Elizabeth watched as Varel handed Nathaniel the chalice.

"The moment of truth," Nathaniel murmured, the chalice accepted the cup and blood consumed.

Was this really where Elizabeth's life had lead? Was the Maker truly out to get her? One hardship after another piled high atop her head: obligations to the Grey Wardens, the loss of Alistair and now the fate of Nathaniel rested in her hands.

The decision had been easier to make than she had feared when she first saw him sitting in the cell. Before the archdemon, before Riordan's education about a Grey Warden's true purpose, she would have personally tied the hangman's noose and put it around Nathaniel's neck herself. To her former self, the Howes, every last one of them, deserved nothing more than to be stricken from the face of Thedas.

If she had known about the final blow from the beginning, so many things could have been differently. She would have let Loghain live and if he survived the Joining, he could have taken the final blow, not Alistair. She would have happily taken Loghain as a Grey Warden to serve as a sacrificial offering to Ferelden if it meant Alistair would still be alive.

If she had known…

But now, she did know, and ignorance was no longer a luxury she could afford. Knowledge and experience pushed her to a quick decision. She conscripted Nathaniel and let the Maker decide his fate. She could not condemn another man again when he might still serve a purpose, when his sacrifice might yet save someone else more worthy. He could live for now, should he survive the Joining.

The moment of truth, indeed.

The ghastly screams did not issue forth. The stomach wrenching convulsions of the rejection of the taint did not come. None of the usual signs of death arose. And then he fell back.

Varel knelt beside the fallen and unconscious Nathaniel, fingers pressing down upon the pulse of his neck. "The boy is stronger than I expected. For better or for worse, he will live."

"Maker willing, it will be for the better." She motioned down to Nathaniel, "Bind his wrists." He would awaken soon and she would not have let loose in the keep, not yet.

He might be a Grey Warden now, but he was still a Howe much in the same way that she was still a Cousland. Their titles were gone, but the concepts of family and honor stayed with a person no matter what.

She watched as the guards tied the knots about Nathaniel's wrists while he laid there in his taint-induced slumber. The peaceful slant of his expression was deceiving, she knew. Each person's dreams were different, but none were pleasant.

The archdemon roared, spitting breath of fire into the air. The ground thundered as its cry bellowed. Thousands of troops laid in wait with a single purpose, a single charge. Death.

She tugged her gauntlet from her hand, brushing her hand along the top of her head. Her Joining seemed so long ago, when she had been so young. The idealistic goals of the young girl that opened her eyes to find Duncan and Alistair's relieved gazes existed no longer, though. She had been torn apart one piece at a time until only a husk remained; the hollow wounds of experience left to fester.

She forced down the bitter pill of Nathaniel's survival with a swallow of relief. Emotions collided, leaving uncertainty in their wake. He had been her friend once, or at least that was how she remembered their relationship as children.

Show me how you use a bow, Nathaniel! Please?

Yet, she was sure that if he had died, she would not have shed a tear at his passing. Should she have felt more? Guilty, perhaps? Did he feel guilt for what happened to her family? What happened to the innocent boy she remembered as he slept?

Regardless, the waiting was over and it was done. Dwelling on what might have occurred was not worth the time. Her list of regrets already overflowed, there was no room left to store more.

.

.

.

.

.

The throbbing tap of a headache began as if he was waking to a hangover. Eyelids opened and the world came crashing back within. Light then images then…her face. A picture from the past brought forth into the future. He knew her… Elizabeth Cousland. It had been a dream like no other dream. Reality crashed into fantasy, doubt mixed with certainly. What was true and what was false? He could not tell.

His hands rose, pressing into his brow. He felt the warmth of his hands against his skin. Real. He felt the rope binding his wrists. Real. He blinked. She still was there. Real. His nostrils flared. A breath inhaled and exhaled slowly. Real. The feel of stone against his back. Real.

He must have passed whatever test he was given. He was alive, and the Maker was obviously not done with him yet. He continued to look at Elizabeth. She seemed worried, he thought. The corners of her mouth dropped in the slightest of frowns and the corners of her eyes crinkled just so. Or perhaps instead, she was disappointed in what she saw.

What had happened? Why was she here? Where was…

Vigil's Keep…

The fog began to clear. His father's arling, but his father was…

Dead…

Memories trickled in at first as a tease, a slow drip of pictures taunting and hinting what had passed.

Blood.

War.

Victory.

The aftertaste of blood lingered in his mouth as if a trophy of battles won that he did not recall. It brought forth more remembrance. A dragon, a man, his aim bright and unflinching, it sunk deep into the dragon's head. Screams erupted, a cacophony of terror and delight singing and colliding melodically in the air. It was the end. It was the beginning. It was every point in-between. All paths led to nowhere, a battle fought, won and lost simultaneous. No winner. No loser. Only pain and duty and existence.

