This story is slightly AU only because I don't really mention the events of DA2 or DAI.
Please leave a review and I hope you enjoy! :)

In Peace

It was the summer of 9:54 Dragon, when Ferelden Warden-Commander Taryn Amell began dreaming again. At first she simply mistook the nightmares for shadows of her past, but as they grew more and more vivid, she knew that her Calling was upon her. It didn't exactly take her by surprise; the taint had been running through her veins for twenty-four years now, and not all Wardens were lucky to survive that long. Some of her own recruits that had heard their Calling before her. Taryn's time was long overdue.

The Calling was another secret kept from most of Thedas, so as not to scare away potential recruits. Even most new Wardens were not told until they had become well adjusted. The truth was that Grey Wardens were not immune to the taint as the world believed; surviving the Joining merely delayed the onset of the Blight sickness. When the nightmares begin again, that is when a Warden knows that they don't have much time left.

Taryn had not yet told her second in command, Constable Andrin Graves. Preparations would need to be made before she left for the Deep Roads. He was a worthy successor; Andrin had worked hard to climb his way through the ranks. He was twelve years her junior, but the man had much wisdom that many Wardens older than him could do well to learn.

Sitting behind her large oak desk, Taryn's quill scratched neatly across the barren pages of the Warden-Commander journal. These journals were passed down from leader to leader, but after the massacre at Ostagar, many volumes had been lost so Taryn had been forced to begin anew.

Over the years, she had filled it with as much knowledge as she could offer for whoever came next. She spoke of the Blight, the best ways to kill darkspawn, the discoveries, and the mistakes. All of it was important. The next Blight would not come before her death, so Taryn needed to leave all she knew to the next generation of Grey Wardens.

There was a sudden knock on the heavy wooden door to her office and Taryn barely looked up from her work. "Come in," she barked.

A moment later, a young Warden stepped through the doorway, holding a roll of parchment in hand. "Commander, I have a message for you," he informed her hastily, "It bears the royal seal of the King."

Taryn looked up briefly as she dunked her quill in the inkpot. "Just leave it on my desk," she dismissed casually, before returning to her writing.

The Warden quickly obeyed before giving a small bow and taking his leave. Apart from the scratching of her quill and the occasional crackle from the small fire in the hearth, the room had become overbearingly silent. Taryn's gaze flickered to the scroll on her desk. There had been one person whom she had told of her Calling, the King of Ferelden: Alistair Theirin.

Taryn had not left Denerim on the best terms with Ferelden's newly crowned King after the Archdemon was slain. In the chaos and challenge they had faced together, the two young Wardens had fallen in love. Their relationship had been naive and reckless, leaving Taryn's young heart scorned when the inevitable had come to pass. Duty could not be forsworn for love, and even in her despair, Taryn had known this.

As the appointed Warden-Commander, Taryn had begun the painstaking task of rebuilding the Ferelden Order – though not without help. A few Grey Wardens from Orlais journeyed to Amaranthine to aid her, along with Sten, Zevran, and Ohgren who had stayed for a short time.

Keeping her mind busy, Taryn had been able to put Alistair in the back of her thoughts. Short correspondences would come from time to time, some professional and some passionate, most of which ended up ash in the hearth. Taryn kept her responses curt and impassive, until he eventually mirrored the sentiment.

It wasn't until news of his engagement to a highborn lady of Gwaren, almost two years after his coronation, that the scars of their love had come back to haunt her. However, as Warden-Commander, Taryn could not afford to show weakness so she was determined to conquer the past.

Though she had declined the invitation to the royal wedding, Taryn had managed to work up the courage to write the King a proper letter. She congratulated him on his engagement, wishing him well and asking of the woman that would soon become Queen. Taryn had written about the Grey Wardens, how the order was growing and her occasional struggles with command. The words came easier than she would have imagined; perhaps it was less his affections but his friendship that she had missed.

After that things had become easier, falling into a comfortable rhythm between them. Only a few personal letters came each year, but Taryn looked forward to them each time. The King would write about the hassles of ruling, the endless decisions and frightfully boring councils. Taryn admitted that being Warden-Commander wasn't entirely dissimilar, but with a lot more paper work than he probably endured.

