Leilana yawned again as Zevran occupied the seat next to her. She frowned at him. His hair was perfectly straight, slicked behind his ears, not a strand out of place. Her own was rumpled and had a knot one side that she hadn't been able to brush out with her fingers, but the young leader had insisted she get up and meet in the kitchen. Wynne slid onto the bench next, Oghren across from her as Sten frowned with crossed arms from beside the table though he didn't sit. The Orlesian groaned. His hair was done up in the same tight braids she'd always seen. Even Wynne had managed a quick brushing for her short grey locks. Leliana most resembled Oghren in his usual unkempt nature. Alistair was the last to join them, blonde hair spiked in the front from sleeping on his stomach, Emma following close on his heels. She stared at them for a moment as they settled into place.

"Eat," she spoke. "Drink, and -"

"Be merry!" Oghren bellowed.

"Get ready," she finished. She stood with her hands on the hilts of her daggers, one attached to either hip, two quivers thrown over her back with the arrows covered, the recurve bow she'd carried from Ostagar slung over one shoulder, a full pack over the other. "We're leaving today."

"Leaving?"

"Where?"

"When?"

She didn't answer, walking into the hall outside the kitchen and stopping only when she heard Alistair jogging after her. She spun to meet his confused gaze.

"Emma, what are you talking about," he asked. "What do you know?"

She took a step closer as a curious red head poked from the kitchen. "I can feel it moving," she whispered. "The archdemon."

"And … you know where it's going?"

"No," she admitted, adjusting the quivers. "Not exactly. I just know we need to be ready."

"Are you sure you're not …" He hesitated as he fished for the right words. "I don't know, freaking out maybe? Paranoid? Scared? What Riordan told us last night was …"

"Of course I'm scared. I've seen it. But I'm not freaking out and I'm not paranoid and I know what I feel. I'm not making this up, Al."

"I didn't say you were," he said defensively, hands up.

"Don't you feel it? Can't you hear it?"

"The constant nagging at the back of my mind. That incessant song. The humming that's been gradually growing louder over the past six months. Yeah, it's all still there. I much prefer Leliana's voice."

"You don't know what it wants?"

"I -"

"It's giving out orders, Alistair," Riordan said as he stepped from the shadows of a darkened room. "She's right. The archdemon is moving its horde into play. You are very sensitive to it, Mahariel. Have you always been?"

She shrugged. "I had the taint before I was a Warden. I heard the song before my Joining."

"Perhaps that has something to do with it. But she's right. I've already told Eamon to ready the men. You might as well ready yourselves."

"I'm going to get my armor."

"Mahariel." She turned at the end of the hall and looked back at the Wardens, a tail of hair flicking behind her, brushing the fringe out of her eyes. "Have you eaten," Riordan asked.

She nodded. The men pretended it was the truth.

"Denerim."

The silence grew thicker as the group stared at the map, the scribbled roadways and scrawling labels faded from being hung on the wall for most of its life in the library. The blue of the rivers had dulled. The green of the Brecilian had paled. The red that marked Denerim, no more than a deep pink now, seemed all too ominous on the eastern reaches of the kingdom, as though blood had already been spilled there. They all knew from the silence that blood would be spilt in the capital. The gathered armies would never move fast enough. Despite the warning given by the Wardens earlier, they were still vastly unprepared. They had thought they'd be fighting here on the fringes of Redcliffe and the Wilds. They weren't expecting a march. The city would be in ruins long before the army reached it.

"A small part of the army could minimize the damage," Riordan suggested quietly. "If we ready them now, have them carry nothing more than the bare essentials, send them off by noonday … It won't be much, but maybe it would be enough. At least until the rest of the army arrives."

"Warden Mahariel?"

"We'll take our party and head it," she said. "I want a shield unit -" the sergeant major began scratching a quill against vellum "- and one and a half archer units. Equip the half unit with targes. Fill out the one fifty with volunteers."

"Volunteers, Warden?"

"I don't want to take anyone who isn't willing to fight and die."

