Delilah hadn't changed much from the last time I saw her, something like two years ago now. Her hair had been cropped short, swept back carefully behind her ears to stop it from getting in her face, humming contentedly to herself as she worked at scrubbing a mass of sopping wet clothes on a washboard. She'd clearly gone to some lengths to distance herself from the young noblewoman I used to know, but it was still there, in shades. An upbringing like that isn't easy to hide under some dirt, a simple haircut, and raggedy clothes. Even if you manage to get the scars and callouses expected of a commoner, a superior education and etiquette lessons don't just go away. I should know. My family was slaughtered and I experienced a Blight first hand and I still can't pass as anything less than nobility. Too well spoken for a peasant and too bad at taking orders for a soldier.

Old habits die hard, I guess.

She was clearly trying to hide from something, I just didn't know what, exactly. The past. Her family. Me. Maybe all those things. Maybe more. In her place, I couldn't say I wouldn't have tried to do the same.

Quickly, I looked away, pulling out one of my dirks and suddenly becoming incredibly interested in it, tilting it slightly and engrossed in watching the way the light glinted off the blade. Beside me, Nathaniel stopped and stared at me incredulously, apparently having completely missed the fact that his sister was just there.

Too caught up in his own world, I suppose. He's been like that since he went through the Joining. And survived, against all odds. I can't tell if I'm disappointed or pleased with that development. On one hand, had he died, I wouldn't have to deal with having a Howe in the keep and I could've absolved myself of all guilt over his death. On the other, he's a competent combatant at my disposal. So I guess the part of me that understands that I'm the Warden-Commander is happy with that. The part of me that's still a Cousland isn't nearly so lenient.

Get over it, I told myself fiercely. You made your decision. He's a Warden now. Deal with it.

I've seen so many people fall to the Joining. Good people. Strong people. Mhairi was just the latest in a long line of people who deserved better. Is it so inconceivable for me to think it would claim Nathaniel as well? How was I supposed to know he'd miraculously turn out to be strong enough to take it? Truth be told, I never expected to survive it myself – I was too ill, too fragile, too damn weak to do anything, to be anything more than an academic and an opportunistic, cheating bastard – the fact that I did never ceases to surprise me. The one time I use it, foolishly thinking it'll be the death sentence it usually is, and he goes and survives.

And now I'm a Cousland that outranks a Howe.

Because that never ends badly.

I'm making all the same mistakes my father did and I'm so acutely aware of it.

A chill went up my spine as I saw Rendon Howe smirking at me so clearly in my mind. Smirking at my choices. Smirking because he knows that no matter how much I try to avoid it, it seems I'll fall into the age-old trap of letting history repeat itself. Smirking because I'm too much like my father, and the parts of me that aren't are dangerous and volatile; too much like the man who murdered him. Smirking because it doesn't matter that he's dead. He's wormed his way into my head and that means he's won one final victory over me.

Anxiously, I glanced back at Delilah, who hadn't moved, still focused entirely on her task, clearly oblivious to the rest of the world, then back at Nathaniel, who was watching me like he was concerned I was about to either break into pieces in front of him or go completely and violently insane.

At this point, either is possible.

"Eugene," he called my name exasperatedly, after I hadn't moved for what felt like a small eternity.

For a moment, I tried not to answer. I tried to remind myself why I'd come into Amaranthine – something which now escaped me, but it certainly hadn't been to find Delilah. If that had been the objective, I'd know. I'd remember. And all the while, Nathaniel watched me expectantly, patiently waiting for an answer I wasn't sure I was able to give.

"Your sister," I muttered after a long, awkward pause.

He pulled back, blinking several times in confusion. "What about her?"

"She's right over there," I pointed out, nodding in Delilah's direction. "That is her, isn't it?"

I don't know why I'm asking. I may not have seen Delilah in two years – but Nathaniel hasn't seen her in at least eight. If anything, he's less likely to recognise her than me.

He stiffened at my words, immediately looking over to where I'd indicated, eyes darting desperately over the houses that were crowded together on the street. Then, he pushed past me, quickly breaking into a run – or as much of a run one can manage while trying to cross a busy street – weaving his way around the crowd and hastily apologising to everyone he accidentally shoved. With a small, thoroughly exhausted sigh, I followed him, carefully ignoring the looks and faint whispers of the Warden-Commander that followed me.

Note to self; stop wearing the full Warden regalia in public unless absolutely necessary.

But you're the Warden-Commander, I could imagine someone reminding me, clicking their tongue disapprovingly as they did so. Take pride in what you are.

