He sank into the chair, head falling into his hands.

Still she stood a moment, gazing up at him, the image seeming to waver beneath the empty, yawning shadows. Her husband, her king. But still the tears would not come.

At the other woman's approach, she spun, the sob biting.

Her words had been true, her ritual a success, but there was no triumph in the witch's gaze. She had roused slowly, shrugging off the attention of the Circle mages, but still she looked exhausted. And for once she knew enough to hold her tongue.

Alistair, though, raised his head, the words coming flat and cold. "What. Did you. Do?"

Defensiveness stirred, but still she looked tired… defeated. Morrigan shook her head. "I did nothing."

"Yeah? Everything was fine, fine, before you came."

"Was it?" Something of her old smirk had returned, eyes flitting to Elissa.

But Alistair had subsided, head falling back against the chair as he slouched lower still. His eyes were pinched shut, lips twisting beneath the words. "What… what do we do now?"

"Your mages have him in hand for the moment, keeping him in the Fade. Though that is a task that I do not envy them." Something seemed to stiffen behind her eyes. "And this hold will not last long."

Alistair grimaced, but still his eyes would not open.

"Take him."

"What?"

She felt the words come shuddering, but the witch's surprise only seemed to strengthen her resolve. "Take him. It's what you wanted."

"What?" Alistair was on his feet then, rocking unsteady.

"Oh, a fine plan. 'Twas my original intention, in fact. But I cannot."

"What do you mean 'cannot'? You wanted to raise a god. You can… control him."

"If raised since birth, perhaps." She shook her head. "But from what I have just seen… There is also the matter of blood. It provides a certain… leverage. And, sadly, this the child and I do not share."

"Blood magic."

"In its way, perhaps. But, for whatever reason…" The scowl there now was clear. "…the god chose you."

She could remember it then, high atop Fort Drakon, the battlements crumbling around them, the dead… so many dead. As that terrible light had broken, Morrigan had thrown back her arms. Morrigan had laughed.

But there had been no glory in that moment. Elissa could remember picking herself up off the ground, broken, bloodied, her arm horribly twisted. And the god had chosen her.

There had been gentle hands there, helping her to her feet as they watched Alistair wrench his blade from the creature's skull. But that touch had lingered, something behind the elf's eyes too searching, too concerned. She had shrugged him off.

And now he was gone, she realized. He had been there during the ritual, crouching uneasy in the corner. But then Duncan… She felt the sob welling as she turned round. She hadn't seen what became of him, hadn't thought to… Her eyes searched the shadows, but still there was no sign of him.

Morrigan was watching her, something of the bitterness fading beneath her curiosity.

"Blood magic, then." Her head snapped up, eyes locking to those of the witch. "Use it. Take me."

Alistair was there then, rushing down the steps to lay a heavy hand on her arm. "Elissa!"

"No." She turned to look up at him, fingers twining over him. "Remember Connor? Isolde explained it to me. When she… when she offered herself. And if a mother's blood is what's needed now…" Again, she turned to Morrigan. "Do it. Enter the Fade and drive it out."

The laugh came whispered, bitter. "You forget. 'Tis not in the Fade. The boy is the god. The god is the boy. This is no mere demon."

"Then we go to the Circle." Alistair's arm wrapped round her waist now, squeezing painfully.

"Oh yes, your Circle. Have they seen many gods, I wonder? Those who can barely hold back the demons within themselves?"

"If anyone can help, they can."

"Was that not three of their best, then? Barely holding a child between them?"

Elissa blinked up at her. "Then what… what can we do?"

Morrigan only held her gaze. There was nothing there, no triumph, no remorse.

Alistair pushed away, sudden, rough. "No! No! You can't actually…" She was silent still, but he turned to her in horror. "You're not… you can't believe anything she says!"

"I have said nothing."

"Oh no? This all started when you showed up, right when you showed up."

"And I am as disappointed about that fact as you are."

Elissa's voice came whispered, hushed. "She has no reason to lie to us."

"Um… because it's Morrigan? For all we know, this is exactly what she wants. Maybe revenge for… for…"

The witch's smirk should have bothered her, should have rankled, but she only shook her head.

Alistair subsided, turning his eyes away. "It's just… she's never…"

"She saved our lives."

His eyes rose slowly, widening as they locked to hers. "And look where that's gotten us."

