Thanks to everyone reading along and commenting, and to my intrepid beta, mille libri.

Auld Lang Syne

"My Lady, there are...oh!" Myr opened one eye to a flash of brown dress and blond hair before the heavy bed curtains fell closed again. The clatter of crockery on the nightstand told her that Enna had at least left the tray before racing back out the door.

"For shame, lethallin." She yawned. "You've broken her heart to see you in my bed, and now I'm in for days of downcast eyes and reproachful glances."

"This heap is like an ice cave; I was freezing alone." Aene Mahariel pressed himself tightly against Myr's back. He was tall and powerfully-built, with heavy, long black hair; a strong contrast to his lithe, blond lover Zevran, at least superficially. His visits were a mixed blessing; Myr loved to see her friend, but she and her Wardens endured frequent episodes of tepid tea and lukewarm dinner, served by preoccupied young girls. "I suggest a maleficar or two; I think Avernus does something to heat the main keep at the Peak. I'm loath to call too much attention to it for fear that he'll stop. His tower is still freezing, though; he won't even allow the hole in the ceiling to be fixed."

"The icy air probably helps preserve that corrupt old wretch. Coffee?" Myr dove into her thick dressing gown and poured, then quickly scrambled back into the warm bed.

"Reminds me of our days on the trail; how often the three of us would huddle in your tent for warmth that winter."

"Until you and Zev woke in the middle of the night and started getting frisky."

"Getting 'frisky'?" Aene laughed. "Did our canoodling bother you? Our congress? Our relations?"

"I did appreciate that you kept the really energetic congress for when I was on watch." She smiled and leaned into him. "I've missed you."

"And I you, lethallan. Let's go see for what dire threat milady was summoned."

oOo

"Lord Eddelbrek, Ser Derren, I believe that your explanations and voluminous notes will be sufficient for the Commander to give your concerns the attention they deserve. Unfortunately, she has business with ..."

Ser Derren frowned at Varel. "Do not attempt to shoo us, Seneschal. We've waited two months for the Arlessa to return."

Myr peered up at her vassals from behind the piles of parchment stacked on her desk. "Thank you for the reminder, Warden Varel. My Lord, Ser Derren, my Wardens are waiting for me to join them. I appreciate your bringing this situation with your tenant-farmers to my attention; if you will return to the Vigil in two weeks, that will give me time to evaluate our resources and devise solutions that will work for all of us."

Eddelbrek smiled blandly and bowed. "Of course, Arlessa. Come, Derren." He led the fuming man from Myr's office.

"Didn't I give that man his bridge or field or whatever back, over that Packton shrew's vociferous and mostly legal objections?" Myr groused as she looked over the packet of records the two had compiled.

Varel nodded. "And allowed Eddelbrek's sheep to freely graze on that late and unlamented Lady's estate."

"The short one, Derwood? He does have a point," Aene drawled from his perch on the window ledge. "I had to pass through his outlying farms on the way to the Vigil. They barely have the numbers to plant their fields, much less harvest this autumn."

"The workers are making more money in the city, with the rebuilding," Varel noted.

"I know that they both lost a great deal during the Blight and the Thaw, but our coffers aren't exactly..." Myr stopped and cocked her head slightly.

"I never like to see that look on your face, Tabris," Aene said warily.

"Too suspicious by half, Mahariel. Varel, would you mind gathering everyone in the meeting room? I need to catch the gentlemen before they leave." She hurried out the door.

oOo

" Ser...Warden Perth." Myr corrected herself as she grasped his hand warmly, interrupting his automatic bow. "Welcome to the Order. I can't tell you how pleased I was when Warden Nathaniel told me of your recruitment. Although I fear we may suffer Arl Teagan's wrath at stealing his finest knight."

