Velanna stabbed at the last chunk of carrot on her plate and eyed the empty spot at the bench beside Nathaniel. "Where's the Commander?"

Nathaniel's shoulders stiffened at the question. It was the second morning Solona hadn't shown for breakfast. The first morning Nathaniel figured she just needed some space, and time, which was perfectly understandable. He'd kept himself busy by replacing shingles on a few rooftops and delegating repairs to some guards, but by the time he retired to his quarters, he realized he hadn't seen her the entire day. Ever since, a heavy ball of dread had grown in his gut.

"I don't understand how anyone experiencing this Warden stuff could skip a meal. Half the time I'm ready to eat my own staff."

Velanna glanced up at Nathaniel as she scraped last night's gravy from her plate with a hunk of bread. She huffed, took her last bite and pushed her plate away. Crossing her arms over her breasts, her glare shot over to Oghren who quickly averted his eyes. She'd already chastised him for gawking at her, but with her low cut outfit, it was difficult not to look. Nathaniel could sympathize with the dwarf. There was so much to see, you could practically count the woman's ribs. It was a wonder how she didn't get cold.

It hadn't helped that she'd continued putting herself right in Nathaniel's path ever since they'd walked back together from Amaranthine. Before that, Velanna had seemed annoyed by Nathaniel's very presence, but though her attitude remained sour, her annoyance was now apparently joined by curiosity.

Anders too had been uncharacteristically quiet through breakfast, his attention absorbed in caring for the little kitten he carried with him everywhere he went. A fact for which Nathaniel had grown grateful. There'd been no mention of what took place in front of the tavern by either of them.

The orange ball of fur gave a pathetic mewl as Anders held a small piece of meat under its nose. Finally, Anders looked up.

"When was the last time anyone spoke with her?"

Nathaniel waited with a lump in his throat, glancing from face to face.

Oghren shrugged. "Er, I think I saw her talking to Gary a few days ago… or, wait… maybe that that was last week."

"Gary?" Anders cast the dwarf a quizzical look.

"Yeah, old Garavel. Had a few pints with him once. A week ago? Or, maybe two weeks. What month is it now?"

"Well I haven't seen her since she gave me little Pounce," Anders added, his attention returning to the cat.

Oghren snorted. "You haven't seen much of anything since getting that damned furball. You've got your head so far up that cat's—"

Velanna groaned loudly, cutting him off. Oghren muttered the remainder of his statement into his flagon.

"Well I haven't even seen her since Amaranthine." Velanna rose and crossed her arms over her chest again. "Hopefully she's busy planning… something. You'd think we should be out killing darkspawn. That's the whole point of this Warden business, right? I'm never going to find my sister just sitting around in this…" Velanna looked around at the dingy hall with a curled lip.

Nathaniel was surprised she didn't shudder, what with the disgust written on her face. Sitting up straight, he followed her eyes around the dining hall, and bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue. Yes, the Keep was still in a state of disrepair in some places. Cobwebs occupied most corners, old stains marred the rugs, and rotting wood held up dusty stone. It might not have been pretty, but it had protected numerous generations of his family, and survived countless ambushes. Gritting his teeth, he tried to keep his voice level as he responded.

"This Keep has withstood multiple Ages and still stands strong. It might not be as elegant as your Dalish tents, but at least it wouldn't rip if someone were to shoot an arrow at it."

Velanna scoffed. "Well if your people weren't constantly terrorizing my people, we wouldn't have to be ready to move at a moment's notice." Turning, Velanna stomped toward the room's exit. She paused and turned back. "And, I'll remind you that it was the Dalish who built all those elegant ruins you spend your time desecrating and looting. Ruins ten times older than this shithole."

Nathaniel dropped his eyes to his lap. She was right, of course. Suppressing a cold shiver, Nathaniel glanced at the platters and bowls that still held portions of reheated food. When all the Wardens were present for breakfast, each bowl would be scraped clean by the time he rose to leave. He dropped a half-cleaned drumstick onto his own plate, his appetite diminished. He couldn't understand it either - the Warden hunger had always been stronger than any depression he'd endured.

