Eleanor woke suddenly, her heart hammering in her chest. It took a moment to realize that she was safe in her bed, still in Denerim, and not in a barren, icy place. She grasped the coverlet in her fists and forced her breathing to slow. The fire in the hearth had burned down but moonlight streamed in brightly from a crack in the shuttered window.

Quickly, she swung out of bed and pulled on a dressing gown and slippers. One of those dreams, and Duncan would want to hear about it, surely. She padded noiselessly down the short hall and, seeing firelight flicker under his door, entered Duncan's room without knocking.

He sat at his desk, still fully dressed. She began to speak to him and then noticed the faraway look in his eyes. His hand moved absently on the desktop as if he were holding a quill. Eleanor walked quietly over to the desk and peered into her brother's face. His eyes were extremely dilated and fixed on a point far in the distance; almost no trace of grey iris remained. His breathing was shallow and panting. When she touched him, he twitched but did not come out of his trance. He did not turn his face to her.

"Sister, is that you?" Even his voice came from far away.

"Yes," she answered quietly. "What is it?"

He raised the hand that was scratching at the desktop and made a motion as if to brush aside some dust in the air.

"I can see it all," he muttered. "All but this part here. I do not know what lies there, in the darkness." He stared into the place he indicated, narrowing his eyes. Suddenly he shook himself violently and looked up at her.

"What did you see, Duncan?"

"You had a dream, didn't you?"

She nodded slowly. Duncan got to his feet with a groan and shuffled to the bed. He crawled under the blankets and lay on his back, completely still, staring at the canopy draped over the bedposts. After a moment, she joined him, just as she had done all the times they were children and she had had a bad dream. She curled on her side facing him and pulled the quilt up to her chin.

"It's going to be dangerous," Eleanor whispered, knowing that she didn't need to explain what she was referring to.

She and Duncan had always been close, and for a long time everyone assumed it was because they were twins. But there was something more sometimes; an inexplicable and impossible connection of their minds, where one's thoughts picked up precisely where the other's ended. There were other strange things too—their ability to read a stranger with an accuracy that went beyond an intuitive understanding of body language and facial expressions. And the dreams.

"What did you dream of?"

"Ostagar. The Chasind. A land beyond the Wilds, full of snow. Something… shadowy."

Duncan sighed and closed his eyes. "Are you afraid?"

"Yes. But I know it cannot be avoided."

"You're right. It's almost completely determined. All but the part I couldn't see." He raised one hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I can't go with you, Nora," Duncan said, reverting to his childhood nickname for her. "There will be danger, and I have to stay here. This time it's your journey."

"You're sure?" Her eyes were huge, and she clutched the blankets tightly.

Duncan nodded. "It was all laid out before me, like the last time we played Queen's Knights. Remember?"

The game, played on a large checkered board, was a favorite among their family for its difficulty and level of strategy required. The game he was referring to had taken place months ago and he had gotten the same strange look in his eyes while they sat poring over the pieces and their potential moves. Suddenly he began moving the knights, his as well as her own, detailing new strategies that she had only just considered, counterstrategies, and mass movements across the board that neither of them had thought to attempt. He had come out of the trance, frowned, and hesitantly tried to explain what it had been like.

"I could see all the possible moves, branching out before me like a great tree," he had spoken slowly, trying to put difficult concepts into words. "Every move either clicked others in or out of place, depending on the possibilities, like tumblers in a great lock. I could see every move and every potential move from the beginning to the end of the game."

After that, Duncan had not played Queen's Knights with either of their parents.

"There is someone coming from the south," Eleanor whispered. "That's what I dreamed of. A Grey Warden. They have been attacked and he comes for help. He will be here at dawn."

"If it's dangerous, we can't both go. I can see that you are better suited to this than I."

She didn't ask him again if he was sure. She could tell from his clenched jaw that there was no misunderstanding his words. Eleanor set her own mouth determinedly, and they began to speak.