It all sounds so easy when you think about it like that. Take pride in what you are. Take pride in the fact that I was dragged kicking and screaming out of Highever, conscripted into a group I wanted nothing to do with. Because it's your duty, Eugene. Because the Blight is coming, Eugene. Because Duncan won't help you get out if you don't.

He was supposed to get my mother out, too. He broke that promise almost the second he made it.

And somehow, I still managed to get conscripted.

It's my duty to kill Howe! I'd retorted at the time. Not join some Blight-obsessed murder cult!

And yet.

Here I am.

Working for the Blight-obsessed murder cult, having taken over the position of the man who dragged me into it to start with.

It suddenly occurred to me that I never saw Duncan in the uniform. Not in Highever, and not at Ostagar. So I have no idea why everyone's so insistent I wear it. Is it because I'm young? It's probably because I'm young. Too young to be a Warden, let alone Warden-Commander, so I have to make it exceedingly obvious.

I guess we all have Duncan to blame for that.

But for all his faults, Duncan was still a good man. A good man who deserved better.

I let out a long, tired sigh at the thought.

Aren't we all?

By the time I'd managed to cross the street myself, Delilah was on her feet, running to her older brother to embrace him, looking both distinctly pregnant and happier than I'd ever seen her.

"Nathaniel!" she cried, throwing her arms around him, just as Fergus had done with me after the coronation.

Automatically, I pulled back behind a corner, practically falling against the wall of the house, trying to breathe as a wealth of memories threatened to take over everything else. For a moment, I may as well have been back there.

Focus. Stay in the present. Amaranthine. Warden-Commander. Focus.

"Delilah," Nathaniel called her name reassuringly as they broke apart, firmly clasping her shoulders, "you don't have to stay here. Come back to the keep – we can work something out."

She just looked at him blankly for a couple of seconds, struggling to process what he was saying. "What? Nathaniel, I can't possibly. My husband-"

"You don't have to stay with him. You can stay at Vigil's Keep, we can find someone better-"

"Nathaniel," she cut across him sharply. "Listen to me. I'm not leaving."

"But you-"

"I didn't marry Albert out of desperation, you moron," she told him, pulling out of his grip before gazing off into the distance, a faint smile pulling at her lips. "I adore him. He's so much better than that stuck-up Cousland boy that Father kept trying to set me up with."

Without thinking, I stepped out into view, striding over to them solely because of my own compulsive need to defend myself all the time. How I ever managed to convince myself that I don't put stake in other people's opinions of me, I'll never know.

"Wha- …hey! I'm right here!"

For the first time, Delilah seemed to finally notice me. She whirled around to face the source of my protest, staring at the ground before my feet and then, slowly, her eyes travelled up my body until they eventually came to rest on my face. There were a couple of seconds as she struggled to see the eighteen-year-old boy I used to be behind the exhausted expression, the patchy stubble, and the mess of overgrown hair.

People keep telling me that I need to do something about that. The Blight's over, so I don't have an excuse to look like a crazy, dishevelled vagabond anymore. Still. I spent almost a full year on the run and old habits die hard. And as much as I don't want to admit it, I'm running from my past just as much as Delilah is running from hers.

"Eugene!" she gasped in surprise, her eyes widening as she recognised me. "I- uh… you're here! You're in Amaranthine! What a surprise!"

"And we're not married!" I pointed out cheerfully. "Bonus!"

Almost the instant the words were out of my mouth, I winced. Barely been here a couple of minutes and already I'm naturally defaulting back to seventeen. Is this just some kind of coping mechanism? Do I simply not know how to act around people who knew me beforehand? Is this what I'm going to end up being like if I ever manage to bring myself to return to Highever? Am I just going to act like I haven't changed? Like nothing's changed? Is that how I deal with trauma now?

Maybe part of me is just too afraid to change. Maybe part of me is so desperate to go back to the way everything used to be that I'll do anything to maintain the illusion that it's possible for me to go back, to be the person I was back then. Maybe I'm just so frightened and repulsed by the person I've become that I'll do anything to pretend it isn't the truth. At this point, anything's possible.

Delilah coughed awkwardly and glanced away. I get the feeling I'm quite possibly the absolute last person she wanted to see. Which wouldn't surprise me, for a number of reasons. Nathaniel glanced from me to Delilah and back again several times, clearly at a loss.

I don't think either of them knew what to say.

I certainly didn't.

"You're a Grey Warden?" Delilah asked somewhat haltingly, eyebrows raised as she looked me up and down, doing nothing to keep the shock out of her voice.

