Sweat ran into her eyes, making them sting. The air reeked of a wrongness Erise could taste. It festered in her mouth, making every breath bitter as her lungs burned. Her skin flushed with the unnatural heat pulsing inside her. The horrifying grub-like creatures had grown strong and lethal on darkspawn flesh. One had stabbed clean through her plate, and though the mage had healed the wound in her gut, it couldn't fully mend without rest.

The hurlock charging her let out a cry – a worded cry – as its massive axe swung towards her. She swung back, meeting the heavy iron handle with her blade, sliding it down to shear off the creature's fingers. Decapitating it with a strong swing, she felt a pain in her side as the half-knitted flesh began to tear anew.

She barely noticed, so bewildered by the absence of the familiar pull of tainted blood. Erise was as blind as the others, and for the first time since she had first felt that haunting call rise, she longed to feel the kinship with those she killed.

The black blood pooled and spilled at her feet and she could only stare.


"The man was Tainted. He had to die." The Commander was calm, her posture easy. Her manner made a chill run down Varel's spine.

"You may wish to explain your actions to the others." Varel paused a moment when the Commander frowned. "They seemed upset."

"Upset" was an understatement – they'd come to him, babbling about a caged man and Orlesian who coolly slaughtered innocents. Only Sigrun had remained quiet. The Commander's eyes hardened briefly, but Varel quickly moved on. "You have not yet told me if you wish to act on the rumor that the nobles plan to move against you."

There was the slightest twitch at the corner of one of her eyes. "I am not going to play their games. If they move, they face the wrath of the Wardens and the Crown. The King supports me." Shrugging, she waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Besides, I survived the Imperial Court. I shall survive this."

Something about the decision shifted his opinion. It was unsound and overconfident and yet… It was the Fereldan thing to do.


Mistress Woolsey was insistent the trade routes needed clearing, while there were additional pleas for the country side, Amaranthine, the Keep. Their numbers were depleted since the original attack, and restoring the Keep was taking a considerable amount of gold.

Varel watched as the Commander mulled over the decision, flipping through pages of reports. Mistress Woolsey and Garavel sat at his side, both of them stiff and leaning forward.

Nodding once, the Commander stood, briefly glancing at Varel. "The Keep has enough to fund a watch for the countryside and the city." Moving to a heavy chest, she bent down and drew a key from around her neck and soon the heavy iron lock clicked open. "My personal funds are enough to hire and train a new contingent for the trade routes. I leave in four days – Captain, Seneschal, I expect you to have two dozen men in training by the time I return." Tossing a heavy pouch onto the desk, she gestured at Mistress Woolsey.

The others nodded and left, but Varel stayed. "You stretch the guard thin, Commander."

He let his eyes follow her as he moved to sit, telling himself he was watching for some hesitation. "Should I leave a particular place open to attack? Amaranthine is the key to supplies by sea and if I let the darkspawn burn fields we will have no food. The country has been at the heart of a Blight for two years and the granaries are almost empty."

It was his turn to be watched, the pale green of her irises unsettling in a face darkened by sun and weathered by years and care. All of it was framed by short brown hair, heavily streaked with grey. Varel leaned forward, returning her stare. "I didn't expect such a decision from an–" Orlesian. He caught himself before he finished, but the unspoken word seemed all the louder, echoing in his head and heart.

The Commander's eyes dropped to her desk and he saw her cheeks flush. "I cannot change where I was born, but I had thought in Ferelden people judged on action, not birth. It seems I was wrong about your country." Pushing her chair back, the Commander stood and walked to the door, her footsteps pausing as the latch sounded. "And I was wrong about you."

With that he was alone in her office, gut twisting and churning as weeks of trust lay in fractured pieces on the floor.


Many thanks to neaira [dot] awakened for being a great beta for this round, especially on such short notice!