One night. They had one night.

With the forced march looming over the heads of everyone seated in the main dining hall of Redcliffe Castle, even the light supper turned to stone in the pit of Cailan's stomach. He sat at the head of the table after his uncle's light-hearted demands, wrist absently rubbing against the edge of the table as his eyes half-focused on the grain of the wood. The quiet drone of conversation only aided his distraction, and he found himself completely deaf to anyone who spoke around him.

Isobel told him earlier that it would be best if he distracted himself, if he thought of everything but the upcoming battle. She knew such a thing was impossible, right? In a scant few days, he would be in Denerim. He could already feel the heat of the flames as the city burned, could smell and see the thick, black, smothering smoke, the acidic tang of darkspawn blood mixed with the iron of human, elf, dwarf. Knowing fear as he did now only amplified the grip it held on his stomach.

This reverie was jostled the moment he felt a large hand on his forearm. Looking up from his plate to the man who sat next to him, he managed a small smile that only slightly resembled the one on Teagan's face. His uncle's eyes were shining in the bright lights of the hall; he always saw his mother there, in his eyes.

"Eat," the bann urged him, his hand lifting from Cailan's forearm to gesture towards the plate. "You'll need your strength. I would rather not see you fall off of your horse before we get out of Redcliffe."

"I have eaten," he said defensively.

Teagan chuckled, shaking his head. "You have much to worry about, Cailan; I will not lie. I'm sure you know this. But look around you." His dark red brows lifted and pinched as he watched his young nephew glance around the room. He could see the distance in his light eyes draw closer. "Everyone here is on your side, and this is only a fraction of your army." Patting his forearm again, he drew back, hands lacing on the table in front of him. "You will be victorious. I've never been so sure of anything in my entire life."

He once thought that Isobel was the only person capable of giving his morale such a boost, but he found that he was mistaken. What Teagan said was the truth. It had to be. He wouldn't accept failure when he was so close, not knowing what he would lose – what everyone would lose – if they were not victorious. Without failure as an option, he couldn't linger on those poisonous thoughts. He had to be here. He had to be in this hall, not off daydreaming of how things might be, for his men and himself.

Nodding, he bit down on his bottom lip, his eyes leaving Teagan's to look instead towards the very end of the table. Alistair sat opposite him, his eyes downcast but a small smile quirking the corner of his mouth. He was listening to Godfrey, who was leaning towards him, speaking in animated tones, his free hand waving to accentuate his words. The other hand rested on the table, clutching Arryn's much smaller one. Isobel sat across from them, goblet of water poised at her lips as she watched the conversation unfold. Her hair was pulled back away from her face, the deep red only serving as a stark contrast to the pale blue ribbon that held it there.

That was where he wanted to be. He wanted to be sitting down there, with Isobel, with his closest friends in the world. They had one last night to spend in each others' company, and when this battle was over, there would be a change. They would all be harder; some of them might even be missing. If the Orlesian Warden, Riordan, failed in his task, Alistair would no longer be sitting at the end of the table.

That thought was the one that twisted in his guts. He knew Isobel would be safe; she'd promised to remain in the arl's estate with whatever nobles too old or too young to fight. She was still not well enough to participate in the battle herself, though she reckoned this was more for Cailan's benefit than her own. But Alistair... Alistair's fate was not to sure. There was an immediate danger he had to face – the possibility that Riordan might not strike the final blow on the Archdemon.

"You should go and sit with them."

Teagan's voice brought Cailan back from his thoughts again. Turning his eyes towards him instead of those seated at the end of the table, he gave a quiet, "Hm?"

"Go," Teagan repeated, giving Cailan's hand another unconscious pat. "It looks like someone's waiting for you."

They both glanced back down at the four at the end of the table only to see Isobel looking back at them, a smile on her lips. She gave Teagan a slight bow of her head before looking to Cailan, her eyes crinkling at the edges as she grinned even wider into her goblet.

Looking back to Teagan, he saw that his uncle was wearing a knowing smile of his own. "Maker, is it that obvious?"

"I'd like to think that I could pick up on such subtle signs, yes."

At that, Cailan averted his eyes, his cheek twitching. He didn't want to be overt about this, about her. He wanted to spare her the ridicule, the looks that came with being the king's mistress no matter how unhappily married he was or how sweet her nature. Anora was well-loved by the people; anyone intruding upon her would be looked down upon, even if she was the reason the king himself survived the betrayal at Ostagar. "I'll expect a lecture should everything go smoothly with the darkspawn."

