Author's Note:: I am so sorry for taking so long in getting back to this! It was never my intention to go forever without writing, but I guess life blew up around me between moving and selling the family business and starting school and a new work schedule ... THANK YOU for being so patient and keeping an eye on the story!

Emma knocked on the door and waited in the silence of the wide hall. She wasn't sure he would answer. It was late after all and he was angry with her. He'd made that perfectly clear before they had even left Denerim, decent enough to control his anger until the two were fairly alone before confronting her about what he called the worst decision possible. "Anora would have been much better. She was already leading the country before this happened."

"But it was yo-"

"If you and Eamon hadn't put me forward as a viable option for the throne, the Landsmeet would never have voted for me and Loghain wouldn't have gotten angry and I never would have had to do that stupid duel. If you hadn't suggested that Anora and I marry, she wouldn't have rejected me and she would be sitting pretty in Denerim right now instead of us running with tucked tails while pretending we have a plan to stop everything. We don't! Do we? Me as king is the worst decision you've ever made!"

"Emma?" She ducked her head as he yawned in the doorway now, eyes half-closed from sleep.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, her lips twisting into a frown. "I should have waited until morning. Shouldn't have woken you up."

"Well, I'm awake now," the man sighed. "And a bit peckish. What say we take a walk to the kitchens?" She nodded after a moment's hesitation and followed his steps down the hall. He slowed when he noticed her mood; it wasn't the usual light-hearted nature or even the forced contentment that she showed with strangers.

"Something … on your mind?"

"I wanted to explain," she rushed. If she didn't tell him now she never would. She would get too busy elsewhere, as would he, and they would hardly see one another during the planning and strategizing and gathering of forces in Redcliffe. "I didn't make Anora queen after you defeated Loghain in the duel because that was the agreement: If you won, you would be king."

"Yes, but you still could have put in a good word for her."

"I tried! I gave her a chance to keep the throne when I told her to marry you. I know she didn't like it - you look an awful lot like Cailan and you've no experience leading anyone were her main concerns - but I told her you could learn to lead. I gave her a chance, Alistair. That was my 'good word'. She rejected you, and she insulted and betrayed m-both. Both of us. I cannot believe that a woman with such character truly had the best of the kingdom at heart, that she would be able to lead them out of this. You're far more qualified."

"Me," Alistair scoffed as he shouldered the kitchen door open to find a cold hearth and an empty table. He shook his head. "You must have me mistaken with someone else. Allen, maybe. He's a Cousland after all. He would be a good king."

"He's got Highever to look after when we've finished," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "Alistair … You've faced darkspawn. You know how vile they are, how cruel they can be; you've seen what they've done to the southern parts of the kingdom, to the villages and the people. You know what has been lost and what must be rebuilt. That's why you're better for rebuilding Ferelden to its former glory at the end of this Blight. You know the people, the way they think and act and feel. You'll be able to connect with them on a level that Cailan or Anora never could because you've lived that same life. You'd be willing to listen to ideas that any other noble would glance over without a second thought.

"You're loyal and strong and determined. How many times could you have turned your back and walked away? How many times have we been faced with the impossible and still you pressed on because that is what was best for everyone? How many times could you have fallen in battle but didn't because your will to live was greater than any threat we were up against?

"When Duncan died in Ostagar you could have quite then. But you didn't. You kept going and you didn't let his death shift your judgement of right and wrong. You didn't let grief consume you and make you mad. It made you more cautious and logical than that first time we went into the Wilds."

She drew a breath and sighed. "I know you don't want to be king, Alistair," she continued slowly, "but that's exactly why I want you to be. With everything that's happened … you've hardly changed. Ferelden needs something steadfast to hold onto, some sort of hope that everything will be alright in the end. Whether you realize it or not, whether you accept it or not, you're the best for it. And I'm sorry if you disagree, if you think I've ruined the rest of your life with this, but I jus-"

"You didn't."

