"Can't sleep?"

Alistair looked up from the campfire, shaking his head as Misamahl'len sat down beside him. "I think I've spent enough time in the Fade for one day, Inquisitor."

"Misamahl'len, please. Or 'Sam,' if that's easier. At least that's what Sera calls me and apparently there's no stopping her." He rested his elbows on his knees. "So what should I call you now? Warden-Commander?"

He winced. "I really wish you wouldn't."

"They say you're the most senior Warden left."

Alistair's eyes swept the courtyard and Misamahl'len followed his gaze. While they'd been trapped in the Fade, Cullen and the others had been busy, clearing the ruins of Adamant and setting up triage areas for the wounded. Now campfires dotted the battlements, their embers burning low as those not on watch stole a few hours of uneasy rest. It was a chance to breathe, to set aside preparations for the return to Skyhold and decisions about the future, at least until morning. Given the battle it had just witnessed, the old fortress was unsettlingly still. Not peaceful, but as close as it was likely to get.

Alistair, though, seemed as restless as he was. "I'm leaving for Weisshaupt. The Wardens there need to know what happened."

"What about the Wardens here?"

"Most of them are good people, despite what you might think. They know what's at stake now. And they have a chance to make up for what they've done… thanks to you." He smirked. "Besides, they don't need me. Not when they've got the Inquisition watching over them."

Misamahl'len sighed. "I'm glad that inspires confidence in one of us."

"Disgraced Wardens, rebel mages… what's next? A legion of Fog Warriors? The Mortalitasi? Maybe you could even sway a darkspawn or two."

"Knowing my advisors, they're probably already working on it." He forced a laugh, watching the Warden from the corner of his eye. "We're not exactly turning anyone away. You could stay."

"These were Clarel's people. Even without her, they're a solid unit. And I haven't exactly been… close with other Wardens." His voice grew soft, his eyes distant. "Not since Ostagar."

"But you stopped the Blight."

"Warden Amell, the Hero of Ferelden, stopped the Blight. I was just the Warden who watched." He stared down at his hands. "I can't give you the details… but we shouldn't have walked away from that. Not both of us. The other Wardens, they know that. That's what they see when they look at me – secrets, questions, lies."

"Comes with being in command, or so I'm starting to realize."

Alistair shook his head. "That thing in the Fade was right. I'm not a leader. During the Blight, when we thought there were only two of us left… I don't know. I'd been a Warden longer – barely – but I let him take charge. It just made sense. And then, later, there were… other things…"

"That part about you being a king's bastard?"

"Kay – Warden Amell – brought us to Denerim for the Landsmeet. He asked me if I wanted the throne. Just like that. Like it would be easy." His chuckle was bitter. "You remind me of him, in a way. You have the same kind of influence."

"I never wanted it." Misamahl'len stared down at the mark on his hand. "You, at least, got a choice."

Alistair gestured to the camp around them, to the army stretching out beyond the walls. "I don't know. I think you're doing all right. I mean, considering."

"For now." He stretched his hand toward the flames. "You remember the Wardens we met inside? The ones who were fighting back? They weren't our enemies. We weren't theirs. A leader would have been able to see that. A leader would have stopped, would have analyzed the situation. But I didn't. They were in our way and when they wouldn't surrender we – I – cut them down."

Alistair was silent for a long moment. "The battle was—"

"The battle is an excuse. I know I'm not meant for this. Every day I'm reminded. And my advisors? My so-called 'inner circle?' They know it, too. I see it every time they look at me. Like they're tied to a sinking ship and it's too late to get off." The flames licked at his fingertips and he let them, closing his eyes against the pain.

Alistair put a hand on his arm, drawing it away. "What do you think they saw today? They saw you – the Inquisitor – stepping from the Fade unharmed. For the second time."

"'Unharmed?'" He bit a laugh. "Tell that to Hawke."

The Warden sighed. "She joked about it, you know, when we first joined up with the Inquisition. After what happened in Kirkwall, she had nothing left. This was her chance, she said. I thought she was talking about redemption, a chance to do things differently. I didn't realize what she meant until the end. But when she looked at that monster, when she smiled…"

"She wanted to die."

"I know you didn't have a chance to get to know her. Maybe you didn't want to, considering what happened with the mages in Kirkwall—"

"We talked once. I think maybe we had more in common than I realized." Misamahl'len shook his head. "Every choice she made turned out wrong. She did 'everything she was supposed to.' That's how she put it. Obey the law, support the Chantry, all these things you humans tell yourselves. None of it worked. And I know what it cost her."

"The Champion of Kirkwall in love with the apostate who brought it down."

"A person in power who shouldn't have been. That's the tragedy, the core of it. And I have to wonder… is that what's in store for me? Is that how this ends?"

The Warden was out of reassurances.

