Disclaimer: Bioware owns it.

"Kill him," she said aloud, leaving it up to anyone to make the blow, and the Architect's messenger was surprised enough that when no less than three onlookers fell upon him, he was dispatched in short order.

"What would you have us do, Commander?" Garavel looked at her, and she heard their objections play over and over in her mind.

"Oghren, make sure no one burns the place down while I'm gone, eh?"

"Gotcha there, Commander. I don't intend on dyin' anytime soon, now do I?" She smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder, recalling the terse, yet less frigid parting after Felsi's more recent visit. Oghren had convinced her to move to the city, and while their marriage was by no means fixed, she was at least a little closer, raising their child.

She merely nodded at Varel, and there was something in the man's eyes, as though he was seeing her for the last time, and she felt her stomach tighten, wondering if it was really her death she marched to this time.

Anders, Nathaniel, and Sigrun followed her out of the keep, and she sent a prayer to the Maker that they all survived the day.

"They will defend the keep, I can't let the city fall."

"As you say, Commander," Garavel replied, and while Anders gave her a small smile, Nathaniel still disapproved. She could come up with a hundred reasons, putting words in his mouth until her throat ran dry, but she had darkspawn to fight, and a city to save, so she tried not to care.

When it seems they have succeeded, they pause. The Chantry is full of everyone they've managed to save, but the city guard still stalks the streets and secret places for more survivors.

"Let me have it," she said, hands on her hips. She found him sitting on a crate, catching his breath.

"Hmm?"

"You wanted to say something, back there, when I ordered us to stay."

He nodded, taking a sip from his water pouch. "But I followed you, didn't I?"

She crossed her arms. "Because you didn't have a choice."

He chuckled darkly. "I always have a choice. I thought the city lost," he said, his gaze flitting over broken families and broken people – people he would have left to rot or burn, people who were saved. "But you have given these people hope where there was none before." He did not say what else was on his mind – the army the messenger had told them of – the army that had, by now, certainly set upon the Vigil.

Her jaw clenched briefly, as though she had read his mind – the only sign that she too worried as they rested, what their friends were facing. "The keep is in admirable shape, an excellent defensive outpost, and Varel and Oghren and Justice will defend her. She's in good hands," she asserted.

He held his hand up to her. "Come here," he said quietly, and she looked around, as though they might be caught. He wiggled his fingers at her and she sat, at first stiffly, legs folded in a pretzel shape, and then leaned back between his legs against the crate. He planted his feet on either side of her ribs, and began to massage her shoulders. Slowly, she uncrossed her arms, and her eyes drifted shut.

"She's going to hurt her neck like that," Anders said quietly. Elissa had her neck bent at almost a ninety-degree angle, resting her cheek on top of Nathaniel's thigh, an arm thrown over his leg up by the curve of his hip, and the other folded and hanging in a way that Anders was sure was going to give her pins and needles, but he did not attempt to shift her.

"Had to let her do it," he replied, leaning back on his hands so as not to dislodge her. "I think if I touch her she'll wake up and she won't go and find someplace else to sleep."

"You should sleep too. We should all sleep."

"Can't."

"I'll make you."

"Don't do it, mage," Nathaniel threatened without heat, not believing for one moment that Anders actually would.

"Nighty-night, Nathaniel," Anders smiled, and Nathaniel glared at him, suddenly struck by the urge to yawn.

"I hate you," he yawned.

"Don't worry, the darkspawn probably won't let you get much more than a short nap."

Nathaniel slid off the crate, jostling Elissa, but before she could truly rouse, he gathered her into his arms, pillowed her head on his shoulder, and curled together with her on the Chantry floor. They were both breathing deeply in moments, and Anders threw a small, thin, woolen blanket over their bodies before finding his own corner to curl up in, wrapped in his robes.

# # # # #

The messenger with the directions to the Mother's lair was dispatched as well – she was not going to suffer any darkspawn to live, especially those convinced that a little blood and the ravings of a madman were going to save them all. She thought of the Disciples of Andraste, and their sincere convictions. She distrusted sincere convictions.