The young King had been a fair ruler thus far, though Taryn couldn't be sure how much of it was his own influence and how much was that of his Council, but she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Arl Eamon had done much to aid him in transitioning into the difficult role.

By the time his first son had been born, Taryn felt only joy for him and Queen Meridia. They named the boy Duncan and in his letters the King often spoke of how the young prince would grow. Two more children had come since then, a daughter and another son of six years this fall.

Taryn had been to Denerim only a handful of times since the end of the Blight, but each time she was kindly welcomed by the King and Queen. Her last visit had been nearly seven years ago and her stay had made quite the impression on the young Princess Sophie.

"Father, I don't want to be a princess anymore!" she had announced gleefully, "I want to be a knight!"

Sophie was a sweet young girl, with her mother's curly auburn locks and her father's warm eyes. Duncan also shared the same hazel eyes and looked most like Alistair with his short blonde hair. Stocky and tall, the young Prince had been struggling to master the lance – aspiring to compete in tourneys when he was old enough. Taryn regretted not visiting in time to meet his youngest son, but unfortunately there was no time left for it.

As soon as she was sure that her Calling had truly come, Taryn had sent a raven to Denerim. She told him that it was her time to take the Long Walk, letting him know that she would be departing for the Deep Roads within the month.

Setting down her quill, Taryn took the parchment in hand and broke the wax seal before unrolling it. The letter was notably short and his handwriting was messy as it had always been, with ink smears blotching the parchment in various places.

Taryn,

Generally, his letters were addressed to Warden Commander Amell, but Taryn overlooked the lack of formality and continued reading.

I did not think this day would come so soon. I would ask if you were certain, but you're more a Grey Warden now than I ever was. However, I fear my own Calling has come as well.

Taryn read and reread his words. Though she had never forgotten that the King was still a Grey Warden, at no time had it occurred to her that he would have to face the Calling himself one day. This news made her chest ache painfully, but Taryn continued to read.

If it would be alright, I'd like to accompany you to the Deep Roads, for one last adventure. I pray that you will say yes.

Alistair

Her hands trembled slightly as Taryn set the parchment down on her desk. Upon first instinct, she wanted to write an angry reply, denying him his request. He was the King of Ferelden; how could he simply give up and leave his family behind?

However, the King had been a Grey Warden longer than her and the death that the taint brought on was neither swift nor gentle. It was why Grey Wardens decided to journey into the Deep Roads, to face death on their own terms instead of wasting slowly away. As much as Taryn did not want to watch Alistair die with her in the Deep Roads, she did not want his family to endure his listless decay.

Taryn closed her Commander's journal and shoved it aside before pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment. Dipping her quill in ink, her hand hovered above the vellum for a moment as she contemplated how to address this letter. Throwing formalities to the wind, she addressed it not to the King but to her old friend Alistair, and began to write her reply.

The wind gusted strongly up high on the battlements of Vigil's Keep as Taryn watched the royal procession slowly approach. She certainly hoped that the King's guard would not be escorting them to Orzammar – the lavish display would attract bandits to be sure. The last thing Taryn wanted was to be slain before they could reach the Deep Roads and die like proper Grey Wardens.

Taryn felt a presence behind her and Andrin's tall shadow fell over her as he came to stand at her side. "Warden-Commander," she greeted curtly, with a hint of a smile in her tone.

He shot a slanted look her way as he released an exasperated sigh. "No one should be calling me that yet." His voice trailed off quietly.

Andrin was a close friend and he had taken the announcement of her Calling none too well. When she had first asked him to take her place he had tried to insist that he wasn't ready for command, but Taryn had been grooming him for years, knowing this day was inevitable. She had assured him that there was no one better to take her place. It had taken much convincing, but Andrin eventually agreed and Taryn presented him with the Warden-Commander's journal.

The sky was covered in a thick blanket of clouds, hanging so low that they seemed within reach from the tall battlements of the Keep. Though the smell of rain was strong in the air, the ground remained dry for now. The Waking Sea was known for its turbulent storms, but Vigil's Keep was far enough inland to protect them from the brunt of the bad weather. The Keep rested on the edge of the Hafter River just before it began to widen as it drained to the Amaranthine Ocean.

