautiful, dangerous girl. What had he broken and what had he ruined by being such a coward?

His breath was coming faster. He could feel the world as if it was moving very fast and he very slow. His skin felt too tight on his body and his heart was pounding in his ears. It was as though he were in the middle of a battlefield, but there was no threat, no enemy to defend against. Everything sped away from him standing in the hall. He turned back towards Eamon, unable to face Caden’s confusion any longer. His sight bowed as he turned, his stomach roiling. Bile rose in his throat. He needed space. He needed to leave. The urge to flee sent his heartbeat into paroxysms though he still could not move an inch.

“My lord, you have a visitor.”

The opening thunk of the heavy doors made him jump and spin back. A servant, one of the higher-ups who had help tend to Eamon in his sickness stood in the doorway. Eamon called down to him.

“Can it wait?”

“My lord, she has requested to see you now.” came the reply. “And she seeks aid for her men.”

“Eamon Guerrin!” the shout came from behind the servant before the Arl could reply and around him stepped a woman trailing mud through the hall as she marched up towards the throne. Her red-brown hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and there was blood streaked across her face, but her clear grey eyes were determined and as she walked she dug into a satchel at her hip. She wore a shield at her back and a sword in a hilt on her belt and as she passed Alistair who stumbled back, awkwardly, he could see the crest on the shield partially obscured beneath the mud and what looked suspiciously like darkspawn ichor. Blue painted wood with a woven pair of wheat sheaves in deep yellow. But the Couslands were slaughtered before Ostagar.

She reached Eamon and thrust a leather scroll case towards him. Inside papers peeked out of the protective covering. “My fathers’ papers, plus a few documents I managed to scrounge out of Ostagar. That place is a bloody mess, but the worst of the horde has moved on. I found Fergus and his men holed up in the Wilds, thankfully none the worse for wear despite being beset by those horrible creatures for months. I found Cailans body and you can be sure we gave him a warriors pyre.”

Eamon seemed startled by the deluge of information delivered in clipped, forceful common by this tall, striking woman, but after a moment he pulled himself together. “Lady Cousland I presume?”

“Oh,” she stuck a filthy hand out towards him. “Yes. Amaryllis Cousland, though please call me Lily — I’ve never been fond of that mouthful— and I’ve brought my brother along, who is now the Teryn of Highever since our parents… anyway. We’re here to aid the cause against the Blight with what I’m afraid are only the remnants of our army, which are horribly few and mostly scouts, but we’re in this to the bitter end so there you have it.” Eamon chose to grasp the leather and papers rather than her dirt streaked hands, but she didn’t seem offended. He slid parchment out of the case and began to leaf through. Lady Cousland pulled her hand back and wiped it on her trousers beneath the worn tabard she wore. It didn’t seem to make much of a difference to the thick dirt on her skin.

“I see…” Eamon muttered, taking stock of what he held in his hands. “Yes, here is the copy Bryce held regarding Alistair. And this… what’s this?” He looked up. “You got this from Ostagar?”

“I assume you’ve found the documents I rescued from the kings’ tent, or what was left of it,” Lily said. “It looks as though Cailan was well up for striking a particular bargain with Orlais.”

“This says he was corresponding with Empress Celene,” Eamon said, his voice hollow. “And this… this is a letter I remember writing. It seems he was taking my advice after all.”

“To put Queen Anora aside? I would say so.” Lily said archly.

Alistair was lost but he couldn’t pull his gaze from the pair who were talking as though they were in a private conversation taking place in a side room rather than a public forum.

“Cailan was willing to dissolve his married to Anora due to a lack of heirs,” Lily said nodding to the letters in Eamons hands. “That much is clear. And he was already lining up a powerful match with Orlais in the form of Celene. Canny. But you can see why certain misbegotten Teryns didn’t like it.”

Eamon nodded absentmindedly, then shuffled the papers until something new made him frown. “What in the Makers name is this?” He glared over the top of the papers at Lily, pushing himself to standing. Isolde twitched, wary of his sudden movement in case he fell and Alistair similarly tensed expecting the still weak man to pitch forward suddenly. “Maric signed this?”

“Ah, that’ll be the papers regarding me, then?” Lily said crossing her arms and planting her feet. “Apparently had my older brother been born a lass there would have been a bidding war between Highever and Gwaren over Cailans hand, but as he was not our fathers compromised. A legitimate second heir needs new blood it seems. And if Anora is barren as they say she would be a poor option for your man.”

Alistair went cold. They couldn’t possibly mean what was clicking into place in his head. Legitimacy papers and a betrothal in one fell swoop? It couldn’t be that swift, could it? The course of his life planned out in such detail since he was a boy? He started to laugh. He couldn’t help it. It poured out of him with such force that he doubled over, clutching his knees with his hands, laughing hard enough that he thought he might puke or pass out. Tears streamed down his face even as his face contorted with hysteria. He had only ever had the illusion of free will.

This couldn’t be happening to him.

“Is he alright?”

“He’s fine,” Eamon answered Lily and then Alistair felt him move beside him, resting a hand on Alistair’s back. “Alistair pull yourself together, boy.”

It was like being ten years old all over again, right before he was shipped off. Eamons voice had the same no-nonsense tone, the same oddly fatherly expression even as he firmly expected Alistair to do as he said. It worked; Alistair felt the tears dry and the laughter vanish and he straightened up. Lily was looking at him with a face of pure bewilderment, scorn lifting the arch of her brow.

“Alistair is the heir of which we speak,” Eamon explained slowly.

“Oh,” Lily’s second brow shot up to meet the first in the filth across her forehead. “Well then.” She recovered fast, smoothing down her tabard and shaking her hair. She offered a smile that would have better matched a lady in all her finery, the very epitome of grace and she bowed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alistair. I look forward to our partnership.”