The sun had just begun to rise over the flat glassy water to the east when there was a clatter of hooves and shouts from the castle gates. Eleanor and Duncan were the first to the audience hall, having sat up the rest of the night, and Alistair, Charlotte, and Cullen appeared soon after they received notice and had hastily dressed.

The Grey Warden was filthy and exhausted, having obviously rode all the way from the southern fortress without stopping for rest. He collapsed to his knees as soon as he saw Cullen.

"Maker's mercy!" Cullen exclaimed, recognizing the man. "Warren? Report!"

Warren raised his head, his eyes barely focusing. Cullen strode forward and grasped him by the grimy grey tunic, lifting the smaller man bodily to his feet.

"Report!" he roared.

"Warden-Commander," Warren began, his voice weak, "I ride for reinforcements. As soon as you left Ostagar, the Wilders attacked us in great numbers. The other Wardens sent me for troops, for aid."

Before Cullen turned around, Alistair was already addressing the nearest guard, arranging for men to send south. After a few moments of quiet speaking, the guard trotted away.

"I can send soldiers right away," he told Cullen, "but they will not be fully ready to march until evening."

"I cannot delay," Cullen growled, setting the other Warden gently back on his feet. Alistair nodded at him.

"We would speak with you," Duncan said as the Warden-Commander stalked out of the room.

He placed his hands on the backs of his mother and sister and propelled them lightly into the adjoining room. Once they were all inside the study, he closed and latched the door.

"This is clearly no longer a simple matter of negotiation," Alistair began immediately, pacing in front of the hearth.

"Clearly," Duncan agreed.

"You're not thinking of going still?" Charlotte asked, raising her brows worriedly.

"No, I am not," he replied coolly, and she visibly relaxed. "But Eleanor is."

Alistair spun around, his face flushed. He opened his mouth to speak, but before any angry words could escape, Eleanor stepped between him and his son.

"Father." She put a hand on his arm. He stopped and looked at her for the first time that morning. Her face was slightly paler than usual but set in determined lines. Instead of flowing in loose waves down her back, her coppery gold hair was bound in a thick braid, and she wore supple dark leather armor. Two short knives were strapped to the belt at her waist.

Alistair stared for a moment, then sighed and took his daughter in his arms. "You've already decided, haven't you?" he said, leaning his cheek against the side of her head. "Did you have one of your… dream-thingies?"

"Yes. And so did Duncan."

They had told their parents about their strange dreams, of course. The first thing they had done was inquire carefully of a senior enchanter of the Circle of Magi. There were some people, they were told, who are not mages, but are receptive to the workings of the Fade and the spirits. This sensitivity—they were careful not to call it 'ability'—could manifest itself in several ways, one of them being dreams of particular clarity. Over the years, they had all become somewhat comfortable with the idea of Eleanor's dreams and didn't think it strange to heed her unprompted advice on certain subjects. She had looked it up in a book once, but never used the term herself: precognition. It was a frightening term to her, even though they were assured that it did not make either her or her brother mages.

Charlotte gazed at both her children intently, marking their matched expressions.

"Leliana would no doubt call this the Maker's doing," she said, half to herself. "I suppose if you've made up your minds…"

"We have, Mother," replied Duncan.

"Is this what you want, petal?"

"Father, you haven't called me that since I was a little girl." She smiled, her eyes lighting up. Then she sobered. "It is what I have to do. You understand that, don't you?"

Alistair met his wife's gaze over Eleanor's head. "I don't, entirely, but I do." He stepped away from her and turned toward a wooden shelf against the wall. "Duncan, help me shift this?"

They both pushed against the bookcase until it slide slowly aside, revealing a dark hole in the wall. The twins looked at each other in astonishment. A secret in the castle they didn't know about? Alistair reached inside the recess and withdrew a cobwebby box.

Charlotte reached deep into one of the desk drawers as Alistair placed the box on top of it. She withdrew a battered lock picking kit and went to work with two lengths of fine wire, disengaging the locks on the dusty carton.