"So I am," I agreed quietly, before nodding at Nathaniel. "As is your brother."

Immediately, she went dead still, looking from me to Nathaniel and back again several times. Obviously, she hadn't expected that. I couldn't blame her. Nathaniel hadn't been a Warden for very long, and wasn't Warden-Commander. He wasn't obligated to wear the uniform. Not yet, anyway.

Slowly, Delilah seemed to accept this news. "I- …of course you are."

Nathaniel's expression hardened. "Only because he conscripted me."

I smiled sweetly at him, but didn't say anything. We both know I had full sanction to do much worse. And I would have. I was so close to being cold and ruthless, and doing something reprehensible. Part of me wishes I had; I wouldn't be dealing with this. Shows me for having a conscience.

I might not be my father, but I'm too much like him for my own good.

"You're really not coming back to the keep?" Nathaniel asked, returning his attention to his sister.

Delilah's expression hardened. "If I never set foot in that accursed place again, I will die a happy woman. I didn't spend all this time trying to get away from Father's evil just to go crawling back."

"Father's evil?" Nathaniel repeated, not quite sure how to handle what he was hearing. "Isn't that a little harsh? He- he got caught up in politics. Did what he had to do. The Blight-"

"You weren't here," she cut across him sharply. "You didn't see what he did. Just ask Eugene what he did to the Couslands."

I sighed and looked away. "Somehow, I don't think he'll take my word for it."

Delilah arched an eyebrow at me, mildly put off by how easy going I was being, given the situation. Or maybe recognising that I was trying way too hard to be relaxed and easy going; and that this is probably the only way I know how to deal with anything anymore.

"Nathaniel," she called his name slowly, her eyes turning sad as they flicked up to his face. "Trust me. He got what he deserved."

"How can you say that?" he demanded. "Father wasn't perfect, but he wasn't a monster. He wouldn't have done anything he didn't think was right."

"Nathaniel. Trust. Me," she repeated, slowly and a little sternly this time, carefully framing each word. "You want to know who ruined our family? It was Father. Without question."

For the longest time, Nathaniel didn't reply. He remained stock still, lips parted slightly in shock, struggling to process her words. I sighed quietly and leaned against the exterior wall of the house, not sure what else to do. There wasn't really anything I could do, not at that point. Hearing it from me, it'd been easy for him to discredit it to himself, to accuse me of lying. Of course I would lie; make up some excuse to justify my actions. I'm the bastard who murdered his father. But Delilah?

She wouldn't lie. Not about something like this.

And I think Nathaniel knew it.

"Maker, look at you," Delilah sighed exasperatedly. "Barely back from the Free Marches and you've already joined the Wardens. Is it so much for me to ask for you to at least contact me before you do anything so drastic next time?"

Nathaniel didn't reply. He looked distant, not altogether there, his mind probably a thousand miles away. Seeing how close her brother seemed to be to a full out existential crisis, Delilah softened considerably. Gently, she took his hand, and gave him a reassuring smile.

"How about you come inside," she suggested carefully. "And we can catch up on everything."

Nathaniel didn't seem to respond – not at first, anyway – as I suddenly became overwhelmed with the feeling that I shouldn't be here.

"I'll… I'll be going, then," I murmured, slowly turning around, back towards the city gates.

"No," Delilah called sharply, stopping me in my tracks. "Absolutely not. Stay. I insist."

Nathaniel looked over at me, looking less keen on the idea than I was – an achievement, to be sure.

"Delilah, he's…" he began, only to trail off uselessly into silence.

"Busy," I finished for him lamely.

Quickly, he nodded. "Yes. He's busy. He's the Warden-Commander, after all. There are things for him to manage, back at the keep."

I nodded fervently. "Exactly. There are things to do. Righteous Grey-Wardening. And all that."

Maker. Why not just say we have to face the possibility of further darkspawn incursions? Why not just admit to the general public oh hey, we've discovered that darkspawn are potentially sentient?

It may have convinced her to spare me from this.

It also would've likely sent the entire city of Amaranthine into a blind panic.

Right now, it's almost worth it.

Delilah, however, folded her arms and looked distinctly unimpressed. "Alright, Ser Warden-Commander, tell me this. Will the world come to an end if you don't return immediately?"

For a time, there was silence.

A thoroughly awkward silence as neither Nathaniel nor I answered her.

