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im-pro-vise. to compose and perform or deliver without previous preparation; to arrange extemporaneously

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She was running. There was a lane and stones moved uninterruptedly underneath her feet, making her stumble. A sword. She held one in her right hand, something which didn't seem strange at all. Even though it was red, deep blood red and stained instead of the clean silver it should be. It felt comfortable, necessary, like a part of her body and the very breath easing into her lungs. There weren't just stones making her stumble either. She could swear the last one had been a human form, bloodied and lifeless against the floor. She could swear she had been the one to make it that way and that was fine too. It was necessary and she always did what was necessary. Ah. Where was the end of the road? She kept running, left hand motioning to something (someone?) behind her, pushing others from her path as she kept advancing.

And then, just in front, a shadow filled her line of vision. She was scared, yes. The shadow was taller than her, frightening. Fear was there but barely making a dent on the fresh wave of satisfaction which had no explanation. The shadow doubled, tripled, countless ones barring her path. But when the shadows roared in menace, she knew herself to be smiling.

Kate woke to the sound of an explosion. Perhaps waking wasn't the right word to use. Her body moved on its own, jumping into a sited position, swaying as her mind refused to acknowledge whatever was going on. The wall made itself known as she swayed a little too much against it. That had been the true wake-up call. Cursing under her breath, the elf opened her eyes wide and tried to see whatever was around her. The same darkness which had watched her fall asleep greeted her eyes, the same blotchy wallpaper tinged in tones of orange and frayed wooden floor covered with a carpet of a similar color. Moving to the edge of the bed, she put both feet on the floor and straightened, dragging herself upwards and vaguely in the direction of the window.

The window was dirty, hard to see through. In her half-awake state it took Kate several moments to understand it wasn't dirt but smoke barring her vision. She blinked and rubbed her eyes strongly. The room got clearer, the outside world didn't. Kate repeated the action against the glass, cleaning a portion of the window as if it would be enough to clear the air. With focus, small things began being noticed. Just outside laid a line of houses, in everything similar to the one she occupied. And just beyond them, higher than any of them was an orange flare, so large and strong that Kate didn't need to see it properly to understand what was happening. Fire. Moving, dancing over the edge, sometimes in one place, sometimes ten meters, twenty behind. The acrid scent of smoke filled the air even though the window remained closed and intact.

Help. I should help.

The thought gained strength and forced her into action. Turning around quickly, Kate ran out of the room, jumping down the stairs carelessly while her mind moved a mile a minute. The doors which barred her way were unlocked, easy to bypass except the last which required a bit of a struggle to push back. Fresh air met her skin for a moment before it was masked with the suffocating warmth of smoke and dust. The street directly in front of her was crossed quickly by groups of two to three people, some carrying buckets of water, others of sand, all of them with some form of light or another. Also, all strangely organized, their voices loud and clear, steps resounding on the stone floors like a military march.

"Girl, what are you doing just standing there?"

They pushed, dragged each other into moving. If she hadn't noticed by herself, the hand which clamped on her shoulder and tugged did the trick. She saw briefly blue eyes on a weathered face before a man ran ahead of her, pushing all the while. "Grab this." A sand filled bucket was passed from his hands and he struggled after the young couple who preceded him. "Keep away from the fighters, girl," he continued, rushing her along the path. "Put out of the fires but don't get in the way. Sand to cut the fire into one place, let the water carriers do the rest. If the fire's too close, you run, don't let yourself be caught. Got it?"

She nodded before remembering he would likely not see it.

They ran together for what seemed little more than a moment, his steps sure and steady on the uneven ground. The streets they crossed became wider, less filled with houses until all she could discern seemed more like warehouses, cement barely covered by cheap metal. Like the rest of the compound, it was surrounded by a tall cement wall, crowned with barbed wire for all its extension. On one end, this wall had been destroyed. Flames invaded the breach, licking the grass carelessly and eating their way in.

"Stop gawking and start moving." There was anxiety in the man's voice and that, more than anything else, forced her into action. Kate couldn't remember ever having done something like that – her base instinct when facing a fire such as this would be to run in the opposite direction – but she watched as he started dumping the sand on the grass and mimicked his motions. As soon as she dumped one, a person would take it from her hands and get another right by her feet. A small line had formed; no orders, just pure organization.