She stared up at him from her crouched position beside the hearth, raking the dead coals with a poker. She shook her head and offered a half-smile. "I mean it, Emma," Alistair grinned. "I know I was angry before but this is good. Really good. I can sit back and relax now instead of doing all the hard work."

"Yup," he sighed. "I could get used to this."

"Always finding the bright side. That's another good thing about you, Al."

She stood, replaced the poker in its stand and watched from across the table as Alistair tucked into a plate of different cheeses. He didn't realize for a moment that she was crying. When he did, he stood so suddenly the chair clattered to the stone floor, the sound not yet finished by the time he had his arms around her.

"Hey," he whispered. "I didn't mea-I'm sor-Was it something I said?"

She shook her head, face hidden in his tunic. "No," was all she could choke out before her voice cracked. The two were silent for a moment longer. "You have a quick mind and a clever tongue. You genuinely care about people. You know the country. You're older. And maybe everything's worked out right but … b-but I … I don't understand. Why did yo-Why didn't you take charge? Why did you make me lead?"

"I don-" He shook his head and sighed, eyes closed. 'I don't know' would be a lie. He knew. He just wasn't sure he could admit his reasoning out loud. "I was scared. I was terrified that I would mess everything up if I took lead. And you … you were so calm and composed and strong. You had plans and ideas and I … I didn't."

"I was scared too, Al. Scared that I'd mess everything up because I didn't know anything. The difference, I think," she continued, pulling away and smoothing her tunic, red-brown eyes dry and the same forced smile tugging at her lips that always seemed to be there, "was that I still thought I had a fighting chance of making it back to my clan. And you had just lost everything. Goodnight, Alistair."

He stood in the dark kitchen a while after the elf had gone, staring at the door, trying to make sense of what she had said. Something sounded wrong. He couldn't place it, going over the words in his mind. He was still there when the servants arrived to begin preparations for breakfast.

"Wardens!" The group looked up from the map they were gathered around, the table spread with books and maps and scrolls. The soldier stood in the doorway, shoulders and chest heaving, holding himself up with a hand planted firmly on the doorframe.

"They aren't here," Leliana answered after a shared glanced.

"The arl?"

"They've all gone."

"Why," Wynne asked, stepping closer to the dirt-stained man. "What has happened?"

"Met a man on the road. Another Warden, the one what came from the dungeons. You know him, Lady Leliana, don't ya?"

"Yes. Riordan."

"He's comin' this way. Says he needs to talk with the Wardens and Arl Eamon straight away when he's arrived. I came ahead to tell them and get the kitchens to have something for him. Where is my lord and the Grey now? Got to let them know."

"They've gone to the camps."

"Good luck finding them, friend," Zevran hollered as the man bolted from the room and down the hall. "Big place, the camps. He'll need luck."

"Luck does naught for a man in times such as these," Morrigan scoffed. "What one needs is skill." She turned to the open window and drew a breath. "'Twould be easiest if I went. And far more entertaining than trying to plan a battle. I've no head for it." And with that, the witch stepped from the sill into the empty air. The first time she had done this they had all rushed to the window - she had to be mad to jump from such a height - but all they found was a pile of clothes on the ground and a bird flapping its black wings as it climbed higher in the sky. The mage had appeared later as a raven, sitting on Emma's shoulder as she and Alistair rode beneath the portcullis into the courtyard of the castle. It had proven to be the fastest way to locate the Wardens while they were away at the spreading camps which continued to grow daily, and had been used since.

The group simply went back to staring at the unrolled map of roadway and field between Redcliffe Village and Ostagar.

Riordan had fallen asleep on the chaise lounge in Eamon's office as he waited and was snoring quietly when the three walked into the room. Alistair covered his mouth with a hand to keep the laughter from waking the man. His smile widened as he noticed a grin adorning Emma's lips as well. And, he was pleased to note, it was a sincere smile rather than one she forced into place to inspire the troops she was in charge of. She didn't smile like that often enough. Eamon cleared his throat. The man didn't stir. The three shared a glance and the arl motioned helplessly as Alistair shrugged. Emma sighed, picked up the empty tray from the floor and left the room.

