Zevran was the first to come to her room. She let him in. For once the elf was solemn and made no attempt to flirt, only pulling her into a close hug. She stood with him for a moment, vibrating with fury in his arms, but then broke away, needing to move.

He watched her pace and seemed to be arguing with himself. Eventually he held up a hand, sighing, and she stopped. His other hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag tied with string. He loosened it and poured a few grains of loose powder out into his hand.

She said nothing, confused. They sat there like an offering of bread in the Chantry.

"This much will cause death," he said.

She narrowed her eyes. "A gift from the Crows?"

"Gift may be stretching the point, but largely yes. The death is soft, for death."

Her hand stretched out and took the bag. It was surprisingly heavy, but the string pulled closed easily. "Will you leave with me?"

"My heart would never allow me to part from you, my dearest," he said. He walked to the door and paused. "Just before midnight?"

She nodded. "And Zevran? Don't tell Leliana."

He grimaced and left.


Fergus came next. She refused him entry. He shouted at her through the door, called her a traitor and worse to her family, and she made her heart into stone. The knife edges of her, the sharp parts that never dulled, sliced him away from herself until she felt nothing. His words became only noise, and she no longer understood them. He left after a time, and she was glad.


Alistair came last. He would not be cut away so easily, so she let him in. Besides, she wanted to face this ruler who would sell a boy to gain a nation.

She'd expected him to come in wary, a little afraid. Looking for her approval. Instead he stood in front of her unbowed and strong. He was king, now, in truth and in word, and sought approval from no one. A leader. Her admiration of his transformation was reluctant and bitter, and she wouldn't show it to him.

"So," she said, "you do know how to hurt with more than a sword. I thought you weren't capable of it."

His eyes flashed. "I won't apologize for my choice. I made the judgment that was needed for my people."

"I didn't realize Ferelden was a nation of vengeance," she said. "What a kind group we've turned out to be. No wonder Orlais has tried to conquer us so many times. They were only trying to civilize us."

"Not vengeance. Justice. Healing. Thomas Howe understands these things better than you do."

"Don't you dare speak of him. A boy you'll murder in three days. A boy who doesn't deserve to carry the anger of a country."

"None of us deserve anything that's happened," he said, growling. "I didn't deserve a bastard's lonely childhood nor do I deserve the burden of my crown. You didn't deserve the fate that Duncan laid on you the night Highever burned. Eamon didn't deserve to lose his family to a traitor's plot. It's not about deserving, Elissa. It's about accepting. Doing what's needed. You've championed that often enough. And you've taken your own fate without complaint. Why not allow him to choose his?"

"He didn't choose it! You chose it for him, Your Highness."

"You know that's not true. He died months ago, when he walked into Highever for the first time. He knows it. His eyes knew it when he knelt before me. He came prepared to do what was needed. The only thing that gave him any hope at all was your reckless, passionate, flaming speech. You were so beautiful that the Maker himself would have granted anything you asked."

He sighed. "But I'm not the Maker. I'm only the ruler of this tired, bitter country that needs to heal. I won't break its back for the sake of anyone. Not even you."

Elissa crossed her arms. "Eamon would be proud. Before he left, he told me to keep you in line, to make sure you didn't make choices that would help the few but hurt the many. He obviously had nothing to worry about."

They were silent for a long time, until she spoke again. "Fergus manipulated you, you know. He salted the crowds with people who agreed with him, then used his words to inflame the rest, to force you into the choice that he wanted. He'd been planning for this ever since he got here."

"Yes, I know." He looked at her. "But manipulation must be the Cousland gift, I think."

"I didn't try to manipulate you," she said.

"Then why did you wear this?" he asked. He stepped closer and drew his finger down the silk sleeve of her dress. An intimate gesture that held no warmth.

She looked down, ashamed against her will.

He dropped his hand. "Thomas Howe must be very important to you."

"All good people are important to Fereldan," she said. She studied the rug beneath her feet. "That includes you. I accept the King's judgment, for the good of his nation. That doesn't mean I forgive the man who turned his back on honor for it."

His footsteps were quiet as he moved to the door. He paused, as if to say something, then left without a word.


That night she went to Thomas's cell. The guards let her pass unchallenged and didn't follow, whether because Alistair had ordered it or they saw the look in her eyes she didn't know. She arrived to find his sister sitting with him. They spoke quietly together, and she hesitated.

Delilah looked over. Her eyes were tight, but she motioned Elissa into the small chamber with them. She closed the door lightly behind her, then sat on the bed.

Thomas spoke first. "Lady Cousland, thank you for your efforts today, however unwarranted they were. I'm honored that you tried."

