Grappling hooks sailed into the sky as Kalya sat frozen in fear. They latched onto the top of the gates protecting Castle Cousland, and within minutes, raiders were at her eye level, ascending. Praying to the Maker that they wouldn't turn around, she could feel beads of sweat rolling down her face as she flattened behind the flames.

A burst of orange erupted from below as the fire spread from the building to the ground, blocking any hope of exit. Over the crackling flames, she could hear the slow clinking of heavy chains raising the castle's gate to allow the raiders entry.

Duncan is still inside, she thought distantly. A part of her knew he could hold his own in battle, but the real reason she didn't make a move to skirt along the castle's balustrades and drop inside to seek him out was already gurgling in her stomach. Is it still cowardice if you judiciously avoid something that completely assures your death? Yes, it definitely is.

Lapping heat began to sear the edges of her leather armor. Kalya took a chance to raise her head and saw a mass of soldiers storming the courtyard, the bodies of slain Cousland knights breaking up the horde every few steps. Looking back past the Chantry, however, she could see the ranks were thinning. If she could wait it out a little longer…

The patch of flames on the roof to her left suddenly caved in, and a plume of fire reached into the sky. The blaze within threatened to eat its way through the entire roof. She had to make a move.

She slid to the bottom of the roof's slanted eaves and flipped around, dangling by her fingertips. Flames licked the bottoms of her boots from the ground 9 meters beneath her, but the route was still preferable to escape through the collapsing death house. Kalya swung underneath the rafter, feeling for a foothold on the building behind her. When she found purchase, she pushed off the overhang, flipping back around to climb down the wall.

The stone was slick with heat, and as she descended, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep a sturdy grasp. In fearful haste, she grabbed a hold without testing its temperature and lost her balance. Time seemed to slow as she squirmed to right herself in midair like a cat. At the moment before impact, she tucked in her chin, as Riordan had taught her when taking a fall in a fight, and she flattened her back to take the full impact of the fall.

However worse it would have been if she hadn't done that, she couldn't imagine. Pain streaked like lightning up her spine from her tailbone.

The flames that had spread out in the surge of her fall instantly wrapped back around her, and Kalya instinctively rolled forward, gnashing her teeth unconsciously against her mounting injuries. Smoke and heat stung her eyes as she sputtered out onto the cobbled road adjacent to Castle Cousland's gaping entrance. Excruciating pain radiated outwards from her coccyx as she stood, but she noted its slight retreat if she could remain hunched over. Trying to blink away blindness, a shape advanced on her, and without thinking, she shot her leg upwards, landing a lucky strike into an unlucky raider's crotch. Thank the Maker for leather armor. As he bent over, she dropped an elbow hard to his spinal cord and he fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

Another raider was upon her. In an instant, her blades were in hand, parrying every attack. Without full visibility, she hesitated lunging in for the kill, but she could sense a weakness behind his strikes. Perhaps they'd been riding for days. When a swift block twisted the man off balance, she sunk her blade in between the floating ribs on the man's side, and he too dropped to the hard stone. As the remaining raiders passed through the gate without distraction, Kalya bent to wrench her weapon from her attacker's body as his life wicked away.

Racing westward towards Riordan's farm, Kalya didn't slow to turn and see if she was being followed. Best to just assume. She hopped the fence encircling the barn. The horses Riordan had left behind for the house's new owners had luckily not been spooked by the thundering cavalcade.

One possession of hers still remained inside the house – the leather armor purchased with Alistair's coin before her trip to Highever. As she threw a saddle on the horse, she surveyed the land surrounding the barn. No one advanced; out in the open, anyway. There was probably time enough to retrieve it. Her current armor curled at its now-singed edges, but it had been a gift from Riordan. She'd make it up to Alistair…

Pulling the saddle strap tight, she mounted the horse and galloped full tilt toward the fence. The beast hopped it, and they continued into the night towards the only destination she assumed Duncan would be heading to next. The place she thought she'd only return to if her mission from Alistair had been a failure. She supposed it was. Denerim.

:::

Back in Denerim, the days seemed to meld together. Kalya's guilt shifted into malaise and back again. The trek from Highever to Denerim had taken only 5 days on horseback, including an afternoon spent gathering herbs for Riordan's salve to ease her aching tailbone. Even with pain as a distraction, the entire ride was fraught with shame.

Kalya relived that night more frequently than she slept. She could have climbed to the highest point in the Highever Alienage, where the raiders wouldn't have bothered glancing, and waited for Duncan's assured exit. Void take her, she could have done something – warned the guards when she first saw the raiders, scaled the wall herself before they arrived, tried to fight her way through the horde.

Dying while to saving the Warden Commander seemed infinitely nobler than living with the guilt of running away like a cowardly child.