He was still looking at the table when Teagan's smile faltered only for a moment. "Why would I give you a lecture? It's true that I'd hoped you wouldn't be forced into anything like this, but I'm not blind. If you're unhappy, find something that makes you happy." Lifting his goblet to his mouth, he took a long sip before setting it back down. "That's what's important."

"Wait, the king's happiness actually matters? After all these years, I thought it was just some foreign thing I read about in stories," Cailan replied with a lopsided, half-grin.

Teagan rolled his eyes and laughed. No matter how old Cailan got, he'd still be as dull as a stone when it came to some things. "Everyone's happiness matters," he said, giving his nephew a pointed look as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.

"And what of yours, uncle?" Cailan asked, efficiently changing the subject. The question brought a bright smile to the bann's face, and he knew that he'd picked the right one to ask.

Dark blue eyes glinted from above the rim of his goblet as he finished off the rest of his wine. When he set it down once more, his fingers trailed along the slender bottom. "I have someone waiting for me when I return, if that is what you're asking." At Cailan's arched brow, he continued, his smile growing until there was a dimple carved deep into his cheek. "Her name is Lena; her family has been living in Redcliffe for some time. We met in the Chantry during one of the attacks. So if not for your and Isobel's help, I'd still be a bachelor."

For the next half an hour, Cailan continued questioning Teagan on this lover of his, though his eyes flicked from him down the table to Isobel and back again. As they spoke, the men and women in the hall slowly began to leave, filtering out until there were only a few left, clinging to another goblet or another slice of venison, anything to keep them from heading to bed, knowing the march to start in the morning. They were deep in their discussion of repairs when Cailan felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning to look upwards, a smile broke out onto his lips when his eyes rested upon Isobel.

"I apologize for interrupting, but Arryn wanted me to see if you'd like to come with us." She shot a small smile towards Teagan, who bowed his head graciously.

"Go with you where?"

"The windmill," she said quietly, her fingers absently roaming over the embellishments on his collar. "She says that she has a surprise."

Cailan's smile widened even further. "Of course. Just give me a moment."

Nodding, Isobel turned and made her way back in the direction of the others. He couldn't hear her, but she no doubt told them that he'd be going along, as he saw Arryn give a single clap before resting her hands over her chest. Standing, he tucked his chair in and allowed himself be pulled into a tight, familiar hug. A large hand smoothed over his back; the embrace was firm, but warm.

"I'm proud of you, Cailan," Teagan murmured, giving his back a pat before pulling just far enough away to rest both hands on his shoulders. "Your mother would be proud of you, too."

Cailan felt the back of his eyes burn, but nothing came of the feeling. Instead, he set his hands on his uncle's arms and gave his head a slight bow. "Thank you, Teagan," he murmured, voice breaking only slightly as he smoothed over the thick fabric of his shirt. "That... truly means a lot to me."

He left Teagan to sit back down at the table, only letting himself linger long enough to share another, smaller smile with his uncle before heading in the direction of those gathered at the end of the room. Arryn and Alistair were already out of the Hall, no doubt heading in the direction of this surprise the mage mentioned. He stepped up just as Godfrey gave Isobel's shoulder a pat.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked. He felt refreshed, almost chipper, after hearing those words from Teagan. "Should I leave you two alone?"

Godfrey gave a bark of a laugh, and Isobel followed suit, though she was much quieter. Her chin dipped down for a moment, her lips twisting into a full smile, though it smoothed away when she looked back up at him. "He was only congratulating me on my new armor, is all." Twisting her face towards Godfrey, she arched a brow before nudging him with her elbow. "He's jealous, I think."

The soldier uttered a sound of mock offense, drawing a chuckle out of Cailan. "When this is all over and done with, my friend, you will have armor just as sound as Isobel's. I swear it."

"Herren is going to want your hide for that, you know," she murmured, just loud enough for both of them to hear. "I thought he was going to launch himself over the counter when Alistair and I walked into the shop. 'Maker preserve us, we're going to go broke if you keep closing down the shop, Wade!'"

"Yes, but if I remember correctly, from your account, Master Wade was beside himself with glee."

"Practically prancing around his forge," Isobel said with another laugh.

They paused for a moment, their thoughts merging to a single point. What would come of Wade and Herren? Of their shop? Of Denerim's market place? Of Denerim? Riordan's sighting brought everything to a resounding brilliance. The future of Ferelden was sharp; two-sided. Defeating the darkspawn and killing the archdemon would lead to happiness, even in the wake of loss. Being defeated would leave the Blight in another country's hands. Everything anyone had ever fought for, ever strove for, would be gone.