If the girl hadn't been busy – frightened even – she would have inquired over the event. As it was, the only thing to do was to react and keep working. The heat wafting through the air was uncomfortable, the ash filling everywhere she moved into was even more so, a suffocating pressure which made her cough every minute or so. But she kept going because everyone else around her did so. They worked methodically and, eventually, the group had managed to circumvent the breach in the wall, a wide fifty meter wide circle over which the water carriers were running from side to side, trying to cull the flames before they bypassed the fragile border.

"That wasn't half as bad."

Her sort of companion stopped behind her. Turning her head just a little to the side, Kate saw a hand rising as if it was going to touch her shoulder and then drop quickly as he thought better about it.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

The bucket fell by her feet before she rubbed her eyes to clean the ash away. The hot air hadn't faded yet. In fact, it seemed to grow worse as the path inside the compound was cut and it was forced to eat the vegetation outside. No injuries though. Best thing to happen that night.

"Good enough." Lie. Was anyone going to explain what in the world was going on? "Is this a habit?" Kate asked instead, frowning at the half-ruined wall.

"As much as the bandit raids. I don't suppose they like us being here."

"Does anyone?"

"The people from the cities? Orlesians? Tevinter?" There was a wry tone to his voice that almost made it seem like a joke. The little lines marring his skin sure make it seem like it. He laughed often, maybe? He seemed like someone who might be able to. His eyes crinkled at the corners in little lines which made her think it was a common occurrence. "Anyone who doesn't have to actually look at us."

Wasn't that right? Kate turned to the man, feeling comfortable enough to keep the conversation going. She had the time to notice the dark eyes and the greying hair just before the pause in the commotion ended abruptly. A shrill scream ripped through the air, shattering whatever calm they had managed to construct.

"Look out! One's crossing over!"

And the light-hearted conversation – if one could call it that – fell into nothing.

"Get back!"

"Where are!"

Half-sentences were shouted into the night, breaking the systematized murmuring. The former organized lines of elves broke like water would break apart an anthill. Kate was pushed back by the blue eyed man, her mind making no sense of the screams and shouts which rose through the air like sirens. It took the actual danger for the words' of the man to slip into her mind. He had said it. Get away from the fighters. Problem was that she saw no fighter but she definitely saw what they were supposed to be fighting.

"Where are the fighters?" He yelled out loud, looking frantically to the path they had crossed earlier. "Get some here now!"

An animal had followed the path of the fire, entering through the breach which had been carved into the outer wall. At first sight, Kate would say it was a wolf. But last time she had checked, wolves weren't more than half her size or seemed like a plague had eaten away part of their skin and fur. Pieces of decomposed flesh hid behind patches of darkened fur, blood slipping from wide injuries across its flank. One of the largest crossed its deformed snout all the way to an icy blue eye, both orbs watching the figures backing away as slowly as possible. It seemed to be measuring all of them with the assurance of a predator which knows the battle has been won before it started.

And worse, that sting underneath her skin which spoke of the taint seemed to be going haywire.

"Stop staring, let's go." The man had yet to let her go but she couldn't pay attention. Instinct said flee, the man repeated with his gestures but all she could see was the few petrified elves which refused to listen to either. What were they waiting for? Despite being sick – Kate had no correct words to describe the thing's current condition – it was still a wild animal. Those attacked.

Turning into a Warden was shaping up to be the worse and unluckiest thing that had happened to her. And in that, she was including every event which had driven her away from Denerim.

"Maker help me," she muttered, perhaps a little louder than necessary. "This is your fault, Commander. Somehow."

It felt nice to have a solid figure to place her blame onto.

The elf pushed her arm away from her current companion's hold and let instinct take over. There was no real weapon around but plenty of make-shift ones. She ran towards the small group, ripping a shovel out of a woman's hand. A harsh kick to the shaft gifted her with a somewhat spiky end and what could, for the lack of better term, be faintly confused with a spear.

"Get back," she ordered to the man before turning towards whatever the thing was.

It had been Sam to teach her how to kill something similar, larger beasts which dwarf her body and strength – and she said similar because this was as a close to a wolf as a kitten to a tiger. Rolling onto the ground, she escaped the first attack, spear tightly held in her left hand. Her back complained but the stone floor was even enough. Bruises could be dealt with later on. Kate rose a little on her tiptoes, waiting in a crouched position for the creature to notice she wasn't already in its way. Another swipe of its paws made her jump to the side and the following was evaded just as quickly. The creature snarled, trying to bite the moving elf but one thing Kate knew better than to stop. It was easily thrice her height and Maker knew how heavy. The lithe spear she carried wouldn't make dent. Unless the thing was forced to do something it was still trying to avoid.