The tall man blushed slightly and smiled. "Thank you, Commander. My Lord was...surprised, certainly. But when I told him of my calling to this life, my faith that this course had been set out before me, he understood and wished me well. The recall of my brother knights following your success with the Ashes helped to swell their numbers once again, though we lost several at Denerim." He paused for a moment, then continued. "He did wish me to convey to you his deepest regards, though he added that if you tried to recruit more knights away from his service, he would...ah, but that is not a comment for mixed company, please forgive me." He nodded to the women, his cheeks reddening.

"No need, Warden. I can guess," Myr grinned. "Everyone, if you would be seated. We have a lot to cover."

Myr had set aside time later that evening for Varel and Eren Cousland to bring her up to date on the general state of the arling, matters of trade, and the summons from Anora that had arrived while she was in the Free Marches. There were topics more pertinent to the Wardens themselves to cover with all of them in attendance.

Eren, Nathaniel and Finn had returned to the Vigil from Kal'Hirol the previous evening after Myr and the others had crawled into their respective beds. They had an extensive report from the dwarven historians and their findings. At Soldier's Peak, Aene reported good progress on the rebuilding effort.

"That older Glavonak brother is a marvel; everything he puts his hand to is solid enough to last for centuries. The younger, though...I've met some crazy durgen'len in my time," he smirked at Sigrun, "but this one takes the biscuit."

"Dworkin is certainly enthusiastic in pursuit of his craft," Myr acknowledged.

"You sent a pyro to a keep with a loony shem mage socked away in the tower." He glared at her. "Last month Voldrik asked my opinion about demolishing the remains of the old smithy. Dworkin overhears, runs to have words with his fellow nutter, and an hour later the old smithy is gone..."

"That's efficient."

"...along with the curtain wall it stood next to and half the hillside. Fortunately the only thing on the downslope from the smithy was several thousand vertical feet of evergreens and a few poor squirrels. On the plus side, Voldrik thinks he may have found a vein of silverite where the wall used to stand."

"Congratulations on the find, Brother." Nathaniel said with a faint smile.

"You won't be so smug when I ship Dworkin right back here to the Vigil, Brother."

"Actually, they come as a set." Myr shrugged apologetically. "Voldrik won't be parted from his brother. I think it's him that keeps Dworkin from sliding the rest of the way into lunacy. To move from that awkward subject, Aene, how go your recruiting efforts?"

"Morin survived his Joining; Athras did not. I'm sorry, Myr, I know how much you liked him."

"I did." She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. "At least he and Danyla are together again."

"Danyla?" Carver spoke up for the first time that morning. "A Dalish lady? Is that a common name?"

"Not very. Where have you heard it?" Aene asked.

"We were contracted to hunt mercenaries that almost wiped out the ruling family of Starkhaven. We were looking for them out on the Wounded Coast."

"I heard about the coup from Fergus; he said they'd set some puppet cousin up as Prince? I'd like to hear more of that later if you wouldn't mind, Warden Carver. Sorry for interrupting." Eren smiled at the young man.

"I...of...of course not, Lady...Cousland...I mean Warden Eren." Carver ducked his head and blushed.

"About Danyla, Carver?" Myr prompted gently.

"Oh, yes. This may seem hard to believe, though."

"Trust us. We've seen a bit."

He laughed and visibly relaxed. "There was a group of Dalish that had tracked some humans all the way from Ferelden and caught one of them alone; a werewolf, they said. The leader of the group—I didn't catch her name—said that he had murdered her mother."

"That's impossible—Aene killed her," Myr said.

"Pardon me, Warden Aene?" Perth looked shocked and vaguely ill. "You murdered one of your people?"

"Killed her, Warden Perth, not murdered," Aene corrected sharply. "Werewolves ambushed one of our clans in the Brecilian forest, killing some and infecting many more with lycanthropy. We came upon one in the forest that still held onto her sanity, though she was in torment. For my people at least, the curse was fire in their veins, unending agony. She begged us to kill her, to give her peace from the torture. I granted her wish."

"My apologies and condolences. I did not mean to judge."