Godfrey – Maker bless him – was the one to break the quiet. Taking a step back towards the large door that led deeper into the estate, he cleared his throat. "Arryn said that we should hurry. I'm not sure what she's come up with, but I don't think we want to miss it."

"No," Cailan said, "I don't think we do. Lead the way."

After making their way from the castle to the windmill countless times during their different stays in Redcliffe, the three soon found their way through the secret passage. It was still cold and still damp, and Cailan still seemed less than pleased to have to walk through it. This in itself was enough to keep their spirits up as they trekked through near complete darkness, led by Godfrey, who held a torch. Midway through the passage, Isobel heard a scuffle behind her; the sound was quickly followed by the feeling of Cailan's finger attempting to trace one of the lines formed deep in her palm.

When they finally reached the windmill, they discovered that Arryn had planned ahead. Three torches dotted the grassy hill, illuminating the shadowed area beneath the mill just enough for them to see where they were walking. In her hands she held two bottles of wine, plucked up with permission from Eamon's thoroughly stocked cellar.

They really shouldn't be drinking, not with the march ahead of them and the battle that would follow. Still, something within Isobel thrilled at the idea of enjoying the moment, something she scarcely allowed herself before everything that transpired. To drink no doubt fine Orlesian wine while sitting on a hilltop beneath a blanket of stars... It almost seemed indulgent. If there was one thing the Blight taught her, it was that those petty indulgences, the small moments of respite before everything turns for the worst, were often the sweetest.

Cailan bowed his head to Arryn as she passed off one of the bottles to him, leaving her to be very nearly swept off of her feet by a flushed Godfrey and set down some distance away. Taking the slender neck of the bottle into his palm, he worked at the cork for a moment before pausing and looking to Isobel.

She was standing in front of him, her hands laced, looking expectantly towards the wine. When she realized he wasn't working it any longer, she glanced up to him, brow hitched.

A mere moment after their eyes met, his shifted, roaming away from her face to look over her shoulder. Alistair was sitting on the ground a good distance away from Arryn and Godfrey, his legs bent, arms wrapped around his knees. From here, he couldn't tell if he was looking up at the sky or across at the castle, but the direction of his eyes didn't matter. The lack of a smile on his face was what mattered.

"You should go talk to him," Cailan offered after a brief silence. His brows knitted together once the words left him. Had he really just said that? Did he mean it? While he was sure that he did mean it, he was unsure what to make of it. This very well could be his last night of peace to spend with Isobel, and he was sending her off? His own confusion was only amplified by the fact that he'd been looking forward to tonight. He had made plans of his own – to bring Isobel back to the chambers given to him by Eamon, to spend that night deliriously happy with no worries on the horizon. And now he was telling her she should go to Alistair.

Isobel seemed even more confused than he, if only for a short time. When his words finally registered, she reached out, her palms working against his upper arms before she leaned forward to press a small, tender kiss on his lips. "I will be back."

He was sure that he didn't deserve this woman. After all he'd put her through, heaped upon every other trial that hindered her stride, she never once complained. She purposely understated her on weaknesses in order to make the situation less uncomfortable, no matter how she felt herself. When he'd first handed her the Cousland family shield, she slipped it on, speechless as she tried to think of what to say. Finally, she shifted it on her arm and gave a shaking laugh. 'I don't remember it being this heavy,' she'd told him, her tears contradicting the laugh in her voice.

And now he watched her as she made her way towards Alistair, perhaps even giving up tonight's last hurrah at reaching for some semblance of calm, to talk to him.

He didn't deserve her. No one did. They needed her, but they didn't deserve her.

Alistair looked up at her as she approached, a half-smile tilting at his lips as she sat down next to him. "You don't have to do this, you know." When she gave him an incredulous expression, he uttered a huff of a laugh. "Don't pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about. Cailan sent you over here to talk to me."

"Don't you think I'd be able to defy the wishes of the king, hm?" she asked. "He brought it up, yes, but I wanted to."

"I can accept that."

He turned away from her, arms still wrapped around his knees as he tilted his chin upwards, eyes taking in the ceiling of tiny, faraway lights. "Arryn said there's to be a comet. I don't rightly believe her." It sounded as if he was talking to himself, but Isobel listened as best she could, drinking up every word that left him. "That'd be good timing. Suspiciously good timing, if you ask me."

"Do you really think she'd lie to us about something like that?" Isobel asked him as she pulled her own legs into a crossed position, fingers thrumming along her calves.

"There's a chance." Alistair shot her a look out of the corner of his eye. "All she need do is go, 'Ooh! There it was! Did you see that? Oh, well, you must've missed it. What a shame.' And none of us would be any the wiser, would we?"

Laughing, Isobel shook her head. "No, I don't believe we would."

