A/N: Part 2 of 4. I adjusted two quests: The Lost Swords, which I always felt had interesting post-conflict potential but only amounted to a fetch quest in the game, and the slaying of the High Dragon. It makes no sense story-wise for the Champion of Kirkwall to just get random bits off her armor off of dragons and blood mages, so here's how I think she got her armor. Also, Isabela is absent because her codex entry has her out of Kirkwall for a while between Act 2 and 3, even if she came back to return the relic. Many thanks to the Anders thread as usual for their crazy, and to BioWare for their fantastic game.

Atlas

By KSCrusaders (Sable Rhapsody on BSN)

9:35 Dragon

Natale always liked birthdays. When she, Carver, and Bethany had been children, her father would break his usual rules about magic being serious on birthdays, and treat them to a spectacular display of fire and lightning. Mother would make their favorite foods: chocolate-covered sweet rolls for Bethany, lamb and carrot stew for Carver, and sour cherry turnovers for Natale. For a day, it didn't matter that three of them were apostates. They were just family.

Her favorite one was her twelfth, when Father gave her a staff. She could still remember the feel of the smooth dark wood under her slightly too-small palms, the thrill of being able to cast magic on her own. Bethany watching her with wide, shining eyes, Carver stealing it for a bit to poke at the neighbor's little girl in a fit of mischief.

This birthday was all business so far. But considering how adamant Bodahn, Aveline, and even little Orana had been about shooing her out of her own house, she was sure she'd get a reprieve later.

She made her way alone down to the Wounded Coast, arriving just before noon. If she was lucky, whatever the templars were kibitzing about would have nothing to do with the mages, and she could just be there as a token presence. If she was unlucky...well...best not to think about that.

It wasn't difficult following where the templars had gone. Metal boots left obvious indentations in the wet sand. Natale tread the familiar path along the jagged rocks and scraggly bushes, staff in hand.

"Champion!"

The templar approached her, the noon sun blinding on his chestplate. Natale quickly quashed the slow-burning anger that flared up inside her whenever she saw templars these days. She could not openly antagonize them, could not give Meredith the excuse she was looking for. "Knight-Captain," she said with a cold nod.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," said Cullen. He drew his sword and lead her to the mouth of one of the myriad oceanside caves along the Wounded Coast. Eight more templars and a handful of Aveline's guards stood by the entrance. "And I'm sorry for involving you. I understand you're still recovering from dealing with that High Dragon in the Bone Pits."

"Does everyone know that?" said Natale dryly, unconsciously rubbing her shoulder. The tear marks from the dragon's teeth had still yet to fade, despite all of Anders' skill.

"You're the Champion of Kirkwall," he said mildly. "Word spreads, though I'm sure some of it has been...embellished."

Natale forced a smile. "I'm sure," she said. "Now tell me what all this is about." Her eyes fell on one of Aveline's guards, but Ser Karras stepped forward from the ranks of the templars.

The two of them eyed one another with open hostility for a few moments, a nasty smile twisting Karras's face. He'd hated her since she, Varric, Anders, and Isabela made a fool of him all those years ago. "Well. We have some oxmen holed up inside the cave. Maker knows why you're here, but-"

"I thought it would be better if you engaged them, Champion," said Cullen, hastily cutting in. He waved at Karras to stand down; Karras continued to glare daggers at Natale, but she simply turned away, training her attention on Cullen. "You did make an impression on them. Perhaps this can end without blood."

Natale considered it for a moment. "Have they attacked you?"

"No. Sergeant Harley here tipped us off late last night."

"We spotted the qunari while on routine patrol," said Harley, speaking up for the first time. She looked at Natale with open awe. "Didn't follow them, though. There were at least a dozen of the bastards."

"Smart move. And you're sure they're qunari? Not Tal-Vashoth?" As far as Natale was aware, the true qunari had left Kirkwall peacefully after she defeated the Arishok. Well...as peacefully as they could with a whole city out for their blood, at any rate.

"What's the damned difference?" said Karras.