"Yes but … What do I say to them, Warden," the sergeant major asked hesitantly.

The group looked over at the Dalish. She was an oddity in the room - the only elf, the only woman, the only one to fight as an archer or with twin blades, the youngest - but their eyes all showed their respect for her. She was a Grey Warden, after all. On top of that, she had rescued the village from disaster, restored the arl to health. She leaned against a shelf behind her and hunched her shoulders, chewing her lip for a moment. She'd traded her usual breeches, half-tucked shirt and bare feet for plated leather armor, bracers, greaves, and soft hide boots. Her hair was tucked behind her ears and tied in a single loop at the nape of her neck, the bangs trimmed shorter that morning. Her vallaslin was still partially hidden but showed brilliantly with her hair pulled back as it was. She'd learned from all her battles that Dalish leathers, despite their comfort and familiarity, weren't meant for war in this world she lived in now. The only skin she showed was at the elbows, where her sleeves met her bracers, and her neck and head.

"The truth," she answered with a shrug. "Denerim is under attack. I need the bravest men and women who are willing to risk everything in its defense. Make sure they know we may all die before the rest of the army arrives but, by the Maker, we will not falter. And, Creators willing, we'll deal a blow to the archdemon."

"It will be a swift, hard journey," Riordan added.

"We'll travel under the Dalish forced march," Emma nodded. "Two breaks totalling thirty minutes every four hours, six hours sleep, cold rations, no fires, no tents. You see why I need volunteers, sar'major? What we face - the journey, the battle - it's not for the faint of heart nor the weak-willed. One hundred and fifty volunteers: twenty-five mages, twenty-five Dalish, twenty-five dwarves, and fill in the rest with whoever wants to fight."

"Yes, Grey," the man nodded and hurried from the room. The door closed behind him with a sullen thump.

"I'll go ahead to assess the damage and tell the city's guard to expect you."

"Take -"

"I will travel faster alone."

"I was only going to say 'take care'," Emma shrugged. Riordan smiled, saluted and left.

"I would have said 'take a horse'," Alistair muttered. "Faster that way. When do we leave, Emma?"

"As soon as we're ready. Arl, you'll follow behind us as fast as you're able?"

"Of course, Warden." She nodded at that and turned to exit through the window. The men went back to discussions of which troops to put where.

Mages would need protection, more so than archers, yet being paired with the archers as they were meant they wouldn't need as many shield bearers as they had originally thought, leaving more soldiers free for combat. It had been a suggestion that the soldiers were wary of trying, each untrusting of the other, until the Warden and her companions had proven it would be effective. The mages could cast when they were ready. The archers would release their prickling weapons in volleys under the command of unit leaders that had spent the last week training their nerves and judgement with the elf who had first used the tactic at Ostagar. The shield units would defend them with another suggested tactic: each man or woman would carry a large rectangle shield that covered half their body and half of the person to their left and wield a short sword that could easily slide into the crescent, forming an interlocking wall defensively and a large enough area that one could push against attackers. An ogre could break it apart, but the genlock and hurlock would have a rough time of it. The soldiers selected for the shield units had been mostly dwarves, an occasional human thrown into the mix. The Warden liked their build and strength. Many of the dwarves, to everyone's surprise, chose to fight as rogues rather than the heavily armored and armed warriors the upper world had thought them all to be. Both classes were impressive in their skills, just as the Dalish were impressive in their archery. And, as the world of men had been surprised to find knife-fighters among the dwarves, so too were they surprised to find sword-fighters among the Dalish. Only the Warden's companions had expected to find the skill among the nomadic elves - they had seen Emma use blades before, after all.

Alistair sidled to the door unnoticed. He wasn't needed in this stage of the planning. Besides, he wouldn't be here later to help anyway. He slipped into the hall quietly and made for the armory.

The group met in the hall this time and Leliana was pleased to see her hair was as smooth as any of the others. She was more than satisfied with the work Nikka had done with a simple pair of scissors and comb. She beamed as she caught sight of the woman hustling out of the kitchen across the hall. And then the seven became eight as Emma ghosted into their midst. Even with boots on, she moved like a wraith in a way that the Orlesian could never match.

