It slithered beneath his skin, the whisper echoing behind his eyes. Sound but not sound, a call without need of voice. Alistair gasped, glancing up just in time to see the dragon swoop low over the walls. He ducked instinctively but already it was moving away, seeming to pay them little mind. Seeing Riordan watching him, he flushed.

The old Warden smiled. "We have surprised it, I think. Feel how it calls to them, rallies them. It knows why we are here."

"It knows?"

"Oh yes." His eyes turned skyward, following its progress across the city.

They had taken the gate easily enough, the men forming ordered lines as they filed through the narrow gaps in the outer wall. It had almost seemed easy. Alistair had barely had a chance to fight; everywhere he looked the darkspawn were being overwhelmed. And yet the feeling was unsettling.

"Do not worry." Riordan was at his shoulder. "You will get your chance."

"I should feel silly complaining about the help, shouldn't I? But I guess I just got used to doing things—"

"—Alone?"

He nodded, noticing as the other man's gaze flickered away.

"Ya gonna use that blade, Warden, or ya just gonna stand there gawking?" Oghren darted past with a booming laugh, hurling himself at a pair of genlocks. But no sooner had he driven his axe into the belly of the first, three more soldiers appeared, taking down the other in a flurry of thrusting blades. The dwarf let out a grunt of frustration.

Leliana stood nearby, nocking arrow after arrow in rapid succession, picking her targets from a distance. Wynne seemed to be concentrating on healing, moving between the bands of men in a shimmering haze. It was easy, too easy.

"They have already breeched the city. There will be more inside." Sten stopped beside them, sheathing his blade. It was slick and wet, his armor already darkly stained.

"Why does he get to fight?" Alistair turned to the big man. "Why do you get to fight?"

He snorted.

The others were gathering round now, the soldiers letting out a whooping cheer. Riordan, though, shook his head. "This was merely what was left to hold the walls. The archdemon has generals within the city, countless more darkspawn."

"Hold the walls…" Alistair trailed off, looking to his companions. "We-we should do the same."

Wynne folded her arms with a knowing smirk. "So after all your talk, all your balking… you are suggesting that we split up?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, yeah I guess I am."

"I will go ahead of you into the city." Bending his arm behind his back, Riordan paced before them. "We will need to reach high ground, draw the archdemon to us. The top of Fort Drakon should do."

"Wait. Draw it to us?"

Sten leaned close to Alistair's shoulder. "How else do you intend to fight it?"

"Shut up." Turning to Riordan, he shook his head. "But how exactly… I mean it can… you know…"

"Fly? A significant advantage. Leave that to me." He took a step forward, breath catching as his leg dragged beneath him. Rubbing his hand against his thigh, he sighed. "But should I fail… I will need archers. Your best."

Some of the Dalish stood nearby. At a gesture from Alistair they came trotting over.

Riordan nodded. "Thank you."

"I will go with him as well."

Alistair stiffened, turning slow to meet Leliana's eyes. It was the first he had heard her speak all day, but there was no room for argument in that gaze. "You… can't."

Shouldering her bow, she arched a brow. "You said that we must split up, no? Each of us to where we are needed?"

"Yes, but not—"

"Unless you doubt my skill? He will need the best. But perhaps you think that I am not—"

"I-I didn't mean—"

The first hint of a smile tugged at her scars. She was toying with him. "Maker's breath…"

Stepping close, she planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Do not worry."

"Worry. Right. Just a little archdemon."

Her smile faltered as she drew him aside. "It is… strange, no? To know that our fate will be decided in a matter of hours."

"Funny. I kind of get this feeling that it was decided a long time ago."

Tilting her head, she studied him. "I wonder if all great heroes feel this way, if this is what it is like to write your own story."

"Riiight… me. A hero." Alistair snorted.

"You have already proven yourself. No one here doubts that."

"But-but it's not a story, at least not the kind you want it to be."

"Oh, I do not know about that." Her gaze strayed over his shoulder, to Riordan and the elves already making their way to the inner gate. "But we will speak later."

She didn't really believe that; he could see it in her eyes. He should tell her now… say something… apologize…

Stretching up on her toes, Leliana pressed her lips to his. He was vaguely aware of the others, of some unheard joke passing between Oghren and Sten, but he did not care. It was a long moment before he pulled away, saw her smiling up at him.