"Then I suppose that settles it," she said triumphantly, going to the front door of her house and wrenching it open, holding it there and gesturing for both of us to go inside with her spare hand. Nathaniel let out a long, tired sigh, but obliged. I remained exactly where I was, rooted to the spot, even as Delilah glared at me. Usually that would be enough to eat away at my resolve. But not this time.

Slowly, I looked over to her. "You… don't want to have that conversation in front of me."

"I don't remember asking your opinion," she shot back at me smoothly. "The instant I turn around you'll scurry off. Don't think I'm not onto you. You might be Warden-Commander, Eugene Cousland, but you haven't changed."

I sighed quietly, and held my hand to my heart. "I swear on my honour as one of the last surviving members of House Cousland, I will not leave the premises until any and all business here is concluded. Is that enough?"

You're the last of nothing, Rendon Howe's voice reminded me snidely.

Breathe.

This is pointless.

Just breathe.

You've lost.

For what felt like an eternity, she just watched me suspiciously, not sure what to make of me. Then, eventually, she slowly drifted inside, her eyes never leaving mine as she did so.

"You," she said, pointing directly at me so there could be no mistake as to who she was referring to. "Stay. Right. There."

I help up my hands defensively and nodded. She gave me one last parting glance before disappearing inside and letting the door shut behind her.

And then I was on my own.

With a small groan, I half collapsed against the wall, slowly sliding down to the ground, pulling my knees to my chest as I did so. Suddenly, the stress of the last few days caught up with me and I was exhausted. I probably could've slept right there on Delilah's doorstep if I wanted to.

What a sight that would make. The Warden-Commander of Ferelden, in full armour, casually napping just outside someone's house. I'm sure the people of this city would have a field day. If they aren't already by the fact that I'm here at all.

I should leave. Now. Right now.

I should get out of here and slink back to the keep and worry about Delilah's sinking opinion of me later.

But I can't.

Because I just had to promise. I just had to be that person who makes promises that I'll end up being forced to keep. Damn me and my growing sense of morality and honour. I never used to care. Why do I care now? What changed?

I sighed as I leaned back until my head hit the wall. I don't want to think about this right now. I can't. So instead, I returned to aimlessly staring out at the street before me, eyes trailing over the countless passers-by. I couldn't help but wonder about them. About who they were. About their families. About the countless stories and lives playing out right in front of me. I wonder what their lives were like under Rendon Howe. I wonder if they think I'm any kind of improvement.

Anxiously, I glanced off at the horizon, roughly in what I thought was the direction of Vigil's Keep, not sure what to think. I remember the first time I saw it – eleven, maybe twelve years ago now? It was the first time I'd left Highever. I'd been overexcited, keen to go exploring far and wide, only for my father to firmly grasp my hand and never let go.

Next time, he'd told me gently when I complained. When you're well.

Next time didn't happen for something like another five years – and he hadn't let me go out on my own that time, either. The closest I ever got to not being constantly supervised was when Delilah, at the strong urging of her parents, no doubt, gave the most half-hearted tour anyone has ever given of the grounds, dully listing off memorised facts while constantly trying to size me up. As a person. As another child her age. As a – at that point, at least – future spouse.

It's odd to see her now. To suddenly find her here in Amaranthine, happily married with a baby on the way. For as long as I can care to remember, people have been telling me that we'll be married. For as long as I've known her, she's been my future wife. I never wanted to get married to start with, but part of me can't help but still see her that way.

Force of habit, I guess.

I shook my head slightly. Stop thinking about it like that. She's married and pregnant, and it's not like I don't have the prospect of an unborn child of my own to worry about.

An unborn child with the soul of an Old God.

A child I'll never know.

A son?

A daughter?

Some tentacled, demonic creature, full of rage and wreathed in flame?

I don't know. Am I supposed to just forget about it? How are you supposed to just forget about fathering a child? How do you stop caring about something like that? How do I ignore the guilt that's quickly eating me alive?

Needless to say; having sex with an apostate witch as part of some magic ritual in a final and desperate attempt to save my own damn life wasn't precisely how I imagined my journey to parenthood would go.

Why? Why couldn't I just settle down with a nice girl who isn't an apostate and have a distinctly non-magical child with a normal human soul? Fergus managed to do it. Why can't I? Why am I so utterly incapable of doing anything normal? Why, why, why is this happening to me? After everything I've done, why am I surprised? This is just the Maker punishing me for what I've done, isn't it? I was a coward. I ran. I ran and I left my family to die and then when I was finally given a chance to properly redeem myself for that, to fight and die saving the entire damn world, I ran from that, too. I didn't want to lay down and die like I should've and now I'm paying for it.