"You're right. You should go. And maybe everyone else should go with you. Before I get them killed."

"So you don't have military training. And you're not exactly tactful." Alistair shrugged. "Maybe you really don't know what you're doing. But the people who follow you do. And they do follow you. I've seen it."

He held up his hand, turning the mark in the light. "They follow this."

"And before that? Weren't you supposed to be your clan's Keeper?"

Misamahl'len shook his head. "My mother was First to our Keeper. And then she died. That the Keeper kept me on at all was for her. Out of pity."

"I'm sorry."

He smirked. "It was my fault. When my magic first developed… it finally felt like something that was mine. I'm only half Dalish, you know. My father was one of those city elves who get it into their heads that they can come and live amongst the clans. It never works out. But my mother was the First, so I was tolerated. Eventually, I even managed to earn my vallaslin. I went through the rite with a friend… my only friend, really. He was a young hunter, graceful with a bow in ways I'd never seen. And he'd always been fascinated by my magic. So after the ceremony, we snuck into the woods to celebrate. I was showing off, giddy with it, doing all the things my mother and the Keeper had warned me not to. We came across a human girl from the nearby village. We didn't actually do anything. But when she looked at us, she saw savages, saw an apostate wielding flame and lightning."

He could feel Alistair's eyes on him. "What happened?"

"The Templars came. A day later, maybe. I didn't even warn the clan, didn't think to. It was only one human girl. I was a mage. I was finally an adult in the eyes of my people. I thought I was in love. I thought I was untouchable."

"And your mother…?"

"She was an apostate. So was I. She used to tell this story, about how she met my father when he saved her from bandits. She even kept a dagger, said it had been his. She was still clutching it when I found her. I should have been there, should have been the one to save her. I couldn't even live up to a story that I'm certain she made up."

The sat in silence for a time.

"The Keeper named me her First but, as I said, it was only because of my mother. Or maybe she thought the responsibility would help me somehow. But the years didn't make a difference. As soon as we received word of the Conclave, as soon as the opportunity to send me away came, she took it."

"And now you're here."

"Now I'm here."

His eyes roamed across the walls, to the smoke spiraling up into the night sky. The pyres had been set up outside the fortress, tended by volunteers from amongst the able-bodied, Grey Wardens and Inquisition soldiers alike. They kept them burning day and night, sending the fallen to their gods. He was here, but how many weren't?

Misamahl'len hugged his knees to his chest. "Have you seen Sera?"

Alistair shook his head. "She was outside, last I saw."

"She wouldn't even talk to me when we got back. When I tried, she swung at me."

"It's been a long day. For all of us."

"I don't blame her. And it's not that she was angry. It was her eyes. She just looked so…" He sighed. "I did that. It happened because of me. Because I took us into the Fade."

"If you hadn't, I'm fairly certain they'd be scraping us off the ground."

"Would that be such a bad thing? Not you. Not them. But sometimes I think… if the Herald of Andraste were to fall in battle…"

"Don't—"

"Wouldn't the Inquisition be better off? They could keep their symbol, get their vengeance if they wanted it…"

"Riiiight. And then Corypheus could rip the world in half with no one to stop him. That would definitely be better."

Misamahl'len glared. "It's not funny."

"I'm not laughing." The Warden turned to look at him. "Like it or not, you're the only one who can do this. That thing on your hand, whatever it is, can close rifts. So that's what you do. That's what you focus on. That's how you help."

"You make it sound simple."

"It isn't. But trying to wrap your head around the bigger stuff usually doesn't help much. Grey Wardens stop Blights. So that's what we did. And this, well… I suppose the Inquisition needs its Herald."

Misamahl'len barked a laugh. "You were there. You saw what I saw. You heard what the demon said."

"It was a demon. It's supposed to say things like that."

"It didn't lie. Those were my memories." He shook his head. "I never believed I was chosen. I hated the title. And now we know. Soon everyone else will, too."

"That through sheer coincidence you walked in on an evil ritual, interrupting the plans of an ancient Magister and then bonded with a magical orb that granted you the ability to do the one thing that the world needs right now? Sure, that doesn't sound chosen at all."

"Are all Grey Wardens so sarcastic?"

"Only the good ones."

"But I'm not the Herald. It's the truth. We need to tell them."

"Because that's what you're supposed to do, right? What would Hawke say?" When he didn't respond, Alistair pushed to his feet. "But you don't need to listen to me. I don't actually know anything. I'm just some poor bastard who almost saved the world. Twice." He clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Thanks, by the way. For saving my life. I don't know if I said that."

Misamahl'len blinked up at him. "…You're welcome."

The Warden smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. Misamahl'len watched him go, picking his way over the rubble and disappearing amongst the lines of soldiers. Then he was alone again. Hugging himself tighter, he rested his chin on his knees and stared into the flames.