"It was you!" Alistair felt himself sag with relief.

She flushed, turning her face away. "Who did you think it was?"

"I—"

"When I saw you with… I thought that was the kind of woman you wanted. It is why I…"

Crushing her against his chest, Alistair lay his cheek against her forehead. Of course it had been her in the woods; it had always been her.

Her smile remained, strong despite the sadness of her eyes. Leaning close, her sigh shuddered cross his lips, lingering in one final, fleeting kiss. "Go. Forge your legend."

Dimly was he aware of her moving amongst the others, exchanging embraces and farewells. It was only when she reached the inner gate that he raised his head, saw her pause for a parting wave.

"Nicely done, Warden!" Oghren clapped him on the back. Even Sten seemed to be smirking.

"Yeah, well…" Staring after her, Alistair shook himself. "Things to kill, remember?"

As they returned to the others he let his eyes roam over them. There should be more; there could have been more. But Zevran had… and then Morrigan… now Leliana… Alistair pushed the thought away. It wasn't the same; she could handle herself. It was he who was not coming back.

He sighed. "Sten?"

"Yes." It wasn't a question; he understood.

"What, no argument? No grumbling about being left behind?"

"We must hold the gate."

"I wouldn't trust anyone else to watch my back. Plus, you've got the command experience and you're – you know – really scary."

The Qunari inclined his head. "There is also that. But do not doubt that it is you who has led us this far, Warden. I am happy to be surprised."

"You? Happy? Nah."

He chuckled.

"Don't suppose I can get that hug now?"

"No."

Alistair found himself smiling. Even at the end, he couldn't help it. "Oghren?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

"But… you're sure?"

"To late for that, eh?" He puffed out his chest, grinning as Sten sighed. "I'm a Warden, ain't I?"

"I thought you didn't do it to impress anybody."

"Nah, that's just extra. Did it to kill darkspawn."

"Right." Alistair turned next to Wynne. "Are you up for it?"

She arched a brow. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing! Do you have your things together? Potions? Gear?"

Moving to stand beside him, she let her staff rap hard against his boot. "You are not making any implications about my age, then?"

"Me? I would never!"

She laughed.

"Shale?"

"No."

Alistair blinked. "What do you mean 'no?'"

"Has It repaired the control rod?"

"I-I left it behind. I didn't think I'd—"

"Good." The golem nodded. "Then It should not be surprised."

"So that's it? Just 'no?'"

"I suppose this is free will. I quite like the sound of it, actually. No. No." She moved to stand behind Sten as Wynne lay a hand on Alistair's arm. "But do have fun storming the castle."

"But I need a four—"

It came trotting from amidst the wreckage, startling the soldiers as it passed. Stopping before Alistair, the mabari deposited a large and horned helmet at his feet.

"One of their vanguard." Sten crouched, turning the helm over so that it seemed to be staring up at them. Looking to the dog, he bowed his head. "You are a true warrior and worthy of respect."

Squatting down beside them, Alistair turned the thing away. "Oh! Ew! It's head's still in there!"

The mabari gave a happy bark.

"Right." Alistair stood. "Then… I guess this is it."

Wynne smiled up at him. "So it would seem. But whatever happens, know that I am proud to stand beside you, proud to call you friend."

"Friend, huh? So you haven't just stuck around for my rugged good looks?"

"Be careful who you flirt with, young man. You would not know what to do with me if you had me."

"Somehow I really, really believe that."

"C'mon, Warden." Elbowing Alistair in the ribs, Oghren drew his axe. "Let's show 'em our hearts… and then show 'em theirs."

"Maker, Maker, Maker…!" Alistair darted cross the market, diving beneath an overturned merchant stall. He had narrowly avoided a crushing swipe from one of the three – three! – ogres that had seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Oghren crouched beside him. "Much as you go on about that Maker of yours, I've never seen him turn up to lend a hand."

"You never know. And how's it any different that you talking about the Stone?"

The dwarf groped on the ground beside them. Finding a small rock, he hurled it at the nearest ogre, chuckling as it turned with a roar.