"Apology accepted." Aene nodded stiffly. "When we investigated we learned that the Keeper, Zathrian, had cursed a group of humans centuries before, condemning them and all of their descendants to madness and lycanthropy."

"Cursed them? Why? And how?" Finn asked.

"Some of the most powerful blood magic I've ever seen, though I'm hardly an expert. He cursed the humans for killing his son and brutalizing his daughter."

"Aene and Myr managed to convince the Keeper to end the curse," Eren continued, "The humans returned to their natural forms, and the elves that were sickened with it recovered. It was too late for Danyla, though. I hope their daughter can find peace with it all."

"Merrill offered to guide them to..."

"Merrill!" Aene interrupted Carver. "How do you know my clansister?" he demanded.

Myr hadn't had the opportunity to tell the other Wardens of the Hawke family's harrowing flight from Ferelden. As Carver related their escape from the darkspawn and Flemeth's astonishing appearance, she watched the same profound disquiet that she and Denel had shared reflected on Eren's and Aene's faces, and the mixed confusion and disbelief on the others. She rose and stretched as she listened, stepping into the hallway to ask for tea.

"I just wish I knew why Marethari is staying so close to Kirkwall, and what could have happened to the halla," Aene muttered worriedly.

"Hopefully I'll get some answers when..." Myr broke off as her father entered with tea.

"Go ahead with your discussions, all; I promise I won't listen." Cyrion smiled and started pouring.

"You don't need to bring us tea, Father; we have people we pay to do that. If you put it on the sideboard, we can serve ourselves when we finish in a moment."

"I don't mind, Myraene. There are some sandwiches, and I made honey-cakes."

"Honey-cakes? Well, we're probably done here."

oOo

The Great Hall was quiet at midnight, save for the guards walking their patterns and the occasional hungry Warden up late. Myr frequently stopped in the small library alcove off the Hall on the way to the kitchens for a snack before turning in. Scattered amongst the books were other items: a dented, filthy hip flask; a set of maps in a carefully oiled leather belt case; a small bag of rocks, shells and wooden buttons—a little boy's collection of treasures.

"Commander?" The tentative greeting startled Myr out of her reverie, and she put the bag back in its place.

"Good evening, Carver. On the way to the kitchens as well?" She waved off his guilty smile. "Don't stint yourself on food; that's where I'm bound as well. Add in an unfamiliar and rigorous training regimen, and you're going to be hungry. A lot. Oh, and I have something for you; Wade delivered it this evening."

Wrapped in a burnishing cloth was an unembellished silverite medallion on a long twisted chain. "Th-thank you Commander."

Myr only smiled at the not-quite-suppressed confusion in his voice. "It doesn't need to stay so plain, Carver." She drew out her own medallion to show him the design; a tree with a thick, twisting trunk and spreading branches. "This is the Vhenedhal tree from the Denerim Alienage where I grew up. I used to climb it as a child and look out over the city before I grew bold enough to sneak out on my own. These amulets are a tradition for the Wardens; there is a bit of the Joining mixture captured inside, a reminder of those we've lost. Father does the engraving."

"It's amazing work. He's a baker and a metalworker? As long as he doesn't confuse the two, I suppose." He laughed.

"He also plays the lap harp, tells wonderful children's stories and is quite deadly with a bow."

"You think a lot of your father; it's easy to see."

"Yes I do. Of course he's my father so some small bias might creep in." Myr sobered as she recalled what he had told them of Malcolm Hawke's recent death. "I'm sorry that I never got to meet yours, Carver. He'd be quite proud, I think."

"Maybe." He shrugged uncomfortably and nodded at the amulet in his hands again. "Maybe a mabari, or a griffon. Or the big Lothering windmill, for home. Your other pendant ... is that a tiny rock, Commander?"

"It is." She untied the bag of rocks and buttons, spilling some into her hand. "I laughed at Imriel's bag of rocks once, until he told me they were the only thing from his home that the templars let him keep. He found some copper wire and crafted one that I particularly liked into a pendant. Dared me to wear it." Her smile faded.