"Where is Morrigan," she asked suddenly. "I haven't seen her all day."

"She went to find Allen," Alistair answered smoothly. "They'll meet us in Denerim. Right, Emma?"

The elf hesitated, drawing a deep breath in, eyes searching his armor for a believable answer. He frowned.

"Wait … I know that. That's your lying face." He pointed an accusing finger at her and his frowned deepened, taking on an angry flare in his eyes. "You were going to lie to me? You didn't send that witch to get him? Have you been lying about Allen this whole time?"

"Ye-N-I -" She sighed, intertwined her fingers behind her neck and waited as seven sets of eyes stared at her in a mix of emotions.

"Don't," the older Warden muttered. "Don't you lie to me."

"The truth …" She hesitated again, paced a short line and growled before continuing. "The truth is, I've no idea where Allen is! I didn't send him on some secret assignment or important mission, I just … I let him go. And Morrigan … We had a disagreement and she left because I wouldn't … I c-couldn't … What she asked was …"

"What did she ask that was too much for my dear Warden to handle," Zevran chuckled.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I didn't let her finish asking. It had nothing to with me and everything to do with you," she said, turning to Alistair. "And I can't ask you to … to do any more than what I have already asked. It would not have been fair."

"Life's not fair," the Warden snapped. "I think we know that better than most."

"I wasn't lying," she said quietly when she could no longer bear the tense silence between them, "when I said that Allen had to go because he was the only who could."

"I'm not sure I should believe a word of what you say anymore."

"Al -"

"You've never lied to me before! Never lied to us. And now you are. Why? I just want to know why," he sighed.

"You made me leader, remember." She looked at all of them, hands on hips, legs shoulder width apart as though she were expecting to come to blows with any one of them. She was tense, eyes narrowed both to fight the frustration she was feeling and to keep the tears in check. She was so tired of having to be strong for everyone else. She wanted - needed - to break down but knew that she couldn't. Not now. Not with so much at stake. She was a Grey Warden; she knew where her duties lay.

"That means I make the hard decisions and I carry the consequences of them and I alone am responsible. I didn't think you needed to know the reason behind Allen's asking to leave nor my decision to let him because it would draw focus away from what's most important now: the Blight, the archdemon, Denerim. I need everyone focused. I need everyone determined to win no matter the cost against the worst of odds. That's what the soldiers need to see from us. If you can't give that to me because I made a decision that you disagree with, stay. Come with Eamon. Or don't."

She spun and stomped away before any of them could answer. Alistair sighed as his shoulders slumped, the anger leaving him in that same breath. He was on edge. He'd never meant to accuse the young woman. He cringed mentally as he thought of it again. Young. She was so young. And he'd made her into one of the best Wardens he'd ever known because he had been content to follow and afraid to lead. She was right, of course. She'd made most of the calls, Allen taking lead on the few occasions when she wasn't around, and she'd always out everyone's needs before her own. That was why she always smiled.

"Is it ill," Shale asked as she turned away, Wynne shaking her head beside her. "I haven't seen it smile today. It's too … serious."

"She has reason to be," the mage sighed.

"She is the general," Oghren chuckled half-heartedly. "She has an army to lead."

"I think she's worried," Leliana added.

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Of course, Wynne."

Alistair didn't hear any more of the conversation as he ran down the hall. There was no conversation after the group turned to watch him curiously. Then he was around the corner and up the stairs, dashing down another hall until he reached a window at the end. He poked his head out and stared up. There was no sign of the elf but he was sure she'd be atop the roof, balancing with ease on the point of it, staring over the edge at the busyness of the camps to the northeast. He drew a deep breath in. He'd never been fond of heights. He had to be crazy to attempt this. Still, he stepped onto the sill and reached up to the eaves of the roof above him. He flipped around in one smooth motion and stood there, toes barely on the windowsill, gripping the wood with white knuckles, regretting his decision though he hadn't moved.

