I don't own anything...yet *evil laugh *

Days quickly melt into weeks as everyone struggles to dredge the battered Keep out of its tumultuous past and firmly ensconce the compound in the present. By the time Alistair's birthday rolls around, fully half of the castle appears to have been inhabited for two years instead of two months.

Morrigan, Lynx, and Jowan-who has taken to shape shifting as a duck would to water-do the bulk of the game hunting, and their toils keep the smokehouse and larders stocked with meat, the tannery with furs, and the beds stuffed with all the feathers anyone could ask for.

It is also during this time that Leliana, Gabriel, and Zevran-much to Lynx's surprise- independently give up on pretenses and slowly transfer their belongings into the chambers of their lovers, leaving ample space for Levi's extended family to comfortably expand. The Drydens new proximity to the companions thrills Jowan to no end, as he has found a connection with Levi's niece, a shy and soft spoken girl by the name of Eliza. Her quiet acceptance and unshakable loyalty has served to rebuild his broken confidence every bit as much as his daily training sessions with the hedgemage.

Sten on the other hand, steadfastly remains fascinated by Levi's brother Mikhael since he began overseeing the blacksmith's forging of Starfang, the long sword of meteor metal that Lynx passed to Alistair on his birthday. The hulking qunari is often found at the human's forge, quizzing the master smith about arms and armor, when he is not making attempts to improve his own gears.

Wintermarch brings with it biting winds, artic temperatures and blinding snows, forcing the group to abandon the excavation of the tunnel-which had been subjected to multiple cave-ins and had the far end collapse under the weight of the ice—and content themselves with retreating far indoors in the face of midwinter's harshness.

After one night of particularly brutal dreams, Lynx finds herself sitting at the kitchen's preparation table beside Wynne and sipping tea.

"How are you and Zevran getting along?" the elder mage conversationally inquires sometime during their second cup.

Caught unawares by the candid question, it takes a minute for the younger woman to formulate a semi-polite response. "As well as can be expected, considering we chase one another out of bed because of the nightmares, have a blight to stop, and still need to collect the rest of the treaties before we're overrun. Why do you ask?"

The senior enchanter's sapphire orbs drift away from her gaze and settle on the small fire keeping the kettle warm, "I cannot imagine what life must be like for two Grey Wardens, paired as you are. It has to be so difficult to maintain a relationship, never knowing when the time may come that you are forced into a situation where you must choose between your duty and your heart."

To the Gates of the Black City I would follow you her lover's solemn vow resonates inside of her and Lynx shakes her head in denial, "It will not come to that, we won't let it."

"You brave, silly girl. Do you seriously believe that it will always be so simply because you will it?" Wynne's chastising words make her veins turn to ice, "Are you even certain that his convictions are as solid as your own? He is an assassin by vocation after all. Or have you considered that ending the relationship might be for the best, so that neither of your loyalties are divided? I do not say these things to hurt you Lynx, I merely wanted-"

The Warden's clay mug shatters as it slams into the wood, slicing her hand in the process, "If you value your tongue and your life, I highly recommend that you lock your jaw and get out of my sight before I show you exactly what I think of you and your little speech, you saggy assed meddling hag."

Wordlessly, the other woman rises from the bench and scurries out of the room, leaving Lynx to seethe.

Morning arrives and the apostate hasn't moved. A puddle of coagulated blood has pooled under her wounded limb, but the jagged cut has long since stopped weeping scarlet.

Then something captures her attention. Jowan and Wynne, practicing fire and lightning spells just outside the kitchen window. It is enough to make her threadbare control fizzle out.

Clad in only an oversized tunic, she darts out of the side door and barrels towards the other mage, gathering the wintry air around her as she goes.

"How dare you?" Lynx shrieks, the magical snowstorm rising like an icy hurricane around her, "You can't let anyon be happy, can you, you shriveled up harpy? You hunt down anyone who is less miserable than you and you destroy any sense of peace they have! Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Wynne's inferno barely has a chance to manifest before the ice storm collides with both it and the thundering storm Jowan had called to separate the two angry women. The trio of primal spells swirl and mutate before them, rendering their flaring tempers impotent at the sight.

"A perfect storm," Jowan murmurs, completely awestruck, "I thought it was only a theoretical possibility..."

"Maker's breath, what is that?" Alistair shouts over the din as he scrambles up, clad in naught but his trousers and hastily donned boots, "I've never seen anything like it."

"Fire, ice, and lightning, all melded into a single devastating spell," his sister informs him, too stunned to smother the reverence in her tone.

"It will certainly give the darkspawn a reason to pause, yes?" Zevran cheerfully comments as he grasps his lover around the waist and pulls her a more comfortable distance away, "More impressive than our back up plan of having Alistair don a dress and dance the Remigold for them at least. Speaking of Templars, shouldn't one be dispelling that thing?"

"Templar? Oh yeah, that's me. On it," the youngest Warden lilts and focuses on ridding the courtyard of the terrifying elemental display.

"What brought this on?" Gabriel inquires as he joins the growing crowd of onlookers.

Lynx's rage is born anew and she repeats the entire conversation between Wynne and herself while vibrating like a sapling in a windstorm. Her self restrained is so feeble though that Alistair has to suppress her magic twice during the telling. When she finally concludes, her eyes savagely flicker through the group before settling on her Antivan, "Be mindful, all of you. Who the hell knows who she will ambush next because she's feeling snippy."

Zevran and Leliana seem to understand the unspoken order as the mass of people begins to fracture and everyone returns to their duties.

Any more meddling or attempts at manipulation are to be considered acts of hostility and handled accordingly.

Fortunately for Wynne, she was also able to discern the subtle message and behaves admirably all the way through the end of Guardian, when the final boulders and chunks of ice are cleared from the subterranean road's exit.

As if fate has decided to replay a piece of their shared past, Alistair emerges from a gathering of people to stand before the wild woman. "It's time."

For the second time since her new life began Lynx nods sagely and strokes Spiorad's head before getting to her feet. "I thought it might be."