Kate hoped it wasn't injured and avoiding it on purpose. Otherwise there would be a need for something far stronger than what she was carrying. Nothing was more dangerous than a wounded animal.

The massive head was lowered to the ground, dangerous eyes looking at her carefully as the long tail sliced through the air, back and forth. It was measuring her, Kate realized, watching to see whether she would jump again or maybe where. Intelligent little bugger. She pointed the spear to its snout, prodding it quickly, trying to get the creature angered. It had to be injured, that was the only reason it made sense for it to refuse to jump. The uneven wood at the tip ripped an eye from up to down, the sound drowned by the pure roar of pain the thing gave her. There was no warning afterwards. It turned, compensated the loss of one eye with speed no human or elf would ever achieve, hind legs bent and then sprung. Kate was already moving, instinctively now that her opening was handed on a silver platter. The butt of the wooden shaft was pushed against the ground and the tip in the direction of the jumping wolf. The momentum did what her strength wouldn't be enough to. The elf felt the wood rip through skin, barely avoiding a rib before imbibing itself in whatever found in its path.

The creature fell to the side. Kate didn't lose a second. Jumping to the side, she stuck one foot against the creature's neck and held onto her weapon with both hands. Bloodily, messily and clumsily, she pushed down, rummaging around for a vital organ which would halt the messy movements. The way she moved was distinctively analytical, the same way she would use when skinning an animal in the middle of the forest or mending a piece of broken clothing. It was necessary. And what was necessary was imprinted into her actions more than in her mind.

When the animal stopped twitching underneath her – paws still vainly trying to reach her now that she had stopped moving – she allowed the weapon to slip through her fingers. Splinters were imbibed in her gloveless hands, barely noticeable underneath her pleasure. Novice she might be when fighting darkspawn but this – survival – at this, she was good at. Not the best but good enough. The floor underneath her feet was steady, her actions were assured, she knew what she was doing. No feeling was better than that.

Turning her back on the felled animal, Kate patted her hands on her uniform and focused on controlling her breathing. Seriously, what was with being a Warden that made sure everything confused, complicated and unexpected happened in each possible moment? It was even worse than on the run, when the greatest danger was to avoid humans and wild creatures. Kate made a small mental note to restart sleeping with her weapon. It seemed necessary.

The man was staring at her as if he hadn't seen her properly until then. "How did you…?

When a liberal amount of blunt trauma was applied, anything would eventually die. Especially if one knew to approach downwind and in something which was pretty close to silence. When that notion couldn't be used, then using the being's own strength against it would be the best option, especially when the opponent was far bigger than a small female elf.

It occurred to her that most people would find that reply slightly unsettling so instead of speaking, she smiled in what she hoped to be a reassuring way, despite the blood that was likely covering her in dark patches. It likely didn't work.

"Another!"

By the love of the Maker. What was with that place?

Kate turned in her place, halfway ready to search for yet another weapon she could use when the sound of fire was swallowed by a slow rumble. Magic filled the air as a thunderstorm materialized around them. Little traces of light filled the field, crossed to the stone wall, ripping the creatures which seemed ready to enter. The scent of burning bodies touched her nose, making the last food she had eaten move and struggle to leave her body.

Safe? Was she safe?

The man hadn't left her side. In fact, he had come closer to rest a hand on her shoulder. His fingers tightened.

"Tabris!"

Sam. Sam's voice. And it was also his hand around her arm, pulling her back and into his arms and well away from the other man.

"What happened here?" It hadn't been his magic, the one Kate could recognize with closed eyes and at death's door. This magic lacked the desperation, the barely contained power Sam exuded. This storm felt like a lid had been carefully opened and not like the whole box had been turned over. "We just heard the explosion. Are you alright? Let me see your neck. Arainai told me you were hurt."

His hands reached for her skin, searching uselessly, patting her neck, ghosting over her cheeks.

"Stop fussing, mother."

Sam didn't even hesitate. But he did glare. Oh, how he did. A fleeting look back to where the voice had come from. Kate found she had an incredible urge to laugh out loud at the fleeting glare, so familiar and so serious.

"Screw you, Airanai. No one asked you anything."

"I most definitely would." The rogue's hand caught a curl of her hair and tugged. "Are we done getting yourself into even more trouble? I'm half expecting you to start running at walls now that you have nothing else to kill off."