"To them? The world." That shut the templar up, and she paced slowly before the mouth of the cave, thinking. There was a very slight possibility that this was a trap set up by the templars, but even they weren't that daft. She was Champion, and still beloved by the people of Kirkwall so soon after rescuing them from the Arishok. If Meredith wanted her out of the way without sparking a city-wide riot, she'd have to do better than some half-brained qunari rubbish.

Blue flames sprang to life in her hands, and she took a few cautious steps into the cave. The sand and gravel had definitely been disturbed, and by qunari-sized feet...quite a few of them. She did some quick mental math, and decided it would be foolish to go in alone, especially when she wasn't at her best.

"All right," she said. "Sergeant Harley? Knight-Captain? Come with me. The rest of you, clear out."

Cullen's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Natale swiftly cut him off. "Either they're qunari, and having the guard and templars camping at the cave entrance will only antagonize them, or they're Tal-Vashoth and don't give a damn who's rallied against them anyway."

"And what if there are more oxmen than the guard managed to spot?" sneered Karras. "You're going to throw the Knight-Captain into their midst?"

"Your Knight-Captain will be perfectly safe with me," she said, a slow and poisonous smile spreading across her face. "How many of them do you think I killed to get to the Arishok?" She couldn't help the grim satisfaction at the look of fear on Karras's face, but fought the urge to press her luck.

Cullen looked dubious, but he turned to the rest of the templars nonetheless. "Go back to the outpost between the coast and the city proper," he ordered. "I'll meet you all there."

Natale waited patiently while the templars and guards, with varying amounts of grumbling and glaring at her, cleared out. She visibly relaxed once it was down to the three of them, and gestured for Cullen and Harley to follow her into the cave. She'd been in this one before, back when slavers used it to keep Feynriel and the other apostates. Now it appeared mostly empty, save for the disturbed sand under their feet.

She held out her staff like a torch, lightning crackling around the end. "Won't that attract their attention?" whispered Harley.

"Plate mail is hardly subtle," said Natale dryly, eyeing her guardsman's chain and Cullen's armor. "Trust me. If they're qunari, we'll want to give them warning."

"And if they're not?"

"Then I kill them."

There were no weapons lying around haphazardly, and when they rounded a corner and came across a large stash of rations, all of the boxes were neatly stacked. Natale relaxed a bit-that was a good sign. Tal-Vashoth were usually more chaotic in their lifestyle, almost deliberately so, as though messiness would wash away the Qun's hold on them. She noticed with amusement that it triggered the opposite reaction in her companions.

"Put your weapons away," she murmured when they hit a fork in the cavern. The foot traffic here was heavier and followed a clearer pattern toward the path on the right. Cullen and Harley exchanged deeply dubious looks, but followed her lead when she placed her staff back into its holster. There was no need for it anyway-torchlight flickered along the cave's rough walls to their right, and she could hear sounds of movement in the distance.

Walking the fine line between stymieing the templars and openly opposing them was all muddled and grey. This was easy, clear, something she could handle. She missed that about dealing with the qunari. So few things were certain these days.

They rounded another corner, and found themselves face-to-face with four towering qunari, all with blades and spears pointed at her throat. She heard Cullen instinctively draw his sword, and they instantly rounded on him.

Part of her dearly wanted to make the templar squirm, but instead, she lifted her hands in a gesture of peace. One of the qunari carried the weapons of a scout-an Ashaad, if she remembered correctly.

"Shanedan, Ashaad," she said quietly. "My apologies for my companions' behavior. I do not come here with the intent to do harm."

Recognition dawned on his face when he met her cool grey eyes. He barked something to the other qunari, who slowly lowered their weapons.

"Shanedan, basalit-an," he replied. He turned to Cullen and Harley. "Your weapons will be bound to their scabbards, bas. There is no need for you to do the same, Hawke. Your honor is known to us."

Natale inclined her head slightly. "Do as he asks," she whispered askance to Cullen.

"Are you mad, Champion?" he hissed back. Two of the qunari stepped forward with ropes in their hands, ready to bind the swords. Harley took an instinctive step back, and Ashaad very deliberately laid a hand on his sword hilt.

