"I should be down there with my men."

Cailan's expression was bleak as he turned away from Isobel and looked down at the soldiers gathered in the town square from the Chantry's second floor window. They were milling about, setting up fortifications and waiting. Waiting for the sun to set and the corpses to find them. "I should be down there, not holed up like some child."

"Teagan insisted," Isobel pressed, taking a step forward. "You're still recovering, your Majesty. You are not fit to fight."

When was I ever? His thoughts bordered upon self-depreciation. All of his conflicting emotions were slowly festering inside of him, turning him against himself and making him question everything he'd ever dreamed for. What was personal glory if it was gained by the hand of someone else? What was victory if it only came by way of such a grievous defeat?

After speaking to his uncle, even briefly, he'd come to realize that the situation was much more dire than he realized at first. Loghain had all but named himself as king. Anora was missing and presumed dead. The cities were falling one by one to the Blight with no one still alive and willing to help them. He could hardly rescue Ferelden with a dozen men and two Grey Wardens.

"Better to fight and die here than keep running like a pup with my tail between my legs."

Isobel advanced to his side. This time, it was her turn to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Her fingers wavered as she did so, entirely unsure if such a gesture was even proper. "You're not running away, your Majesty. You're biding your time. We're helping these people. Isn't that what's important?"

Cailan shrugged, and Isobel's hand fell from his shoulder. He didn't want to talk. This conversation was over. Biting on her bottom lip, Isobel nodded to herself and turned to leave. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. The scourge of Redcliffe would rise soon. She had to be ready.

Casting his blue eyes in the direction of the setting sun, Cailan leaned against the window, his fingers splayed against the warm glass. As a child, Redcliffe was his favorite place to visit. Uncle Eamon spoiled him, as many often did, but he also taught him a great many things - to be a just person, to be honest, and to be loyal. He was more than just the heir to the throne with his uncle. He was a young boy, his own flesh and blood, and within him was a spirit worth nurturing.

The news that his uncle was currently wasting away in Castle Redcliffe hit Cailan harder than the news of his wife's mysterious whereabouts. Anora was tough for a woman who'd spent most of her life indoors. No true Ferelden would think twice of hurting the queen, unless they were just as black hearted as the woman herself. Knowing that at the end of this battle, Isobel and his men would disappear into Castle Redcliffe to help his uncle tore at him from the inside.

Of course they would say that Cailan was too weak to help them. He was still recovering. He was the true king. If anything happened to him, they just couldn't forgive themselves. Cailan's mouth set into a thin line. He was tired of being treated like some Orlesian vase, handled with such care so as not to chip or break him.

Turning from the window, he looked to his sword lying across the table in the center of the room. A few long strides brought the former king to the blade, and he lifted it with his good arm, inspecting it with narrowed eyes. He wasn't a little boy. He'd spent most of his life training to fight. A few troublesome muscles wouldn't keep him from supporting his people.

Down below, Isobel was just about to leave the Chantry and give the signal for the doors to be barred behind her when she was stopped by Bann Teagan.

"Do you have everything you need, Grey Warden?"

Isobel's hands went to the hilt of her sword and the dagger at her other side. "Yes, ser," Isobel said with a rueful smile. "It is nearly time, isn't it?" She glanced away from his face to the doors behind her. "You should bar these doors as soon as possible. Just in case any break through - "

Before she was finished speaking, he interrupted her. "Maker bless you, Isobel Cousland," Bann Teagan said in a rushed whisper. "We would be lost without your help."

Giving a bow of her head, she accepted the sentiment gracefully. No one need thank her for her deeds. To protect her fellow Fereldens was her cause, and she took it as no light matter. Isobel reached out and grasped his forearm. "Maker protect you."

"And you."

Turning around and leaving the Chantry behind her, Isobel descended the few stairs leading up to the building and met with the men gathered. Murdock was the first to realized she'd joined them. It was a sign that the battle grew ever nearer. He parted from the militia to join her away from the crowd. He was ready for the fight. All the men here were.