I glanced up at the gradually darkening sky, searching the clouds aimlessly. Searching for something I wasn't even sure was there anymore.

It shouldn't bother me. Not as much as it does, at any rate. I never put a huge stake in religion before the Blight – it was more an assumed part of my upbringing than anything else. Now…

Now it means more. Because this is all so chaotic and nonsensical and I need a reason. I need to know that there's order in the chaos. That someone has it under control. That the world is like this because it's meant to be this way.

A wry smile pulled at my lips as the thought crossed my mind. If Mallol could see me now…

I could almost see it. She'd get that huge smile and she'd pull me to a seat and encourage me to talk it out while she simply sat and listened. And I'd probably get irritated with her bizarrely cavalier attitude considering she's a chantry mother and she's watching someone have a crisis of faith until she eventually came out with that classic line; faith without doubt is hardly faith at all. And by the time I managed to drag myself away, I wouldn't be able to tell if I was feeling better or worse. Which would've been news that utterly delighted her, because it more than likely meant I'd be frequenting the castle's small chantry more often as I struggled to work through whatever I was dealing with.

She cared. She always cared so damn much. They all did.

I need to go back there. One day. Sooner or later. I can't just leave Fergus to pick up the pieces while I hide away here in Amaranthine, hiding behind the title of Warden-Commander and pretending I'm not a Cousland anymore.

"Hey."

I twisted around at the sound of Delilah's voice, to find her standing there with a couple of bowls of steaming… something. Stew, probably. Although I think I've had every possible iteration of the recipe – it was the only thing I had any idea of how to make, Alistair insisted his cooking would kill us, and neither of us felt safe with Morrigan anywhere near anything we'd eventually end up eating. Meanwhile, Sten would glare at anyone who made the suggestion, Leliana tried too hard to make something exotic, Wynne would politely grumble about having to look after such useless young people, Zevran would over-spice any food he came into contact with, Shale was literally made of rock and thus didn't eat, and no one trusted Oghren to refrain from spiking everything he touched. I still don't.

I sighed a little as I thought about it. They're not all gone. Not everything is gone.

I just have to keep reminding myself of that.

For a moment, neither Delilah nor I moved; just watched each other warily, almost in the way we used to back when we were trying to size each other up as future spouses.

"Hey," I replied a little hoarsely, surprised to see her there.

Silently, she offered one of the bowls to me and I gingerly took it, nodding slightly. Slowly, quietly, she settled down next to me and let out a huge sigh as she stared off at the horizon, looking distant.

I glanced at her, waiting. I don't know what for, exactly. For one of us to break the silence, I suppose. Slowly, I began to prod absently at my food, not quite sure what to make of it. It looked more appetising than anything I've eaten this past year, almost – but that's not a high bar.

It wasn't the food, I decided finally. I just wasn't hungry.

"How's he taking it?" I asked quietly, unable to take the silence anymore.

Delilah let out a quiet sigh and rolled her shoulders back. "Not well. But I suppose that was to be expected."

I nodded a little and looked back out at the street. "Can't be an easy thing to find out."

I don't know why I was trying to be so understanding now, of all times. I'd spent the past few days angrily sniping with Nathaniel; it had gotten to the point where even Anders didn't want to hang around when the two of us started up. Our arguments were annoying and predictable. I wasn't going to pretend otherwise. Eventually they would always devolve into you killed my father and your father killed my family and every possible variation of that. Yesterday we'd managed to graduate to a moody silence, with nothing but a few terse words exchanged every so-often.

So, the fact that I'm genuinely worried about Nathaniel's wellbeing is surprising. To me most of all.

"What about you?" Delilah asked suddenly, after a pause. "Are you okay?"

Automatically, my lips cracked into a wide – and entirely fake – grin. "Me? Yeah. Sure. I'm great. Swell."

Her eyes narrowed at my deflection, obviously not buying it for a second. I honestly didn't expect her to. I haven't been able to convince anyone of that lie since the attack on Highever.

"Don't do that, Eugene."

"Do what?"

"That," she told me, pointedly gesturing at my face. "Pretending you're fine when you're not."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She pulled a face at that. "Eugene."

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed loudly. "Don't you already have a brother whose mental wellbeing you have to worry about? Why add mine to the list?"

"Because I know what happened to your family," she replied simply.

"I'm pretty sure all Ferelden knows what happened to my family," I pointed out sourly.