"And you, loverboy?" Anders turned a sharp eye to Nathaniel. "When was the last time you spoke to our absent Commander?"

Nathaniel swallowed the last of his tea but it didn't help the lump in his throat. The entire two days had been a battle to suppress the urge to run to Solona and take back everything he'd said. To apologize, to kiss her again and tell her they'd make it work. He'd almost done exactly that more times than he could count, beginning nearly the moment she'd fled the trophy room.

He'd meant every word, but wished more than ever that he hadn't needed to say it.

"The afternoon you two returned from Amaranthine." Nathaniel took a shaky breath. "Shortly before sundown."

"So…" Anders stared into space for a moment. "Two days ago?"

Nathaniel nodded and, with a cold shiver, spoke aloud what seemed too alarming to be possible. "So no one has even seen her in two days?"

All the color drained from Anders' face as he slipped the tiny kitten into a front pocket of his robe.

"Shit. That can't be good." Anders rose and rushed toward the exit to the hall. Heart fluttering in his chest, Nathaniel leapt from the table, feet carrying him hurriedly behind Anders. In several steps he had overtaken the mage. Anders quickened his pace to keep up.

"What did you talk about?" Anders barked. "What did you say to her?"

Nathaniel began to speak, but then clamped his mouth shut. What had transpired between him and Solona was between them alone.

"It wasn't her fault, you know," Anders hissed. "Those things I said? I lied. Well… exaggerated."

Nathaniel barked a derisive laugh. "I figured."

They turned a corner, crossing the Main Hall toward the wing which held her quarters.

"And don't worry," Anders added, "she beat me to a bloody pulp after you left us there."

Nathaniel gritted his teeth, and tried to breathe away the acid roiling in his stomach. Hours of banging nails into shingles might have kept his body occupied, but it had allowed his mind to wander freely, losing itself in replaying their talk, their kisses, their moments at the tavern, over and over again. Having her in his arms just felt right. Any time spent thinking too hard on her kiss ended up with his heart racing. Those words he'd longed to hear from her for months, I want you, had finally been spoken, and he'd said no.

He'd even indulged himself in the fantasy of seeking her out, and begging her to forget everything he'd said, in the hopes that indulging such flights of fancy might quell the urge to follow through. So clearly in his mind could he see her face as he imagined drawing her close, and lifting her chin with a finger.

"Solona, I made a mistake…"

It had taken so much effort to resist the urge, to remind himself that if they were going to be together, they needed to do it right. And that did not mean falling into an unhealthy, imbalanced coupling. No, as much as he hated doing it, his logic had been sound. The healing she needed was not something he —nor anyone outside of herself— could provide.

Could he have been kinder about it? He wasn't exactly unkind. He was merely himself, someone who wouldn't mislead or sugarcoat, or beat about the bush. He spoke to others the way he appreciated being spoken to in return, and were it him in Solona's place, he would have wanted the bandage ripped off quickly.

Underneath it all remained the hope that this was all a step in the right direction. A direction which ultimately led to her back in his arms again.

Her door came into view, a tall rectangle of aged mahogany. Each step toward it seemed to hardly cover any distance. His mind reached for the space beyond it, seeking the grey spot in his awareness that would signify another Warden, but all he felt was the pulsing presence of Anders beside him. Anders's steps slowed as they finally met the door. On the other side, a gaping expanse of emptiness.

"She's not in there," Anders observed. Though Anders seemed relieved by the information, Nathaniel's panic only rose. Images of her lifeless body flashed through his mind. Or perhaps she was using the stones! The ones she had in the tavern that hid the taint! Slipping his lock picks from his pocket, Nathaniel dropped to a knee before the handle. His fingers, usually so steady and sure, struggled to slide the picks into the small keyhole.