Taryn hoped that the Royal party had not encountered foul weather on their journey. As they drew closer, she could make out the crimson mabari on gold of the King's banners, flapping in the wind.

"I read the journal," Andrin spoke suddenly.

Taryn cast him a skeptical glance, raising an eyebrow. "I told you not to spoil it all at once," she jeered lightly.

The Warden shrugged passively. "It's quite the tale – difficult to put down."

Andrin was a scholar at heart and had read through the Keep's entire library in less than a year. His pen was certainly mightier than his sword; not that he wasn't a skilled warrior as well. On more than one occasion Taryn had taken advantage of his talents, when a deft hand was needed for diplomatic endeavors. It didn't surprise her that he had gotten through her notes so quickly.

"Thoughts?" she asked curiously.

A smirk came to his lips as he kept his eyes on the horizon. "I think you made half of it up," he jested.

Taryn let her expression turn grim, her face a mask of seriousness. "Well it's not too late to find a replacement for you, Constable," she assured him.

Andrin's eyes grew wide as he turned to look at her, but Taryn didn't let him fumble for long, letting a wicked smile twist her lips. A breathless laugh burst forth from the Warden that took Taryn by surprise.

"That's something you didn't include in your journal," he insisted, "How to master the Commander glare." Andrin's eyes sparked with humor. "The bards will sing songs of Commander Amell and her steely gaze. Terrifying to behold, some say it turns recruits to stone."

Taryn gave him a light shove, unable to contain her own laughter. Attempts were made to regain her "steely gaze," but his words only served to humor her further. She would certainly miss him, along with the rest of the Wardens, once she was gone. Over the years, they had formed a rather close knit family, to replace the one she had lost after the Blight.

Their mirth quietly died down as the royal cortege drew closer, and Taryn knew that she should make her way down to meet the King. However, before she could take her leave, Andrin had spoken up again.

"Is there anything you regret?" he asked softly.

Taryn was caught off guard by the question and remained silent as she took a moment to consider. He certainly couldn't be referring to her part in selecting the new King of Ferelden, for she had mentioned nothing of their romance in her journal. Either way, it was not a decision that Taryn regretted; Alistair was a good King.

There was no end to the small mistakes that she wished she could undo. The larger ones were much more difficult to consider. Most of the regrets that came to mind revolved around the Blight, but even if she had the chance to do it all again, Taryn wasn't sure she would change a thing.

Perhaps what pained her most was the envy she occasionally held for the King. He had a family; a wife that loved him and children to brighten his life. After their falling out, Taryn had kept her heart sealed shut, not daring to let another in to hurt her as he had. Life was too uncertain for a Grey Warden and she could not afford to love someone who could be lost so easily.

Zevran used to visit from time to time, and Taryn had taken advantage of his presence to satisfy her physical desires, which he had been more than happy to oblige. It was not love – Taryn did not dare to allow it. Though after a while, the assassin stopped visiting and she could not blame him. Zevran needed more than she could give him, so he left Ferelden.

Taryn turned to Andrin, releasing a deep sigh. "I used to think that duty was more important than love," she admitted. "We Grey Wardens live short lives, so keep your oath but make sure you take time to enjoy life."

Before Andrin could reply, Taryn turned and left him standing on the battlements. It did her no credit to dwell on her shortcomings this close to her end. Taryn forced the regret from her thoughts and made her way down to the courtyard to greet her old friend.

As she stepped into the yard, the banner-men were riding beneath the portcullis, a fanfare of gleeful trumpets announcing their arrival. The horses and men were armored in polished plate mail and as they formed two parallel lines, the King of Ferelden rode up the center.

King Alistair was clad in gleaming gold armor with a modest crown resting above his brow. His hair was longer, with a few streaks of silver, brushed back flat by his crown and a light beard covered his jaw, making him look quite noble. As soon as his eyes picked her out among the other Wardens, a warm smile lit up his face.