"Do you seriously want to fight a cave of angry qunari?" she retorted. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

Harley, Maker bless her, recovered her senses first. She unbelted her sword and handed it to the qunari. Cullen relented after Natale gave him a prod. He had some sense in his head, at least-for a templar. The qunari bound the weapons with alarming efficiency, then handed them back.

"Follow me, basalit-an," said Ashaad. "I will take you to the Taarbas. He can tell you of our purpose."

Aveline would call her crazy, Fenris would say she was a fool, and Varric would just grin and make up some wild story to justify it. But the truth was that in that cave, surrounded by at least two dozen heavily armed qunari who could attack her at a moment's notice, she felt safer than she had in the last year as Champion. She couldn't say the same for her companions, who were practically stepping on her heels.

Taarbas turned out to be a tall, bare-chested qunari sitting on a makeshift chair at the far end of the cave, flanked by more qunari soldiers. He got to his feet and nodded to her, a qunari acknowledgment of her presence.

"You are Hawke," he said bluntly. "Basalit-an. Tell me, have you come across the blades of the qunari slain here a year ago?"

"Their blades?" asked Natale, trying to conceal her surprise. "What for?"

"To fulfill a demand of the Qun."

"What about their bodies?" asked Harley. "Surely you want to give them a proper burial?"

Taarbas shook his head. "Their husks are of no consequence," he said. "The swords will suffice."

Cullen made a strange flinching motion. She and Taarbas both trained their gazes on him, but before the qunari could say anything, Natale said, "Could you give us a moment?" She grabbed Cullen's arm and hauled him off to the cave room's entrance, qunari eyes following them at every turn.

"What's going on?" she whispered. They weren't out of earshot of all of the qunari, but it was the best she could do without giving offense. When Cullen looked down at his feet and didn't answer, she gave his shoulder a little shake.

"Fine, Champion," he said, roughly brushing her off with a glare. "The bodies of the qunari were burned, all of them that we could find. Their weapons...they're in the Gallows. Knight-Commander Meredith ordered them brought there."

Natale narrowed her eyes. "For what purpose?"

"She's had them hung up in the templar hall," said Cullen, his eyes darting about in every direction at the gathered qunari. "As a warning. And a reminder."

Aghast, she stared at him with her jaw hanging open. Surely Meredith knew that any qunari would take that as a provocation rather than a warning? She shut her mouth with a snap and stormed back to where the Taarbas stood silently, awaiting her decision. Cullen followed her, worry clouding his eyes.

"I have located your blades," she said evenly.

"And?"

"They are in the custody of the templar order. I will personally ensure the blades' return. Then will you and your men leave Kirkwall?"

"We will leave when the demand of the Qun is fulfilled, yes."

"Champion, the Knight-Commander-" hissed Cullen, but her patience was at an end.

"Giving a few swords back to the qunari will avert a great deal of unnecessary trouble for Kirkwall. The Knight-Commander does still at least claimto protect Kirkwall, doesn't she?" She fixed Cullen with a freezing glare, though to his credit, he didn't shrink from her. Instead, he simply set his jaw and nodded stiffly.

"Then it's settled. I will arrange for the return of the swords at the earliest opportunity."

The qunari seemed content to let them leave the cave, even going so far as to unbind their weapons. Natale dropped Harley off at the guard checkpoint with her fellows. "Let the captain know what transpired, but do not ask her to handle the situation," she said. "I'll deal with the Knight-Commander if Knight-Captain Cullen cannot make her see reason."

Natale and Cullen walked back to Kirkwall along the coastal road in silence, the templar occasionally glancing at her askance. Finally, he said cautiously, "You have become less a friend to the Order since your ascent as Champion. It is unfortunate."

A small part of her still felt sympathy for him. He was a decent sort, caught between Meredith's fanaticism and the mages' rapidly growing unrest. But it didn't change the facts. "I am an apostate, Knight-Captain. I was never a friend to the Order."

"Perhaps if you had been raised in the Circle, you might understand our position."