"Are you sure it's even locked?" Anders asked. With a sigh, Nathaniel pulled at the latch, and then cast a glare up to Anders to confirm that it was not turning. Solona never left her door unlocked.

The slight tremor of the pins falling into place reverberated into his palm. He took a deep breath as he stood and returned the lock picks to their pouch.

The door opened to darkness. Heavy drapes drawn over the windows blocked out the morning light. Logs in the fireplace sat cold and unburnt. Silence echoed into his bones.

"Solona?"

Anders breezed past him, plunging deep into the shadows of the room. Nathaniel's breath hitched in his throat as he followed, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness.

"Not here," Anders confirmed, spinning on his heel. "But that's a good thing, isn't it? At least we know she isn't wasting away in here."

Pausing for a moment, Nathaniel let his eyes linger on the top of her bed, the patchwork quilt pulled neatly over the mattress. The tabletops and dressers were clear of clutter, not that her room was ever messy. The faint floral scent of her soap hung in the air. Briefly Nathaniel was transported back to the countless nights he'd brought her into her room and laid her upon that very bed. And to that cherished night that she'd clutched his arm in her sleep and begged him to stay. He could still feel the hollow ache that had burst in his chest when she'd uttered that name, not his, but Alistair. The ache grew sharp and urgent as his words to her two nights ago came back to him, joining the earlier memory.

Squeezing at his brow, he swallowed down the useless panic. Without waiting for Anders to leave, Nathaniel turned and strode out of the room. Who might know where she went? It was already established that none of the Wardens knew. His feet carried him down the hall without any decided destination. Before he was prepared for the onslaught of people, he found himself within a horde of them, more noble visitors standing in angry clusters throughout the Main Hall, all seeking the aid of the Wardens, of Solona. Without using his eyes, he scanned the room for tainted bodies. In the far corner, the sensation of a Warden stood motionless. Numbly, he turned toward it, weaving through women with tidy, upper-class dresses and gaunt farmers whose dull eyes held the shine of fear. Even before he reached the sensation of the taint, he heard Oghren's voice, laughing his familiar booming laugh. Not bothering to continue, Nathaniel spun and finally engaged his eyes in his search, searching through thin, impatient faces. Nowhere could he find the smooth porcelain of Solona's milky cheeks, or the glossy brown of her hair.

Another figure drew his attention, Garavel and Varel, their voices raised as they addressed a sour faced man in noble attire. Ignoring their conversation, Nathaniel made his way to the edge of the crowd, circling behind Garavel and approaching silently. When the moment seemed right, he spoke over Garavel's shoulder.

"Do you have a moment?"

With a nod, Garavel stepped to the rear of the room.

"Do you know where the Commander is?" Nathaniel asked, watching Garavel's face closely as he spoke. The man registered no surprise at the question, which confirmed that he had to know something. Instantly, relief flooded down Nathaniel's body.

But instead of answer with a location, Garavel shook his head.

"Where is she?" Nathaniel continued. "No one has seen her in two days."

"I'm not at liberty to say," Garavel answered grimly.

"What?" Nathaniel scoffed. "When will she return? Who is with her?"

Garavel shook his head again, his shoulders rising in a helpless shrug.

"You don't know, or you're not at liberty to say?"

"Well…" Garavel sighed. "Both."

The rest of the day passed at a snail's pace. Nathaniel stationed himself at a corner of the battlements to seal a crack that leaked rainwater down into the grain storage, one eye repeatedly glancing to the roads outside the gate. His attention wandered relentlessly, his mind pulled toward any figure seen traveling across the courtyard. Cold drops of rain glazed the stone walkways. The dark grey of the Keep walls melded into the milky grey of the overhead clouds, while a chilly breeze tousled his hair. But despite the discomfort, he couldn't pull himself off his perch, and once the crack in the stone was sufficiently sealed, he pulled the collar of his coat tight around his ears and sank down into long, frigid contemplation.

