Stop.

The desperation with which the word was spoken resonated around the room and her pulse seemed to thud in time so that the word repeated throughout her head.

Leliana refused to turn around but as she stood over Elissa, her eyes trailed down her arm to the hand which still held the knife to the woman's throat. A slight tremor passed through her and onwards to the knife which caused a telltale glint of reflected light.

"Hear me, Leliana." The owner of the voice had not come any closer.

With a slow and deliberate turn of her head, she allowed herself a brief glance over her shoulder. It was only as she recognised the bruised and bloody figure behind her that the whimper escaped. She threw the hateful dagger to the floor and spun to embrace the elf with a hiccupping sob.

Zevran did not resist as she clung to him although his attempt to disguise both his exhaustion and suffering was a feeble one. Leliana heard the sharp intake of breath as he tried to mask the pain her hold was causing. Within an instant she moved to support him, wrapping her arm under his shoulder while guiding him towards the bed.

"Where are you injured?"

The elf grunted as he dropped onto the bed beside Elissa, instinctively lurching onto one side to protect the broken arm that he cradled at his side.

"I think it would be simpler to ask where I am not injured, my dear," he grimaced.

Leliana tutted as she made to remove his rouge's armour so that she could better examine him. His compliance along with lack of comment, save to swear and curse as the pain exploded through his body, was sign enough that his injuries were severe. The Bard reached out and took one of the spare clothes from beside the bed. Dipping it in the water she had sourced earlier, she began to clean the blood and dirt from the various wounds.

As he winced, she looked up at him from her current kneeling position. "Sorry."

"I have endured worse," a ghost of a smirk crossed his face. "And not always from one so beautiful."

Leliana snorted but his attempt to retain some sense of normality between them was a welcome one. She rewetted the cloth and continued to clean as best she could. The presence of another friend and the action of doing something useful was helping her to regain the composure and perspective that she had struggled to hold onto. She darted a look towards Elissa. The young woman's breathing was still laboured but at least now Leliana was able to appreciate that she was breathing.

"The Mabari?" The question was as close as she could bring herself to ask what had happened since she had left the elf to defend himself in the hills.

The small shake of his head was sufficient to communicate what was needed. Leliana continued her ministrations with a fixed stare on her work. After a few minutes she could trust herself to speak once more. "I am glad to see you, Zevran."

"As am I to see you."

Leliana forced herself to look up at him and was rewarded with a rare but genuine smile. She felt the corners of her mouth turn in response as one of the weights lifted from her conscience.

Zevran turned his head towards the form of Elissa lying next to him. A short look at the Warden communicated to him all that he needed to know.

The Bard followed his look and guessing his question, turned her attention back to her task. It was a difficult admission to make and more so for the futility of his potential sacrifice it implied. "She will not last much longer."

He let out a strangled groan and Leliana realised that her lightness of touch had been forgotten as she contemplated her explanation. She clicked her tongue in irritation as she attempted to hide her oversight.

"Sit still."

Zevran made another grimace and pushed her hand away from him. "The army is near the city. You must go to the gates," he gave her a wry look before finishing his sentence, "and ensure the experienced healers are sent here."

The Bard frowned and shook her head. "No. I will not leave her. Or you."

"As much as it reassures me to be an afterthought," he raised an eyebrow at her. "You must. It was mere chance that I discovered you were here."

Leliana continued to shake her head back and forth as though the movement alone could prevent her from hearing Zevran's words.

"My dearest Leliana," he caught her hand with his own. His were still covered in blood and grime while hers seemed starkly white in comparison. The elf raised it to his lips and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles. "I understand."

She flinched before realising that there was no judgement in his words. He too knew the burden of friendship. His statement was a simple acceptance of the task she had appointed herself. And an unspoken promise to keep it on her behalf.

"You must hurry. There are ogres attacking the walls of the city as the Horde attack the gate."

"The vibrations."

The elf nodded. "Another reason the army must be warned."

Leliana settled her gaze on Elissa. It seemed abhorrent to leave the woman she had so resolutely sought.

"I will not fail you," Zevran caught the indecision on her face.

The Bard hesitated before dipping down to the floor. She picked the dagger up, the blade still bloody from her own blood before straightening. With a decisive movement, she wiped it clean with the cloth she had been using on Zevran before flipping the dagger and pushing the handle into Zevran's good hand.

As his fingers closed around it, Leliana turned on heel and walked out of the small room that she had fully expected to become her tomb. She did not trust herself to look back as she pulled the door shut behind her.

The besieged walls of the city loomed ever closer with each stride of the horse and Alistair was aware that there were other things that should probably be occupying his mind right now. The Horde in front of him. The impossible task ahead of him. But all he could concentrate on was the tempting glimpse of the future beyond it all. For him, for Elissa and for the child.