Morrigan sighed heavy, holding up a warning hand. "This is no quarrel that I wish to be a part of. Here is what I propose: I will return to your mages, do… what I can. We have the night, I believe." She looked to Elissa, then, holding her gaze beneath lowered brows. "In the meantime… do what you must."

As the witch turned away, she felt it. Alistair stood beside her, hand fluttering against her arm, looming hot and trembling. But this was something more, prickling along her spine, stirring in the darkened balcony above. This, this was why she hadn't faltered. It held her still, that gaze, that warmth, and through it all that fear. She felt him as he slipped away, the hall now cold and empty.

Leaning back against the wall, she squeezed her eyes shut. Still she could see Alistair, hand slipping through hers, drawing her eyes from the dark places. The walk to their rooms had been silent, each step heavier than the last, but always there had been his hand, warm, clinging, hers. Even sinking to the bed, it had been some time before either had spoken.

And the words had not been what she had expected. "Where… where is Zazikel?" His head had lay against her lap, one hand stroking easy through his hair. It had stopped though, her surprise clear.

"With Nora. Why?"

Rolling onto his back, Alistair had sighed. "I know… I know it's Duncan that we have to worry about…" His shook his head, sitting to curl his knees to his chest. "But… where does he fit into all of this? Even, even Morrigan…" He had turned away then, lips twisting in anger.

She could only lay a hand on his arm.

"I… I did that. I made a bastard. And left him with her."

"No. You did… you did what I asked. You saved us."

His eyes had darted to hers, narrowing almost imperceptibly as he turned away. How long had he resented her? How much did he resent her now?

Something must have shown in her expression, though, for he had taken her in his arms, resting his chin against her forehead. "I-I'm sorry. For what I said in the hall." Pulling back, he cupped a hand against her cheek. "This, this is what's important. This is what's gotten us through before."

She leaned heavy against his shoulder, her sigh coming muffled there. "I… I have to go."

"What?"

"I have to… check on Duncan."

His arms had loosened, allowing her to pull away. "Right, you're right, we should—"

"—I'll go."

There had been hurt there, blinking confused.

"I want to talk to Morrigan again. Alone." He would know that look, the hint of the way things used to be. Let him think she had a plan, any sort of plan at all.

He had shaken his head, not daring enough to hope. "Okay."

And with that she had left him, wide eyes and wondering still.

Leaning now, she opened her eyes. She had not gone… had not dared to make that journey to the basements. Not alone. Strangely enough, it was Morrigan's words that came back to her now. Do what you must. Cruel, they had seemed, but she could remember the look behind those eyes. Morrigan. Asking for mercy, asking for another.

She had Alistair, a mother's righteous tears. No one should have to suffer this silently.

He didn't look up as she slipped through the door, lying flat on his back to watch the shadows play across the ceiling. She had always wondered at that; golden haired and golden skinned, those shifting golden eyes… and yet darkness always seemed to cloak him easily.

Elissa sat beside him on the bed, his head turning slowly to pillow against his arm. It returned, then, those eyes flaring gold to white, those delicate features twisting. She blinked once, twice. The image faded, but still her breath would not come.

Zev was sitting now, wrapping her round, pulling her close. At last she fell, tears buried against the unyielding hardness of his chest, fingers tracing over the familiar whorls there. He stroked her hair, wordless and almost trembling, the gasp coming hot as her fingers turned to claws. Lower they moved, his breath escaping in a thickened hiss, her lips finding his, biting, needing, pulling.

But his hands were on her arms now, insistent fingers dimpling the flesh, pushing her away. He held her there, something flickering across those eyes, something pleading, something like fear. It hardened quick, the laugh bitter, his smirk almost stern. "No."

Closer still she pushed, ignoring the pain of the restraining hands. He winced, letting them fall, pulling her again to curl helpless against his shoulder.

There should be words here, something to be done, said, some sort of comfort. But they would find none.

Turning to look up at him, her lips moved silent, tongue running hesitant across her lips. "Poison." The very word felt a betrayal, a final blow.

Again he winced, turning his face away. "It would not work."

She blinked. "What?"

His arms wrapped round, drawing her closer still. "She came to me. Only moments before yourself."

The cold stirred sinking. "Who?"

"Morrigan."

"Why?"

He buried his lips against her hair. There was something quivering there, something angry. His sigh came heavy. "She seemed to think that I would be – what was her word? – 'reasonable'. More so than you, than your Alistair." The snort was bitter. "And I would agree, under normal circumstances. But she assumed…"

Elissa's arms strained round, pulling him close as she could. But the words choked, the throaty chuckle stirring against her hair.