Garavel's response had been bewildering, and had been enough to indicate that, no matter where it was that she was hiding, she did not want Nathaniel's company. Still Nathaniel was racked with the urge to equip his bow and rush out into the wilds beyond the Keep wall. He was a skilled tracker, and if she was out there somewhere, he was confident he could find her, even if she had one of those strange black stones hiding her presence.

And what if she wasn't out there at all? What if she'd simply requested some time alone, and had taken up residence in one of the Keep's many unused rooms, with the stone an extra layer of privacy? It seemed inconvenient timing, what with the Hall practically bursting with guests and dissidents. But then, he noted, that seemed to be the permanent state of the Main Hall these days, with or without Solona's presence.

When the sky grew dim and the air bit sharply at his cheeks, Nathaniel gave up his spot and slunk sullenly off the battlements.

The next day came and went with no news. The ache in Nathaniel's chest seemed to have taken up permanent residence, and he ignored the various chatter and questions of the other Wardens at the table as he chewed his way through bite after tasteless bite. His tea was cold by the time he took his first sip, his mind fixed distractedly on the question of Solona's whereabouts. His ears perked for any voice that sounded like her, for any woman with long brown hair and luminous eyes. After breakfast, he passed through the Main Hall again, ignoring the rabble of discontented visitors. When Varel's voice rose over the din of grumbling, Nathaniel froze, his eye meeting Garavel's.

"The Commander is currently working on a plan to address the problem of the trade routes. We're recruiting as many new soldiers as we can, but there will be a training period before we can put them on duty." Varel's raspy voice spoke with authority, and the response of the crowd seemed favorable. "Please understand, we need these trade routes secured just as badly as you do. But progress takes time; it will not be instantaneous."

Garavel's gaze flicked quickly away from Nathaniel, his shoulders squared with what appeared to be discomfort. Nathaniel snarled to himself. Is that what she's out doing? Recruiting new soldiers?

Varel continued. "Please, spread the word. Any able-bodied man or woman who would like to enlist should see either Garavel or myself for more information. The Commander has pledged to ensure that after training, you can be stationed back in your own communities if you so desire. We will train and equip you to protect your own homes, and your neighbors. We all need to work together."

It seemed absurd that she would not request the help of her fellow Wardens for something so basic as recruiting soldiers. Once the crowd began to disperse, Nathaniel marched back to Garavel.

"Is that true?"

"It is the directive we were given last time we saw her," Garavel confirmed.

"So that's where she is, then? Out recruiting soldiers?" Nathaniel could hear the impatience in his own voice, and made an effort to soften it. It wasn't Garavel's fault if Solona had told him not to disclose her activities. But Garavel only sighed heavily.

"I don't know, Nathaniel."

"You don't know!?" The panic rose again, sending a cascade of icy chills down Nathaniel's spine.

Garavel shook his head and walked away.

The fourth day saw the heaviest rains yet. Nathaniel wandered through the wings of the Keep, taking notes on locations where water seemed to be dripping through failing sealant, or where drafts blew icy gusts down hallways. On the third level, he found himself standing before a panoramic window, staring out over the landscape outside the Keep's walls. The bay beyond the yellow coastline was the color of dishwater, its rocky shores blurry with mist. The rain poured in torrents, pelting against the window and collecting in scattered pools and streams along the ground. Nathaniel could hardly imagine what it would be like to camp in such weather.

Exhaling a shaky breath, he caught himself on the verge of something he hadn't attempted in… well he wasn't sure if he'd ever properly said a real, genuine prayer. But his thoughts took the form of a wish, that wherever Solona was, she was safe and dry. And alive. He almost laughed at himself, casting a wish or a prayer to the feet of a deity he wasn't even sure he believed in. But it certainly couldn't do any harm, at least none that hadn't already been done.