"Will you be fighting with us or with Ser Perth up near the windmill?" he asked, looking from Isobel to the windmill and back to the village square. His eyes were in constant motion, but it was not paranoia that drove him to do so. He was anxious for the fight, yes, but he was confident now that he had filled out his ranks. Having two Grey Wardens on his side was nothing to scoff at, either.

"Wherever you wish me to be, Murdock," she replied. "I go where I am needed."

After noticing Murdock breaking away from his men, Alistair was also alerted to his fellow Grey Warden's presence. When Murdock offered the idea of splitting them up - one Warden with Ser Perth and one in the village square - Alistair gave Isobel a questioning look. It took her scarcely a moment to come to her decision.

"Alistair, go to the windmill. Ser Perth and his soldiers could use you. I will stay here to guard the Chantry." And the king, she finished without words, though they both knew why she was going to be the one staying right here. Alistair gave a firm nod and began the trek up to the windmill. "We do not have much longer, do we?"

Murdock turned to give a look to the sky. It was already darkening. Blue had faded into pinks and reds and oranges, all of which were slowly paling of color completely. Soon there would be a clouded blanket of stars above them, and that's when the battle would start. "Yes," was his stolid reply. "Should be soon."

Night approached even faster than any of them expected. By the time the howls of the dead reached their ears, the night air was filled with a biting chill and a thick ghost of fog from the lake. The soldiers stuck close to the fire in the center of the square to keep themselves warm and as an aid to see the corpses as they moved toward the company.

Godfrey, one of Cailan's men, stuck close to Isobel, and she could hear him murmuring prayers as the cries grew louder and louder. She tore her eyes away from the pious soldier to the hilltop at the sound of metal clashing against the same. Falling into a ready stance, she watched as the men around her followed her lead. She cleared her mind of all doubt. Instead, she filled it with the memory of her brother Fergus and her mother. It was not grief that brought her to do so, but pride. They'd taught her to stand with her feet firm on the ground. Most children learned to walk and to talk from their families. She learned how to fight.

And she wouldn't let their memories down on this night. Or any night in the future. Her jaw set as she watched the horde hit the men in front of her. With their restored confidence, they fought with renewed fervor against the foe they knew all too well. They fought for their fallen comrades and the town they loved. They fought to keep themselves alive and to honor those that hadn't.

It was as if the ghosts of her parents were standing beside her, and she could feel her mother guiding her blade as she sliced into the decomposing flesh of the first corpse to split the line. The force of the running demon knocked her in the shoulder, and she dodged the blow by turning and digging the length of her blade into the beast's back. Its weight pulled the sword free as it fell, and Isobel turned just soon enough to see Godfrey nearly slice an undead soldier's head from its body.

With every wave, the crowd thinned little by little. There was a moment when she felt they would be overwhelmed. The bodies of the dead began to stack up around the fire, and soon they were forced to spread out to keep from trampling on them. It was cooler away from the fire, and Isobel shuddered as the chill assaulted the thin layer of sweat on her limbs. Godfrey was at her side, as were two others, and they made their way up, closer to the docks. If they weakened the force up here, the men in the village would have less to worry about.

Isobel had her back turned, looking back towards the Chantry, when she felt a rough blow to her back. She tumbled forward, her face smashing into the ground. There was a crack, and a hot flow of blood ran from her nose and down across her lips. Her stomach churned at the strong taste of iron that filled her mouth.

Flipping onto her back, hands curled around her two blades, she thrust them forward into the gut of a corpse. The thing dropped his axe, and Isobel moved just quickly enough to the side to avoid being cut herself. A quick kick to the demon's lower belly removed the sword and dagger from its torso, and she struggled to stand, heaving and spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground.

"Cailan!"

The word struck ice into her stomach, and she froze where she stood. The Chantry doors were thrown wide open, and she could see the King's golden armor gleaming in the fire. Bann Teagan stood at the door, his mouth wide with shock as he called his nephew back into the safety of the Chantry. Cailan ignored his pleas and ran forward into the fray, taking down two corpses in three swings of his sword from adrenaline alone.