"Imriel? I haven't met him yet, I don't think."

"Imriel Surana, from the Circle; he knew your cousin, actually. They were friends, the four of them; Imriel, Delia, Anders and Jowan. We recruited him when we returned to the Tower after Ostagar. He later died."

"I'm sorry, Commander. That ring on your chain; he was your husband?"

"Thank you, Carver. But no; Imriel and I were close, but he died only a month and a half after joining the Wardens. We grew close so quickly in those days." She turned the ring in her fingers. "This was to be my wedding ring. I think I told you that I was betrothed to a young man named Nelaros before I left Denerim? He is gone as well." She shook off the memory and forced a smile. "Listen to me, I sound like a sobby maiden in one of those impossibly tragic Orlesian ballads. It's never easy, losing friends."

"Or sisters." Carver paused and then nodded at the bookshelves. "I should ask Varric to send you signed copies of his serials. He'd be insufferably smug to think of his stories taking up shelf space at Vigil's Keep. Of course, he's insufferable regardless."

"I think he might be less smug if he knew the titles with which his would rub shoulders." She smirked and pointed to a leather-bound volume, shiny from handling. "Bonny Edme, a rather blue collection of letters from a Starkhavian Chantry scribe to his object of admiration, a black-haired lady of negotiable virtue. Or this; 101 Antivan...oh dear, never mind that one. There are your devotionals and political histories, of course, but most are books handed from friend to friend, to pass the time at camp when it's too rainy to travel, or for diversion when the nightmares get too dark."

"These other things; the chantry amulet, the scroll...?"

"That amulet belonged to your cousin. There was a templar at the Circle; they were close. He gave her his amulet when Duncan recruited her and she left with us. The scroll is Elvish; a hymn to Falon'Din for guidance across the Veil to the Beyond."

"Is that yours, Commander?"

"Feel free to call me Myr in private, Carver," she said absently. "But no, it belonged to Justice. I found the prayer scroll in a Dalish camp in the Wending Woods; the elves had all been killed or taken by the darkspawn. He said that the cadence and the words helped him feel like he still had a link to the Fade, even if he couldn't travel there."

"The spirit...felt comforted? The Justice that took over Anders that night in the Chantry didn't seem to care about anything but killing templars."

"That's not Justice, not anymore. Justice knew compassion, even wonder. He could feel the lingering emotions of the man whose body he inhabited; he felt the love Kristoff bore his wife, marveled at it. He could hold her locket and see moments of their life together; it was...extraordinary. As a spirit of justice he wanted to bring that to the world, of course, but it was about freeing those held unjustly, helping those who needed help. What he has become, what they have done..." Myr shuddered.

"You mean leaving the Wardens? I know that's not allowed."

"That's all he said; just that he left?" Myr shook her head, unsurprised. "There is more to it, of course. I'll tell you about it when we're on the road."

"The road?"

"We're off to Denerim for an audience with the Queen. I have some items of business, but she also likes to meet the new Wardens. She's already acquainted with Perth, so it's just you this time." She smiled at his expression. "Don't worry, Carver. Anora isn't the intimidating force of nature the stories talk about. She's just a person, like you or me."

"Really? I'd heard..." He stopped and sighed. "Oh, right, having me on."

"Yes; she's more that intimidating force of nature type." She motioned to the door to the kitchen. "Let's get some food."

"I'm not so hungry now."

oOo

"Did you bring me anything from the kitchens?" Aene yawned and blinked sleepily from under a pile of blankets.

"You're not eating in my bed." Myr put the plate on the table next to her reading chair, stripped quickly and slid into bed as Aene crawled out.

"You've gone all fussy, lethallan. You never used to worry about that kind of thing when we were traveling." He pulled a blanket from the bed and wrapped himself in it as he started in on the food.