The Mother seemed delighted they had killed The Father (who was disappointed in them, but died like any other mortal being), and proved to be a more powerful adversary – she called her childer creatures against them, and it seemed that only by the grace of old Tevinter magics (and she never thought she'd think fondly of the Imperium) did they finally put her down.

Injured, exhausted, and dreading what waited for them, they headed homewards.

They did not make it very far from the Dragonbone Wastes before they made camp. The woods made noises and they all huddled together around their fire, afraid of what the darkness might yet be hiding from them. Without any discussion on the matter, Elissa was gently directed into Nathaniel's bedroll, to curl into him for safety and warmth, and found that the smell of him, even under the lingering odor of darkspawn and childer, still lulled her to sleep.

It seemed that none of them could truly find rest, though they had all closed their eyes, and the first chirp of morning birds, before the sun rose, had them all up, stretching the dull pain from limbs and cursing the dampness of the dew that had settled on them. They had not provisioned for such an excursion – and Elissa wondered if it was the flurry of battle or if each of them had assented to accompany her to their own supposed deaths.

The walk was quiet – neither she nor they wanted to give voice to the things they all feared. Generally, when they were on the last leg of a trip back to the keep, Anders would gush about his warm bed, Sigrun would wax poetic about sweet rolls and Nathaniel would simply point out "indeed, it will be good to be home". But they had no guarantees of warm beds, sweet rolls, or even a home to return to – and so they trudged at a good pace, all eager and simultaneously not to discover what awaited them.

When the keep appeared over the horizon, she had the first good news.

"At least it still stands," she said, and they paused. From here, it looked very much like they had left it, and it almost seemed a mirage.

"We will know for certain once we get closer," Nathaniel countered, and she wanted to rail at him for stealing her hope, but it was instead his blithe realism that made her cage her fluttering hope within her chest. It would not do to wish for anything.

As they grew closer, they began to see the damage. The farmholds leading up to the keep were ravaged – there were childer corpses and a few darkspawn as well, littered liberally amongst the bodies of the people who had not gotten into the keep in time. That some of them had clearly taken down their enemies with them instead of running in fear made her so proud that she was suddenly overcome with emotion. She kept walking, and did not acknowledge it, even as the breath caught in her lungs and she had to swallow the sound and tears fell down her cheeks.

The keep itself…was in a far different state than could possibly have been observed from afar. One of the guard towers flanking the gate was being held up by a hope and a prayer – the side facing them when they had been walking had made it appear as though it was fully intact, but in truth it was the only façade that remained. The arch that had held their fine gate was destroyed and the gate in pieces, possibly as far back as two hundred meters. There were pits in the curtain wall, from what, she did not know, because it wasn't as though darkspawn traveled with trebuchets or catapults.

She stood still, observing the outside damage of the one side, frozen in place. She did not regret the lives she had helped save, but this…indeed the Vigil had become her home and she dreaded entering beyond the walls. Her eyes drawn from the damage, she began to notice how many darkspawn and childer bodies were strewn across their front lawn.

"We cannot know the true extent of the damage if we do not go in, Elissa," Nathaniel said quietly, and his hand pressed to her lower back.

"I'm not cut out for this," she whispered back. "Too many people have died for my decisions."

"People have died and more will die by the decisions of those they have never seen. These people had faith in you, fought in your name," he tried to coax.

"And I let them down." Another tear fell down her face, and his hand moved from her back to take her fingers and entwine them with his.

"Come on," he insisted, and she risked a look back at Anders and Sigrun. Anders had his worry written all over his face, and Sigrun appeared sad, but steadfast. With a deep inhale, she walked in step with him and into the same place that had welcomed her with dead bodies not half a year ago, a place that had, in the meantime, become hers in so many senses of the word.