It felt so familiar that it hurt. The urge grew until she was ready to tug them both close and laugh until her throat ached and Maker, when had she felt like that before? Her hand fisted around a piece of Sam's tunic as she pulled back.

Shame about the Commander right behind. Grey eyes moved to the leader of the Reservation who waited right behind him and Kate could swear they spelled threats with their eyes as every second passed.

"I want to know," he said slowly. "No more stalling, no more lies. What's going on here?"

Fiona's jaw set and her fists closed but she nodded in a silent invitation for them to follow.

As she followed the rest of the group, Kate looked back at her recent companion and waved, a half-smile on her face. The man didn't mirror it. He merely stared at her until the Wardens disappeared behind the first houses.

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"Speaking of lies of omission to me, Loghain?"

The conversation had gone nowhere ever since they had returned to the cabin. According to Fiona, the attacks, the fire, the demons entering through the breached walls, that was nothing the Wardens should be concerned about. The Commander, on the other hand, was annoyed enough to actually show it for once. Apparently, fighting for his life in a situation he expected to be safe was upsetting for all parties involved. But if he was displeased, that was nothing when compared to his lieutenant.

"I nearly got hit by two explosions and eaten. That sure supersedes any of your 'you did it as well' speeches."

"Maric."

"You were thinking it." Kate hadn't seen Maric truly angry until that moment. The blond man felt like a dam about to break, fingers so tense on his crossed arms that it felt like they would snap at any moment. "Enough, Fiona. We brought you here hidden with the rest of us and you know we're already in deep shit with the Crown. You've been telling us nothing about whatever's going on. And then we get here, we get five minutes by a fire without being attacked and then it's suddenly all the Fade exploding on us! What's this all about?"

Loghain didn't interrupt. The whole scene had turned from a scene of a greater danger to something that seemed personal.

Maric had walked close to the woman, talking directly into her no longer impassive face. Standing as she was, Kate could see the traces of despair in her frown, how her hands constantly twisted and turned in front of her dress. His had found their way into her shoulders, half keeping her still, half shaking her in despair.

The elf couldn't make sure that was an attempt to manipulate Maric or she was truly upset. Either way, it seemed to work. The blond man was wavering, his teeth grinding against each other so strongly that Kate could swear to be able to hear them.

"Makerdamnit, Fiona. What are you up to? Tell me."

More than personal, Kate realized. Even with her very ridiculous amount of social interaction, she could see that Maric really and truly cared for this woman in his offensive and abnormal manner. And he was easy to like and hard to lie to; rude and blunt but so very much direct in his words. If they were alone, Fiona might have told him immediately. As they weren't, and Maker knew Kate would have liked to make herself very small at a corner, she remained quiet and hesitant between his hands.

"Maric," the Commander tried once more.

The blond man didn't reply. All his attention was on the Lady of the Reservation, so very serious, so very earnest and concerned. Kate watched as Fiona opened her lips to speak without appearing to notice she was doing so. "I stepped out of line when I was in the Capital."

"How much step out of line?"

"Enough that they are going to keep attacking until I either get out of here or the Reservation kicks me out." Now that was a good joke if Kate had ever heard one. How in the world could she expect her prisoners to rise up against her? Heavens, they would be reduced to nothing even if they did manage for the sheer gall in trying and that… would be an actually very good way to get rid of both a pesky problem and another Reservation. "It was necessary, Maric. You know I wouldn't do anything to place myself in danger otherwise."

"And how much of that necessary was provoked by the Crown in order to make you do what's necessary?" Maric stepped back and passed a hand strongly by his face in an almost violent movement. If it was anyone else, he would have had insulted them, Kate was sure of it. But as it was Fiona and the story written between those lines was long and confusing, he kept those quiet and paced under the cautious eyes of Loghain.

This felt like something neither her nor Sam should know about. Whatever was happening here, she realized, was a power play, a game between people with far more importance than either of them. For the very first time, Kate felt her place in this chessboard. She was a tool, a tool which might be good at it sometime in the future, but a tool nevertheless. And, as she watched Fiona hesitate and fear, Maric simmer with that anger without explanation, she thought she was fine with that situation for the time being.

"Fine," the Commander interrupted. "I get it. You used us as a cover to get here because you feared they were going to murder you on the way. Or capture you." Or worse. "I was counting on you to be able to hold this place until the Blight was over. I can't afford a shift in power before the dragon is done with, Fiona."

The woman's eyes narrowed, her hands stopped fidgeting. It was like a switch was suddenly flipped or a wound pressed. "I can hold this place."