She pulled back, looking at him now, steadying her gaze. It was only slowly that he raised his eyes.

"She knows what I am, sought to appeal to it. A matter of practicality, she said."

"'Practicality'?" Cruel, even for Morrigan.

Again, he turned away. "She knew."

Elissa sighed. "Yes, obviously. Which just makes it all the more—"

"—No. Not that." Still he would not look at her. "She knew. Knew that I would… see her point." Now, now those eyes came round. "She knew that it was nothing I have not done before."

She had pressed him about it only once. So much of his past had been openly shared but, save Rinna, any talk of guilt or innocence had been vague at best. What was it that he had said?

He was watching her, reading her even now. "Some people just need assass—"

Her hand jerked back, the slap ringing hollow.

There was shock there as he turned, tongue snaking along his broken lip, but so too was there that old emptiness, that bitter smirk.

"Don't. Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That, this. It's not you."

"Is it not?" He grabbed her now, pinning her against the bed beneath him. "Is this not what is needed? What you have wanted all along?" Still the blood welled beneath his lip, the taste coming thick and bitter as he pressed his lips to hers. She struggled, biting hard, his head snapping back with a gasp.

It broke there, his brows knitting together as he moved away, letting the hair fall across his eyes. She lay back, breathing heavy, tasting him still. But there was nothing beyond the pain.

"Poison will not work."

It took a moment for the words to reach her, for anything to reach her. "What?"

"Morrigan. She… explained something of it. It's… the blood." He rested his chin on his knees, curling further inward to peer from beneath his hair. "There will be nothing gentle in this."

Elissa, though, shook her head. "Deathroot extract." Her hand trailed against his arm, but he jerked away. "Just enough to… sleep through the night."

"Alistair." The word was flat, cold.

"He would never allow it."

"He is a better man than I."

She blinked at that. "Not better, just… different." Again she reached out and again he stiffened, but her hand slipped instead beneath the pillow, closing round the short blade that he kept hidden there.

Pulling it close, she pressed it to her chest. "I will… take care of it."

There might have been relief behind those eyes, but still he could not allow himself even that. His hand fell across her, across the blade, across her breast. Even as he looked away, the grip tightened.

Again she felt her hands clench, closing now around the pair of cups, the weight of the blade at her belt accusing, heavy. It threatened to drag her down entire, but so too could she be strong, so too could she harden herself. Always, always it had fallen to her. Straightening one last time, Elissa pushed through the door.

Alistair looked up. The blankets had been thrown aside, his arms clasped behind his back as he paced. There was relief there but, at the sight of the cups, his eyes narrowed.

Setting them on the bedside table, she sank against the pillows, patting the space beside her.

"Did you see him? Morrigan?"

Right. Morrigan. She shook her head. "She was… resting. But the mages…" Her eyes rose slowly. "We have the night."

"And what is that?"

"Something to calm our nerves."

"If it's anything she brewed—"

"—Here." She placed one of the cups in his hand, raising it to his nose. "It arrived two weeks ago. I… was saving it. Wanted to surprise you."

Still his sniff was suspicious, the thick liquid dark and heavy and ever so slightly… off. It was a stink he would remember, a stink that she had needed.

The grin was small, bemused. "Oghren."

"Sent three casks from Orzammar. Apparently he's still at it."

"But won't this get us—"

"—Sodding pissed?" She did her best to grin.

Alistair's eyes, though, only widened, meeting hers over the rim. "Is that… right? I mean, should we…?"

Leaning against his shoulder, she tilted the cup to his lips. "You would rather we pass the night… like this? There is not enough ale for what we have to face."

He scowled at that, tilting back his head to drain the cup in a single pull. Already he was sinking, slouching back amongst the pillows with a crooked grin. "I can think of other ways to… pass the…" Recognition flared then, eyes snapping to hers even as the lids fell heavy. The cup slipped from his fingers to clatter across the floor.

She could feel her fingers knotting against the blankets, the scream welling as she turned away. But she buried it, steeled herself, laying a trembling kiss against his forehead. "I'm sorry."

The door opened slow, but she could not look away, could not seem to get warm. Turning she saw him, etched against the deeper shadows of the hall, expressionless still.