"Yes, perhaps," she said dryly. "And perhaps I would've been locked up with all the other mages when the Arishok attacked. And perhaps the people of Kirkwall would be viddathari...or dead."

For a few minutes, there was nothing but the sound of gravel under their feet and the pounding of the waves, growing slowly softer as they departed the coast. Then Cullen said, "Whatever you may think of her policies, the Knight-Commander is only doing what she believes necessary to protect Kirkwall."

"Hmm. Even Anders would agree with you there." She paused, then added lightly, "Oh, and please keep your men away from his clinic in Darktown. It scares away the refugees. And the cats."

Cullen froze in his tracks, staring at her as though she'd gone mad. "I'm sorry? Cats?"

"He leaves out milk for them." She continued walking and only stopped when she was a good ten paces ahead of Cullen. "Knight-Captain?"

"I'm sorry," he said, catching up to her. "I just-it's hard to imagine an apostate like that healing the sick and...feeding cats."

It was long past time to drop the facade of courtesy. "Let's not dance around this," she said coldly. "We both know that your Order will not lay a hand on my companions. You're wasting your men in Darktown, and over what? Appearances?"

"Knight-Commander Meredith is trying to keep order in the city. We cannot appear weak, Champion!"

"Maker forbid. Though tyrannical seems acceptable."

For a moment, she thought she'd crossed the line. Then to her surprise, a smile spread across Cullen's face. "What is it," he said with a hint of nostalgia, "about Amell women and sharp tongues?" He caught the look of astonishment on her face, and his wistful smile widened. "I knew an Amell once. Soria."

"You knew my cousin? The Hero of Ferelden and slayer of Archdemons?" said Natale incredulously.

"Yes. She was...a special girl. Never met anyone else like her." His eyes drifted to the south, toward Ferelden, before he shook himself with a chuckle. "She never held back from speaking her mind either. It must run in the family."

Natale laughed with him, and for one brief fraction of a second, they weren't templar and apostate. They were just two people enjoying a walk back to the city they both called home. But it soon passed, and all the burdens they'd each taken on came rushing back.

She walked back with Cullen to the Gallows, though it made her sick to see the fortress these days. Each time, there were more templars...and more Tranquil mages. Pinched, frightened faces looked back at her, a tiny spark of hope and envy still lingering in the mages' eyes. She swallowed against the lump rising in her throat.

I'm sorry, she apologized silently. Maker help me, I wish I could do more.

Cullen paused at the entrance to the templar wing of the Gallows. "I'll speak to the Knight-Commander and send a note along with her response," he said. "Are you sure you don't want to talk to her yourself?"

"Meredith and I don't so much talk as glower at one another," said Natale mildly. "Trust me, Knight-Captain. It's better this way."

The armor merchant's apprentice stood by his master's wares at the entrance to the fortress. It was getting toward mid-afternoon now; there was no time like the present. She made her way across the Gallows courtyard to the young man. His eyes lit up at the sight of her, but he soon regained his composure.

"Champion," he said with a polite nod. "Some birthday shopping for yourself?" There was a bit too much hope in his voice, too much eagerness. But she couldn't really blame him.

She gave him a small smile. "I think I've earned a little bit of indulgence." She could feel him getting anxious, tapping his feet with barely concealed impatience while she perused his wares. But thankfully, none of the templars took notice.

"How much for these gauntlets?" she asked, lifting a pair of fine silverite gloves.

"Six sovereign for you, Champion."

Natale nodded and made a great show of inspecting the gloves and fishing around in her robes for her coinpurse. When the templar guards stood at opposite ends of the entrance on their patrol, she slipped a note under the gauntlets. She saw the boy flinch, fear and hope warring in his eyes, and gave him a stern warning glance. He nodded, turning a bit pale.

"I'll come back for them later," she said in a low voice. "Maker be with us all."

With any luck, he wasn't going to do anything stupid. She could only hope he didn't. But with his sister's life on the line, she could hardly blame the lad. She'd secured his help passing notes along to the mages in exchange for his sister's freedom. And now, the day of her escape, along with six other apostates, was drawing close.