Maker, he had a son.

There was a blissful moment of contentedness. Brief and all too fleeting, the reality of the present situation bore down on him and banished the feeling from his mind.

Until this point, the child had been a small detail in the back of his mind. A product of a dark ritual intended only to prevent a sacrifice. Something which had to be kept safe for reasons other than itself. Thinking of it in such terms had prevented him from having to acknowledge the conflicted loyalties which he could now feel creeping through his heart and paralysing him. No longer simply a child; his son.

That Elissa was not the child's mother was painful in itself. Yet the recognition of what he was now asking the mother of his child to do was just as raw. To allow Morrigan to continue to accompany him was to risk the boy. And yet to keep the Witch out of danger was to risk Elissa. Although he had agreed to the ritual due in part to his own rediscovered sense of self-preservation, his own life suddenly seemed inconsequential compared to those which now mattered most to him.

Alistair was aware that the decision was not his alone. But almost as soon as the detail had escaped from her, Morrigan had retreated far into herself. With each attempt to coerce her to talk with him, her expression had darkened as if she resented his prying into a matter which she did not consider as concerning him further. And when her horse had stumbled, she did not press the animal to keep pace with his. Instead she allowed the creature to slow to a walk until the two flanking Templars became escorts on either side of her. Everything she had done since the revelation had been a concentrated effort to keep as much distance from him as possible. There was little else he could do when the only other who knew was intent on ensuring that he could not question her further.

Only other. No. There was one other.

With an abrupt jerk of the reins, he pulled his horse round and kicked the animal into a canter back towards the bulk of the army. As he passed Riordan, he gave a signal to continue to march. Much like Morrigan, he had no wish to be questioned further.

Alistair was aware of all eyes on him as he searched through the ranks. It had not escaped his attention that Wynne and Riordan had shared a private discussion and he was under little illusion that he had been the sole subject of it. But no matter the current strain on their friendship, he could only hope she would not turn him away now.

As his gaze moved over the cohort of mages, he realised that Wynne had already begun to push her way towards him. Apparently the act of seeking her out had communicated the urgency of the matter if not the content. It was perhaps just as well. He could not trust himself to even begin the delicate process of appeasing the Knight-Captain.

He dismounted and waited for Wynne to reach him. Aware of prying ears as much as prying eyes despite the noise of the marching troops, he pulled her further to the side and positioned the horse between them and the army.

Within the relative seclusion and privacy, Wynne watched as the unchecked panic washed across his face. All titles vanished as the sense that he was entirely lost and without a point of reference reduced him to the young man she had too easily forgotten he was. She caught the same look of fear which had crept into Elissa's eyes and understood why he had sought her out. What Wynne had feigned ignorance over, Morrigan had since seen fit to reveal. The elder mage had been wrong; he had hesitated. Yet judging from the way in which it was now tearing him apart, it was a hollow victory.

She considered arguing that the child was a product of the taint and dark magic. That it should not be considered in the same manner as any other child. That it was doubtful any child could develop accordingly with the taint running through its veins. Surely that was as certain as the certainty that Alistair now stood in front of her. Yet as he searched her face for an answer she knew could not be found, she was aware that practicality would offer little relief to the inner turmoil. Finally, she settled on a simple acknowledgement. "So, you know."

"Tell me. Tell me what to do."

Wynne held his pleading gaze as she shook her head. "I cannot."

The blood drained from his face and Wynne realised he took her honesty as a refusal of support. She sighed and rested a hand on his as it lay on the horse's neck, squeezing gently.

"It is not my choice to make. And for the moment, neither is it yours."

A frown grew on his face as he shook his head, making to speak.

Wynne interrupted him. "I understand you want to protect the child. But however you feel, he was conceived for Elissa's sake, yes?"

Even as Alistair nodded, he could feel that damned blush creep across his face.

"Then just as you played your part, you must allow Morrigan to decide how she plays hers."

"But..."

The mage's grip over his hand tightened. "Morrigan's bond to Elissa is strong in its own way. You must trust that she would not do anything that would harm Elissa. If the child will protect Elissa then you must believe that Morrigan will guard against any harm coming to him."

Alistair remained silent as a sense of powerlessness ripped away any pretence of control he may have felt. To order Morrigan away if Elissa was too severely harmed, that had been practical. But to allow that tiny glimpse of the future, of his future, to rest on the whim of the Witch was almost too much.

"There may be a time when you must make the choice between Elissa and the child," Wynne's look was fierce as she tried to make him understand. "But such a choice cannot be planned for. And there is nothing to be gained by torturing yourself now for what may happen later."

He continued to stare at her as if unable to accept that there was nothing else that could be done except to wait.