"Okay… point. But that doesn't necessarily—" The ogre was barreling toward them now. Alistair reached for his sword, eyes going wide as he spotted it across the square. He must have dropped it in his haste to—

"Heh. Swingin' an empty scabbard, are ya? Yer pike was purloined?"

"Oghren! This is not the time!"

The ogre crashed into the cluster of stalls, becoming tangled in the canopy as they rolled aside. Alistair found himself landing hard beside an overturned chest, the familiar wares toppling out into the dirt. He snatched up a short sword just as the ogre's hand closed hard around his waist.

The pain was crushing, burning, the creature's roar splattering his face with heat and bile. With a desperate cry, Alistair plunged the sword deep into its chest, gasping as the hilt broke off in his hand. "What the—? Fine dwarven crafts my – aaaah!"

The ogre's grip tightened, the cry below him seeming to ring in his ears.

"'ey! Warden!" Oghren tossed Alistair's own blade up to him.

He caught it easily, guiding the momentum to bring it round and through the creature's neck. The cut was clean, deep, the ogre slumping immediately beneath him. Alistair's legs buckled he landed but he righted himself, giving Cousland's sword a reassuring squeeze. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Throwin' yer weapon around like that only gets a man in trouble." He grinned. "Though I'm thinkin' you learned that back in Redcliff, eh?"

"Oghren!"

More of Eamon's soldiers had followed them, spreading out across the market now to finish off the last of the remaining darkspawn. But there were still more shouts ahead, a thick pillar of smoke spiraling up and over the alienage. Looking to Wynne and the mabari, Alistair plunged ahead.

He stopped short on the bridge, gaping up at the sight before him. "No, oh no…"

The great tree was completely engulfed in flame, the tendrils licking across the thick and ancient trunk to spark in the leaves above. He almost didn't hear the shouts, see the elves struggling to hold their old and splintered gate. Part of it was already burning, the darkspawn tearing at it where the wood was weakest, but it was holding still.

There was a mage among the creatures, sending fireball after fireball over the barricade and toward the tree with a hissing laugh. It hadn't noticed them yet, none of them had. Alistair slipped behind it, driving his blade up and through its chest as the other darkspawn turned. There would be no more fire, but they might well be too late.

A fresh hail of arrows streaked from behind the gate as the elves perched on the platforms above renewed their efforts. Caught between the barricade and Alistair's companions, the darkspawn assault was over quickly enough. But as he approached the gate, Alistair found those arrows trained on him.

"It's him, you morons! Move!" There was a scuffle behind the bars, the gate opening just wide enough to reveal a familiar, scowling face. "Let them in."

"But, Shianni—!"

"I suppose he attacked those darkspawn just to trick us, hmm?"

"Maybe." The response was sullen, the elf that had spoken slinking away as Alistair and the others slipped through the gate.

Pulling it to behind them, Shianni folded her arms. "It's about time. But, then again, we weren't exactly expecting any help."

"Um… you're welcome?"

She sighed. "Andraste's ass, you'd think I'd learn some social graces. What I meant to say was… thank you. Really."

Alistair smirked. "Don't mention it."

Many of the other elves had left their positions, running to form a hasty bucket line and douse the tree. But it stretched too high, the flames curling out of reach. Wynne made as if to follow, but Shianni grabbed her arm.

"Don't." It flickered in her eyes, her expression hardening as she watched the others scurry at its base. "Maybe… maybe it's better this way."

"Nonsense." The old mage shrugged her off, a frost spell already spinning between her fingers as she strode across the clearing.

"Shouldn't you be with your daughter anyway?" Alistair stood beside her, but still her gaze was locked to the tree.

"She's fine. The very young and the very old made it to safety." Turning to look up at him, she noticed Oghren and the mabari. "Where is your funny friend? The elf?"

"Ah. He's… he's dead."

"Oh."

Together they stood in silence, watching as Wynne's magic at last quenched the flames.

"So why didn't you go with your daughter?"

Shianni sighed. "Would it have mattered if we had nothing to come back to? This may be all we have, but it's ours."

"And yet you'd be willing to let it burn?"