Imagining the gate open, and Solona walking through it, he felt a pang of desperation to have her back. To at least know something. Revisiting the warmth of the tavern, he indulged in the memory of her lips against his neck, the way her fingers dug into his back, his sides. That slight whimper he'd felt as much as heard when their tongues met in a kiss. In the basement, the feverish resolve in her eyes as she pleaded. And how that flame had died as he watched her react to the things he said. How he longed to say the words, "I'm sorry." And he was, as deeply sorry as he'd ever been.

Standing alone before the window, it hardly seemed to matter that she had a host of crushing baggage. After all, he had his own baggage too. His very name was his baggage, and she hadn't seemed to care. He repeated to himself that it was better for her. He'd phrased his rebuff of her advances in a way that made him sound like he only cared about himself. But he could never have gone through with something so difficult, with depriving himself of the one thing he'd wanted since the moment she'd freed him from the dungeons, if he didn't believe that it was the right thing to do. For her. To the bloody Void with himself.

A presence drew his eye away from the window. At the end of the empty corridor, another Warden approached. Anders had tried to engage him a few times, seeking news. The politest response Nathaniel could muster was to give him a stiff shrug, but he couldn't imagine the mage seeking him out up here. He held his breath as he waited for the figure to emerge from the shadows, not daring to believe that it could be the face he wanted to see. When platinum hair and a lithe figure cut through the dark he released his breath, and turned back to his dreary landscape. Numbness permeated his bones, whether from the cold or worry he wasn't sure.

Velanna came to a stop beside him and peered out the window. He could feel her disdain rising as she surveyed the ugly landscape, a plain picture of wet browns and greys. Even before she spoke he could feel himself bristling, anticipating some disparaging remark about his home. She stood quietly for a heavy moment, and then sighed.

"Is there anywhere in this —" she began. Detecting the expected note of disgust, Nathaniel cut her off.

"Save it. Ask someone else. I'm not in the mood."

"Excuse me?" Indignant, she shifted on her feet.

"Go bitch about how horrible everything is to someone else. I was enjoying the silence."

Velanna scoffed, but Nathaniel didn't dare look her way.

"Actually," her voice was icier than the rain. "I was going ask, since you seem to know this place better than anyone…"

Nathaniel waited.

"If there was someone in residence who could help me get something new to wear. I've already visited the storage, but everything there is armor or made for humans. And, well, we elves have different… proportions."

He turned to face her, noticing for the first time the thin blanket she had pulled tight around her shoulders.

"Ah, so you do get cold." He laughed softly. It occurred to him suddenly that this was the first thing he'd spoken out loud all day.

"What?" She frowned.

He shook his head. "Nothing. But yes. Unfortunately, the seamstress is down in the village, and there's no way to get there without going outside. I can take you there once the rains let up, if you don't mind waiting."

Velanna gave a nod. "Thank you."

Minutes passed, with Velanna standing quietly beside him. Finally, he cast another look in her direction, surprised to see her staring wistfully out the window. Her brows had softened, as had her usually downturned mouth. Her face was quite pretty when she wasn't scowling.

"You're thinking about your sister?" Nathaniel asked. She glanced at him quickly and then looked away again.

"There's one upside to the fact that she's underground with that… thing. At least she's not out in this rain." She said.

"Your clan… did they spend a lot of time in this region?"

Velanna shrugged and tilted her head thoughtfully. "A while. Several months. But we'd been here before, though we usually move West when the rains get too bad. I've never stayed through a whole winter."

"Well, it's definitely a good idea to get some more appropriate clothing," Nathaniel agreed.

"A lot of good it'll do with all the standing around here."

"Yes," Nathaniel agreed. "But at least you'd stay warm. Besides, I'm sure the Commander has something in mind for us. Whenever she returns from…"

"You have a lot of faith in her." Velanna sighed, glaring out the window again. "I'm not sure why."

Nathaniel shrugged. "You've seen her fight. She's the reason Ferelden survived the Blight. But she's been through a lot, and she deserves our patience… And respect. It can't be easy to have seen the things she's seen." He thought back to her story of Alistair dying in her arms. He remembered her voice choking as she spoke, the wild despair darkening her eyes.