"You're being attacked every fucking day," Maric snapped. "That sounds like you have a mighty hard task going on."

"The buildings are still here, aren't they?" Fiona continued without losing a beat. "The people are still alive. We can handle it. We have enough power to keep is holding for a while." Her eyes turned from the blond to the Commander and her previous hesitation disappeared like it had never existed to begin with. "I can do it until you're done, Loghain. After, I will find a way out of this mess but until the God's finished, I can do it."

The small group which, until that moment, hadn't bothered to intervene in the scene, waited on what seemed the edge of their seats for the reply. Kate watched Zevran tilt his head to the side in contemplation, how Zathrian's fingers tapped lightly against his leg in a rhythm without beginning or end, how Sam's eyes were narrowed just as Cullen's were. In that moment, they were one and they were the people, watching as their rules decided their future.

Loghain's eyes didn't deviate from Fiona. It was like the others didn't exist.

"I'm going to take care of it," he eventually stated, releasing the wall that had been his support for the whole discussion. "You're staying here and holding out the fort as much time as possible. If they come, if you're caught, you're dropping my name and you know how." Kate fidgeted in her place. She had an idea of how she was to drop the Commander's name and it involved tainted goblets and a future on the roads. Fiona's distaste for the idea was obvious in her worried features. "We're leaving tomorrow morning. Everyone, get ready."

"Where are we going?" Kate heard herself ask in the sudden silence.

"Somewhere where I can fix this," Loghain replied, saying, in her humble opinion, nothing at all. "After we drop off Vaughan for someone who won't try to kill my Wardens when their backs are turned. It's bad enough that we have the Crown gunning for us."

Sam's hand tugged on her uniform to draw her eyes to him. In his face, she read the same thing she was thinking. This whole thing was incomprehensible, far more complicated than the two of them could glimpse. And he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

At least Vaughan would be gone, Kate thought as she followed everyone outside. It wasn't like she hadn't had all those people wanting her dead before. The only difference was that now, there was actually a group invested in keeping her breathing. That was an improvement, wasn't it?

"We can still run if it gets too complicated," Sam whispered.

There was that too.

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The girl wasn't tall, she would never be. He would wager she would be one, maybe two or three inches taller than his own wife; barely below him. Black hair was cut roughly into uneven ringlets – chopped as if a dagger had been used – and pushed back with a bandana. The few strands which escaped framed a tanned oval face, recovering from what seemed lack of proper food of and several spots of freckles underneath her eyes. Brown eyes which were a touch too dark, a touch too young in comparison to those around him. A body which showed the leanness of elves forced into physical effort often. He tried to memorize each detail, how the uniform was especially dark and seemed tailored for her – not borrowed – the economy of movements as she received the dagger from a red-haired elf and the fumbling when it came to receive the larger sword and gun.

"What are you staring at?"

What could he say?

"Nothing." What could he say bar that? They eluded each other, they all lied and hid; not all were trustworthy. It was a sad state of affairs when humans drove them to hesitate trusting their own kind. And it was harder for him, one who had been kicked of his own house due to one wrong whisper in the wrong ear. It didn't matter in that moment though. The man allowed himself a large smile as she waved and walked away, noticing how much younger she looked when chastised and the faint hovering of the young elf by her. That spelled safety.

His companion gave him a weird look. "Yeah. Right. Whatever, Cyrion. Let's just get the fire out of control before we have houses to build. More, anyway. And why are you grinning?"

Because he had just seen his daughter and she was safe.

"No reason."

Safe. Strong. Grown. Beautiful.

Cyrion Tabris met the rest of the group with the widest smile any had seen on him since arriving to the Reservation.

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Author's note: What can I say when I notice I haven't written in a story that I actually like for almost two years? Yes, it sounds ridiculous. But truth was that I started reading Reparation all over again, seeing what I liked and hated about it and how much I still wanted to do with it. I can't promise I will manage and yet, I feel sad over leaving it so undone. I want to continue. Let's just see if RL and my pesky annoying little muse cooperate.

A very belated thank you to my readers who are likely on long lost stops: Josie, Shakespira, Champ, Enaid, Vent, Judy and Nymra. Thank you for the support and do forgive me for the lame attempt at action. I will get better. Eventually.

Finally, thank you to Seika for the wonderful cover-art. The full version can be found on her page at deviantart: seika -h. deviantart art/ Kate-Nallos-Justice-458389721