"I don't know… maybe." The damage had already been done; the trunk was scarred and blackened, the leaves no more than ash. "But that… that was an old thing. We can't go back. We're not Dalish… but maybe it's time we started figuring out what we are."

Alistair found himself smiling. "So… no more tree?"

Her eyes followed the length of it. "How does the saying go? Only in the alienage would we plant a reminder of our heritage and then proceed to get drunk and piss on it."

"I can't imagine… I mean you haven't… have you?"

Looking sideways at him, she winked. "Shows what you know, shem."

"So… what now?"

"We have things under control here, thanks to you. I'm sure you've got something important to do, something… kingly."

Alistair groaned. "You heard about that?"

"We do have ears, you know." She smirked. "But go. Really. This is our home and we'll defend it."

"Are you sure?"

"What? You think one person needs to fight every battle?"

"Seems like it sometimes. Like it's what I was meant to do."

She snorted. "I don't buy it. Maybe the reason you're here is to show others how to fight. To inspire, to help, to—"

"Provide witty remarks?"

"I don't know. Maybe." She shrugged, tilting her head to look up at him. "So go. We're fine here."

"Right." Alistair ran a hand through his hair. "You… you take care."

"You too… Your Majesty."

He sighed, but already she was pulling the gate aside and ushering them through. They had barely made it halfway across the bridge when he felt it again, the thundering surge, as if his very blood were trying to escape his veins. Beside him, he saw Oghren stagger, saw the rushing shadow sweeping toward them over his shoulder.

Alistair pulled him down just in time, laying flat on the stones as the archdemon swooped low across the bridge. Wynne had made it to the shelter of the market gate but the mabari was on its feet still, leaping and barking in the wake of the dragon's beating wings. Grabbing the dog by the scruff of its neck, Alistair yanked it down beside them. "I thought you were supposed to be smart."

It gave a piteous whine.

The archdemon banked above them now, the roar rumbling deep as it swept low for a second pass. Scooting closer, the mabari sunk its teeth into Alistair's arm.

"Ow! Ow, ow, ow!"

Again it was on its feet, jaws clenched hard despite his struggling, thick legs tensing as it dragged him cross the stones. Alistair was dimly aware of the dragon's jaws cracking in a blast of blackened flame, of his other hand closing hard round Oghren's collar to pull the dwarf after them. The bridge erupted at their feet, cracking in two where they had lay.

"Maker."

The dog released him, raising its head to growl as the dragon swept away over the city walls.

"Did you have to take the whole arm?" Still he sat cradling it as the mabari nuzzled impatiently against his shoulder. "Right. Let's get… out of the open."

Oghren was already sprinting to join Wynne beneath the shadow of the gate. "Told ya about all that sky! 'S dangerous!"

Unslinging her bow, Leliana turned from the tower's edge. She had seen the bridge to the alienage crumble, watched as the tiny figures seemed to escape unharmed. They had disappeared from view then, that fleeting glimpse bringing more trepidation than relief. But now… now she must focus.

Riordan had chosen their vantage well, she and the handful of Dalish elves taking up positions at every angle above the city. The archdemon had passed close once or twice but seemed to be paying them little mind. It swooped now above the walls of the market district, coming round for another pass.

"Steady! Steady! Aim for the wings!"

The old Warden moved among them as they loosed again, scowling as the arrows struck the beast's hide with little effect. Leliana knew that look, that frustration at his own helplessness. And yet he would not let it slow them down.

Riordan shook his head as she spared him a nod, moving to stand beside her. "It is not enough."

"But we must try."

He held her eyes above a tired smile. "Yes. We must give Alistair his chance. It must be enough."

She smiled with him. "I know."

Drawing a dagger from his belt, Riordan placed it between his teeth, unsheathing his sword with his one remaining arm. She realized too late as he stepped to the tower's edge, understood only as she saw the archdemon speeding toward them, crying out as he leapt into the open air.

"No!" Leliana dropped to her knees but he landed just below her, the archdemon barreling skyward, thrashing for the man clutching desperately to its back.

The elves scattered, but she could not take her eyes away. No longer could she see the sword, his hand gripping instead to the ridges of its neck, the dagger still held tight between his teeth as he pulled himself toward its wings. One good slice across the muscle, only one… Again the dragon banked, rolling full circle. Riordan seemed to hang suspended, his missing arm stretching useless, before plummeting out of sight.