For the hundredth time that day his stomach clenched into sour ball as his own words from the basement echoed in his ears. Damnit, I should have been kinder! He could have held her for a while, at the very least. Found a different way to help than just giving her the same sort of "get your shit together" talk that his father used to dole out to his underlings like candy. The idea of watching the person he loved dying in his arms… a vision of Solona, draped heavy and limp over his lap, face and body draining of life before his very eyes, sent a shudder down into the root of him. No person should ever have to endure that.

"Hmph." Velanna sighed. A fresh spray of rain pattered against the window. Gusts of wind whistled over the battlements. He felt a soft breeze caress his cheek and made a mental note to look for whatever in the hall was letting in a draft. Perhaps the windows should be boarded up. Then again, no one really used this level anyway.

"Well," Velanna said. "I guess we can ask about her plan." She nodded toward the courtyard.

Nathaniel turned, eyes scanning through the wet shroud of grey. The gate had completed its slow swing open, and into the courtyard stepped a small, singular figure. Clad in black and moving unhurriedly, Nathaniel felt his breath leave him. Turning, he rushed past Velanna and into the shadows of the hall. Mind racing with possibilities, irritation rankled him. She was out there alone! In the rain, the elements! Exposed to danger! Yes, she deserved patience but that was just stupid. What if she'd never returned? No one would ever have known what happened to her!

He clenched his jaw as his feet flew down stairs, turning corners so quick he almost crashed into a girl carrying a steaming bucket of water. So many things he could think of to say, no, to yell, but as strong as the desire was, the need to grab her and hold her was stronger. She was back, presumably okay. Probably hungry, certainly cold, but those were both things that could easily be remedied.

Four bloody days, Solona! If you were trying to torture me, you succeeded.

He skidded to a stop in the Main Hall in time to watch the usual crowd hush and turn toward her. His Warden senses reached for her, but it was like flailing toward a void. Stunned, he could scarcely move as he took in the vision of her. Covered almost from head to toe in darkspawn ichor, Solona walked quietly, her eyes hooded by tired, purple lids. One arm was gathered up in a tattered, makeshift sling, her fingers stained with blood and curled unmoving against her chest. Smudges of black on her cheek stood in stark contrast to the gaunt paleness of her face. Either the ichor was fresh, or it was so thick that even the rain hadn't been able to wash it off. As she passed by, a plume of darkspawn stench wafted in her wake. Faces around him crumpled with distaste as it hit their senses. Nathaniel even thought he saw clumps of grey flesh clinging to strands of her hair.

The silence of the room was broken when Garavel and Varel pushed through the crowd. Nathaniel couldn't seem to move from his spot, even when bile rose up his throat at the sight of Garavel placing a hand at the small of her back. Protective, almost possessive, the captain and Seneschal ushered her through the crowd and toward the door in the furthest corner of the Hall. Quickly, they made their way toward the War Room, the room in which plans were mapped and initiates all took their Joining.

Solona never looked at him, though she must have sensed he was there. Her passage had the effect of seeing a ghost, his brain constantly reaching for the sensation of her that it couldn't locate. Somewhere under the stained black robe she must have kept the stone.

Finally snapping back into himself, Nathaniel pushed through the bodies. Yelps of alarm rose behind him as he bumped past nobles and waiting peasants. He escaped the crowd in time to see Garavel turn at the door and motion to a nearby guard.

"Get Anders!" Garavel barked the words with urgency.

Nathaniel closed the distance between them, leaning as he walked, trying to get another look at her through the doorway. Attempting to slip around Garavel and into the War Room, he felt a solid thump against his chest. It was Garavel's palm, followed by the square shoulders of the Captain himself, blocking Nathaniel's entry to the room.

"Only Anders," Garavel warned.

Nathaniel sank back on his heels, the ache in his chest spreading.

"Sorry, Nathaniel. She doesn't want to see anyone else."