Alistair found her in the kitchen an hour later after asking the others of her whereabouts. None of them had seen her or the war hound which he found odd - she always made time to go over any battle plans they came up with immediately after returning from the camps. But he found her curled up on the hearth in front of the kitchen's fire, Nehn sleeping with his back against hers, both breathing evenly. It seemed to him like it was just a good time for everyone to settle down for the night.

Nehn rumbled as Alistair hoisted the elf into his arms and turned to leave the warm kitchen. He cast a wary glance over his shoulder and offered what he hoped would pass as a nonchalant shrug. "I'll be sure to start a fire in her room if that's what you're so worried about." The dog almost seemed to shake his head in reply. "Don't know why you would need one though," he mused as he went through the halls. "It's the middle of summer. Hot enough already. Still, if it'll keep you from eating me I'll do it. Still won't dance the Remigold so don't ask."

He stuck his tongue out as the beast settled into the blankets beside his master. He couldn't be sure but he thought the mabari mimicked the motion and he left the room laughing.

The pounding of the door against the wall woke him and he bolted upright in the bed, the thin sheet twisting around his hips as he turned to look over his shoulder with groggy eyes and rumpled hair. Emma stood in the doorway, backlit dimly from the low-burning sconces. It had to be past midnight and well before dawn, he thought with a yawn. Still, the elf was bouncing with energy as she crossed the room silently and plodded onto the end of the mattress. She waited a moment, letting the older man knuckle his eyes and attempt to tame his hair. She hadn't bothered, running from her room with Nehn on her heels before she ordered him back, her ruddy curls tangling together as she went. Her nightgown slipped off one shoulder now as she leaned forward, eyes glowing in the eery way that all elven eyes did - like a predator in the night.

"Riordan has awoken," she whispered suddenly. "He wants to see us."

"Now?"

"Now."

"It's the middle of the night. Does he know that? Oh, of course he does, he just doesn't care."

"He wouldn't ask if it weren't important, Al."

"I know, I know," he grumbled as he threw the sheet off and stood stretching. It was a moment before he realized that he was undressed and the young woman that had been his companion for nearly a year was still in the room. Blood rushed to his face as he scrambled to find a pair of breeches in the mess of material on the floor. He would have asked her to leave but all he could manage was a stutter and his hands were waving sporadically between motioning her for privacy and the skewed clothing.

"Al." He spun, a tunic held in front of him. She smiled, slid from the bed and held the dark brown breeches out to him.

"Thank you," he squeaked and hurried into them, frowning as he had to take them off and turn them around.

"I have seen men in their smalls before," she chuckled. "I'm Dalish, remember? We're wild!" She ran out into the hall before him, arms spread like wings. "All we do is run around in our small clothes, stalking shem who stray too near, kidnapping children, eating our prey raw, howling at the moon and dancing naked around the fire."

"Oh, I hope that's not true," the man said as he followed her, watching the flickering shades of her hair as she passed through the light and dark patches of the hallway.

"Only parts."

He nodded, shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. The night was warm here in Redcliffe, stuffy even as there wasn't the slightest breeze to move the air around, but still he shivered. He dreaded going to see Riordan, knowing that whatever he would have to say wasn't going to be good. Important, certainly, yet nothing he wanted to hear. And here Emma was, prancing about as though she didn't have a care in the world. Of course, he told himself, she'd been doing that all along. It was more enthusiastic now and he wondered if perhaps she was fighting her own feelings of dread and wariness, keeping them at bay with twirling feet and false stories. She rapped her knuckles against the open door of Riordan's room before he had drawn breath to ask and stepped inside, the white nightgown the last peek of her until Alistair was inside as well.

"Close the door," Riordan ordered mildly. Alistair obeyed without hesitation before standing next to the now serious Mahariel. "Weren't there three of you before?"