Down to the Docks to check in with the Antivan captain responsible for getting the mages to safety. Into Darktown, working out how much the lyrium bribes to keep the templars out of the shipyard would cost from Athenril. It was a familiar routine by now, if not exactly a comfortable one, and she was acutely aware of the lingering pain in her shoulder, the weariness in her bones. Getting the crap kicked out of her by a great flaming lizard didn't do much for her productivity.

She didn't make it back to the estate until early evening. She turned the corner to the back door to find Anders sitting on the back steps, reading one of her father's old spellbooks. He smiled and got to his feet.

"Sorry," he said. "But I'm afraid Varric's ordered me to waylay you here."

"You can try," she said, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I won't be long," said Anders. He put down his book and came to her, holding her close. She nuzzled his unshaven cheek affectionately before he pulled back, worry creeping into his voice. "Are you all right? The templars didn't give you trouble?"

"No. Just some qunari who came back to retrieve their fellows' weapons," she said reassuringly. "Knight-Captain Cullen says he'll talk to the Knight-Commander about getting them back."

Anders' grip on her arms tightened instinctively. "You shouldn't trust him," he said. "He's a templar."

"Relax, love," she said, stroking the back of his neck. "He's too daft to be crafty about stabbing me in the back." That got an unwilling grin from Anders. He turned his attention to her shoulder, ignoring her protests when he undid the buckles to get a better look at her bare skin.

"You're healing up pretty well," he said, his gentle brown eyes intent as he lifted an edge of her bandage dressing and expertly examined the fading marks. "There shouldn't be any scarring, but I'll have another go at your shoulder tonight."

"Or you could undress me in the street," she retorted, poking him in the side. "That works too."

Anders' eyes positively smoldered. He roughly pulled her closer, his face barely an inch from hers. "Sweetheart," he growled, "don't think I'm not tempted." The smirk had barely touched her eyes when his lips met hers in a bruising kiss. He pulled her hips against his. She nipped at his lower lip, her hands running up his back underneath the outer layer of his coat. She could feel his warmth, his lean strength, his whole body tense with need.

"Maker's breath, Hawke. In the street? What will your neighbors think?"

Natale sighed and broke apart from Anders. Trust Varric to have perfect timing. She gave the dwarf a shameless grin. "Considering the number of times they haven't had the courtesy to close their curtains, I'd say I'm being a good girl."

"That'll be the day, Hawke. Anyway, get your ass in here. Wouldn't want your birthday dinner going cold, would we? Not after how badly Fenris failed at simple things like taking rolls out of the oven. That elf's good for brooding and drinking, and that's it."

"Don't forget about punching through people's chests," added Natale. She took Anders' hand and followed Varric inside, giggling a little when her fellow apostate covered her eyes with his hand. Today was a good day. She could feel it. She relaxed for the first time that day, letting Varric's firm footsteps and Anders' gentle touch guide her from the back door of her own home toward her bedroom. Varric gave her a little nudge inside, and she heard the door close behind her.

"Stop glaring at me, Blondie. You can undress her later," she heard Varric say. Snickering a little to herself as she imagined Anders' pout, she shed her thicker robes for a lovely golden gown that Orana had laid out for her, struggling only briefly with the huge sleeves. As soon as she opened the door again, Anders' hands came back over her eyes, his breath lingering just a little too long on the back of her exposed neck as he steered her into the dining room. She could hear Merrill's snickering to the right, and practically feel Fenris rolling his eyes at her. And that delicious, slightly tart smell in the air. Could it be-

"Surprise!"

The first thing she noticed when Anders uncovered her eyes was the uncanny sight of Aveline in an apron. The second thing was the plate of freshly baked cherry turnovers sitting at the head of the table. Bodahn, Sandal, Orana, Varric, Fenris, Merrill, Aveline, and Sebastian all beamed back at her. Natale just stood and stared, momentarily overwhelmed with affection for them all.

"How did you-" she started to ask.