She didn't seem to have anything to say to that. I tried not to breathe a sigh of relief. This is why I don't want to go back to Highever. This is why I don't want to be around people who knew me beforehand. Everyone who was with me during the Blight only met me afterwards. They didn't know what I was like before. No one bothered to bring it up. With the Howes, people I effectively grew up beside, I don't get that luxury.

"I'm sorry."

I grunted incoherently and turned away just slightly.

"I… can't imagine what it must've been like," Delilah continued, either not seeing or outright ignoring my clear unwillingness to engage in this conversation. "But I want you to know that I am sorry. For you and Fergus."

I closed my eyes and let out a small exhale. "Yeah, well. It's in the past."

"And I wanted to thank you."

My eyes snapped open and I twisted around just to stare at her, arching an eyebrow incredulously. "What for?"

"For Nathaniel. For sparing his life," she answered. "In your place… I doubt he would have done the same."

For a moment, I didn't answer. I didn't want to admit just how close I'd come to doing something else. Didn't want to tell her that there had been a moment where I'd been tossing up the idea between letting him slowly starve to death in a cell or killing him outright. Didn't want her to know that I'd basically conscripted him so I could use the Joining as a glorified execution.

And then he survived.

Because of course he did.

"That…" I began awkwardly, struggling to work out how to word myself, "wasn't exactly sparing him, Delilah. I mean, being a Warden, it's…"

She watched me carefully.

"It's…?" she prompted.

Not a second chance.

Not something you can really call living.

Not something I can talk about in detail to anyone who hasn't been through the Joining themselves.

"Complicated," I finished lamely.

"All the same," she sighed. "I lost one brother in the Blight. I wouldn't have fancied losing another so soon."

Thomas, I realised after too long. I didn't know. I didn't even think-

"You lost a father too," I pointed out, trying not to dwell on it. On any of it. "To that stuck-up Cousland boy, no less."

Her jaw tightened and her spare hand clenched into a tight fist. "After everything he did, all the vile atrocities he committed… honestly, it was a relief to hear he was dead."

It shouldn't have surprised me to hear her say that.

And yet.

I killed her father in cold blood and she's the one apologising to me. There's something inherently wrong with that, just as a situation. I don't know what else I expected, though. She was here, unlike Nathaniel. She watched it all happen. She saw everything her father did and she drove herself into hiding, cutting off all ties with her former life because of it. Can I honestly say that, in her place, I wouldn't have done the same?

A shiver went up my spine as, once again, I was met with countless memories of that day, in the Arl of Denerim's estate.

Your father would be proud.

Don't talk about my father, I'd snarled, my grip around his neck tightening a little. Just enough so he couldn't breathe very well. Don't act like you even deserve to say his name.

And then I'd thrust him against the wall, restraining myself just long enough to ask the burning question that had haunted me since it all happened.

Why? Tell me why!

"It's funny," I began slowly, desperate to change the subject to something, anything, else. "If things had been different… we'd probably be married by now."

Delilah's lip curled at that, and she didn't grace me with an answer. I laughed and held my hand over my heart, my face twisting into an expression of mock-hurt.

"Am I really that bad?"

She sighed and rolled her shoulders back. "Don't pretend for even a moment that you were overly keen on the match yourself, Eugene Cousland."

I smiled. "True. Looks like we both narrowly avoided disaster."

"Can you imagine, though? Living together, me sitting at home and sewing while you… do whatever the younger sons of teyrns do?"

I laughed. "We'd be living the cushy noble life, all the while constantly sniping at each other over which of us has more reason to be miserable."

"I'd have spent all my time complaining to Oriana. We'd bond over our mutual annoyance with our idiot Cousland husbands."

A shudder went up my spine. "She'd have shown you how to make poisons, too. Then you would've assassinated me – Maker, think of the children, Delilah! How could you so coldly take their father from them?"

"I'm sure they'll manage," she told me airily. "Their father probably never took the time to know them. Father's dead, children. What father, they'll say."

I laughed, but it was quiet and strangled and I very quickly shifted away from her. Trying not to think about just how true that assessment was and failing miserably. We fell into silence as Delilah watched me, taken aback by my reaction and not quite sure how to proceed. Eventually, I felt her hand gently clasp my shoulder.

"Eugene?" she called softly. "I was joking. Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I murmured. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You don't seem fine."

"It's… complicated."

"We've got all night," she responded casually.

I groaned. "Look, it's not- …it's nothing. It's not important."

Just one more thing to feel guilty about.

Shouldn't have brought it up. Why did I bring it up? Now I'll have to talk about it. What's she going to think? What is anyone going to think? What do I do? Who do I tell? Or do I swear myself to secrecy? Just not tell anyone about what happened? Shouldn't people know?