"Allen is on other assignments," the elf spoke quickly. "Elsewhere, much as you were."

"I see. Do you know what the archdemon is?"

"Emma's seen it."

"You've …" The Warden paused, mouth slightly agape as he stared at her with wide dark eyes. "You saw it? When?"

"At the Dead Trenches in the Deep Roads. damned politicians." She muttered the last phrase in anger as the twist of a scowl touched her lips. It was gone as quickly as it appeared and Alistair wasn't entirely sure it had been there at all.

"Well," Riordan nodded, and the younger Wardens had the feeling that was as impressed as he would ever be, "you're more prepared than the rest of us. You'll know better than any of us just what we're up against. That isn't the reason I called you here, however. What did Duncan tell you of our Order, of the archdemon and the darkspawn, of the coming battle?"

"Not much," Alistair answered. "Just that my dashing good looks weren't the only reason he recruited me."

Riordan wasn't impressed with that and the younger man shifted his weight in discomfort from the unwavering stare. "He died before he had a chance to explain much of anything," he mumbled as an amendment.

"I thought so," the Warden sighed. "Do you know why a Grey Warden must slay the archdemon?"

"I was hoping the 'must' was an exaggeration."

"It is not. An archdemon contains the soul of an Old God - a tainted, wicked, vile soul, but a soul nonetheless. The darkspawn it gathers to itself are soulless beings. That is why the archdemon has reign over them. That is how it controls them so completely. If anyone other than a member of the Grey were to kill the archdemon, they would not stop it. The Old God's soul would simply pass to another, to the nearest tainted creature, and continue its destruction from that body. Should the darkspawn host be cut down, it would pass to another. And another and another and ano-"

"Then how do we kill it," Alistair blurted.

"The archdemon's soul passes to the closest tainted creature," Riordan repeated.

"You said that already."

"We're tainted," Emma whispered. She was looking down at her feet and didn't see Riordan nod. She had no need to. She had pieced the puzzle together and didn't like the picture it had created, yet somehow she had always known she wouldn't like the outcome. Joining the Order had been an extended death sentence compared to the one she faced in the Brecilian. Instead of months, she was given years. Now those years were whisked away from her as she was handed mere weeks until their confrontation with the archdemon. If the Creators favored her then, she would be given her years again. If not …

"Oh," Alistair said as realization dawned on him. "But … Th-What happens to the soul of the Warden that … kills the …"

"As best as we understand it, two souls cannot inhabit the same body."

"That didn-"

"He dies." They both looked over at Emma, standing solemnly with her arms crossed over her chest, the loose nightgown making her seem small. She stared up at them, titian eyes flashing. Riordan nodded again, not to recognize her words but to acknowledge her decision. He knew, could sense just by looking at her, that she would not risk Alistair in the coming battle. Should he fail in killing the archdemon, she wouldn't. He hoped he wouldn't fail.

"As the most senior of the Grey," he spoke slowly. "It will be my duty to kill the archdemon. This is how it has always been. I am sorry for such bad news, but I thought it best you know what you were walking into as much as you could. We should … all get some sleep."

The trio nodded to each other and Emma and Alistair left the room in silence. There was no frolicing through the halls, no smiles, no jokes as they went back to their rooms, the older accompanying the younger as he mulled over a thought. He turned to her as she opened the door a crack.

"Emma, I think … Maybe it's a stupid idea, but I think we should try to find Allen. He can't have gone far and besides, you know where he is, right? Let's call him back. We need him."

Emma nodded and her smile was forced again. After that news, Alistair wasn't surprised. "I'll send Morrigan to fetch him. Goodnight, Al." She had barely slipped the door closed when a shadow flashed across the room. She spun, shoulders drawn, dropping into a defensive stance.

"'Tis only I," Morrigan laughed. Emma sighed and sat on the floor beside Nehn in front of the roaring fire. "'Tis unbearably hot in here. How can you stand it?"

