Health potions were distributed and wounds bandaged without a word from Hawke. The battle had left her weak, but her glare silenced anyone who even looked like they might comment on her shaking hands. Once everyone had been tended to, she took off, leaving the three of them to find the dragon's horde.

Clouds had gathered overhead, and when a fearsome thunderclap announced the impending storm, Hawke sat on a boulder at the mining camp and waited for the rain. She rested her head on her knees as the icy torrents washed away the carnage, a part of her wondering if the unseasonable cold was her doing. She hoped the others had found shelter in the quarry.

She didn't stick around to find out.

By the time Hawke made it home, the sun had set. She slipped quietly into the estate, where she was greeted by a worried Bodahn.

"Are you alright, messere?" He rushed to her, but she held up her hand.

"I'm fine," she said curtly. Unfortunately, she was obviously not fine; she was soaked through, shivering, unsteady on her feet.

"Begging your pardon, messere -"

"That's enough, Bodahn. Call it a night."

Her first stop was the kitchen, where she slumped against the larder door and devoured half a loaf of bread and a large wedge of cheese. She washed it down with wine straight from the bottle, which she took with her to her room. There, she peeled off her wet clothes and roughly toweled herself dry.

The battered pack she'd brought from Lothering lay forgotten at the bottom of her armoire. She tucked a set of robes into the bottom, then a few changes of clothes - drab stuff that wouldn't garner attention. Tucking the bag under the foot of the bed, just in case, she went and bolted the bedchamber door.

Instead of climbing into bed, she sank to the floor, her back against one bedpost, and hugged her knees to her chest. Even out of her wet clothes, she was quaking. When she shut her eyes, she could see Alistair, spattered with dragon's blood, barely dodging in time. Her throat tightened and tears burned in her eyes. She should have left him in the tavern where she found him.

Hawke awoke shivering on the floor. She stretched her aching back and went to the window. The sky was just starting to fade from black to gray.

Dressing in trim trousers and a fitted leather vest, she shouldered her pack and turned the bolt as quietly as she could. The estate was deserted, of course, everyone still asleep. Even Hugo didn't stir as she approached his rug by the fireplace.

She crouched down besides the hound. "Psst. Hugo," she whispered, patting his head.

He snorted, his eyes still closed.

"Come on, Hugo. We have to go."

He opened one eye, but when he saw her face he sat upright, blinking sleep away.

"Shh," she cautioned, putting a finger to her lips.

The Mabari made a soft, confused noise.

"We're leaving," she whispered. "I'll explain later."

The dog's sad expression as he looked around tightened the chains around her heart.

"You don't want to come?" Her voice cracked a little.

Hugo stood and nudged her hand with his head, then looked at the door.

"Thank you," she sighed, straightening.

Her hand was on the doorknob when a voice interrupted her.

"Did you leave a note, or did you plan to just disappear?"

Sighing, she rested her forehead against the door. "I don't want to do this, Alistair."

"If you mean talk to me, I gathered that much. If you mean sneak out like a thief in the night, well..."

She rolled so that her back was against the door. He sat on a bench along the wall, his forearms resting on his thighs. "You could have died today," she said, her voice rough.

"Oh please," he scoffed. "Like I've never fought a dragon before."

"Alistair, don't."

He got to his feet. "I'm sorry, Gwenyth, but that's not how this works. You made me a promise, remember? You don't get to steal away at the crack of dawn." He came towards her and she stepped away.

"Alistair, stop! Don't you get it? I'm a death sentence! Those miners - I told them it was safe. I told them I would keep them safe!" Hot tears spilled and she swiped at them with trembling hands.

"So you're just going to run away."

"You're going to lecture me on running away?" she snarled bitterly. "Oh, that's perfect."

He didn't even flinch. "As a matter of fact, it is perfect, because I know all about running away." He braced himself against the wall with one hand, leaning in close to her so he could lower his voice. "You feel like you didn't do enough. You think that hurts? Try doing nothing!" His voice cracked. "Losses at the Battle of Denerim were devastating. I swore an oath to stop the Blight or die trying. And I have to live with that. I will always have to live with that." He stood before her, tears in his eyes, a weary expression on his face. "So If you want me to go," he choked out, "I'll go. But I can't let you abandon this city. I can't let you do that to yourself."