"They were warranted," Delilah said under her breath and snorted. When Elissa looked over, the girl spoke louder, through tears. "You were right. He doesn't deserve this punishment. The King is a petty tyrant."

Thomas took her hand. "I accept it. No tears. And don't be too hard on His Majesty. His choices are not easy."

Elissa stared at him, incredulous. "How can you accept things so easily? Why aren't you furious?"

"I've executed many men. Not all of them merited it. But all of the deaths were necessary for the ones who still lived." He paused. "I wish it weren't so. It would be nice if justice were clean and bright with no grey edges. In your mind it seems to be, Lady Cousland, and it's what makes you so powerful when there is something to stand against. But it's your weakness when the enemies are unclear. Choices have no morality in themselves. They cross onto both sides of that line, and leaders don't always get to pick so cleanly where they stand. You were made for war, not peace."

His face broke a little, then. "Nevertheless I regret the things in life I won't get to see, if that makes you feel any easier." He touched his sister's knee. "When this hellion finally finds a man who can keep up with her, for example."

She made a face at him, and Elissa's throat tightened at memories of her own brother, still there for all of her pruning of herself.

Elissa leaned forward, before she lost her composure. "Thomas, I've come to you with an alternative."

He looked at her questioningly, with a hint of disapproval.

"No, I can't help you escape. Even if I thought you would come with me, I swore to the King I accepted his decision. But you don't deserve to be a spectacle to slake the thirst of bloodthirsty people. I've a softer end for you, if you wish."

She lifted Zevran's bag out of her pocket slightly.

He paled. "My lady, the King's justice can't be subverted."

"This is his justice. Just a kinder version," said Elissa.

Delilah was pale as well, but nodded at her words.

"You approve?" Elissa asked her.

"I want the Maker to receive him intact, my lady. I know Thomas will be welcome in His realm."

"Then if it's to happen, it must be tonight," said Elissa. "And you must leave now, so that you're not caught up in it."

Tears fell down Delilah's cheeks. "I understand. We've already said our good-byes." She looked at her brother with love, then threw her arms around his neck such force he rocked backwards. "So long, brother. I hope to see you again, one day. Maker guide you and protect you."

"You as well, little sister. Always," said Thomas. He closed his eyes against his own tears.

As Delilah stood to leave, she drew Elissa to the door and spoke in low tones so that her brother couldn't hear. "Lady, do you think it would be possible for me to join the Grey Wardens? I'm a decent shot with a bow, and I know Amarathine's layout well. I could help. I have no other prospects, and I don't wish to marry against my will."

Elissa was surprised but nodded. "We could arrange that. Go to the stables and look for an Antivan elf named Zevran. Tell him your name and that you come from me. Say the word 'Rinna' to him if he doesn't believe you."

The younger girl left with a last, sad look at her brother, and Thomas watched her go.

"I'll take care of her, Thomas. I promise."

"I believe you, Lady. Your heart is a pure warrior's. I know it doesn't lie." He sighed. "Am I a coward if I take your path? I wouldn't wish to die that way."

"You're many things, but coward will never be one of them," she said. "It's not cowardice to take control of your own end."

"What worries me most is if I don't, Delilah will stay and watch. She won't want to, but she will, and it will hurt her terribly."

He stopped and thought, and she waited quietly. She wouldn't force him.

At last he came to a decision. "I've given enough nobility to this world, I think. My death will erase some of my family's debt, but I won't hurt my sister with it. Give me your option, Lady Cousland."

She shook some powder into a cup from his nightstand. "When I leave, I'll ask the guard to bring you some water. Mix it into this and drink later tonight. You'll fall asleep. It will be gentle, I promise."

"Will you stay with me awhile first?"

She took his hand and said, ""Of course."

They sat silently. Noises of the castle floated around them, guards talking, a few revelers walking in the night, but the life felt muted and empty through the bars of the cell. She felt his hand trembling inside of hers, just a little, and she squeezed it, for his reassurance or her own she couldn't tell. He whispered prayers into the night, and she closed her eyes to join him. Maker bless this good child you made and take away his fear.

Perhaps an hour had passed when he looked at her. "I think it's time. But first I must apologize to you, Lady Cousland."

"Please don't. You're guilty of nothing but loving a father who didn't deserve it."

He shook his head. "No, not for that. Something much earlier. My father, when I was young, was adamant that you and I be betrothed. Marrying into the Cousland family was one of his earliest dreams. Nathaniel was of course destined to rule Amaranthine as its beacon, not be overshadowed by his wife's bloodlines, but I was perfect for his vision. As for me, I have never craved the favor of any woman, though that wasn't something I could tell him. Instead I disparaged you, insulted you, a girl I had never met. I'd hoped he'd give up on marriage for me totally if I showed enough hate for you. Foolish, of course, and it never worked."