But those brows drew low as she approached, the stiffness almost breaking as she fell against his chest. Again his arms wrapped round, eyes locked to the figure sprawled across the bed. "Come."

He moved with ease along the halls, each step seeming to find the familiar spaces in between the light. She remembered once what he had told her, the laugh coming thick as he had mocked her attempts at "stealth." It did not fit, he had said. Hers was the strength of the battlefield; let the enemy see her, let the enemy tremble. But what good would that do her now?

Still there were no words as they found their way to those hidden steps. He paused then, unwilling to meet her eyes even his fingers twined through hers. This place was old, dark, cold, but still his touch was warm.

One of the mages sat beyond the door, leaning heavy, chin resting against his chest. But his eyelids flickered, features twisting, twitching, straining. His head snapped up as they approached.

"My… My Lady?"

"Varien."

"What-what are you?"

"I wish to see my son."

His eyes flickered, realization dawning, the assassin's purpose there assumed. She could feel Zevran stiffen, hand slipping from hers as he turned away. Always they assumed.

She pushed through the door. Still it flared, the thick air, all the light drawn inward toward those strange and flickering shields. The women looked up, blinking at her, at Varien standing now at her back.

"Leave us."

"My Lady…" The mage sighed heavy, but there was an apology there, a stilling pity.

"Leave us."

They did, the women bowing as they slipped through the door. Now, now they were alone.

Someone had brought blankets, a pillow. Duncan lay curled within that circle, almost peaceful beneath the fading lights. So often had she seen him this way, so often had she watched him. Suddenly the stone, the dark, the damp didn't seem so strange. She knelt there, skirts scraping through the powders, the weight at her belt dragging lower still.

He stirred almost instantly, blinking up at her with tired, golden eyes. He smiled now. "Momma?"

"I'm here." She pulled him to her chest, heaving against the too-thick air, shuddering, choking, her very breath stolen away.

But he was peering up at her, so small, so calm, lips pulling into a quivering smile. "I dreamed I was a dragon."

Trembling fingers swept aside that hair, so pale, so wild. "I know."

Her hand fumbled, tugging at her belt, the blade falling heavy to the stones. Duncan started at that, stiffening to stare vacant toward the ceiling. The whisper was hard, deep. "They wanted to hurt me."

"No one's… no one's going to hurt you."

He went rigid, bucking against her, back twisting pained.

"Elissa."

She barely heard the whisper.

"Elissa!"

Again Duncan looked to her, tiny fingers coming hard against her wrist. His eyes… white. So white.

Turning from that glare, she slid back, scattering the powders, groping for the blade. She pressed it to her chest, rocking back on her knees, but still her hand trembled, still her fingers slipped.

Duncan was rising now, pulled to his feet as though by unseen strings, the glare rising, quivering. This was new light, different light, nothing to the gentle colors of the mage's shields. Shadow seemed to thicken at its edges, everything, nothing, pulled inexorably inward. But she, she could not move.

She felt him beside her, rising stiff, fingers knotting through her own. The blade he pulled away, moving toward the light with slow and heavy steps. She could see his shoulders heaving, the thin cloth there billowing, one hand snaking up to tame his hair.

Duncan seemed to pause there, hanging still, those eyes searing, burning, but calming now. His head twisted curious.

Zevran stiffened, eyes falling closed, breath coming in shuddering gasps. One hand traced along the boy's cheek, the delicate lines so pale, so bare. It slipped lower now, his eyes opening as he pulled free the chain, the tiny gem that had rested beneath the boy's tunic.

Duncan blinked at that, looking up with a sudden sigh. "Uncle Zev?"

He bent low, laying a lingering kiss against the boy's forehead. But those lips were twisted, eyes pinching shut. He pulled him close then, crushing him against his chest, shoulders heaving as he choked once more. But the blade struck true, flashing almost unseen between them, dropping to clatter across the stones as the red began to pool at his feet.

Zevran caught him as he fell, lowering him gently, reverently to the floor. Still it spilled, so much, so much for such a tiny boy. But he covered him entire, pressing him close, rocking there amidst the spreading dark.

The light was gone now, shadow returning to where it had been, where it had always been.

He rose slow, laying the boy back with trembling hands. Pausing to look down at her, his gaze grew distant; shuddering there, he turned away.

She didn't see him go, couldn't see him, couldn't speak. There were no words, no need. As he slipped beyond that place, beyond those halls, out into the night, she knew that she would not see him again.