Following closely behind the King, Taryn was surprised to see Prince Duncan. He had changed much since she had last seen him; a man grown now, his resemblance to his father at that age was rather haunting, save for the long shaggy hair that fell just above his shoulders. Unlike the King, this was Prince Duncan's first trip to Vigil's Keep and his eyes were wide as he took in the sights. Though the King had not mentioned that his son would be accompanying him, Taryn was glad to see him regardless.

"Your Grace, it's good to have you back at Vigil's Keep," she greeted politely as the King climbed down from his horse.

"It's good to be back," he replied as he relinquished his mount to one of the stable hands. Walking up to Taryn, they braced forearms in greeting. "I swear this place gets more impressive every time I visit," he commented as his eyes swept over the fortress when they stepped apart. "Are the watchtowers new?"

"Just finished replacing those four months ago," she confirmed.

The King nodded thoughtfully. "The darkspawn should march on Amaranthine the next time the Blight comes around – this Keep is far more defensible than Denerim."

They could spend hours discussing the integrity of the castles of Ferelden, but Taryn did not wish to bore Prince Duncan into a coma. Looking past the King, she addressed the young man once he had climbed off of his horse. "Welcome to Vigil's Keep, my Prince. I hope it's everything you expected."

"It's amazing," he gaped before turning to look at the King. "I can't believe you didn't bring me here sooner, Father."

Alistair made a scoffing noise as he smirked. "I couldn't have you seeing such splendid castles and deciding to run off and become a Grey Warden, now could I?" he joked.

Taryn looked over her shoulder as she heard Andrin approach. "My second in command, Constable Graves, would be more than happy to see you through the Keep and answer any questions you might have, my Prince," she offered.

Prince Duncan shot a look towards his father who simply nodded, and the young man took off with Andrin. Taryn watched the next Warden Commander and King of Ferelden walk off together. Turning back to Alistair, the King's guard had begun dismounting as well and Taryn quickly remembered her manners.

"Come," she encouraged, "You and your men must be weary from your travels."

Dinner was already in the making when the company entered the large dining hall, the delicious smells of roasting meats, fresh bread, and boiled vegetables drifting up from the kitchens. Usually the arrival of royalty would dictate a little more formality when it came to feasts, but since there were no noble lords present, Taryn didn't think the King would mind the lack of fanfare. The King and the Prince were seated at the head of the table with the highest ranking Wardens, and the rest of the King's guard was intermingled among the Wardens.

The royalty had traded their ceremonial armor for silken doublets of red and gold, but Taryn remained clad in her light Warden armor. There was hardly any clothing she wore apart from her armor, as comfortable as a second skin – she had been wearing it for so many years.

Prince Duncan did most of the talking, asking all kinds of questions about the Grey Wardens. Taryn answered as many as she could, apologizing when she could not reveal the secret of the Joining, and leaving other questions for Andrin to answer.

The King was raising an incredulous eyebrow at his son. "Have you forgotten that I was once a Grey Warden too?" he inquired. "I could have answered most of those questions."

Prince Duncan shot his father a skeptical look. "Yes, but these are real Grey Wardens."

Taryn grinned into her goblet as the King looked mildly offended, but when some of the more inebriated Wardens laughed heartily it turned his mood.

"Well I'm glad that things haven't changed much since I was in the Order," he mused as he looked to Taryn, "I think Commander Duncan would have been proud to see what you've built here."

A slight smile came to her lips as she bowed her head in thanks. "I did not know him very long, but you spoke so well of him, I had to shoot high," she insisted.

When the food arrived, the conversation persisted through the meal. There was roast lamb, pigeon pies, boiled potatoes, carrots, and an array of fine cheeses that the King had brought from Denerim.

Between advising which cheeses the Warden-Commander should try, the King was telling stories of his past in the Order. Some Taryn had heard and others she had not. The rest of the Wardens seemed to greatly enjoy hearing such tales from the King of Ferelden.

Andrin was still attempting to stave off his laughter at a particular story as he spoke up. "Your Grace, if I might ask, what of Commander Amell?" he pried, "You must have stories of her before she became the Hero of Ferelden."