Know what, Eugene? That you slept with an apostate to conceive a monster because you were too damn afraid to face your own mortality? Who wants to know that? No one wants to know that!

I winced.

One good thing. That's all I want. Just one good thing that I've contributed to the world.

Delilah, bless her, took note of how cagey I was being about it and decided not to press the subject.

"Well," she said, stretching a little. "You've certainly changed. You used to be such an asshole."

"And now?" I asked, noting her use of past-tense.

Maybe I should've tried harder to defend myself, but she was right. I wasn't going to try to argue the point, when I knew it was true.

"You're a slightly more mature asshole," she answered smoothly, without missing a beat, before her expression darkened somewhat. "I suppose Blight does that to a person."

"Among other things," I whispered, my voice growing cracked and hoarse as I was suddenly thrown back to the night Highever was attacked.

The last day.

"I'm sorry," she told me. "About everything. I truly am."

I didn't meet her gaze. It's not her fault. It's not Nathaniel's fault, either. I need to accept that. I need to stop looking for people to blame. I know that. But knowing you should let go of the past and actually doing it are two very different things. Still. She'd forgiven me for murdering her father – it was nothing short of stupid that I struggled to forgive her for being related to him. I know the absurdity of it. I know it's idiotic and pointless and I'm not helping anything or anyone, least of all myself, by holding onto it so tightly.

"It's not your fault," I murmured after way too long. "It was never your fault, Delilah. The man responsible is dead. That's all I can ask."

She didn't move. She didn't say anything, either. Like she was taken aback by my words, and didn't know how to respond.

And then;

"You're still upset."

It wasn't a question.

I looked away. "I'll get over it."

Behind us, the door creaked open, and Nathaniel stepped outside, holding his hand up in front of his face in an effort to shield his eyes from the glare of the sunset. Quickly, both Delilah and I twisted around to face him. My eyes darted up and down his frame, trying to see what he was doing, how he was reacting. Slowly, I stood up, dusting myself off a little as Delilah followed suit.

"Are you leaving?" she asked him quietly.

Nathaniel looked over at me, as if for reassurance. "I- yes. We should… we have business to attend to."

"You're sure?"

"He's right," I cut in quietly. "We should get going."

Delilah let out a sigh, but didn't argue. She's smart. She knows when she's being faced with a fight she's going to lose. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her older brother and drew him in for a tight hug. Nathaniel, obviously not prepared for it, let out a startled gasp and didn't move.

I laughed. I couldn't help it. And over Delilah's shoulder, Nathaniel threw me a dirty look. Which just made me laugh more.

Slightly more mature asshole.

I think I might just be okay with that.

Delilah didn't take note of any of the exchange.

"Stay in touch," she told him softly, as she withdrew from the embrace. "Please, Nathaniel. The baby's due in the spring; and you should meet Albert. I think you'll like him."

The corners of Nathaniel's lips twitched with an uneasy smile. "I… yes. Of course I will."

And with that, he turned to go, joining me as we began to move away.

"You keep him safe Eugene," I could hear Delilah call after me.

I turned on my heels and gave her a mock salute, walking backwards as I did. "On my honour."

She laughed and shook her head and headed inside, while I turned back around and kept walking up the street, back towards the gates with Nathaniel.

I still don't remember why we came into Amaranthine in the first place, I realised. And whatever it was, I still haven't done it yet. Maybe it doesn't matter. Because I needed this. I didn't know just how much I needed it until it happened, but I really, really needed this. I think Nathaniel did, too.

Slowly, I looked over to him, trying to work out why he was being so quiet. He kept his head down and utterly refused to meet my eye. With a small sigh, I reached out and gripped his upper arm, pulling him to a sharp halt. His head snapped up in confusion, his expression silently demanding an explanation.

"Are you okay?" I asked him quietly, not sure what else to say at this point.

He just stared at me like I was completely insane for even asking. I stared right back, waiting for an answer. Eventually, he realised that I wasn't going to back down, and pulled himself out of my grip.

"I'm fine," he replied shortly.

He's not fine.

"Nathaniel."

"Since when did you care, anyway?"

He is so not fine.

"Nathaniel."

"I just… I can't believe…" he murmured, running a hand through his hair and trying in vain to calm himself down. "I thought he had his reasons. It was a war, for Andraste's sake. Before I left, he was never… how could he have changed so much?"

I sighed. "You were gone for eight years. You'd be surprised."