Her knees buckled and she slid down the door, hugging her knees to her chest. "Right, because I'm their bloody champion? I failed. I've failed everyone."

Alistair knelt beside her. "That isn't true. You know it isn't."

"Oh I do? Bethany. Carver. Mother. Viscount Dumar - and his son, for that matter."

"Do you remember that day? The Qunari would have slaughtered the entire city, if not for you. Not to mention what they'd have done to Isabela. Why do you think she's so quick to risk her life for you, Gwenyth? She owes you. You earned that. You think the people of Kirkwall look to you because Meredith granted you a fancy title? They know you. They know what you've done for them. They know what you are."

"I'm a liar," she croaked. "I come with empty promises and leave a trail of bodies in my wake."

"You can't shoulder the burden for every corpse in Thedas. People die every day. The world is full of dangers."

She shook her head. "Those men trusted me. I told them it was safe, and they trusted me."

"And how is this helping them now?" he asked gently.

"What are you talking about?" she snapped.

"Wallowing in guilt. Torturing yourself. Running away. What does any of that do for those men?"

"And what do you suggest I do for the dead?" she spat.

"I'm sure many of those miners had families."

A fresh wave of guilt washed over her, and she put her hands over her face. "Oh, Maker," she sobbed. The dam broke and it all came spilling out at once, all her grief and guilt and shame, until she was a limp, soggy ball of woe in Alistair's arms.

When her sobs had given way to wet, hitching breaths, she pulled out of his embrace. "You're right," she sniffled.

"That does happen upon occasion. Try not to faint."

She smiled in spite of herself. "I need to see to those families. I need to… I need to do better than this." As she tried to get to her feet, a bolt of pain lanced through her back, driving her back to her knees.

Alistair grabbed her arm. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she said, her voice strained. "I just -"

"I think you need to lie down," he said sternly, helping her to her feet. "You're not much use to anyone if you can't even stand upright." He didn't even bother with the stairs, leading her to the guest bedroom. "Should I try to find Anders?"

"Maker, no," she sighed as she eased face-down on the bed. "I just need this. Just for a little while."

"I'm going to let Bodahn and Orana know you're alright. I'll just be a moment."

"I'm fine, love. Don't rush on my account."

Brushing aside her hair, he kissed her cheek. "I'll just be a moment."

Hawke blinked against the sunlight streaming right into her face. Planting her hands under her shoulders, she pushed herself up into a blissfully back-stretching arch.

"Good morning, my love. How do you feel?"

She pushed back to sit on her heels. "Better, I suppose. How was the haul from the mine?"

"Quite good, actually." He came and sat on the edge of the bed. "Isabela took a dagger, Varric a pair of bracers, and the rest we brought back here for you to look over."

She could see it on his face, and it brought a small smile to her lips. "Did you find something you'd like?"

"There's a really nice set of gauntlets. Aurum, I think."

"You deserve it, Alistair," she said, putting her hand on his leg. "You did chop its bloody head off."

He snorted. "It wasn't exactly a challenge once you froze it solid. Which was phenomenal, by the way!" Excitement flash in his amber eyes. "I've never seen you in action before, you know. Absolutely dazzling."

Her cheeks grew warm. "I don't always work that hard," she demurred. "I just... I couldn't let that bitch kill anyone else."

He touched her shoulder gently.

"I know. I have more to offer than guilt." She got to her feet. "I'm selling whatever's left. and giving my share to the families of the miners."

"Mine as well," he said.

She gave him a strained smile. "You don't have to -"

"Gwenyth." He took her hand. "What's mine is yours, remember? That's what I want."

Lifting his hand to her face, she kissed his knuckles and pressed his palm to her cheek. "I'm not sure I deserve you."

Pulling her into his arms, he lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. "Deserve me? You saved me, my love. Were it not for you, I think I'd have drank myself to death by now."

"Hey," she chuckled, "you started all this, remember?"

He grinned and kissed her. "Alright, maybe I did."