She sheepishly accepted her old room in her father's house. Embarrassed by accepting the tedium of daily life when heroes were fighting for the king and being slain, she stayed indoors most days and nights, not deigning to return to her old employer and daring anyone to question her. Her father didn't pry. Cyrion was grateful to have his daughter back in his care and regarded her with quiet concern, as one might treat someone in mourning.

Her cousins Shianni and Soris were overjoyed upon her return, but Kalya's sour moods drove them away. Visits became less and less frequent. Soris' behavior didn't surprise her. Cautious and timid ever since they'd been children, he was probably worried what dangerous impulses she'd picked up in her time away. If he only knew.

But Shianni had the spark of adventure in her. If Kalya had wanted to talk to anyone, she was sure Shianni would have understood her feelings of loss and regret. Still, she remained silent, resigned to relive that awful night in sullen solitude.

When Kalya did leave the house, she poked around the city listlessly, hoping to hear news of anything from Highever or beyond, passing the time by picking the pocket of the occasional traveler or dopey noble. Upon hearing nothing, she'd return with the day's take to present to her father as a sort of rent payment. Or perhaps as an unspoken apology for being so sour. She hadn't decided.

After half a month with no appearance of Duncan, Kalya found herself wandering into the Chantry, eyes glazed over, emotionally spent. She had never been very religious, at least compared to the other city elves. By Dalish standards, she was a downright heathen.

Am I supposed to close my eyes when I pray? she wondered as she approached the Chantry courtyard. The Sisters always have those candles. Are they part of the whole deal-with-the-Maker thing, or just décor?

The great doors creaked as they opened, and she slipped inside, suddenly ashamed at creating a disturbance in such a populated venue. Pew after pew was filled with humans and elves alike, mostly women and children, and the occasional young man. Instinctively, she hugged the wall as she entered, tiptoeing forward.

A Sister in Chantry robes passed, lighting one of their lucky candles with the one in her hand. Kalya dipped her head in reverence as the woman smiled and ducked into a shallow alcove.

"Um, Sister?" Kalya asked. "Am I interrupting a service?"

"No, child, it's been like this the last three days." Lowering her voice, she added, "Families of Grey Wardens."

"Has something happened?"

The Sister shrugged. "Apparently they're to march on Ostagar within the week. Some say darkspawn have made it to the surface, but others think it's just an exercise. No one's sure what to believe."

"Then Duncan's alive!" A woman in a dark shawl turned to scowl at them. Kalya grinned at her. "The Warden Commander!"

"I…suppose he'd have to be."

"Do you want me to light that?" Kalya asked, nodding enthusiastically at the Sister's candle. She could have hugged the woman.

"No, I've… I've got it covered. Thank you."

Kalya skipped to the nearest pew with a sliver of room, knelt for half a minute, and thanked the Maker profusely. She prayed with all her might for the Wardens' continued safety in the upcoming maybe-battle, then rose to burst out the door, flooded with relief.

If Duncan could survive the attack on Highever as a lone Grey Warden, the whole of Ferelden's Wardens could withstand anything. Alistair was less than two weeks' travel away, and surely the Wardens would be heading northeast towards Denerim on their recruitment path, rather than west into the Hinterlands.

She could be back in Alistair's arms before the month's end. The thought left a tickle in the base of her stomach. Kalya blushed in the warm Denerim sun.

:::

Alistair took the bridge of his nose in his hand and rubbed his eyes impatiently. He was getting nowhere. When Duncan had swooped in to save him from a lifetime of boring Templar politics, he had hoped he'd seen the end of veiled threats and futile pissing contests with mages. But the Revered Mother asked him to send a message, and he was going to pass it along if he had to Holy Smite the mage to do it. Would the look on the mage's face be worth the assured lecture from Duncan? Absolutely.

He became distantly aware of someone approaching, but he was determined to get the mage out of camp quickly. When the Revered Mother called for an audience with a mage personally, it was almost never good news, and his headstrong resistance made Alistair antsy. He looked innocent enough, but they always did.

Alistair allowed himself a glance to his left to the figure waiting somewhat impatiently for his attention. His jaw dropped a bit, the unexpected sight completely blocking out whatever the mage was rambling on about.

A new Warden recruit was said to meet him later today, but this… was unexpected. His eyes traveled over her chestnut hair, wrapped in a long, tight braid and resting against her breastplate.

Huh, they do make breastplates for women. Have I really only seen Female Wardens who were rogues and mages? Leather is pretty durable, so no need to shape around…things. I wonder if the metal is custom-made or if it's a one-size-fits-all sort of deal, because not all women—oh, Maker, I am still staring at her breastplate, aren't I?

Alistair looked up to meet her dark eyes. He gulped hard.