"What I can promise you, Alistair, is I will do all I can," Wynne relaxed her grip as she tried to produce a reassurance through touch that words themselves could not produce. "For all three."

The desperate look as he searched her face revealed that such a promise was no longer enough.

"The rest is for the Maker to decide."

The tone was firm and the intent kind but in the emptiness of the words, neither found comfort.

Leliana moved with a sure-step through the streets of Denerim. With Zevran's warning in mind, she had used all her stealth to escape unnoticed from the Chantry and slip away from the marketplace almost undetected by the increasing number of darkspawn that had made it past the city defences.

As she passed the many corpses which littered the way, she had searched out an adequate bow and quiver. Unsure where the Revered Mother had placed her own equipment, Leliana had not stopped to search and was now forced to make do with what she could salvage. With each quiver she came across, she reclaimed the remaining arrows. The pity was that most were still in the quivers, unused by the good men who had simply been too ill-prepared for the fight that faced them.

As she reached the gates, it became clear that the City Guard were in disarray. Experienced guardsmen but not trained to repel such an overwhelming threat without guidance. Leliana searched through the chaos for a sign of a commanding presence. She recognised the profile of the Guard Captain standing with others who held themselves as if endowed with a status their current appearance and situation did not support. The Captain's mouth moved without pause as if trying to convince those around him of his argument.

The Bard ran towards him and as she neared she realised some of the faces around him were familiar. The nobles from the Landsmeet or at least those who were still able to fight.

"Sister," the Guard Captain interrupted himself as he recognised her even in her Chantry dress.

The small group surrounding him fixed their gazes on the woman in front of them. Now she was closer she was able to recognise one or two of the various nobles from the Landsmeet. Eamon. Sighard. Alfstanna. The Bard made a brief attempt to remember their appropriate titles before disregarding any such propriety and settled for a small dip intended as a universal bow and acknowledgement.

"Where is the Warden?" Eamon looked behind her expectantly.

"Elsewhere in the city," Leliana brushed aside the question and looked between the Arl and Captain. "Is it true the army are near?"

The Guard Captain nodded. "Yes but the darkspawn are preventing access to the gates. We need to provide a distraction."

"You have yet to convince us of a suitable distraction," one of the noble men sneered. Ceorlic. The only vote against Alistair and apparently as much a coward out of the chamber as in it.

"It does not have to be damaging so long as it refocuses the Horde's attention," the Captain was struggling to keep a respectful tone.

Leliana glanced around at the chaos which was beginning to engulf all around her. Without direction soon, the gates would fall regardless of what was decided.

Alfstanna was studying the other woman. An emissary from the Warden was worth listening to. She spoke over the reignited argument between Captain and Ceorlic. "Sister, you have more experience of fighting darkspawn. What is your recommendation?"

"The army must reach the city," Leliana remarked, thoughts focused on Elissa. "If we have enough capable archers then it is possible we could force the darkspawn to part near the gates."

Another of the nobles snorted. Wulff. "As soon as we stop firing then the darkspawn will close in again."

Alfstanna shot the man a dirty look. "You have offered no suggestion of your own. We must act."

"It will at least give them an opportunity," Sighard offered his support.

One of the first nobles to support Alistair, Bryland, also nodded. "We will have to trust that the army can handle themselves."

There was a murmured agreement from the group.

The City Captain rubbed at his face. "My men are not renowned for their skills with a bow. But I doubt it will matter so long as they can distinguish darkspawn from all else."

"Then I will lead them," Leliana announced, intent on drawing the discussion to a close.

Eamon frowned at her. "Sister, you have skills as a Bard, do you not?"

"What of it?"

"The men will need all the courage they can find. Your songs will be needed more than your bow," he remarked.

Alfstanna stepped forward towards Leliana. "I will lead the archers on your behalf."

"I will also assist," Sighard agreed.

Eamon looked towards the Captain. "The rest of us will help you to organise your men and weapons."

The Guard Captain gave a dutiful nod as Eamon issued instructions to the other nobles. United by a plan, the group disbanded to their assigned tasks. Chaos gradually became controlled panic as the nobles demonstrated the skills which their upbringing and military experience had moulded into them. Finally the city walls were manned by as many men who could be spared from the still heavily undersiege gates.

Alfstanna raised an eyebrow at Leliana as she stood shoulder to shoulder with the Bard, bow in hand and arrow cocked. Sighard had taken his position on the far side to ensure that the presence of nobles instilled as much fear of absconding as Leliana's song would provide courage. The Bard looked out over the battlements across the Horde and in the direction of the army headed for the city. There was no more she could do to keep her promise save for this.

Surrounded by trembling soldiers, their fear drifting out in waves towards the Horde, Leliana began to sing.