Striking out where necessary, rallying where needed, attacking and defending in equal measure; Alistair had complete control over the battlefield in front of him. He moved through the battle with a fluidity that spoke volumes as to how the past year had honed his skills with shield and sword. His tactics, together with the combined experience of Sten and Oghren, meant that the Archdemon was being pressed on all sides. The darkspawn defending it were being picked off with relative ease by the long-range fighters while the close combat troops were pressing home their advantage. The creature lunged at the front lines in an effort to break the ranks but was beaten back at each encounter. They were slowly but surely weakening it.

She was near.

Even as he shouted for Oghren to strengthen his ragged front line while ordering Sten to press forward, Alistair felt the crescendo of her single song resonate throughout his heart and mind. He spun round to face in the general direction but was unable to distinguish much beyond the immediate fringes of the battle save for the shambling silhouette of a lone figure towards the far end of the rooftop. In any other circumstance he would have passed over the sight but with the call of her taint in his head, there was no one else it could be.

"Warden, concentrate!" Sten bellowed behind him.

Alistair allowed his instinct to guide his weapon as he turned back to face the fray, blade striking out against the flesh of an opportunistic darkspawn. The hurlock staggered back as its guts spill across the gore-splattered flagstones of the roof. He was forced to begin to duck and weave as a surge of darkspawn broke away from the main group and headed straight towards him. The army struggled to compensate for the unexpected change in tactics from the creatures and for a few moments, all that protected Alistair was his own skill and the combined efforts of the mages as they cast protective spells and paralysis glyphs around him.

But that was not what worried him. Even as he defended himself, he was aware that the majority of the creatures were pushing past him intent on hunting down the song which lay somewhere behind. Divided by the scattered approach of the darkspawn, the army regiments were being pushed back and separated from one another. Surrounded as he was, Alistair was unable to provide the direction required to maintain the unified approach. He could hear as Sten and Oghren attempted to seize back control but the effect was minimal.

Alistair spat the taste of tainted blood from his mouth. He was good to no one dead. With renewed focus, his voice found its strength again and he heard himself barking out orders even before he fully knew what those orders should be. The army before him responded to the reinvigorated direction, adapting to the new command structure as he ordered Sten to instruct the elves to concentrate their fire on defending the solitary figure. He called for a handful of mages to break off their spell casting from him and instead direct as many protection spells as their mana allowed towards her. Oghren was ordered to continue focusing on the Archdemon and he heard himself promise the dwarf five barrels of the best Ferelden ale if he could manage it.

"Bailing out on me, Warden?" Oghren roared over the general din.

Alistair glanced over his shoulder towards the middle of the rooftop. The dwarf had a point. It would hopefully not be long now. The moment to land the killing blow was not far off and he could not risk missing it. She was protected by the long-range defences. He was protected by Morrigan's ritual. There was no reason that he could think of to go to her. No reason. He had always laid his heart bare to her; she would know. She would know what she meant to him. That she was everything. That he was able to commit to this for her and able to face this because of her. And if she did not know then he would be able to tell her afterwards. He did not need to go to her. He did not.

But in the end, he was a weak man.

Breathing hard, the drizzle mingling with the sweat already on her skin, Elissa forced herself to keep moving across the rooftop. The strands of hair which had fallen loose from their fastenings plastered against her face and neck. Her chest constricted as she struggled to find the oxygen her lungs were burning for and the blade, small as it was, trailed behind her. The vibration of the metal grating across the stone travelled up her arm and causing her muscles to tense involuntarily. The rough linen shirt beneath her armour was quick to absorb the water as it ran through the gaps between body and plate and her legs buckled under the additional weight.

The sound of its presence reverberated through the taint and into the fibre of her being. It was attempting to encompass her entire being, thoughts and all. She turned what little presence of mind she had left and focussed entirely on him, allowing his song to guide her through the haze of smoke and rain.

In her exhaustion she stumbled against an uneven flagstone and unable to support her full weight on her injured leg, crashed to her hands and knees. The sword skidded away from her and she collapsed against the ground, the damp coolness of the stones beneath her a welcome relief to the throbbing pain which sent an odd warmth throughout her body.

Him.