A sly look came to the King's face then, and Taryn shot him a disapproving glare. Not that she expected him to sully her name irreparably, she just would have preferred to die with her dignity intact.

"Stories about Commander Amell," the King pondered aloud, "You mean like was she always so serious and stoic?"

Much of the clamor seemed to have died down as several Wardens were listening closely, trying to hear the King speak. Taryn poured herself another cup of wine, keeping her expression passive.

"You should have seen her back when she was a recruit, no older than two and twenty," The King began speaking. "Sheltered Circle Mage that she was, standing lost in the centre of the army camp in Ostagar, your Great Commander was shaking in fright."

A light blush coloured Taryn's cheeks as a chorus of laughter erupted from the ranks of Wardens who had heard the King's words. It was true – back then the only home she had ever known was the Circle tower, so the outside world had been rather daunting by comparison.

The wine was making Taryn feel a bit bold, so she retorted with an embarrassing tale from the King's past. "If I'm not mistaken, Your Grace, were you not the one who nearly soiled his breeches at the battle of Denerim?" she jeered.

An excited murmur rose up among the Wardens and the King looked dumbfounded while the Prince was struggling to hold in his laughter. "The Archdemon is a perfectly acceptable reason to soil one's breeches," the King sniffed indignantly.

Taryn could still remember the beating of the Old God's wings against the flaming sky and its roar so loud that it seemed to shake the very ground beneath them. With teeth like longswords and spines as tall as spears, seeing it again in her nightmares had not been pleasant.

Offering a small smirk, Taryn inclined her head in agreement and decided to try to alleviate some of the King's embarrassment. "It's true," she commented, "Even Sten, Qunari warrior of the Beresaad, had shrieked like a small girl."

More laughter followed, and the King seemed to relax. By the time dessert had been brought out, there was more talking and laughing than eating. A few Wardens had brought out instruments and were playing merry songs. The tune of a lute and a pipe carried throughout the hall and some of the Wardens were even banging their tankards to the beat of the music.

Taryn was helping herself to a small lemon cake when the King stood from his seat and held out his hand to her. "Will the Warden-Commander grace me with a dance?" he asked, excitement sparking in his eyes.

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Taryn set the cake down as she regarded him. "Your Majesty, I've been to half a dozen of your Royal Balls and you've never once asked me to dance," she reminded him.

A dazzling grin lit up King Alistair's face. "You shot down every Lord who asked," he taunted, "And besides, I didn't want you to embarrass yourself in front of the Nobles."

Taryn tried to scowl but couldn't help but laugh with the rest of the Wardens who had overheard. The King wasn't wrong – Taryn had never learned to dance as the highborn ladies did, so she had declined many requests at such formal events. She wasn't made for ball gowns and lace fans – Taryn much preferred her armor and staff.

Still, it would hardly be appropriate to deny the King's request, so with a roll of her eyes, she accepted his hand and he led her to the open floor between tables. There was much hooting and hollering coming from the Wardens and Taryn was beginning to feel like more of a school teacher than a Commander, with the childish soldiers she was leading. As many of the eyes in the hall turned to the King and the Warden-Commander, Taryn began to feel a bit nervous – she really didn't dance.

The King seemed to sense her rising anxiety as he rested his palm on the small of her back and took her hand in his other. "Don't worry, Taryn," he spoke quietly as a grin tugged at his lips, "just follow my lead."

At first they simply rocked from side to side with the quick beat of the music, but when the King's feet began to move, it took all of Taryn's grace to not trip over her own boots in her haste to keep up. They galloped across the floor and it didn't take long for the Warden-Commander to figure out that their feet moved with the rhythm of the music. Despite herself, Taryn soon found herself grinning with mirth as they bounded around the room. However, just when she thought she had gotten comfortable, the King would change things again. He removed his hand from her back and spun her in a circle beneath his arm before bringing her back into his arms. The King grinned down at her, obviously taking great amusement in her eager attempts to keep up.

Taryn would only allow him to keep the upper-hand for so long before reclaiming it for herself. She quickly separated from the King, turning to face the Wardens, chanting in time with the beat of the music.

"Who takes the vow to end the Blight?"