Her admission fell into silence. While Alistair took in the sky, she looked to the others. Cailan was sitting some way off, the wine bottle poised in one hand as he propped himself up with the other. Pale blonde hair splayed over his shoulder, a stark contrast to both his navy tunic and the darkness that surrounded him. Arryn and Godfrey sat in front of them. With an arm wrapped around her shoulder, Godfrey leaned his cheek against the top of her head. Turning her eyes just far enough to the side to catch his profile, she saw that there was another hint of a smile curling at Alistair's mouth.

"I have something to ask you," he said softly, passing his tongue over his bottom lip before continuing. "It may seem unnecessary, but... I felt that you of all people would be one of the only people interested, I suppose? There aren't many left who would-"

Reaching out, she rested her hand on Alistair's arm, effectively silencing him. "What is it?"

"Well, I'd sort of... come up with a plan, once the Blight was over and done with," he prefaced, eyes darting from her face to her hand and then back to the sky, staying there instead of waiting for her to move. "Duncan mentioned once that he had family in Highever, I believe. I was going to go there and do something for him, in his memory." His chin met his shoulder as he turned his face to look at her. "I want it to happen. Even if it's not me, he deserves a proper burial or something."

The hand that rested on Alistair's forearm began to move up and down as he spoke, finally slowing only to grip at his sleeve in what she hoped was a comforting gesture. "Of course I will." Pausing, she released his arm only to give it a pat. "No. No. You will. It wouldn't be a proper memorial if you weren't there."

If only survival was that certain, Alistair found himself thinking. How can she be so optimistic? Am I wrong here, or is she? Why does any of this even matter?

"Thank you," he replied, his tone quiet and almost shy. Taking a deep breath, he released it in a single puff, straightening his posture as best he could in his current position. "Well, enough about me. What about you? Why do you want to be over here? You'd have to be blind not to notice that lonely pup look on Cailan's face."

He glanced around the curve of her shoulder to get an actual look at Cailan only to find that there was no look of loneliness on his features. He didn't look sad or put out or even the slightest bit regretful about his current position. He was half-reclined on the hill, staring up at the stars with blatant reverence, only lifting the bottle of wine to his lips every now and again. So his half-brother was actually okay with her staying in his company. Cailan had never struck him as the sort for sharing, but the king seemed set on surprising even people who'd known him as a child. Even Eamon, who could have caused a golem to cringe should they enter a staring contest, softened noticeably when he saw the change in his nephew. The people of Ferelden loved Cailan – they'd always loved Cailan – but there was something different there now, something akin to respect.

Suddenly the feeling made sense. He'd been there personally to see the change, the slow transition from a boy playing king to a man actually being king.

"You're my friend, Alistair. I'm not going to just leave you over here by yourself." A smile teased at Isobel's mouth. The ex-templar's penchant for chewing on his toes always amused her, even if it frequently led to his embarrassment. "And I'd like to point out that you were the one wearing a lonely pup face."

"Oh, was I? I hadn't noticed. I was too busy over here, contemplating my impending death."

All it took was a sharp elbow to the ribs for his air of solemnity to break completely, a strident laugh filling the air that was more a rush of adrenaline than anything. "Ow! Maker's breath, woman, I need those."

"Yeah, well, there's a lot more you need that might go missing if you don't stop talking about that." Her mock-defensive tone went quiet soon after, and she bit down on her bottom lip, looking away from him again. "You don't know what's going to happen. You don't know the future. None of us do. That's sort of the point here, you realize."

After all they'd been through, she couldn't imagine losing him now. She didn't want to. Letting go was not an option. Riordan had offered to strike the final blow, didn't he? That meant that Alistair would be safe. She repeated this thought to herself over and again. The words 'Alistair will be safe' flooded her with memories. Each recollection had long since lost their color, leaving nothing but cloudy black and white, but that was all she needed. She could just barely hear his conversation with the mage at Ostagar, with the witch of the Wilds. She could see him strike a killing blow on an ogre, standing beside her as she accepted Teagan's thanks. Everything pressed forward at a breakneck speed until she could see herself in his arms, being lifted from that table in Fort Drakon and carried all the way to the camp just outside of Denerim. Their conversation about what Riordan told him and Cailan led to an argument; she could see her face, skewed as she shouted at him, told him that he couldn't strike the final blow, that it should be her. This left a warm blur into tonight, discussing the finer points of Orlesian cooking. Orlesian cheese, they'd decided, was the very best.

These memories only sparked a single, violent compulsion within her. Don't let him go. Don't let him do this. He saved your life; save his.