"Okay, okay," he whispered. "I can do this. Now."

He pushed off and was halfway onto the roof, pulling himself up with his arms, when the stone shingles moved beneath him. He couldn't help but look down as he fell, cursing himself for the idea, for not being better at climbing, for making Emma mad. And then he stopped with a jolt, a pressure around his wrist. His heart leaped to his throat and stuck with his breath there, thumping wildly until he swallowed it and looked up.

The two were dangling from the eaves, the elf's red-brown eyes wide, lips a thin line, fingers straining with the weight of the man she'd caught. She had thought for a moment that she wouldn't make it, that he would fall to the ground below. She'd held her breath as she dove and exhaled now. Her eyes slid closed and a smile twitched at her lips. But they weren't out of danger yet. Loose shingles meant the whole section would give out if they made one wrong move. She bit her lip as she hauled him up far enough that he could reach the window and, after he was inside and gratefully on the floor, she swung into the hall and sank down. They were silent, each waiting for their breathing to slow and their heart rate to return to normal.

"Em-"

"Dahn'direlan! You idiot!" Alistair was speechless as she moved, wrapping him in a hug and hiding her face in his shoulder. Her own shoulders shook as she took an uneven breath in. "You had me scared to death. What were you thinking?"

"I was coming to apologize. I wasn't … trying to make you … mad."

"Mad? I wasn't mad, Al," she sighed and sat in front of the window, tilting her head out of it, knees drawn to her chest and her arms around them. "I'm just tired of it."

Alistair almost panicked at the wording. He balled his hands, clenched his jaws and waited until he was certain he wouldn't yell at her without meaning to. When he glanced over at her, her eyes were closed, chest rising and falling steadily, and he thought for a moment that she'd fallen asleep. Maybe she was and maybe she wasn't. Either way, she'd be conscious enough to listen to him.

"Allen said that once," he began slowly. "That he was tired, tired of fighting. He's gone now. You're not going to leave, too, are you?"

"I didn't know that."

"We were at Haven. You were in Orzammar. But you won't leave. Will you?"

"No. No, of course not. I've a promise to keep. I said I'd stay and I meant it, Al." She stood and held her hand out, pulling the man to his feet when he took it.

"You're a lot stronger than you look."

"It's an elf thing," she shrugged.

He nodded and caught up to her two rooms down. "You did lie." She glared up at him through thick lashes. "You're not scared at all."

The fire could be seen throughout the day now, it's red and orange halo on the horizon marking the destination of two hundred and eight men, elves and dwarves, a Qunari and golem counted in their numbers, two Grey Wardens their companions, a king's mild manners keeping up morale. Soon, they knew, they would need to be somber and focus their energy on the battle. Soon, but not yet, and they continued joking as they marched. They had left Redcliffe Castle fifty stronger than what the young Warden had expected, fifty stronger than what she had asked for, but those fifty would not be persuaded to wait when they could help now. So Mahariel had let them come, the units she asked for filled out and fifty extra blades at her back.

They made camp an hour after dark, the glow still present and larger than when they'd set out that morning. They expected to reach it tomorrow and the mood of the dark encampment was warily enthusiastic. Each man and woman wanted to fight, couldn't wait for the coming war, but they also dreaded the sight of a battered and burning Denerim.

The watch was thinned so that more men would be rested, the bulk of it taken by the Wardens and their companions. Emma had remained out all night despite the changing shifts, the latest of which was taken by Zevran, Oghren and a dwarven warrior stomping a track in the dry earth, muttering about the open sky above.

The elf stood with half-closed eyes, shoulders lax and hands loose at her sides, half asleep. She looked almost like a statue save for when there was movement within the forest to the south. She would stir herself and watch, one hand reaching for an arrow in her quiver, the other slipping her bow from her shoulder. So far the disturbances had only been night creatures and she would return to her stance for more of the partial sleep that had become her norm. This time when her hands moved and her eyes flashed into focus, she froze. She waited for a moment. Then her hands returned to her sides and she took a few steps forward.

