Summer was heading towards autumn and there was a definite chill in the air around Vigil's Keep as Nathaniel made his way down to the room he'd prepared for Avernus. Fitting, that the old man should work in the old Avvar crypt where Aedan and he had defeated the spirits his family had left alone for centuries. Avernus didn't appear to mind that there were no windows, that the scent of death still hung in the air. It was musty, but spacious, and no other wardens ever ventured there. No one but Nathaniel had a key to this part of the cellar, and when other wardens asked what was kept there, he would murmur something about a family crypt and enquiries would end.

He had a crate of supplies, which contained herbs as well as food and drink. The old man ate like a bird, however, and Nathaniel often had to take back nearly as much as he brought. If he didn't remind him, Nathaniel suspected Avernus would not bother to eat.

Their discussions were getting more and more interesting. Nathaniel found he was actually beginning to enjoy the old man's company. Quite apart from the fact that Avernus had an extremely agile mind, it was fascinating to get a first hand perspective on the history of the Wardens. Sophia Dryden had never been painted particularly favourably by those who wrote histories of Ferelden, but from the way Avernus described her, Nathaniel suspected the old mage had more than just respect for the woman.

The man was morally repugnant, though. Nathaniel couldn't hear details of his research without his hands twitching towards his daggers. But he seemed happy enough, as long as his requests for materials were met. He still grumbled about not having live subjects or warden blood to work with, but apart from that he was perfectly content.

"I have made a new batch of the potion your former Commander drank," Avernus said this time, pointing at a full vial on one of the many benches littered around the old crypt. Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. "It is not as powerful as that which I gave to your Antivan warden, but it should boost your abilities and give you access to some others, should you choose to use it."

"How do I know it won't kill me?" Nathaniel said.

"Aedan Cousland still lives, last I heard."

Nathaniel picked up the vial and turned it over in his hands. The liquid inside was a sickly green colour, not at all tempting to his palate. "He drank this?"

"After interrogating me on its properties and forcing me to drink a little first, yes."

"You've drunk this?"

"Of course. I am not so stupid as to deny myself the fruits of my own labour."

"Did you drink the potion you gave to Francesca?"

Avernus' eyes narrowed. "I did not," he said. "That was not perfected."

Nathaniel pursed his lips. "I don't suppose you'll be offended if I ask you to do the same as Aedan did."

"I would be disappointed if you didn't," Avernus chuckled. "I can make enough of that for all your wardens, should you wish it. I used my own blood to make it, though, so it will take me some time." He flashed his brown teeth in a humourless grin. "Unless you wish to donate some of your own?"

Nathaniel put the vial firmly down on the table and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll pass," he said. "On both counts, thank you. Although if you feel the need to make more, please do. When Anders gets back I'll let him examine it."

Avernus rolled his eyes, his contempt for the blond mage knew no bounds and Nathaniel always found it amusing. The old man watched Nathaniel for a moment with a gleam in his eyes. "Has the Antivan woman shown any strange signs?" he asked after a moment. Nathaniel stiffened with anger.

"Aside from sleeplessness, no," he said shortly.

The mage looked smugly pleased and Nathaniel was reminded of exactly why Anders was itching to kill the man so badly. Avernus turned his head back to his books and licked his finger before turning a page, reaching for a quill. "Interesting. I would have thought she would be dead by now..."

Nathaniel clenched his fists, but there was no point in hurting the man. He truly didn't understand why he was offensive.

"Let me know if you wish me to make more of the potion," Avernus said, his tone clearly dismissive. Nathaniel shook his head and turned to leave.

Back in the basement he was met by one of the wardens on gate duty. "Commander, there's something you need to see," the man - a fellow archer named Martin - said.

"What is it?''

"At the entrance to the deep roads, Ser. You'd better come with us. I've sent for Tabitha - she's pretty beat up..."

"She?"

"It's a warden, ser."

Velanna looked very, very different to how she had looked eight months ago. There was a nasty scar along one side of her face - her blond hair had been cut short, messily, as though with a dagger. She wore regular peasant clothes rather than the deep cut robes he remembered and her hands, when she finally came around, shook with stress and hunger and desperation.

Nathaniel's heart ached as he looked at the woman he'd so admired when she'd first arrived at the keep. Her eyes were just as hard, if not more so, than they had been then. He wondered how she'd survived - why she had returned - she'd never professed any loyalty for the wardens and to be truthful Nathaniel had doubted Aedan's wisdom in recruiting her. Even now, he doubted her return had anything to do with the order.

When she regained consciousness he was by her bedside, by chance, having stopped in on his way to his office. "Nathaniel," she said, tersely, when her eyes opened. He couldn't help but smile at the tone of her voice.

"Velanna. It is good to see you again." She snorted. "What brings you back? We all assumed you were dead."

"Not dead. I went to look for my sister." He nodded, and Velanna turned her head to the side.

"I assume you found her."

The tears that welled in her eyes were genuine, and Nathaniel itched to capture one on his finger. Shocked at the intensity of his desire, he clasped his hands in his lap. "She died," Velanna said then, shortly, and he could see her push the emotion away as she spoke. "With the architect died the knowledge of how he stopped the progression of the taint. The Commander took all the architect's research - I couldn't replicate it. And Seranni... " the elf's voice cracked. "Seranni knew nothing..."

"I'm sorry, Velanna."

She blinked, and her lip trembled. "Thank you," she said. "You... none of you have any reason to welcome me back. I... didn't care about being a warden. I cared about being able to sense the darkspawn. Now.. I truly don't know what I care about."

"If you wish you could return to your clan," Nathaniel said. "I will have no wardens here who do not wish to fight the darkspawn."

Her lips pressed together. "My clan will not welcome me, Nathaniel."

"Then you are welcome back with us," he said, getting to his feet, forcing himself not to voice the words that wanted to be spoken.

He made it back to his office, realising as he did how much Velanna's presence was affecting him. He had sent them all away - Anders, Sigrun, Oghren... Alistair and Leliana... - he hadn't realised how alone he felt. Even with Garavel and Varel present, the keep had felt far too empty for the past week. Velanna's presence reassured him.

Back in his office - the sun just reaching its zenith, he leaned against the window sill, looking out over the courtyard of what had been his family home, his thoughts refusing to settle.

Before his father had sent him to the Free Marches - before he'd been accustomed to being the reason for his disappointment, he had dreamed of being in the position he was now. Arl of Amaranthine - married, perhaps. With children. It was what he had been bred for. When Aedan had offered him Command he had almost laughed in the man's face - the irony had been so perfect, that the one thing his father thought he could deny Nathaniel would be handed to him in such a way.

Yet in the past weeks, without his fellow wardens around him, he had begun to feel the shadow of his father more and more. More than once, he had stopped himself from sending to Amaranthine for Delilah to come, if only to distract him from his thoughts. Yet the Keep was no place for a young woman. The ever present threat of darkspawn and the taint lent an air of gloom to the place that, whilst not as oppressive as that of his father had been, was not something Nathaniel wanted his sister or his nephew to experience.

He had the painting of his mother removed, all trace of Rendon Howe's ostentatious and often vulgar tastes were gone, but he could still hear the man's voice, as he turned a familiar corner, saw an old servant, felt the sting of heat in his cheeks from some remark remembered. That Aedan Cousland had been the one to kill him still rankled in his heart. The man had stolen the one thing he ever wanted from his father.

The chance to explain. The opportunity to ask, and be asked, that ever more complex of questions -

Why?