The soldiers replied in a deafening roar. "We Grey Wardens! We Grey Wardens!"

With hearts of steel,
And wills of might.

We Grey Wardens!
We Grey Wardens!

Who darkspawn dread,
And maids delight.

We Grey Wardens!
We Grey Wardens!

We fear no Horde,
We fear no fight.

We Grey Wardens!
We Grey Wardens!

By the end of the chant, the music had fallen quiet and nearly the whole hall was on their feet, cheering and hollering. The very walls of the Keep seemed to shake with their combined voices and Taryn was sure that the patrol guards could hear them from the ramparts.

The King was grinning incredulously as he looked to the Warden-Commander. "Now that's new!" he remarked. "Did you make that up?"

Taryn immediately scoffed as she smirked back at him. "I'm no bard," she protested. "but the Wardens have a lot of men and women who have talent for more than slaying darkspawn."

The King could only nod in agreement. "So they do."

It was several hours before the residual excitement finally dissipated, and Wardens slowly began taking their leave – some stumbling more than others. Even Taryn found herself struggling not to yawn as the conversation had shifted to politics, which was probably her least favourite topic of discussion. Andrin was far more enthralled by such notions, and was battering the King with a slew of questions. The King didn't seem all that keen on the conversation either, but tolerated the interrogation quite well.

When he had finally reached his breaking point, Taryn hid her smirk as the King feigned a large yawn, stretching his limbs in exaggeration. "Well I think I had best get some sleep," he insisted, "The night isn't getting any younger."

With that, the King's Royal guard escorted him and the Prince to their guest chambers, while Taryn left for her own quarters. As she walked the sleepy halls, she tried not to dwell on the fact that this was her last night in Vigil's Keep. The walls had become so familiar now, having spent more time here than she had in the Circle Tower; it would be hard to leave it behind.

Taryn climbed the narrow, winding staircase to her bedchambers and removed her armor before slipping beneath the soft blankets of her bed. The shutters of the window above her bed were open and a thin crescent moon shone bright in the clear sky. Pulling the covers up to her neck, Taryn released a deep breath as she closed her eyes, hoping that the nightmares wouldn't disrupt her rest greatly.

Despite the bright blue sky and gleaming sun, the mood was somber throughout the Keep the following morning. It had been nearly a week since she had announced her Calling, but the melancholy atmosphere made her feel as though she had to do so all over again. Somehow it felt worse knowing that the King was leaving with her. While he had already said his goodbyes to his Queen and other children, Taryn could scarcely imagine how Prince Duncan was feeling.

When Commander Amell stepped out into the courtyard, there were at least a hundred Wardens all waiting – most in the yard and some watching from the battlements. Taryn had not prepared any kind of speech, but she felt that she needed say something. Looking around the Keep at all the familiar faces, she had been present for each and every one of their Joinings. Taryn could not have asked for a greater group of dwarves, humans and elves; men and women; and friends.

However, before Taryn could speak, the King emerged from the Keep and her words were suddenly lost to her. His gleaming golden breast plate had been traded for standard blue and silver Warden armor and an ordinary longsword was belted to his hip. The crown was no longer on his head but in his hand, along with his mighty, jewel encrusted sword.

Taryn watched as he walked over to his son and handed both to him. The young Prince was fighting to keep his composure, but the sorrow plain in his eyes made Taryn's heart wrench. The King was murmuring soft words to him as he pulled his son into a tight embrace. They stepped apart and the King clapped his son on the back encouragingly before coming to stand beside Taryn .

Struggling to keep her own emotions guarded, she looked back to her Wardens and took a deep breath. "When I first joined the Grey Wardens, I had only read tales of their strength and valor. After the massacre at Ostagar, I thought I would never get to see it. Looking at this place now, what all of you helped create, my heart is glad to have seen it." There was so much more that Taryn wanted to say, but she had never been a woman of many words. "May the Maker watch over you all, until the day we meet again."

With that, Taryn climbed onto her mount, laden with supplies, and the King followed suit. As they steered their horses towards the gate, Commander Andrin's voice rang out through the courtyard. "Your sacrifice shall not be forgotten, and one day we shall join you!"