"When bed is rank skins and rags that hadn't seen water in a month, sleeping with two men who always smelled like they just had sex? No, a few bread crumbs were really the least of my worries. Speaking of which..."

"You know, you should promote that cook's apprentice, the wiry one. He has gifted hands." Aene chuckled as he fed ham bits to Mouse, stretched out in front of the fire.

"I'm telling Zev." She smirked, then sniffed at the bedding. "Wait, you didn't..."

"I have a perfectly good bed of my own for that sort of thing." He laughed. "Our relationship works for us, and he certainly isn't keeping himself celibate while he works out his Crow issues. There are bonfires and tiny flames, emm'asha. The small doesn't diminish the large."

"Perhaps not for you."

"You could do with a few flames of your own, you know, as well as a few extra pounds. You dropped some weight again while you were up in the Marches, and you don't have it to spare." He put the plate with the rest of the cheese on the floor for Mouse and slid back in next to her.

"A month of nug and Denel's rock cakes will do that to a person, I'm sorry to say. Maybe I'm trying to get rid of my last vestiges of breasts and hips so you'll take me to your bed in truth, emma sa'lath," she purred.

"You'll need to wait for Zev on that score, alas. You lack that one particular item for which I'm really rather keen; he's less particular." His soft chuckle ended in a sigh. "I miss him, Myr. More than I thought possible."

"I do too." She stroked his muscular arm, wrapped around her waist. Her thoughts doggedly returned to the decision she had made on the journey from Kirkwall. "I'm going to make Nathaniel Warden-Commander, Aene. The Wardens need their Commander here, especially with our new recruits."

"You think you'll be gone for that long this time? I'd come with you if I could, you know that."

"I know, but I think we both realize that you're the only one that can command the Peak. Anyone else would've killed or been killed by Avernus by now, or allowed Levi and his brood to do him in. I need him to keep working on the Joining recipe, now that we have him working ethically, or thereabouts. We're up to about sixty percent survival; I'd like to see it higher."

"You're admirably practical in some ways, and confounding prim in others. I will never figure you out, woman."

"You're not supposed to, lethallin." Myr laughed and patted his hand before growing serious again. "I would have made you Commander, but then you would be Arl, and would need to be here."

"Don't even joke about that. I wouldn't put up with all of these crazy shemlen for a wagon load of gold and all the cook's apprentices in Thedas. Not that they'd put up with me. Taking orders from the Hero of Ferelden is one thing; taking orders from some barbarian knife-ear? I think not. The ones up at the Peak are mostly Drydens, and almost bearable. Being shunned themselves seems to give them a healthier attitude towards the People."

"To say nothing of having a completely amoral blood mage to back you up, should they grow obstreperous."

"You stole entirely too many books from the shems as a child, Myr. You and your fascination with their large words." He laughed.

"I cannot change my race, Aene. But if I can speak the language as well or preferably better than they do themselves, it gives me an edge." She shrugged. "I'll speak with Nathaniel and Eren about all of this when we get back from Denerim."

"You just don't want to give Nathaniel too much time to think of arguments against your plan before you leave for the Free Marches again."

"No, I just don't want to have too much time to listen to them." She chuckled, finally relaxed and warm enough to sleep.

oOo

"Not that I don't appreciate the balm of your perennial good cheer, Maynee, but why did you insist on coming along on this jaunt? I thought you hated Denerim."

Maynee Brosca had both hands off the reins, trusting her placid little pony to amble along with the horses while she mumbled to herself and scribbled in a small, weather-beaten journal. Myr and Alistair had found her wounded and starving in a Carta prison cell in Orzammar, and she had been with them ever since, although she refused to even consider joining the Wardens. After their later encounter with the Broodmother, Myr was grateful in retrospect. She still didn't know why May felt as she had, but she fought and worked at their side all the same.