A duty that could not be foresworn…

It had been a dream, but it felt so real, so vivid. The monsters screamed in his head, changing him, changing his perspective. He was them but he was not. They were him but they were not. He looked into the green of her eyes. A weight of his new found comprehension snaked against his skin, searing and slick with the meaning of his fate. He lived so that he could die. It was a death sentence in degrees. She was a Grey Warden and now he was too. His conscription had been both his execution and a gift of mercy combined into one gesture.

"Why," was all he could think to ask. She had saved him when she could have easily seen him dead. She had saved him when he knew that he would not have done the same for her. Was she the better person? Or did she have some ulterior motive in mind to further his torment, to further make him pay for the actions of his father?

"Because I could, Nathaniel. And..." There was a pause, a heavy sigh exhaled. There was something fragile about her appearance, as if she was a doll dressed up to look like a soldier, the heavy chainmail seeming burdensome and awkward on her frame. "I… felt it best. You could serve better alive than dead." There was some meaning hidden in the words, something she was not saying. Barriers seemed constructed, and he was sure any effort on his part, at least at present, to find her meaning would have met with an impasse. He opted to question no further, at least on that subject.

He pushed off the ground, attempting to stand. A frown touched his lips at the bonds about his wrists. "Do you think you might undo my wrists?" His arms rose in an awkward gesture.

Her mouth pinched pensively for a moment before she shook her head. "No. I don't think that I will. Not until we talk some more." She swept her hand to motion to a doorway leading into an interior hallway of the Keep.

Hint taken, he proceeded in that direction. "I suppose that is fair, all things considered."

Guards pushed open the heavy doors for the pair. Her steps did not slow as she glanced briefly at Nathaniel. "You did mention wanting to kill me."

"I did and yet, you let me live."

Her shoulders rolled in a hapless shrug. "For now."

He stifled his anger at the sight of so many strangers lurking in the hallways as they walked. Recognition dawned as they turned the corner. She was leading him into the wing of the Vigil where the private quarters of his family were.

"Ah, so I may meet a grizzly fate yet." A sardonic edge overtook his expression. At least she was being honest. He could respect that.

"Perhaps," she said plainly. "It all depends."

More tests? "Depends on what?"

She did not answer him.

Further into the bowels of the Keep they ventured, a turn to the right followed by a turn to the left. The twists and turns of the Keep's interior hallways were almost like a maze at times. They stopped just shy of his father's old rooms and she turned to look at him. Once, there had been warmth and life dancing within her eyes. She had been a playful child, so easily made to giggle and smile. But all he saw when he looked at her now was a shell of what once was. Hard edges had overtaken the soft. It was an expression etched by the memory of loss, and one he knew all too well.

"Your fate depends on how well you fight, as well as on how you answer my next question."

More tests it was. Nathaniel asked, "And that is?"

She considered him for a moment, letting his question hang in the air unanswered. Her arm rose and freed the dagger upon her back from its sheath. Her head dipped and she looked down at the dagger, the blade idly rolled along the palm of her hand. Was he to be intimidated by the gesture? He was not.

Her gaze found his once again. "Do you still intend to kill me if given the opportunity?"

To answer yes would no doubt mean his death. To answer no would be a lie. The Couslands had ruined his family's name, and this Cousland now possessed all that had been his. She was the Arlessa of Amaranthine while the only title left to him was that of common thief.

For now? "No." A lie obscured in the truth.

The tip of her finger pressed into the pinpoint end of the blade. "Do I have your word…." And she struck with words, her mark precise and exacting, "…as a Howe?"

She attacked in a way he did not expect, and yet in a way he should have seen coming. Just as the Couslands were a proud family, so were the Howes. She would have him swear on his family's honor, or what was left of it. "I am surprised you'd take my word as a Howe. I would expect that means nothing to you."

"It doesn't. But I suspect it still means something to you." No feeling. Her lips moved, her eyes stared, but there was nothing readable in her face. Anything she may have felt had been tucked behind heavy curtains and hidden from view.

"If you are asking for my oath as a Howe," he sighed. His bluff called. "You have it." He was not done living yet. While he swore not to kill her, he had not sworn to do her no harm. There were other ways to claim revenge rather than death.

Bide your time, Nathaniel.

His father's lessons were to be put to use.

Her head dropped in a nod, accepting his oath. She took Nathaniel's hands in hers and used the dagger to slice at the ropes about his wrists, freeing him. "Do not make me regret this, Nathaniel." Some hint of vulnerability flashed across her face, but it quickly vanished. "I'm giving you the chance my family never had. Come."

They continued on their path. When they stopped again, he was not sure if it was coincidence or… It was the doorway to his old room. "You can stay here," she said. "This had been yours before, yes?"

He found himself a bit taken aback by the offering. His voice cracked slightly, "Thank you, Elizabeth."

"Commander," she snapped in response. "And there is no need for thanks. You needed a room and this one was available."

He snorted derisively as she spun on her heel and walked away. He could certain think of plenty of other names to call her, all of which would cause his plan to go astray.

Bide your time, Nathaniel. And bide your tongue while you do it.