The next had the strength to parlay the blow, and Cailan swayed a step backwards before lurching forward and plunging his sword into the beast's throat. Murdock's men were quick to back the king, and, while they'd slowed mere minutes before from a mixture of exhaustion and futility, they fought with renewed enthusiasm with Cailan at their side.

Despite their evident upper hand, terror clawed its frozen hand at Isobel's heart. "Godfrey, can you hold them?" she shouted.

"Yes, ser!" he replied, parrying a blow from one of the undead before knocking the thing backwards and bringing his sword down into the center of its chest.

A corpse advanced on Isobel before she could make her way back to the square, swinging his clawed hand toward her face with wild abandon. Bringing her dagger up to parry the blow, she stood there for a moment with the demon growling and snapping at her. The smell was horrible, and bile rose in her throat. Desperation led her to bringing her sword up swiftly, and she nearly missed the being entirely. His flesh sliced, but he did not bleed. He hardly staggered from the blow.

She turned and ran in the direction of the square, nearly tripping over the body of a fallen soldier. The corpse trailed close behind her, crying and lashing out at her with its clawed gloves. Her eyes were glued on Cailan as he gave another death blow, thrusting the body of the demon into the flames. Why couldn't he wait? Why did he insist on fighting? The thing's claw caught onto one of her boots and she fell forward again, letting out a shrill scream in the process before she hit the ground. All the air in her lungs came whooshing out of her, and she gasped for air, clawing at the ground in an attempt to get away from the creature.

Cailan snapped to attention at the sound, catching sight of Isobel as she fell. He jumped over one of the corpses and set off into a run, yelling out as the undead lifted its clawed weapon to bury a fist into Isobel's back. The corpse looked up, and Isobel took that moment of distraction to clamber to her feet, gasping and choking as she found herself able to breathe again.

She was just on her feet for a moment when Cailan pushed her out of the way and thrust his sword into the demon's side. The corpse fell to its knees, releasing a hallow, haunting moan. It was as if it felt pain. With one deft blow, the thing's head was cleaved from its shoulders.

Cailan's chest rose and fell with each labored breath. He felt so alive. His blood was pumping, and the smell of blood, while unpleasant, welcomed him with warm arms. Before he was able to savor the moment, his mind turned to Isobel and he ran to her side. "Are you alright?" he asked hurriedly. "Can you fight?"

"Yes," she gasped, hands still clenched around the grips of her weapons. "Th… thank you." Tears filled her eyes, and she cursed herself for her weakness. She should not be so easily overwhelmed, but between the pain that shot up the bridge of her nose and into her forehead and the bruises and bumps forming all over her body she could hardly protest any emotions that came to her in waves.

"There can't be many more of these left," Cailan assured her. His face, despite the blood that streaked his pale skin, was kind. "Murdock said so."

"Cailan! Watch out!" Pulling herself close to him, her arm wrapped around his waist, she drove her sword into an approaching corpse. Thrusting the hilt forward, she pushed the thing backwards and withdrew her blade. Before either of them fully realized how close they stood, Isobel jumped back, her attention turned fully towards the approaching wave of militant undead.

She fell into the stance Fergus taught her after he'd grown tired of besting her without much effort. She could feel the weight of his hands bending her elbows, her knees. She could hear him uttering a hopeful word or two as she fell into position almost naturally. The fight was almost over. She could taste it intermingled with the harsh metallic tang of her blood. Taking a deep breath, Isobel filled her lungs as best she could. They ached, but she drew herself up and released the breath slowly. And then she attacked.

--

Victory. The word tasted like fine wine on the lips of Bann Teagan as he murmured it to himself, picking his way through the Chantry halls, ducking his head inside rooms to alert the inhabitants of the place that there would be a small ceremony for the fallen soldiers and in honor of Cailan and his men very soon. His steps were lighter than they had been in days, and there was a smile on his mouth as he made his way into the last room on the hall.