Maynee had fed her mother and sister by working for a Dust Town thug named Beraht, though her true gift was tailoring. From stolen bolts of cloth and scavenged trinkets, she created gowns and ornaments for her sister beautiful enough to help her win the notice of the young Prince Bhelen. With lessons in deportment and May's lovely dresses, Rica transformed herself into a consort fit for a king, as she came to be in truth. Their mother taken care of and her sister finding her dream, Maynee finally had the chance to escape her despised home.

Eren taught her to read and write during the quiet nights at camp during the Blight, and May had become a voracious consumer of books. Myr was a little concerned about bringing her back to Denerim, truthfully. There were rich libraries to be plundered, as she knew from her own nighttime expeditions as a girl.

"Denerim is worse than Orzammar; too many filthy, stone-forsaken people, stinking and shitting and all squashed together in one place. At least at the Vigil I can get away from you vermin whenever I want to, which is often. But I have too much to do, don't I?" she growled.

"Such as?" Myr asked, trying to mask the automatic suspicion in her voice.

"None of your dresses will fit since you dropped weight again; I'll need to take one of them in before you're fit to see the Queen."

"You really should try to eat more while you have the opportunity, Myraene," Cyrion agreed, riding at Myr's left.

"The boy doesn't have any clothes at all..." Maynee ran down her list.

"Don't call me boy, and I'm not naked." Carver trailed behind, too hung over from his introduction to Denel's stash of lichen ale to sight-see or do much apart from groan.

"Shut up, boy, and don't interrupt your elders," Maynee snapped, then nodded at Cyrion. "Your father needs something a bit richer for when he's presented at Court."

"Please don't trouble yourself on my account, Maynee. I doubt the Queen will miss one elf."

"Oh no, Father. If I have to go talk to her, everyone does." Myr smirked. "Besides, she expressed an interest in meeting you specifically, as she didn't have the opportunity at the coronation."

"The places you lead me, my daughter." Cyrion smiled and shook his head.

"Lastly, if we're going to be in the Free Marches for a number of months, there are some provisions that I'm not going to count on being able to buy there. Give me money." May held out her hand peremptorily.

"We are going nowhere near the Marches, May; I am," Myr stated firmly.

"I as well," Cyrion added.

"Father, we..."

"...discussed this three months ago, Myraene."

Myr was brought up short by the unaccustomed steel in her father's voice. There was really no firm reason that she could point to, to keep him in Ferelden any longer. "Very well, Father. You're right," she said softly.

"I am? Of course I am." He nodded, sealing the agreement.

"But you, May, are not my father and are not coming."

"Oh yes I am. You obviously need a couple of competent people to take care of you, seeing that Denel and Sigrun failed so spectacularly." Maynee looked her over again and huffed.

"I can take care of myself. And don't you two do that long-suffering look behind my back. Who is the Warden-Commander here anyway?"

"You've led us and looked after us admirably, Myr." Eren smiled back at her, interrupting her conversation with Aene.

"Thank y-"

"But May's right; you don't care for yourself." Eren shrugged apologetically.

"Who asked you," Myr muttered spitefully before turning back to the dwarf. "You're staying, and that's final."

"I'm not one of your Wardens, you idiot. You can't command me to do squat." Maynee laughed coarsely.

"I have other resources, May. I can keep you in Ferelden, I think."

"You? You couldn't even keep one sissy-pants human girl from following you to the Keep. What do you think your chances are of stopping me?"

"That sissy-pants human girl is Delilah Howe, the Bann of Amaranthine; you're just an obnoxious mini-person with a giant knobbly stick up her bum."

Maynee cackled and slapped her thigh, startling her pony. "Ah, I've missed you, girl."

"I missed you too, May. Maybe we'll talk about you coming along. For a...oh!" A sharp punch at her back, and sudden, burning pain had her grasping at what felt like an arrow embedded in her leather armor. She plucked at it uselessly for a moment as a strange lethargy overcame her.

"Myraene!" Her father shouted.

"Oh bother." She slid from her horse into blackness.