This is just what happened between the Blight and the events of Awakening. Not going to be very long.

I...I can't believe it. I killed the Archdemon?

I blink, looking at my three friends crouched around me. Aedan's grinning, Leliana is smiling, and Alistair looks relieved. The battle still rages in the city below, but right now, I don't want to move. I just want to take it in, to get used to the fact.

The Archdemon is really dead.

I start laughing uncontrollably. I look at its body, where my sword is still lodged in its skull. Dead. Gone. Meaning if my count is right, there are only two more Blights. And then what? What do the Wardens do?

That shouldn't matter to me, though. I won't be around to see the next Blight. I'll have succumbed to my Calling and be long dead.

"Help me up," I say, throat dry. Aedan nods, getting to his feet before offering me a hand. I accept it gratefully and go back over to the dead dragon at my feet. I shake my head, laughing. "That fire? You missed." I grab the hilt of my sword and pull it free in a bubble of black blood. I return to my companions as I sheathe the gold weapon. "Well? There are still darkspawn to deal with, and we're still Wardens. Come on."

They nod, following me as I lead the way back down Fort Drakon. Few darkspawn are here, but those that are die quickly. They don't seem to put any effort into fighting with us now. As we burst from the base of the tower, we're faced with a small army of hurlocks and genlocks. A clamor rises from behind them. The Fereldans. My army. They've cornered the darkspawn in the courtyard. A grin works its way onto my face as the first Fereldan appears down the road. The rest of the army soon follows, charging up after the darkspawn.

"The Archdemon is dead!" I shout. I run to the side of the balcony, dropping over the railing. I pass the statue, drawing my sword once again. The three of them follow, Aedan and Leliana going around the other side. Alistair follows me, weapons ready.

"To the Wardens!" Cyrus shouts. He's somewhere at the head of the army, leading them through the gates of Fort Drakon.

And with a clang, the Fereldans slam into the outnumbered darkspawn for the last time today. The four of us leap into the fighting, forcing our way through to the army. Alistair watches my back the entire time while I watch his, casting spells on any darkspawn I deem worth the effort. I set a hurlock archer on fire and as it falls, I see a Fereldan soldier behind it. A Highever soldier to be exact.

Ser Gilmore.

A grin breaks out on his face and he salutes me before he returns to the fighting. His squad of soldiers eagerly follows, echoing his cry of "For Highever!" I shout it myself as I cut through the nearest genlock, taking pride in the rush resulting from the kill.

It only takes a few hours for the remainder of the darkspawn to be killed, and then when we're standing in the midst of the battlefield, someone starts cheering. The sound is contagious and quickly enough, the rest of the army does the same, screaming, whooping, clapping.

And then someone starts singing.

The Chantry is rarely sung, but they sing it now. It is usually spoken, read, and can take weeks to recite, but the soldiers sing it now with such utter conviction I almost cry.

The Old Gods will call to you,

From their ancient prisons they will sing.

Dragons with wicked eyes and wicked hearts,

On blacken'd wings does deceit take flight,

The first of My children, lost to night.

Then they all drop to their knees, bowing. Everyone is down, everyone but us Wardens. The remaining four of us, spread out as we are. And then someone shouts something about the Fourth Blight, and the singing starts again. I know this song.

The wind that stirs

Their shallow graves

Carries their song

Across the sands.

Heed our words

Hear our cry.

The Grey are sworn

In peace we lie.

Heed our words

Hear our cry.

Our names recalled

We cannot die.

When darkness comes

And swallows light

Heed our words

And we shall rise.

They...they're singing about the Fourth Blight. The last, one of the worst. But something tells me the Fifth, this one, will be the best of a horrible thing. I kept it contained to Ferelden when there were three other Wardens in all of Ferelden. I killed an Archdemon a year from its rising. Compared to the other Blights, I made this look like a ridiculously long raid.

But I wouldn't have been able to do it alone.

As I look around, I feel a swell of pride for my friends. They're all bowing with the rest of the soldiers, but they shouldn't be. They helped as much as the rest of us did. They risked their lives for Ferelden, for Thedas, and no one is honoring them.

"The Blight..." Alistair trails off, looking to me.

"It's over," I breathe. "The Blight is really over."