"Leandra used to talk about you as a little girl," said Aveline gently. Natale clenched her jaw, expecting the old wound to flare up again, but it didn't. It couldn't. Not with Fenris nursing a pair of slightly singed fingers, Merrill covered in a fine dusting of flour from head to toe, and Aveline looking back at her anxiously. She laughed, a rare carefree laugh, and let them frogmarch her to a seat at the head of the table. Orana brought out a few more plates of mouthwatering pastries, and Natale shot a knowing glance at Varric.

"What?" he asked, his mouth already halfway full with cinnamon bun. "It's your birthday. Your dinner's supposed to be delicious, sweet, and horrible for your health. I even had Bodahn uncork some of that fancy dessert wine." She just shook her head at him. Varric always knew what he wanted-and inexplicably, what she needed to unwind. She reached for one of the cherry turnovers and took a bite. Warm, sweet, with just enough tart to make her mouth water. It brought back a rush of things she thought were nothing more than memories. Family. Childhood. She caught Aveline's eye, and the smile on her face was all her friend needed.

For a single, shining hour, everything else faded away. There was just her and her friends-her new family-in a dining room filled with laughter, mingled with the sweet smell of wine and freshly baked goods. Natale worked her way through turnover after turnover, with a gusto she hadn't had since she was a little girl.

"So what were you like as a little girl, Hawke?" asked Sebastian. The poor fellow was the only one not drinking. Natale considered it for a moment, sipping at her third glass of wine. She suspected this was Fenris' unmentioned contribution, from Denarius's cellars. She'd never tasted anything quite like it, and it was quickly going to her head.

"Blonde," she said after a moment's consideration. "And prone to accidentally shocking Father."

Merrill giggled. "Oh, you must've been so dear! Little Hawke, running about with her bare feet and lightning trailing behind her!"

"Somehow I have a hard time seeing you as a child," said Fenris, peering intently at her as though trying to find a child in her face.

Natale grinned back at him. "Likewise. Though I assure you, I-"

The heavy knocker at the front door suddenly sounded. Merrill yelped slightly and jumped in her seat. A wary silence followed, and everyone's eyes turned toward the main foyer of the estate. No one knocked these days, not unless it was something important. None of her friends bothered; they just had Bodahn or Orana let them in. The light-hearted atmosphere evaporated instantly. Varric put down his glass, eyeing the door cautiously. Aveline gave her an apologetic look.

Anders started and got to his feet, but Natale waved at him to sit. "You'd think Meredith would have better things to do than spoil my birthday," she said lightly into the tense silence.

She rolled up the sleeves on her gown and excused herself from the dining table. Her staff rested against the entrance, and she reached for it instinctively before opening the door.

"First Enchanter Orsino!"

The elf smiled a little; Ser Thrask stood behind him and nodded curtly at Natale. "My apologies, Champion," said Orsino, "but I'm afraid my leash is a bit short these days, and I haven't much time. May I come in?"

Natale quickly recovered her wits and glanced around for other templars. None that she could see. She placed her staff back on its stand and waved him inside. The First Enchanter carried a huge and heavy-looking wooden case in his arms. Bodahn moved to take it from him, but Orsino shook his head as he stepped inside.

Thrask bowed slightly to Natale. "Champion. I'll be waiting outside the estate. I do not wish to cause trouble, but please make this quick." He took in her dinner gown, her cautious gaze. She bowed back and closed the door behind Orsino.

The low chatter of conversation died the instant Orsino followed Natale into the dining room. Watchful eyes followed him as he made his way toward Natale's seat at the head of the table. She saw Sebastian's knuckles tighten on his glass, Aveline put down her fork and knife. Anders' eyes burned, tracking Orsino's every move. He placed the case on her chair.

"I seem to be crashing a party," he said with a bit of a self-deprecating smile to Natale.

"Nonsense, First Enchanter," she said graciously. "You are always welcome here."

Orsino looked down at the table, at the combination of wary, curious, and openly hostile gazes.

"Are you really going to bother Hawke on her birthday?" said Merrill, breaking the silence. "I'm sure whatever horrible thing is happening can wait for a few hours."

Orsino chuckled and shook his head. "Happily, I am not always a harbinger of doom, though I'm sure some would beg to disagree." His keen eyes lingered on Aveline, Fenris, and Sebastian for a fraction of a second. "But today, I am here with a gift for your Champion and mine."