"Could have used a key, but noooo," Alistair joked as she worked. "'Keys can be found, Alistair'." He mimicked Charlotte's voice perfectly. She glared at him for a moment, and then rolled her eyes at her children and returned her attention to the locks.

"You would have had these things soon enough," Charlotte said, removing the lid. "Now I hope you will not need them as urgently as I once did." She reached in and began removing objects.

Eleanor and Duncan exchanged another look of astonishment. They had always wondered where these things had been hidden, the relics of their parents' days as Grey Warden heroes. The king's golden armor was in the armory, of course, but they knew there had to be more.

"This is the bow known as Falon'Din's Reach. It's named after the Dalish god of the dead. I found it in a dragon's hoard in the Brecillian Forest." The bow looked silky with dark grain lines running through it, marking it as made of dragonthorn wood.

"This one's another of your mother's," Alistair pulled what looked like a plain dark leather belt from the box. The buckle was dark metal and didn't catch the light at all. "The Shadow Belt. Helps keep you sneaky." Charlotte took the belt and fastened it around Eleanor's waist.

There were many more things in the box, but Charlotte replaced the lid.

"I have taught you all I know about remaining unseen and attacking from the shadows," she said, "and of archery, and evasion. I know your wits are strong. Keep them about you at all times on the field of battle. It will be your wits that save you, not your equipment. We have seen many who have fallen from trusting too deeply in their things and not in themselves."

"Here's something from me, to keep you safe." Duncan stepped toward her with a necklace in his hands. He leaned toward her and brushed aside her braid to clasp it around her neck. The pendant was round, heavy, and made of silver. Suspended in the clear middle section were a few drops of dark red liquid.

"So a part of me is always close to you. Look for me in the Fade if you're in trouble," he whispered. She nodded to let him know she understood.

They stood together for a moment, Eleanor trying to think of something to say to calm her parents. Before any appropriate words came to her, they heard Cullen reenter the audience room.

"Your majesty," he bawled, his armor clanking. He turned toward the four of them as they came out of the study, but stopped suddenly when he saw Eleanor. Cullen's face showed stark astonishment for a moment before he clamped the expression down.

"Have you made sufficient preparations?" Charlotte asked smoothly.

Cullen nodded, standing at attention. His sword and shield were strapped to his back, and he was wearing a clean cloak. He had polished and cleaned his armor during the night, the gold inlays on the dark armor gleaming brightly.

"With your permission, majesty," he said, staring straight ahead and standing at attention, "I would like to leave Warren here a few days to recover."

"Of course," Alistair replied. "You can leave immediately for Ostagar along with a half-dozen ready guards and my daughter." Cullen's eyes flicked to Eleanor, standing close to her brother, and then straight ahead of him again. "The rest of the men I will send directly after you at a fast march as soon as they are prepared. As I said, they should leave no later than nightfall."

Alistair put himself directly in Cullen's line of sight, forcing the man to meet his eyes. "Watch over her," he said softly. Cullen nodded.

The whinny of horses came in from the square outside. Eleanor embraced her family one at a time, whispering words of farewell but not giving herself time to falter. Charlotte marveled again at the strength that radiated from her, the calm sense of assuredness that reminded her of the other Couslands in the family.

Eleanor swung up easily in the saddle, sitting well on the excited horse as it pranced underneath her. She waved once to her parents and brother, who stood at the edge of the paved square. Then she wheeled the horse around at Cullen's command and followed him and the soldiers out and onto Denerim's main road.

They stood for a long moment after the cloud of dust from the horses' hooves dissipated. Alistair tightened his arm around his wife's shoulders as she slumped against him.

"Don't worry, Mother," Duncan assured her, taking her arm from the other side. "The Maker has always turned His face on Eleanor."

And they went inside.

Big thanks to Speakfire for her critique of this chapter and to Tarante11a for her support and for being awesome. Thank you also to Skydiver8.