"But that much?"

"Nathaniel. When you left, I was eleven," I reminded him. "Am I anything like you remember? Why is it so absurd that your father might've changed, too?"

His lip curled slightly as he looked me up and down several times, clearly comparing me to the kid he remembered in his head. I just stood there, motionless, waiting for judgement. Waiting for him to suddenly realise, my gosh, Eugene, you're not a bed-ridden kid anymore. He hasn't brought that up yet, but I know he will. Eventually. I know it's on his mind. Every time he looks at me with an odd expression, I can see the questions on his mind.

How did you recover?

How did you manage to survive the Joining?

They're fair questions. I wish I had better answers than magic and I don't know.

"You were a child," he pointed out finally. "It's not the same."

I groaned, and rolled my shoulders back. "What do you want me to say? Either he drastically changed in a relatively short amount of time, or he didn't and he was never the man you thought he was. That any of us thought he was."

He didn't seem to have anything to say to that, and honestly, I couldn't blame him. We fell into an awkward silence, and I took it upon myself to start walking again, Nathaniel quickly falling into step beside me. He wasn't done talking, I knew that. Neither was I. No doubt we'd be having this conversation for days.

At least it'll be a nice change of pace from the constant arguments, barbs, and sniping.

"When you…" he began haltingly, unsure of himself. "When you, you know…"

"Killed him?" I suggested flatly.

He looked away. "Did he regret it?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Did he regret it?" he repeated. "What he did?"

Well, well. Bryce Cousland's little boy; all grown up and still trying to fit into daddy's armour.

A shiver went up my spine at the thought, and I struggled to ignore it. Ignore him. Ignore everything I did, everything that happened. Ignore the memories that were better left forgotten.

Did he regret it? If he did, he certainly didn't make that clear to me.

Maker spit on you. I… deserved… more.

I sighed and looked away. "This… isn't a conversation you want to have, Nathaniel."

"Please. I have to know."

"And if you don't like the answer?"

He squared his shoulders and said nothing, automatically bracing for it.

"No," I told him quietly, wincing as my voice cracked. "No, I don't think he did."

Why does that hurt to say? Why is it still painful to admit that? Why do I keep thinking about who he used to be – the man I thought he was, the man my father thought he was? On that day, on the last day, he hadn't been any different. He'd given me the same warm smile he'd always given me when I asked about his family. I'd refused to believe it was him at first, when everything happened. I was reaching desperately, quickly forming insanely complicated conspiracy theories as to why someone would go to such lengths to frame him rather than admit the truth. Because up until then, Rendon Howe had been a good man. I never had any reason to think otherwise.

There's still a part of me that wants to think that. That isn't convinced any of this is real. The Blight, the Wardens, Ostagar, the civil war… it was all part of some terrible nightmare I'm yet to wake up from. And when I finally do, I'll be in my bed in Highever, being harassed by Oren because I promised to teach him what I knew of swordplay. None of this would've ever happened and Rendon Howe would still be a good man. The man he was supposed to be. The man I thought he was.

Nathaniel chewed on his lip, looking a little sick. "I feel like such a fool."

"You're not the only one," I sighed. "No one saw it coming. Not even my father – and they'd known each other for decades. If you're a fool for falling for it, Nathaniel, then we all are."

"I wanted to kill you, I had no idea…"

"Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it?" he repeated incredulously. "You can't be serious."

I shrugged. "I'm not worried about assassination. Trust me when I say better people than you have tried."

"How can you be so cavalier?"

I let out a loud groan and stopped in my tracks once more. "Because I'm tired of this, Nathaniel. I'm tired of arguing, of hating people. There's generations of bad blood between our families and I can't do it anymore."

All the rage, hate, and pain – it's too much effort. Takes up too much energy that's better off spent on something else.

I am not Rendon Howe.

I will not become the monster he did.

"I killed your father," I admitted softly. "He killed my family and I murdered him for it; I'm not going to deny that. But I shouldn't have let it control me. And I shouldn't have conscripted you like I did. So, I'm asking you now; help me deal with this cesspool of a situation. Please. We were almost family once. We could be now. Brothers-in-arms, if not in-law."

For so long, he just watched me, completely at a loss.

"So," I began, awkwardly holding out my hand. "Truce?"

He glanced at my outstretched hand, then at my face and back again several times, not quite sure how to react. Then, eventually, he let out an exhausted exhale and clasped my hand.

"Truce," he agreed quietly.

A small, wry smile played upon my lips. "It will be my honour to fight alongside you, Warden Howe."