"I don't have it for the heat. It's comforting."

"I see."

"I wasn't … I didn't actually … Why are you here, Morrigan? You should be sleeping. Everyone should be sleeping. It's an untimely hour of the night."

"I am aware. I only come to offer my aid to a friend. I imagine Riordan has told you the cost of ending the Blight?"

The elf turned over her shoulder to stare at the woman lounging on her bed, ankles crossed, propped up on her elbows, dark hair shining in the firelight. "What do you know of it?"

"I know little more than enough. But I also know a way to change it. No one has to die, save those fools that don't know how to fight and were doomed from the start." She sighed and stood, paced the floor for a moment and the crouched beside her young companion. She was silent a moment longer, toying with the lengthening curls of ruddy hair made red as a rose in the light. "In defeating the archdemon, you don't have to die. I know a ritual."

"What sort of ritual?"

"One that may only be accomplished with a man. I would not have bothered asking you except Allen isn't here, so I need you to convince Alistair to -"

"No."

Morrigan stood and took an uneven step back. "No," she asked in disbelief. "You've not yet heard what I have to say."

"I don't want to. If it's something that involves Alistair, I don't want to. I have asked too much of him already. I won't ask anymore."

"Not even to save yourself?"

"My fate has already been decided. The Creators set me on this path and only They can take me off it. If that is to be accomplished through my death, I will not deny Them. I cannot deny Them."

"I am offering you a chance, a way out," the witch continued. She didn't know why it was so important that she convince the elf to listen. She wasn't that attached to the girl. She couldn't be. And yet, Emma had been one of the few to listen with interest to anything she had to say, to any story she told whether it was pertinent to their adventures or not. She had tried to stay aloof of the group she traveled with. She had her own plans, after all, but Emma Mahariel was hard to deny. "You and I both know that Alistair won't be in that final battle against the archdemon. He'll listen to you when you tell him to stay behind, to stay safe. If you speak to him now, despite his dislike for me and perhaps despite his better judgement, he'll listen. He will always listen to you. Do you wish death upon you?"

"My death is sealed. It is written, however the Creators penned it. If it comes, it comes. And, Morrigan," she stood with a laugh. Her eyes shone, smoldering like coals as they had that first night in the Korcari Wilds, reflecting the flames dancing behind her. She smiled as she tucked her hair behind her ears. "Serannas, falon."

They met at the door as Emma held it open, inviting her to leave without any words. The woman remained tense for a moment, heart pounding rapidly in her chest. "I offer one last time," she whispered. "Take my way out. Live, or I leave."

The smile faded slowly, the corners of her mouth turning down, her head following the same motion until she was staring at the floor and her bare feet, a curtain of hair falling to block her face, shoulders slumping. It was a stance of defeat, of acceptance to an end that neither woman wanted to see. But she had her reasons for saying no. She could ask no more from Alistair; he had already promised so much. Despite all her fronts of cheer that she put on, she was tired. She didn't want to fight anymore and, so far as she could tell, the life of a Grey Warden was nothing but fighting and killing and scrambling to be heard in a world much too large for the Order and larger still for a Dalish. She wanted peace. She wanted rest. She wanted her old life back and that was never going to happen. Perhaps her new life wasn't so bad - she had met amazing people and seen incredible places and learned so much about who she was - and perhaps its differences made it better than before, but still she felt she didn't quite belong to this world. Her world had been the Brecilian Forest and one small pasture beyond its borders. Her world had been protected on all sides, at all times by hunters and the Keeper and Tamlen. Her world didn't hold so much responsibilities nor politics. Her world was small and fragile, and it had been broken into a hundred pieces that she couldn't seem to find. She couldn't find the words to explain any of this to Morrigan, still waiting in the doorway, still hoping that she would accept. Instead, she shook her head and stood still as a statue, listening to the retreating footsteps.

Author's Note: Also, 'damned politicians' is meant to be in elvish but I'm waiting for some help translating it. The next update will probably be just to fix that.