The rest of the Wardens began calling out in turn as Taryn and the King rode beneath the portcullis and out of the Keep. War horns were sounding at their backs, and the cacophony of voices had degraded into four shouted words. "We - shall - join - you!" Keeping her chin high, Taryn had to fight to keep her dignity in front of the King until the voices faded behind them.

For a long time, neither of them spoke – both far too caught up in the grand farewell they had received. Taryn suspected that the King was thinking of his family. Considering how strongly she felt for her Wardens, Taryn could not fathom the heartache he was bearing. His children were all far too young to lose a father.

The North Road was relatively quiet, only the passing of the occasional merchant caravan apart from them, and the horses plodded along at a gentle pace. Taryn wasn't exactly in a terrible hurry to reach the Deep Roads and an easy pace would fare better for their weary old mounts. When most Grey Wardens left for the Deep Roads, they were sent off on horses who were no longer fit to ride into battle and when they reached Orzammar, they were typically donated to someone in need of them.

It wasn't until the high noon sun was beating down overhead that the King and the Warden-Commander spoke. Sweat was beading across their foreheads as they sweltered in their armor, with little shade along the road and not a cloud in the sky to offer reprieve.

The King was the first to voice his discomfort. "Perhaps we should take a short rest," he suggested, "So the horses don't get too worn out."

Taryn did her best not to smirk, highly doubting that it was the wellbeing of their mounts that he was concerned about. "Of course, Your Grace." She steered her horse off the road towards a generous patch of shade beneath two tall trees.

The King pulled a face at her words, but did not comment as he followed. There, they dismounted and tethered their horses to a root protruding from the earth, removing their bits so they could graze a while.

Taryn retrieved a small loaf of bread from a pack on her saddle and broke it in half, handing a piece to the King. She took a seat against the trunk of one of the trees and set her long staff on the ground beside her. The King mumbled a small thanks before settling against the other tree, nibbling on the bread quietly.

The day was much milder beneath the cover of the thick canopy above. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves high in the swaying branches, causing the shade on the ground to shimmer like an ever changing mosaic. Releasing a deep breath, Taryn took a bite of the bread before closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the rough bark of the tree. It was just another thing she was going to miss once they were confined to darkness and stone in the depths of the Deep Roads. It was a pity that there were no darkspawn roaming the surface – Taryn would have much preferred to die in the light of day.

The King's voice suddenly stirred her from her thoughts. "You know, you don't have to be so formal now that we've left Vigil's Keep," he chided.

Taryn opened her eyes, tilting her head slightly. "My King, I-"

"Like that, there!" he exclaimed, cutting her off. "I've got no throne and no crown out here. I'm just a Warden again, like you." His eyes were pleading. "Please, Taryn. Let me be just Alistair."

It was not a simple task to cast off such defining titles, even now at the end. When she had first left Denerim, it was all that Taryn had clung to in attempts to keep her heartache at bay. Not Alistair – the King of Ferelden. It had been the mechanism that she used to put distance between her and the man she once loved. Though Taryn's heart had long since mended, the habit had been quite ingrained into her and it would be difficult to shake. Regardless, she would do her best to heed his wishes.

"As you say, Alistair," she replied quietly.

He seemed to relax more after that. Once they finished their lunch, they climbed back into the saddle and continued their journey. The conversation seemed to flow much easier between them. Taryn asked of Alistair's family in Denerim; whether or not Princess Sophie was still adamant to become a warrior, how his youngest was faring, and how Prince Duncan was handling his new responsibilities as he got older.

Taryn was content to let him do most of the talking, simply happy to listen. The Coastlands were a tapestry of hills and valleys with the occasional stream that wound between the highlands. With the heat, they stopped often to water the horses and to refill their waterskins.

They rode until the sun had dipped below the horizon, taking their dinner on the road. There was much temptation to ride through the night while the weather was cool, but from the looks of Alistair, it had been a long time since he had done so. They steered off the road and made camp by the shelter of a large rock in the side off a hill.

While Taryn began constructing a small campfire, Alistair struggled with the tent. "Maker's breath, I have been King far too long," he muttered in annoyance.