Orana and Bodahn poked their heads into the room, pushing one of the wheeled tables they sometimes used when they had lots of guests. Orsino lifted the case onto the table. Magic sparked from his fingers, little blue lights undoing the heavy brass catches.

"Andraste's asscheeks," breathed Varric, standing to get a better look as Orsino lifted the lid and stepped away. "Will you look at that?"

Armor. But not just any armor. Natale's eyes glazed over the silverite chestplate and wicked gauntlets, the rich dark fur of the cloak and hood. She could feel magical power literally pulsating from the armor itself like a beacon, as strongly as any mage's staff. She wasn't the only one who felt it; a tingle ran up her spine when she gingerly touched the chestplate, the magic reacting to her presence. Saying hello. Anders got up and came to stand beside her, caution momentarily lost in wonder. Merrill started whispering excitedly to poor Sebastian, who simply looked non-plussed.

"Crafted by the Circle's best from the blood and scales of the High Dragon slain not a week ago," said Orsino quietly, watching Natale's face. "A fitting birthday gift, I think, from Kirkwall's Circle of Magi to its Champion."

A pile of unsaid things lingered between them. She seized the elf's hands in hers. "Thank you, First Enchanter."

He nodded gravely. "You're welcome, Champion," he said. "And now, I should take my leave before I outlast my welcome."

No, his eyes said with just the hint of a smile as he turned to go. Thank you. Thank you for standing with the mages when no one else can or will. We will not forget it. And if the Maker smiles on us, we will one day repay that debt.

She waited until that night, when the moon was high in the sky, the remnants of her birthday dinner long gone save for a few leftover pastries Orana had hidden away in the pantry. Anders slept peacefully beside her; she gently pulled herself from his embrace and pulled on her dressing gown, her bare feet making no sound on the cool stone floor.

Orsino's gift leaned against her writing desk. She very slowly pressed the latches, marveling at the First Enchanter's spellwork. Just a little bit of enchantment in the locks; only a mage could open or close this case without brute force. Moonlight glittered dimly off the chestplate, the dark fur hood. For several minutes, she just ran her hands over every inch, every buckle and stitch, feeling the latent magic thrumming with potential under her palms. She lifted one of the wickedly sharp gauntlets; it was heavier than she expected.

Natale rarely wore heavier armor of this sort, but somehow, it felt right. She shed the dressing gown and laid it over the back of her chair. First the undershirt and pants, then the silverite greaves and boots. She moved her legs experimentally, pleased to find that the armor didn't hamper her unduly. Part of her wondered whether all the spiky bits and chain were necessary. But she couldn't help but revel in the feel of wearing something literally infused with magic. The chestpiece came next, followed by the strangely asymmetrical shoulders. She struggled with them briefly before working out how she was supposed to buckle everything in place.

Finally, the gauntlets-clawed metal on the back, open at the palms. She wondered if Orsino knew of her blood magic; she had done her best to keep it a secret from most people. The last chain snapped into place, and she made her way to the window, throwing the black hood over her pale hair. Her boots echoed across the floor, and for all its power, she felt the armor's weight on her shoulders and chest.

The figure that looked back at her in the half-reflection sent shivers down her spine. She saw not a scion of the Amells, or even a mage, but a hardened and relentless woman, born for war and death. Hesitantly, Natale reached out toward the woman in the glass. The ends of their gauntlets touched.

Her ghostly reflection smiled; Natale closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the power bubble up in her fingertips. Lightning arced across the glass where their hands met, winding its chaotic way up to the walls of the estate. She could feel the dragon's captured might coursing through her, almost taste the magical potential in the air. She let the spell fizzle and opened her eyes when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

Anders watched her with a mixture of awe and sadness on his face. He said nothing, just came to stand at her side. He took her hand, feeling for the softness of her skin through the cold, hard gauntlets.

"It's so heavy," she whispered. He pushed back her hood, one hand coming up to cup her cheek.

"I know," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "It always is."