When he turned to look at her, a witty retort poised on his lips, he saw that her eyes were glassy, full with tears to the point of nearly spilling.

"Iso..."

The skin on her chin wrinkled as she bit back her quivering bottom lip. She shook her head, the heels of her palms digging mercilessly into her eyes, removing the tears before they were shed. Wiping her hands on her trousers, she looked at him. "You're not going to die," she stated; her voice had gone leaden. In her words there was an air of finality that struck him in more ways than one. He was touched, but he was also afraid. What did she mean by that? Would she even consider going against what they'd decided?

"You just told me that I don't know the future." Swallowing thickly, he looked away from her, unable to focus on her profile any longer. "Neither do you. Even if Riordan succeeds and strikes the final blow, that doesn't mean I'll survive. The archdemon isn't the only thing we're fighting."

"You're not going to die." This repetition was filled with whatever emotion the previous one lacked. Her words dipped and wove and broke beneath the weight of the sentiment. There was a striking plea beneath what she said that caused his own eyes to burn.

He'd seen her in many different situations. He'd seen her smile and laugh. He'd seen her cry. He'd seen her scream out in pain, and he'd seen her so broken she could hardly say a word. But this – this was something else entirely. It was all of that and more. It was heavy, and it curled in the very center of his chest, weighing his shoulders down.

When Alistair was finally able to speak, he did so quietly, afraid that what he said would lose all of its power if spoken in anything more than a whisper. "I won't if you don't."

His resolve shuddered the moment he felt her cheek come to rest against his shoulder. Lifting a hand to run his fingers through his hair, he discreetly wiped at his eye in the same motion. His gaze fell to his arm to find that her hand was set in the crook of it, and without a single thought, he placed his own hand on top of it. "I feel like I've said this more than I should have already tonight, but... thank you." Nodding to himself, he shifted a little, just far enough to look down at her. "My brother's a lucky man."

At that, he felt her cheek twitch against his shoulder, saw a bright smile take up residence on her lips. "Yes, well, don't tell him that, or I'll never hear the end of it."

Laughing quietly, Alistair removed his hand from Isobel's. "He's a good man, but... don't you ever consider the fact that you deserve more? Does that even make sense?" He quirked a brow at himself, looking away from her to focus on the sky. "You deserve to be someone's one and only, is what I'm saying."

"You and Cailan are a lot more alike than you think."

The words were hardly more than murmured, but he had caught them. You wouldn't be able to miss such a seemingly random thread of conversation.

"Hm? Where'd that come from?" he asked her, twisting his shoulders to look at her instead. He knew that he and his brother shared some striking similarities that could be attributed to their being cut from the same – or at least relatively similar – cloth, but these were minor, inconsequential things he didn't expect anyone to pick up on. Of course, considering her closeness to Cailan and their friendship, it shouldn't have surprised him at all.

The smile on her face was so slight he almost missed it. "He said the exact same thing only a few days ago."

A string of laughter bubbled out of her at his indignant huff, the tiny smile widening into a grin as he crossed his arms as if mimicking a petulant child. His voice took on a similar sullen tone. "That's not fair. That was supposed to be my line. He's not supposed to steal my lines."

From in front of them, they heard a loud, "Ooh!" Jerking to attention, they both stared, wide-eyed, up at the sky, but they were only met with the same expanse of black and white. Isobel shifted in her spot, looking to Arryn instead to see the tiny elven mage twisted in Godfrey's arm, staring back at them with a wide smile. "Did you two see it? Ah, it was... it was wonderful. Wasn't it Godfrey?"

"Indeed it was." It was obvious by the soldier's voice that he believed what he said, even through his obvious annoyance at her stealing away the attention she'd bestowed on him so completely mere moments before. Tonight was supposed to be for them; he shouldn't be forced to share.

Arryn was pulled into his lap soon after, diverting her attention from Alistair and Isobel to the man beside her. Or, rather, beneath her.

"I told you she was lying," Alistair murmured.

The same sharp elbow was poised just beside his ribs when she changed her mind, wrapping her arms around him instead. Planting his forehead against the warm curve of her neck, Alistair sighed into the embrace. There was no jealousy, no ill-will towards his half-brother for ensnaring her attention. Tonight was their last night of assured freedom, and she'd gone to him, sat and talked with him.

While it wasn't much, it was enough.

A/N: Holy Maker, that was quite a bit longer than I expected! (Longest chapter of The Beacon yet, actually!) And I hope you enjoyed it. :) Thank you all again for your encouraging reviews. It looks as though it may be wrapping up sooner than I expected, but you can expect at least two more chapters after this one. Next stop - Denerim!