Leliana couldn't bring herself to look, instead turning from the edge and pinching shut her eyes. It hadn't been enough. It had to be enough.

The archdemon let out a roar, circling them again as the elves unleashed a fresh barrage of arrows. No, not enough.

Leliana whirled, dropping her bow as she drew her blades. With a final cry, she spread wide her arms, launching herself out and over the edge.

"Riordan!" Alistair stumbled, gaping up at the tower. There had been no mistaking that figure, the only one desperate… fool enough…

Something bumped him hard in the shoulder, spinning him round as he brought his blade distractedly down upon its head. The fighting was thick here, the palace district crowded with dwarves and elves and men. But the darkspawn were pushing back, the archdemon's roar of triumph seeming to renew their efforts.

Alistair turned, trying desperately to see where Riordan had fallen, but there was no hope; it was too high, too… He stopped dead. The dragon had turned again, its course set on the tower, on the figure standing outlined against the darkening sky. Her hair streamed brilliant in the rushing air, the force of it seeming to lift her as she dove, a plummeting streak of red disappearing between its wings.

"Leliana!" Alistair fell to his knees, unable to take his eyes away. Someone grabbed him by the arm, shouting close to his ear, but he could not understand the words.

A genlock stumbled near, sword swinging for him in a wide arc. It was only when Oghren darted in front of him, parrying the blow with a shuddering clang, that the world seemed to reach him. Sound returned, crashing loud and wavering as Alistair gulped for air. Wynne had him by the shoulder, pulling him forcibly to his feet.

"No! No, we have to—!"

But she was looking past him, eyes going wide. Turning, Alistair followed her gaze.

The archdemon circled, careening wildly around the tower. One of its wings dipped low, flapping awkwardly as it let out an ear-splitting shriek. Around them, the darkspawn stopped to stare skyward, echoing the cry. Oghren took the opportunity to cleave the arm from the nearest hurlock, but Alistair's eyes remained fixed on the figure clinging to the broken wing, sliding perilously toward its edge. Bucking still, the dragon made for Fort Drakon, crashing hard into the roof in a shower of stone and ash.

"Come on!" He thrust his blade almost blindly, clearing a path. "We're going! Now!" There was a gate ahead, the fort looming above them. Rallying to his call, the soldiers surged ahead, overwhelming the still-disoriented darkspawn.

When they crossed beneath the arch, though, Alistair stopped. It was quiet here. The ramp leading to the doors was littered with them, men and darkspawn, dwarves and elves and unnamed beasts. All were still; all were dead. It gave even the darkspawn behind them pause, most turning and fleeing back toward the palace.

"What-what happened here?"

Oghren shrugged. "Beats me. Makes our job easier, though. Might be we finally got a bit of luck."

"Luck. Right."

Picking their way over the fallen, they slipped through the open door. There were more bodies here, the walls slick with something he did not care to look at long. Wynne, though, crouched unafraid beside one of the fallen soldiers.

"I do not like this. The wounds are… well, they are not exactly wounds."

"Meaning what?"

"Magic, perhaps. I do not know."

"Whose magic? Ours or theirs?"

She rose slowly, sighing as she shook her head.

"Great." He looked to Oghren. "You were saying something about luck?"

They pressed deeper into the fortress, some of the men splitting off to search when the path forked. There had to be some sort of access to the roof, to the upper levels, but Alistair had not seen it. They did not have time for this… if Leliana was still… if the archdemon…

The path had started to become familiar when first he heard the voice. At first he thought it might be one of the dwarves marching behind them, a quiet humming, the tune jaunty and out-of-place. Alistair had almost turned to shush them when he realized that it was coming from the rooms ahead.

One of the dwarves chuckled. "My mam used to sing that to me. Ain't heard it in a long time."

"You recognize it?"

He nodded. "You best wait here, Your Majesty. Let me take a look." Disappearing round the door, they heard him laugh with surprise. "'ey! You there!"