There were large piles of stone where sections of the old wall had collapsed – portions that Voldrick, for all his dwarven masons, simply did not have the resources on any front to repair in time. The parts he had seen upgraded were in far better shape, and she vowed right then that he would have all the money he desired to ensure the entire compound was rebuilt to his specifications.

If he still lives, she thought to herself.

As they passed rubble and corpses alike, pyres extinguished and the manner of bodies unrecognizable (though it gave her a tight flash of hope, because while these darkspawn were smarter, she highly doubted they built pyres to burn the dead), she began to hear voices, noises, and dropped Nathaniel's hand to run towards them. Her companions caught on quickly, and they all fell into varying degrees of quickness behind her.

That's when she saw them. Men and women, guards and farmers alike, working side by side to unbury the armory forge.

"Commander?"

The voice was Varel's, and she had never been so happy in her entire life. She crossed the distance in leaps, and threw herself into the plain-clothed arms of her seneschal.

"Varel!"

He was surprised, and chuckled painfully (she could not have known about his ribs). He hugged her back, patting her like her father had once done, when he thought she was being silly. Or when he had been very glad to see her.

"It is good to see you too, Commander," he held her at arm's length to examine her. "We had thought you lost for sure," he intoned, his voice the same as always, his face impassive, but there was a twinkle in his eye that made her grin. "And I see you've brought your heroic company back with you as well, all intact," he said, and gripped Nathaniel's forearm best he could, three of his fingers wrapped tightly to prohibit their movement.

"Anders," he nodded, and looked with a smile down at the dwarf. "And Sigrun. Good to see you all."

"I knew you'd make it through, you're a tough old fox, Varel," Sigrun smiled widely, and he chuckled again, this time wincing in pain and Anders rushed to him, quickly puzzling out the favored side.

"Oh! I hurt you again! Varel, I'm so-…" she began.

"Don't worry about it," he waved her off with a modicum of irritation. He was indeed delighted to see them, and his ribs would heal.

"I'm surprised you made it out with only a few broken ribs and fingers," Anders said, channeling enough healing magic into Varel to at least relieve the pain until he could get a better look.

"I didn't – I had my arm snapped good by one of those man-sized beasties, but Velanna healed that for me after the first wave abated."

Elissa looked around, realizing Nathaniel had been doing the same. "Where is everyone else? Velanna, Oghren, Justice?"

"Velanna…did not make it, Commander."

She hung her head. She may not have liked the woman, but she had been a comrade, a fellow Warden at the very least.

"Though I am sure she was killed, we have not found her body. One of the men saw her trapped under a rockfall, but when we tried to dig her out we…did not find her. And Justice…Justice also gave his life for the Vigil."

"Maker preserve him, I hope he finds his way back," she murmured. "And…" she was almost afraid to ask.

"He is in bad shape, but he yet lives. The body had blocked entry, so we burned it, but he took down a large ogre, all by himself, and allowed many to reach safety in the first wave.

"How many survive?"

"A few, Commander," he intoned somberly. "But a great many more than any of us expected after so many days and even some nights of fighting without rest. They came up from the ground, and ate their own dead, some mutating into fiendish creatures before our very eyes!"

"Indeed, I've seen them. Though their…mother, I suppose, is dead."

"They stopped coming two nights ago, and we've been looking for survivors since. Anders," he began, and looked up at the mage.

"Absolutely, where are you keeping the wounded?"

"In the main hall," he began, and Anders headed off that direction. Varel watched him go before continuing. "While they were able to climb the walls and break down many of the doors, the main hall remains intact. It had the strongest doors, and the survivors all barricaded themselves inside. We had little warning, and saved as many of the farmers and commonfolk as we could," he informed her, still sounding as though he had failed.

"Varel, you have done admirably. I could not have asked for more."

"Maverlies and a small handful of guards were charged with protecting the commonfolk, so they yet live. The mason and his…brother," the word came out like a bad taste, and she had to smile, because Varel had never liked Dworkin, "as well as the armorers, one of your new merchants, and Woolsey made it to the hall before they barred the doors from the inside. Your qunari merchant took up arms and was killed, but not before he slew a great many foes."