"If that's all, you're more than forgiven," she said, laughing a little. "I have to admit I wasn't very complimentary of you when your father brought it up either."

"I can well imagine you were very candid," he said. He looked at her earnestly. "But from what I know of you now, I wish I could take it back. I never wanted a wife. But I think with you I would have been much happier than I feared. And perhaps things wouldn't have come to what they did."

She looked away. "That Elissa was not like I am now. She was rotten and foolish and wouldn't have been worthy of you. Don't regret."

The pull of his hand brought her back.

"I don't know," he said. "We are always changing, but the core of ourselves so often remains from our beginnings even until the end." His eyes shone bright with tears. "At least, that's what I hope is true."

Her arms closed around him in a tight hug. He shook inside of it, and her mind screamed fury. But when she pulled back she made her face reassuring. She took his face in her hands and kissed him gently. His tears mingled salt on her lips. She grieved for the Thomas and Elissa Howe that had never been, happy and safe in another world. Not the same people, not in love the way they loved others, but maybe close enough. Maybe better than this.

She stood to leave, and he smiled at her as best he could. "The King is very lucky, Lady. He's a good man. Please don't let this keep you from him."

There was no answer that would satisfy him.

"Peace, Thomas," she said instead. "May we meet again at the Maker's side."


She met Zevran at the stables. He had the horses ready, along with Delilah and enough provisions to get them a decent start to wherever they were going. She didn't ask where he'd gotten them without anyone finding out. His lies were so implausible that she felt guiltier for having heard them.

They were doing their final checks of their equipment when someone stepped quietly out of the shadows nearby. She whirled around, hand to her sword, and of course it was Leliana.

"You really do know everything, don't you?" asked Elissa, relaxing.

The bard didn't smile. "With some people I don't even need to wait for it to be confirmed."

"Are you going to tell Alistair?"

"Tell him what? I was never here." Leliana's eyes glittered. "But if you must leave, at least be of use to us as you go."

Elissa raised her eyebrows as Leliana held out a thick roll of papers. "Codes, drop locations, meeting places, areas of interest. Despite what you do now, I believe you're still loyal to this country. Loyal to its ruler."

Elissa said nothing, but Leliana always heard unsaid messages more clearly than words.

"He needs your help. We all do. Find his detractors. Create new supporters. Learn things and send them back. Aid people by killing their tormentors. Spread peace in Fereldan through acts of war. It's the only thing you know how to do."

Stung, Elissa grabbed the proffered documents. "If there's a warrant on my head, I'm not sure how effective I'll be able to be."

Leliana's face held hard amusement. "Oh, I think you know that it won't come to that. He's softer than you deserve."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me, Hero. Do what you must."

And so Elissa turned and swung onto her mount. Zevran and Delilah were already astride, ready to leave the yard, and it felt very much like the end.

Leliana looked up at her. "You know that he made the right decision, don't you?"

Elissa nodded. "I know. With enough time, I might even be able to forgive him."


Leliana woke him at dawn. Alistair listened, stunned, as she told him that Thomas Howe was dead in his cell, non-obviously poisoned. No one but Wynne had picked up on it.

His mind was fuzzy with sleep, but not fuzzy enough not to know who was responsible. Before Leliana could stop him, he bolted out of bed and went to Elissa's room. It was exactly as it always was, except for her.

Well, not exactly. A green silk dress was draped over the back of her desk's chair. He walked over and saw a note written in clean lines.

I've executed the King's justice. Let no one else be blamed for my actions.. ~ Elissa Cousland

Alistair stood for a long moment, feeling the silk underneath his fingers. She'd left him, for one decision. For one man. That her loyalty to him was so shallow when his allegiance ran so deep burned him. That he was going to protect her now, shield her again, only made it worse.

Anger would come later, he knew. It was waiting hot and strong in his heart. Now he just felt hollow.

"Where did she go, Leliana?"

Her face was carefully blank. "Your Majesty?"

"Okay, don't tell me. Is Zevran with her?"

She said nothing.

"Fine," he said. It hardly mattered, did it? "Has anyone else seen this?"

"No."

He thought, then said, "Tell people that he committed suicide out of shame for his crimes. Create a note from him to this effect. Announce that the Howes are cowards and traitors, and Fereldan has unmasked their weakness."

"Teyrn Cousland won't like it."

"Damn what Teyrn Cousland likes! Do it."

She nodded and left the room. He read the note in his hand again, then balled it up and threw it in the waning fire.

After it was lost to the ashes, Alistair went back to his chambers and put on his training clothes. The anger was finally filling him, and he was going to hit something. Might as well be admired for it.