A smirk of amusement came to her lips as she piled several pieces of firewood onto the growing flames. "Why don't you unsaddle the horses and I'll setup the tent," she offered.

Alistair was having none of that. "And suffer the endless ridicule it will earn me? I think not. If I can govern a country, I can set up a tent."

Taryn laughed, shaking her head as she tended to the horses herself. Removing their tack and setting it aside, she tied them on generous leads so they would have enough space to graze. By the time she had finished brushing both of them down, Alistair had finally managed to setup the tent, looking rather proud of his handiwork.

"I'll take first watch," she offered as she settled in front of the campfire, resting her staff across her lap.

Alistair looked hesitant, but not entirely ungrateful. "Are you certain?"

Taryn gave a small smile as she replied. "You look like you could use the rest," she insisted.

The former King looked a little embarrassed as he breathed a laugh and began unbuckling his armor. "You're not wrong," he admitted, "This is all going to take a while to get used to again."

Once he was left in a linen shirt, light leather breeches and his armor piled neatly, Alistair entered the tent. "Wake me if you need anything."

"I shall," she replied, "Sleep well."

With that, he disappeared within the canvas and Taryn released a small sigh. It was rather peculiar spending this much time with Alistair – probably the most since the Blight. Of course she had spent more than a day in Denerim the few times she had visited the Royal Palace, but she had never been alone with him for so long. It was just a little strange.

Giving her head a firm shake, Taryn was quite positive that she was overthinking things. Turning to her right, she used her magic to gather a few handfuls worth of sand, suspending them in the air to create an hourglass to count down the hours until it was Alistair's turn to take watch.

It was a nifty little trick that she had learned many years ago from an Orlesian mage who could conjure all manner of splendid tricks. From hourglasses with no glass, to delicate flowers made of paper that drifted through the air, her magic was used for beauty and entertainment. Taryn had never managed to master the flower herself, but somehow she had gotten by fine without it.

With nothing better to do, Taryn reached into her pack and pulled out a book that Andrin had given her before she left; ironically enough, it was the Chant of Light. Commander Amell was not known for her strong sense of faith. Taryn simply found it hard to believe that a merciful and gentle God could turn away from His children with all the suffering that existed in the world. Prayer could not protect against the blade of a foe, so the Commander had always advocated her strong sense of self-reliance, instead of putting one's hands in the fate of the Maker.

Still, Andrin had insisted that she take the book anyway. "Please read it," he had implored, "It will bring you more comfort than you may realize."

Releasing a small sigh of resignation, Taryn cracked open the book and began reading. The scripture was familiar, having read the Chant of Light back in the Tower, as was required of her. However, a couple pages in there was a short note jotted in the margin of the page. Holding the book closer to the light of the fire, Taryn squinted to read the messy handwriting.

I had always thought I would grow up to be a soldier like my father, but after the battle of Denerim – seeing the last two Grey Wardens lead the charge against the darkspawn – I knew that I wanted to be something more. Thank you for giving me a chance.

The note was signed by Warden Martell. He had been one of the first volunteers to join not long after the end of the Blight.

Taryn quickly flipped through the pages and saw that there were many notes scattered amongst the verses, left for her by all the Wardens at Vigil's Keep. Not wishing to skip ahead, she returned to her place in the book and continued reading. Some remarks were heartfelt, others more humorous, and every one of them brought a smile to her face.

By the time she looked up to see that her sand had stopped falling, Taryn was nearly a quarter way through the book. She hastily tucked it back into her pack before walking over to wake Alistair. It took more than a couple firm prods and strong words, but the King slowly staggered out of the tent, grumbling as he began pulling his armor on again.

"Andraste's knickers, how did I ever manage this before?" he complained.

Taryn didn't bother taking off her own armor as she crawled into the tent. "You weren't so old back then," she teased before disappearing behind the flaps.

"You're two years older than me!" he argued.

A wicked smirk spread across her lips as she could practically feel Alistair's glare burning through the canvas. Laying down on her bedroll, Taryn pulled the blankets over her and closed her eyes, falling asleep almost immediately.