A/N: That "might give it a Varel-ish add-on" note from the last chapter? Couldn't sleep, so scratched that itch instead.

XXX

After Hours

During which Senechal Varel alternatively wishes to return the new Warden-Commander with a "rejected, due to insufficient quality"stamp on her head, to have the Orlesian Wardens not dead and back in the game, to have a certain prisoner miraculously dissapear from existance but above all else wishes he could finally get some sleep. He'd happily settle for even just one out of four, thank-you-very-much.

XXX

Varel glanced at the high window in the hall and sighed. An hour, perhaps less before dawn. Maybe he could steal an hour of sleep before dealing with that… other matter he still had to attend? But… no, no, he decided with the shake of his head and pulled the doors of his office open. If he fell asleep now, he wouldn't wake up, not in an hour and not in three.

A rueful little smile touched his lips. He was not a young man any more. Gone were the days when he could put together three nights in a row and feel only slightly worse for wear for the effort. He chuckled lightly at the memories of his younger self, shook his head and slouched into a chair, planted elbows onto the desk and rubbed his eyes. Maker, but he was tired!

Events of the day (and the evening, and the night…) begun pouring into his head, clamoring for attention. Maker! He couldn't remember that much hectic activity since the war. Well, he amended, looking up in an attempt to squint the sleep out of his eyes, since the previous Arl's death more like. Those few days in the aftermath of the message, brought in straight from Denerim by a ragged curier who'd nearly driven the horse lame in a rush to reach the Vigil as soon as possible… Not, Varel reflected, the best of times, those.

And now there was another Howe in the Keep…

Varel grunted and pushed the tought away. He hadn't expected to see Nathaniel again. For some odd reason he'd tought the lad dead. Didn't know why - he just did. And in a way, he had been right. The lad he remembered was definitely dead. The dark, troubled man he had seen in the prison was a complete stranger. And a very dangerous one at that.

Varel thumbed a parchment on his desk idly. He'll have to deal with all this paperwork tomorrow - or rather, today. He sighed and leaned back, stretching and frowning. He'll have to do it, and by the looks of it, he'll have to do it alone, because if tonight was anything to go by, the new Commander was not going to be helpful at all.

Whatever posessed the queen to put her in charge of the affairs here, he was certain he had no idea.

And so it would fall to him to keep things running, it seemed. He gave most everyone a night off after the attack. There were bodies, Darkspawn and not, to be cleared out of the courtyard, the sooner the better. But it could still wait 'till the morning. No one was in any shape to haul corpse and try to recognize and separate bits of friends from the enemies' stench. Not tonight, anyway.

First thing in the morning, then. And before that, he'd have to see to Howe. And after that, he ought to tackle the paperwork, get the funeral pyres organized, perhaps get around to drafting a letter to the Orlesian Warden headquarters to- No, Mistress Woolsey would handle that. …Because the new Commander most certainly wouldn't.

Varel realized he had nearly dozed off, temple leaned on a hand and the hand slowly slipping. He jerked himself up with a start and blinked at the wall. Maker, how he needed some sleep! But instead of indulging, he forced himself up and splashed some water from the basin onto his ragged face. Yes, and he also needed a shave. That, however, would better wait until he truly did have some sleep. It would be a complete irony, he tought wryly, to have survived a Darkspawn blade at his throat only to end up dead by his own unsteady hand. Heh.

The new Commander sure looked like she'd wish that upon him...

He frowned, the Joining ritual fresh and clear in his mind. The Warden-Commander had been most decidedly not happy about it, about any of it. Naturally, a Warden coming in, expecting to find at least a dozen other Wardens already present only to walk in on a siege and corpses… And then to go through the ritual straight away, filling up the decimated ranks while the other Wardens' bodies haven't even cooled down yet…? That seemed particularly… callous, in a way. But also pragmatic, and if Varel had learned anything about the Wardens in the past two months of working so close to them it was that they were, above all, a pragmatic lot.

Or maybe that was just the Orlesian Wardens' trait? The new Commander certainly didn't strike him as a pragmatic type. Come to think of it, he had a distinct feeling he was lucky she didn't strike him to begin with.

The way she glared during the Joining, as if she were about to jump at any second… Almost… resentful. Varel plopped back into the chair and taped his fingers on the desk. Yes, resentful was correct. Now that he replayed the whole affair in his head, there was a rising certainty in his mind that the new Commander did not want for the Joining to happen at all. Which, Varel reflected, made little sense in light of the fact that rebuilding the Order was the precise reason she had been sent here in the first place.

Still, that did not change the fact that no, she did not want it to happen, not by a mile.

They lost Mhairi. Varel felt a pang of hurt stab at his chest. Such a bright young woman, and so eager to join, to become a part of something far greater than she. And what a fine addition to the Wardens she would have been, too: a formidable fighter, if still a bit wet behind the ears, and a quick learner to boot.

The new Commander all but sneered as the poor girl hit the floor and died.

Varel frowned, unhappy. "I'm sorry, Mhairi," he had said, and meant it. The dwarf said nothing but that was neither here nor there - Oghren was… well, he was Oghren. (And Maker! He still couldn't believe that he had walked it all off with nothing more than a belch!) But whatever else Oghren was (and after tonight in Varel's mind it would forever remain "impossible to believe"), he was a warrior to boot, and had both seen and caused more death than Varel could even fathom. It wasn't calousness on Oghren's part, but merely... acceptance, done in stride, because that is how warriors work.

The mage, Aaaa…nders, was it? He was sorry all right. Only, Varel suspected he was more sorry about the very real possibility of being next than about Mhairi's death. Well, he supposed he couldn't exactly blame him. Especially considering he was, well, conscripted.

And that made no sense either. If she were so unhappy about the actual Joining, why had the Commander conscripted him in the first place and..? Ah! Now he understood. She had no idea he knew how to preform the Joining, right? And with all other Wardens dead…?

Yes, Varel saw it now, and was not in the least happy about the sight. The new Commander had no intentions of rebuilding, did she? Which was troubling. And apperantly no intentions of helping out with the Keep, let alone the whole Arling either which, while nowhere near as troubling as the first still left Varel in a highly unenviable position. Things… were not going to go well at all.

And the only possibly competent person for the job (of running the Keep at least, though probably the Arling too, given time) was still sitting in the prison awaiting release. Only, Varel tought sourly, to return later and have another go at the Commander. Which, a trecherous tought occurred, might not be such a bad thing after all except that no, it would be a terrible thing, really.

Well - Varel pushed himself up with some effort - for better or for worse, Howe was about to given another chance to try. Not tonight, though, no. The night was over, dawn slowly creeping over the horizon. He had ordered Howe remain locked up for the night, to be released in the morning and no sooner than that. And thank the Maker that went down well, too, though Varel suspected it was more due to Nathaniel being too worn out to attempt anything rash than his lack of willingness to try.

And it was morning now. Time to wake Howe and see him out the gates. Varel had seen too many years to entertain any hope of that being the last he saw of him, but for another day or two at least, they would be safe from any more Howe intrusions.

Hopefully the Darkspawn won't come back too soon, either, though what with them suddenly… talking? Varel was no longer sure. But that was a tought for another time he decided as he made his way down the hall and across the courtyard. The one thing the new Commander did prove she both can and is very eager to do was killing Darkspawn, talking or not, so there was one thing he could actually count on her to do around here.

And it was not a small thing, either, so he decided to tick that off as the one bright spot in this whole mess and pushed the prison doors open.

"Wake up, Howe. Time to go."