The moment I saw Riordan's limp form slip from the dragon's wing and plummet to the earth below, my blood turned to ice. My heart settled like a stone into my stomach, and for a second I was paralyzed, nearly taking an enemy sword to the throat. I dodged it at the last second and swept upward with my own knives, felling the Hurlock and freeing the way before me.

The dragon, clearly wounded, crashed into the top of the tower that loomed in the distance. The tower we had meant to bait it to in the first place. Now it was there, and already hurt. But still alive.

I glanced reflexively to Alistair, and was startled to see him looking at me. Our eyes met, held. And then we both sprang into action, bolting forward, heedless of the Darkspawn in our way. The rest of our companions let out confused cries at our sudden departure, but I did not dare to pause and see if they followed. I had to get to the Archdemon... I had to reach it and end it before Alistair got the chance to interfere.

Happily for me, my leather armor was a great deal lighter than his fancy plates. I was able to run faster and dodge enemy attacks much easier than he. By the time I reached the doors at the tower's base, he was several steps behind me.

"Kallian, don't!" he shouted, and the anguish in his voice made me falter.

More Darkspawn poured from the adjoining rooms into the entrance hall and I swore as the necessity of stopping to fight my way through them allowed Alistair to catch up to me.

"I know what you're trying to do!" he yelled over the clashing of swords and screams of Darkspawn. "You're not going up there without me!"

"Curse you, Alistair!" I shoved a Genlock off the end of my knife and jumped over it to engage another one. "Only you can be king! There is no one else... Fereldan needs you!"

"And I need you!" He beheaded a Hurlock in a great spray of blood and swung to face me, looking truly fearsome in his gore-splattered armor, his brows drawn low over stormy eyes, stained sword held high. "Anora can have the damned throne," he growled, "I never wanted it anyway! Without you... I can't do it without you, Kallian."

The others finally arrived, granting us a reprieve as fresh swords, knives, arrows and spells filled the cavernous space. I took the chance to duck through the first opening provided, once again leaving them behind in my race to the top of the tower. Alistair was close on my heels.

"Don't be a fool," I snapped at him over my shoulder. "You know Anora cannot be trusted! We have worked too hard against her father's treachery only to hand Fereldan over to her now! One of us is going to die today, and I will not let it be you!" I darted through the narrow doorway that led to the winding spiral staircase, taking them two at a time.

"NO!" Somehow his fingers hooked into my belt and yanked me backwards, spinning me off balance so that I nearly fell down the stairs we had managed to climb. But he caught me there, too, saving me the fall, his hand wrapped around my right bicep. I steadied myself and tried to yank my arm from his grasp, but his grip was like a vice.

"Did our night in Redcliffe mean nothing to you?" he spat out in a harsh whisper, his voice echoing in the cramped space. "I can't let you do this... not for me, not for anyone. If you love me at all, if you care for me at all, you won't do this to me - you won't force me to live out the rest of my life without you." He shook his head in exasperation. "I told you that night I wanted to be with you, always, and I meant it. But if we can't do this together... then let me have this. Let this be my first and last act as King. Let me be remembered as something more than Maric's bastard son."

Tears blurred my vision of his face. I blinked, felt their hot trails down my cheeks. The sounds of battle below grew louder, resonating within the stone walls. I had no time, no words to argue with him. "I... I can't... I can't let you do that," I finally forced out, my voice gruff.

"Together, then," he said softly, lifting a gloved hand to gently brush away my tears. "Let us go to the Maker together."

I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to face him and that imploring look. So calm, so confident, so ready to face death... as long as we were together. I sighed, leaning into the warm palm of his glove on my cheek. "Oh, Alistair..."

"Are you two trying to get yourselves killed, running off alone like that!"

Lelianna's shrill rebuke jolted me from my brief state of contemplation and I twisted on the staircase to see her come to an abrupt halt just behind me. Oghren grunted as he ran straight into the back of her, and then the rest of them came into view as they piled into the small, curved space, all breathing hard and covered in Darkspawn blood.

I opened my mouth, but then paused, not wishing to tell them how true that assumption was.

To my surprise, Alistair spoke instead, his voice strong and clear. "The Archdemon is on top of this tower. It's wounded, but we must hurry before it calls any other Darkspawn to its aid. Come, there is no more time to waste!"

He led the way to the tower's roof.


Everything was a blur of dragon scales, leathery wings, blood and teeth. Its roars were deafening, vibrating through my bones, making my ears ring. Those of us with swords and knives ducked in around its legs and belly when we could, hacking and slashing. The archers fired a constant rain of arrows, trying their best to hit the Archdemon and not us. The mages hurled spells as fast as their energy reserves would allow; already several had overexerted themselves and crouched on the ground, vomiting or nursing bloody noses.

I had used the horn hooked to my belt to summon all that was left of the armies to our location, and they had arrived one after the other, bedraggled and exhausted, but heartened at the sight of the wounded Archdemon. We needed every single one of them.

They all fought hard.

But the dragon was very large. And very, very angry.