"Ar mya, falon?" She knew the creature would hear the whisper and return an answer in its way.

It stared with large brown eyes, ears flicking back and forth, curving white horns and silver fur lit by the moon overhead. It seemed to nod before turning and bounding into the dark recesses of the forest.

Zevran was the only one to see her go.

He followed after a moment's hesitation, his movements still uncertain in the cover of trees though they remained silent. He was trained as an assassin after all. Most things he did were silent. He had been meant to kill the Warden by any means possible. Ideally, that would have been a silent ambush but for some reason she had drawn him out. It had never been her intention; she hadn't even known he was there. He had been the one to announce his presence despite the ambush he had planned. He'd known she would be an elf but he wasn't expecting her to be Dalish or young as she was, and that had given him pause. He still didn't know what he had expected her to do when he said he was going to kill her. And he wasn't sure, despite numerous times replaying it in his mind, how she had gotten the drop on him, how he had been the one to end up with a shaft and feathers sticking out from his chest when the arrow had been meant for her.

He shook his head when he found her, cooing in elvish to one of the deer-like halla that stood in the small clearing near the stream. She looked over her shoulder at him. He chuckled. Of course she would have heard him.

"No one can sneak up on you, my dear Warden," he said quietly as he stepped closer. The halla watched in silence as he watched them. They were beautiful creatures indeed, and he knew that in certain markets their antlers would fetch a steep price. They shied away as he stopped behind Emma. She stood and turned to face him.

"You will not harm them."

"Of course not, Warden." Zevran shied back a step himself, shocked at how she could seem to know what he was thinking. She'd gotten the drop on him again, and he wondered if he'd ever had it in her. "I was only thinking of the other times I have seen halla horns. They were not so alive then, no? Sold in black markets where fine, wild beauties such as yourself would never wander."

"I think I should send you against the archdemon," she mused. "You could flatter it into admitting defeat and calling off this war between darkspawn and Wardens."

"I think not," the blonde elf chuckled. "I look remarkably tasty to any large carnivorous creature, women included."

"I'm sure," she nodded.

"Yet not to you?" She glanced back at him, an eyebrow poised in question. "Ah, I forget. Your heart already belongs to another. And you have his. Tell me, dear, did you tell him as much before he left?"

"No." She turned sharply to leave but Zevran snatched at her elbow and held her.

"We could die tomorrow," he whispered. "Any one of us. I have been asking myself since the moment you told me your name why it is you aren't dead yet, why it is I couldn't kill you."

She waited for him to continue, staring, silent, eyes glowing red, hair hanging into them and falling across her shoulders. She didn't move yet the once-Crow knew she could have a blade sheathed in his chest before he had drawn his own. If he made a move against her now, he would not wake up from it. There was a fire in her eyes that said as much, steel corded in her muscles that proved it.

"I think maybe the reason is …" He hesitated. The two were alone save for the halla looking on. There were no other eyes on them, no mabari war hound to defend against what it surely would see as an act of aggression. He hesitated also because he wasn't entirely sure how the fierce young woman would react. It might be better, he told himself, to forget the thought and make up some witty line that would fool her into believing it was the truth. But he didn't. He leaned forward, bending his head slightly, and pressed his lips against hers.

She didn't draw back as he thought she would, remained unmoving as he threaded his fingers with her hair and kissed her again. He stopped suddenly.

"I'm sorry," he frowned. He cleared his throat and forced a smile to his face, stepping away. "I had never kissed a Dalish elf before. I didn't want to miss my chance, should anything happen to me."

"Zev -"

"I also don't think it fair for you to die without ever being kissed. You have never been kissed, no?"

"No," she smiled. "I hadn't."

"See? Allen is not here to kiss you so I simply did it for him. Of course, I am a much better kisser. Though I suppose, when he returns, you can be the judge. We should go back to camp, no? That drunken dwarf might start missing us."

Zevran hurried away, shuffling branches as he went, flustered for the first time in ages. And again, the young woman had done nothing; he had been the one to act.

Author's Note:

Ar mya, falon: should i follow, guide?