Alistair did not have the words for what came next. He barely recognized the sound as a scream, swelling and rising until it seemed to tear the air itself. The other dwarves did not hesitate, charging into the room after the first. Wynne cried out a warning too late, throwing up her hands as Alistair stumbled into her shield. But the dwarves were not so lucky.

Alistair's hand trembled as he raised it to his face, as he wiped away the blood splattered there. They had seemed to rip apart before his eyes, falling limp and twisted as towels wrung empty. It was when he opened his eyes, though, that he truly gaped.

The song continued, the figure at the room's center rocking where it sat. It did not seem to mind the blood pooling round it, did not seem to notice the darkspawn scattered to every side. Raising its head, the little dwarf smiled.

"Maker's breath, I know him." He lay a hand against Wynne's shield. "Let me through. It- it's alright."

Oghren snorted.

"No… trust me. It's okay."

She acquiesced with a sigh, following him hesitantly into the room.

"Um… hi." Alistair waved, moving slowly to crouch before the boy.

He tilted his head. "Hello."

Wynne looked between them. "And how do you know him, exactly?"

"We… we met on the road. Near Lothering. His father – or I think it was his father – was killed."

The boy's hand snaked out, grabbing the tip of Alistair's sword. A pale glow seemed to snake along the length of it, stopping just short of the hilt with a sizzling crackle. Alistair touched an experimental finger to the blade, pulling back with a hiss. "Ow! It's cold!"

The dwarf grinned.

Wynne's fascination seemed to overcome her fear as she knelt beside them. "I… do not believe it. Perhaps exposure to Lyrium or…"

Oghren snorted. "Dwarves can't do magic. Everyone knows that."

There was a scuffle behind them at the door. Alistair saw the boy's head snap up, turning too late to… "No! Don't—!" A pair of Redcliff soldiers collapsed beside the dwarves.

Wynne shook her head. "It seems we know now what cleared our path."

"He did this? All of this?"

She sighed. "But he cannot tell friend from foe."

Resting elbows on his knees, Alistair hung his head. "Of course not. Why would he? No one ever showed him how." Slowly, he raised his eyes. "Could you… do something?" He winced. "Make him… tranquil?"

"Tranquil." She turned her face away, coming stiffly to her feet. "Yes. But… leave us for a moment."

"Are you sure that's a—?"

"Alistair, please. Leave."

He watched her over his shoulder as they made their way to the door. Kneeling again beside the dwarf, she offered him a comforting smile. He did not seem to notice the hand reaching into her belt, slipping free the blade as the others disappeared.

Looking up at her, the boy grinned. "Enchantment?"

Wynne did not speak again as they made their way through the silent halls, climbing the stairs to the fortress' upper levels. Stepping round the body of a fallen ogre, Alistair paused before a pair of thick and ornate doors. Maybe it was the taint, the sense of what was on the other side but this… this was it. So many had reminded him of what he had accomplished, praised him, encouraged him, but this… stepping cross this final threshold would be the hardest thing that he had ever done.

Oghren stopped to look up at him. "Well?"

Alistair sighed.

"Heh. Take yer moment, boy. You've earned it."

"My moment. Right. Just so you know, I'm not making another speech."

Wynne stepped to his other side. "The time for speeches has passed. But I would not say no to a rousing battle cry."

Pushing ahead of them, the mabari gave a happy bark.

Alistair smiled. "That's as good as any."

They swung wide the doors, stepping out onto the rooftop together. Others had reached it before them, the varied armies of Ferelden already clashing with the darkspawn that had been called to defend their master. It hulked at the roof's farthest end, beating its broken wing as it leaned low to spit a gout of black flame.

But it wasn't to the archdemon that Alistair looked. Leliana lay not far from it, face down and twisted on the broken stones. He was running without thought, darting quick between the pitched battles, swinging wild with his sword. Almost… he was almost there…

It slammed hard into his shoulders, talons catching beneath his spaulders. Alistair struggled, his boots scraping cross the rooftop as the creature gained height. Twisting, he found himself looking up at a feathered belly, the wings of the great eagle beating to either side of him.

"No! No swooping! Not now!"

Leliana was fading behind them, the bird's speed picking up as they neared the roof's edge.

"No!" Alistair tugged the short knife free of his belt, stabbing blindly upward. He hit the ground hard, rolling aside as the eagle fell and thrashed beside him. Its scream grew ragged, familiar, before cutting short.