She nodded. Despite his insistence that he'd been exiled and was no longer qunari, he had clearly fought like one, and her chest tightened with missing Sten, who had not made her any promises to keep in touch, and whom she both hoped and feared ever coming across again.

"Commander, what of Amaranthine? What of the city?"

More and more survivors had discovered her return, and they gathered, within earshot, in small groups, waiting idly for news of loved ones or news at all. She turned around a bit to take them all in – they were a small, pitiful group, no more than thirty. From nearly thirty guards still at the keep and over a hundred servants and small farmers within the walls plus the forty or so within spitting distance of the keep, it was such a tiny number. She almost hoped for a great deal of wounded.

"The city still stands!" she informed them, and they cheered. "I do not know the names of the survivors, but many perished to the darkspawn these last few days. There were survivors amongst the guard and the city dwellers, but they had been besieged before we even arrived, and suffered many losses. We shall all have to band together to repair our homes, and find the lost and wounded, and offer as much help as we can to whomever requires it. We will pull through this, as the Vigil, Amaranthine, and her people have pulled through every other disaster and catastrophe for ages before this one!"

Her rousing speech empowered her few remaining people, and she, despite her aching body, pitched right in with the rest of them, and they all worked like a well-oiled machine, uncovering areas and stacking stone in piles, clearing pathways and searching for survivors.

Voldrik was on hand, flitting to and fro, deeming this area or that unsafe or "safe enough" (which was often followed by derogative mumblings about barbaric architecture), while Anders was in and out directing the removal and repurposing of survivors. Those who had been healed were eager to be given tasks, but he had no desire for his hard work to go to waste, and so he mostly directed them to smaller things like lighting fires and investigating areas that would need to be cleared rather than doing any of the heavy lifting themselves.

When night fell, they relit a large bonfire near the interior gate, and lean-tos were constructed from bedsheets, piles of stone, and bits of wood that had filled the two layers of the "barbarian" stone walls. Elissa felt a part of her wanted to sleep outside with her people, but it was a very small part. The bigger part wanted her own bed, and, egads, a bath.

The latter was impossible, but she managed to give herself a good wash with water right up from the well – she got first dibs on the makeshift wash basin and insisted everyone present should be allowed a bit of a wash. She thanked the Maker that she had little enough modesty so that the majority of her body was wiped clean beneath her tunic and her drawstring trousers. When she got up to her room, she saw that the pitcher and bowl that had been put out for her that morning long ago was still in place, and while the water had long since lost its freshness, she used what little was there to finish her bathing in private.

She had just changed out of her dirty, torn tunic and muslin trousers into a long tunic she had come to prefer for sleeping in when there came a knock on her door.

Nathaniel had clearly also had a turn at the washbasin, as his hair was no longer matted with darkspawn blood, and he had his natural scent back rather than the unfortunate stench of childer. She went to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest and closing her eyes.

"We still have so much to do, but I want nothing more than to sleep for a week."

He chuckled, and she smiled when she felt it rumble through his chest. "I could find it in me to support that plan."

"Good. Though maybe not so good," she pulled away and looked up at him. "You may need to disagree with me here or I really won't get out of bed for the next week."

He leaned in and kissed her. "I could think of worse things."

She let him kiss her again, her lips closed before she pulled away again. "No. No, you are not allowed to make me want you. I hurt everywhere. I've no energy to ravish you," she informed him matter-of-factly.

"Oh, so you can admit now?" he raised a brow in surprise, and she could hear the 'I-told-you-so' in his voice.

"Lots of death and almost dying does that to me, apparently," she said, and laid her head on his chest again.

"Well then I suppose the ravishing will have to wait. Come," he said, and led her to her bed, and followed after her as she climbed under the quilt.

Their bodies relaxed for the first true time in a week, and she had no more thoughts before she was stolen into the Fade.