Isobel was seated on the edge of the bed they'd shown her to that night. The healers had attended to her, setting her nose and alleviating the pain almost entirely, but she still seemed unsteady. A force to be reckoned with, yes, but unsteady.

"Good morning, Grey Warden."

Isobel looked towards the door and gave the man a small smile in greeting. He moved into the room, close enough to hold out a hand for her to take it. She did, lifting herself from the bed. "Brave lady," he said, his voice tender. "If not for you, we would have fallen. My people and I are forever grateful." There was a sincerity in his words that made her smile again.

"I would've been killed out there if not for Cailan," she admitted. "It is he you should thank."

Bann Teagan shook his head, bringing his other hand up to press hers between them both. "You were the catalyst, Isobel. You were our champion. I stand by this, just as my people do. I have just come from Cailan's quarters, and he informed me that he did not want to be a part of the ceremony as he played a very small part in this." Teagan paused, as if considering his next words carefully. "He is very proud of you. He speaks very well of you, though I can see very well why."

Isobel felt her cheeks warm, and her eyes fell to the floor in shocking meekness. She could accept compliments on her form and her skill in battle easily, but pretty words of a different kind were difficult to for her to comprehend.

"It is almost time," Teagan said softly, "Come." He let his hands fall from hers and offered an arm instead. She took it carefully, and they left the room to make their way down to the Chantry's doors.

When they arrived, Isobel was shocked to see the immense crowd that had gathered. It almost took her breath away to see all the men and women and children staring up at her and the men who fought beside her with expressions that bordered upon reverent. She looked to Alistair and Godfrey and they three shared a smile.

"Dawn arrives, and we survives the night," Bann Teagan began, "We are victorious!"

The entire crowd raised their voices in a cheer. The sight of them caused a lump to develop in Isobel's throat and she couldn't help but smile to herself, pride coursing through her veins.

"And though this victory came at a great cost, we must remember none of us would be here if it were not for the heroism of these good folk beside me." With that, Teagan turned to Isobel and she to him. His eyes were shining, though she could not decide whether it was because of the high morning sun or because of the happiness that no doubt flooded his entire person. "I thank you, good ser. You are brave as well as beautiful, it seems. The Maker smiled upon me indeed when He sent you to Redcliffe. If only this had been… but I can delay no longer."

"I was happy to defend the village," Isobel was quick to reply, and she gave a chuckle at her own eagerness, casting a look towards the crowd as Teagan turned away and Mother Hannah stepped up to give a prayer. Her eyes searched over those assembled in the square. She was searching for one face in particular, one she hadn't seen since the night before, when they'd both been covered in blood and desperate for the battle to end.

It took a while, but she finally spotted him near the back of the crowd. He was clothed in some of his uncle's cast offs, much better than those she'd scrounged up after Ostagar and inconspicuous compared to his armor. He was also wearing a smile - a satisfied smile, one she never expected to see beamed in her direction.

Warmth flooded through her, and she found herself smiling back at him.

He could hardly believe the happenings of the night before, of the many nights before since the battle at Ostagar. Seeing her fight was unlike anything he ever thought he'd witness. He'd seen women fight before. Many of the archers in his former legion of soldiers were women. There were even a few in the front lines. But Isobel's strength was difficult to understand. It wasn't the outward strength of a dwarf, but an inner strength that helped her through the battle.

She wasn't ready for many of the battles ahead, but he could see the potential inside of her. He had faith in her ability to grow and to develop into something even he could only dream of being. A hero, in every sense of the word.

She confused him, and he hated how frustrated he got when she did so. She doubted herself more often than not. She wasn't a skilled healer, and she didn't know a thing about magic. But she was a leader, even more so than he was. He wanted nothing more than to follow her, to act as her right hand, and to obey her. With her, he was able to experience triumph like he'd never experienced before. Skirmishes with the darkspawn were nothing compared to helping save an entire town - a town he loved more than any other.

This was what he'd always wanted, what he'd searched for at every moment of his life. This day would be spoken of for generations to come. The people of Redcliffe would be loyal to them in the battles ahead. This was a beautiful, inviting feeling.

This was true glory.