"Oh, Maker…"

Morrigan lay where they had fallen, naked and human and frighteningly still. The knife fell from Alistair's hands, the blood smearing cross his breastplate as he tried desperately to wipe them clean. The trembling seemed to start in his boots, moving to his knees and shoulders as he wailed.

Looking between her and Leliana, he spotted his fallen sword. He rushed for it with a cry, passing Oghren as he drove his axe into an ogre's knees. It was already falling, but Alistair dove forward, brining his sword round to push it over on top of the dwarf. By his curses he was largely unharmed, but the creature had pinned him fast.

Stepping round Alistair looked down at him.

"Warden! Warden, help me up!"

He shook his head.

"No! Oh no, you stupid, soddin'—"

But Alistair was already moving cross the roof, his eyes fixed on the only thing that mattered. The only thing that could matter. He had proven that, hadn't he?

He hadn't seen the elf, stepping through the dust to stand beyond the archdemon. Tall and dark and lean, he moved with an easy grace, unslinging the bow from his back as he braced a foot against a crumbling crenellation. Fitting the arrow to the string, he took his aim, turning to Alistair with a silent nod.

Behind him she moved, coming to stand at his side. Another elf, but she was pale, unmarked, seeming to shine radiant above her dark and unstained robes. Her hands flowed easy above her head, working their intricate forms as the air whirled cool around them. Looking to Alistair, she smiled.

Between them stepped a dwarf, his armor fine and thick and gleaming. Unsheathing the broadsword from his back, he took up his position at the woman's other side, leaning the blade against the stone as he ran fingers through his neat and flowing beard. He inclined his head slowly, straightening proud and stiff as his lips twitched.

Another man mounted the ramp, coming to stand on the opposite side of the beast. His robes were much like the elf's, marking them both as apprentices of the Circle. Nodding once to her, he turned to Alistair with a knowing grin. Raising his hands above his head, he too worked the forms, the strange currents arcing overhead to mix and crackle amongst the woman's.

The archdemon stirred now, turning round, bending its neck with a low and rumbling roar. It saw. It knew. They were ringing it round.

Another dwarf came to stand beside the mage. Her leathers were worn, the tattoos on her face twitching with her eager smirk, a wicked glint in her eye. Twin daggers twirled restless in her hands, knees bending as she stared hungrily toward the beast. Looking his way, she raised one of the blades to her forehead in a strange sort of salute.

Close to him another moved, taking up the position immediately to his right. Her dress was long and white, pale and snowy blossoms woven through her long, golden hair. But there was a scowl there, her elven beauty marred. As she looked to Alistair it softened, sad eyes holding his for a long and wondering moment. Turning to the beast, she sneered.

They had surrounded it, the archdemon tensing now. Only the space to his left remained empty.

The man stepped from behind him, running a hand through his long, dark hair. His armor, sword and shield were old, but well-tended and proudly borne. There was an ease to his smile, a comfortable familiarity. As he turned to the archdemon, his grin broadened.

"Are you ready?"

Alistair looked to the strangers, strangers he knew now as well as he knew himself. With a smile of his own he nodded.

"Alistair!" The voice came from somewhere behind him, familiar, exasperated… but distant now.

As the man raised the familiar sword, Alistair mirrored him, dashing forward on burning, screaming legs. The others came rushing from all sides, seeming to leave misting trails in their wake. Ice crystallized along the dragon's hide, the dwarf's sword taking it behind the ankle, the elf's arrows flying. The female dwarf plunged her daggers deep, using them to pull herself up onto the thrashing tail, while the white-clad elf spun sideways to dodge a gout of blackened flame.

The man at his side fell to his knees, sliding forward, blade raised high to tear along the beast's neck. Alistair moved with him, the stroke cutting deep, threatening to jerk his arm away. But they slipped aside as it fell, the archdemon collapsing bleeding on the stones. Still it twitched; still it was not over. They stood around him now, coming slowly to their feet, coming to stand at his side. Even as he closed his eyes, he could feel them; even as he closed his eyes, he knew. With a cry, he raised his sword before him, the light breaking as he plunged it home.