Our numbers had dropped to a dangerous few before finally, it's strength began to fail. It could no longer rise onto all fours, but resorted to thrashing about on its belly and breathing fire in wide arcs. "Keep at the ballista!" I screamed at Sten above the noise of the fight. The Qunari was the largest and strongest we had; he was the only one who could load and fire the ballista with any kind of respectable speed. The flaming balls of tar enraged the beast as they stuck to its scales and burned, distracting it enough that the rest of us to dance in and land several blows before the dragon turned its attention back our way.

I stayed near its hindquarters, away from the fire and teeth, ducking the clawed hindlimb as it kicked out viciously. I kept an eye on Alistair, kept him near me, to make sure I could stop him if he tried to make a killing strike.

But while watching him, I could not see the Archdemon's tail whip around behind me.

It struck me in the back hard enough to throw me straight over Alistair's head. I landed hard and rolled into the battlements that encircled the roof, unable to move. I couldn't breathe, couldn't see.

"Kallian!"

Alistair's voice. Through the agony pulsing in my chest I sucked in a breath of air, trying to concentrate on breathing and not panicking. My vision slowly cleared, fuzzy at first, then coming into focus. Alistair crouched above me, his face a mask of worry.

"Kallian, can you hear me?"

I blinked slowly. "Yes." The word sounded like it came from far away.

"Thank the Maker!" He glanced over his shoulder to where the Archdemon's howls of rage and pain still splintered the air. "Don't move, you're safe here. It's almost over."

"No, Alistair!" His sleek armor slipped from my weak fingers, and then he was gone.

I swore in both the Maker and Andraste's name, then summoned what strength I had left and forced myself to roll over onto my side. Pain shocked through my body and made the world flash white and I cried out, then ground my teeth against it. My breath sounded ragged even in my own ears as I looked around for my knives.

Gone. And so was my helmet.

No matter. Plenty of weapons still remained in the hands of those who had fallen.

I struggled to my hands and knees, then pushed myself standing. I doubled over immediately, feeling lightheaded, my chest protesting every expansion of my ribs. I coughed and tasted blood.

No matter.

I forced myself to straighten again, one arm remaining tucked protectively over my ribs. I looked out to the fight and saw that the Archdemon's death throes were now much weaker. My heart jumped. Not long now... not much time...

The dragon fell heavily onto its side, its torn and useless wings sagging, its long snake-like neck rising in one final act of defiance against its fate. Alistair's bright form rushed for the Archdemon's neck, his sword raised high.

The jolt of realization numbed my physical condition and I found myself running, oblivious of the pain. I ran as hard as I could, my feet pounding the stone, Alistair's glinting armor the whole focus of my world. I snatched up a Hurlock's sword from where it had been planted in a soldier's neck and crashed full speed into the future King of Fereldon. He staggered, almost falling.

The dragon's throat loomed above me, and I plunged my borrowed blade deep into the soft flesh, slicing down to the breast. The creature shrieked, raising the hairs on my neck. Its gaping jaws snapped at me, but I barely sidestepped, feeling warm spittle across my face. And then its head was within reach, right at my feet.

Alistair appeared on the other side of it, but I did not hesitate.

I stabbed my sword into the dragon's skull with all my might.

"Kallian, NO!"

The Archdemon gave one final cry, its body jerking spasmodically as its life drained out through my blade. The sword trembled in my hands, growing warm, beginning to glow. The power rushed through me all at once... the evil, the hatred, the anger, the desire to dominate. The corruption filled me, burning my soul.

I screamed. For everything that could have been and wasn't, for everything I'd had and lost...

The world folded in on itself, narrowing, compressing, until I felt as if it would crush me. And then, everything exploded, and blissful oblivion claimed me.


Alistair regained consciousness slowly, staring up at a sky the color of blood. He blinked groggily, not remembering how he'd ended up flat on his back and weaponless. He waited a moment, listening, but only a suffocating silence reigned. Gradually the memories trickled back into his awareness. The Darkspawn Horde... the battle at the Gates of Denerim... seeing Riordan fall, the race to the tower, fighting the Archdemon, and...

The image of the woman he loved plunging her sword into the dragon's head leapt to the front of his mind and he rolled abruptly to his hands and knees. His armor was bulky and awkward, a prison that had encumbered him and allowed her to sacrafice herself in his stead.

"No," he whispered. "Maker, please... please let there be a way... let Riordan be wrong..." He dared lift his head to look out on the hundreds of dead bodies that littered the tower, the flames and acrid smoke still billowing. His gaze finally found her familiar form, sprawled and motionless, and a sob hitched in his throat.

He crawled to her and gathered her into his arms, clutching her to him. Her silver hair had come down, caked in blood and dirt, her amber eyes staring sightlessly at the red sky above. One last tear remained on her cheek, still wet. He kissed it away.

"No... no, please..." He stroked her skin, her hair, desperately trying to rouse her, to convince himself there had to be some way around the Sacrafice of the Gray Wardens.

He was not sure how long he spent there, just holding her. But nothing changed. There was nothing he could do. She was gone.

He held her even tighter, burying his face into her neck, and let the grief break free at last.