With a grunting wail, she heaved herself back up onto her hands and knees. The jolt of pain as she again jarred her injured leg almost caused her to pass out and she had to fight to keep alert. Her knuckles turned white from the force with which she was clawing at the stone beneath her. She needed to find her sword, she needed to reach the Archdemon and she needed to end it all. But first, she needed to get up.

The simplicity of the need and her inability to achieve it forced a sob from between her gritted teeth. She had seen the bodies of her friends scattered around her as they fell defending her and yet it was her failure to stand on her own two feet which brought the tears to her eyes at last.

Hot angry tears ran off her nose and splashed on the stone beneath her. A growing spot of clean stone began to spread beneath her head as the force of the tears washed the blood splatter away in a way the drizzle could not.

Him.

She struggled to retain her focus as his song became eclipsed by the discordant chatter of other tainted creatures. She raised her head, tear streaked face turned towards the clash of song. A throng of darkspawn had broken away and were advancing on her. And in the midst of it all, he was there. Cutting, hacking, slicing; he made his way towards her as elven arrows and shielding spells were directed towards her, offering their protection in his stead.

She lowered her head and begged her broken body to support her for just a short while longer. She had summoned the energy to lie to her friends; she could surely do no less for him. She would not let him see her like this. She could not...

And then he was there.

Strong arms encircled her body. Soothing words were whispered in her ear. Cradled against his chest, she ignored the cold sensation of his armour against her wet cheek and allowed herself a brief respite from the despair eroding at her from within. She closed her eyes and let the simple sensation of having him close to her soothe her soul.

But the reality of what had to be done could not be pushed away so easily.

"Love," his voice hovered only inches above her face and she felt as his hand stroked her cheek. He had thrown his gauntlets down so he could touch her skin to skin. "Love, where's Morrigan? Where are the others? Why are you alone?"

Her eyelids flickered as she resisted opening them, wishing to hold onto this moment with him for just a small while longer. She could not bear that she would have to admit that she had let him down once more. She thought to lie, to act as though Morrigan did not lie dead somewhere in the Fort below them, that she only wished to take the blow as a precaution. But the soft graze of his fingers against her skin and the tender concern in his voice revealed that whatever else he may have felt about her behaviour, at this point his only thought was for her. All the fear of his anger and rejection dissolved in the tears which began to push against her shut lids. Whether in her eyes or in her voice, she knew that he would hear the lie.

Knowing the curve and shape of his body by heart, her hand snaked up from where it rested against his chest and to behind at the base of his neck without her having to open her eyes to meet that ever trusting gaze. Fingers tightened against his head and she pulled him into a kiss. No tenderness or guile, she fumbled for the physical connection that would communicate all that she did not have time to say.

It was so important that he know how she needed him. That he know her deepest regret was of all the words which tripped from her tongue, it was the ones which would have confided in him when she had been struggling that had been impossible to find. That should he ever look back, if he should ever look back, he would not doubt himself. That he would understand that she was all she was only because of him. That he would accept her failings as her own. And that even though what they had could not be more than it was, he would know she loved him. Then, now and always.

She poured every last shred of herself into the embrace. All she had was his.

For a single moment, he hesitated as if sensing the presence of the underlying truth he was yet to fully comprehend. But then he too responded in kind and between them both, all doubt of one another melted away and in those precious seconds they found again what each had lost.

The shriek of the Archdemon forced them apart. Her eyes flew open as she felt his head turn towards the creature. His hold tightened around her for a brief second before relaxing as he prepared to lay her back on the ground. He was getting ready to bolt towards it and finish this. Finish all of this.

Fear gripped at her heart. "Alistair."

He looked back to her and the truth was at last laid bare in front of him. It was still true that he had no particular wish to die but faced with the inevitable, the decision was as simple. He would face the Archdemon with the same courage both Duncan and Riordan had shown. He brushed away the tears that had spilled across her cheeks, grateful that his moment of weakness meant he had one last chance to hold her again.

She reached up and stopped his hand, pushing it away from her in a distracted attempt to make this easier. "You have to let me do it."

Alistair shook his head in silent but determined protest.

Fear turned to anger and she writhed against his hold, attempting to free herself. The movement knocked the foot of her injured leg and unprepared for the shoot of pain which travelled from the fracture, she let out a howl. The misplaced anger dissipated and she sank back against him, fresh sobs wracking her body. The same body which had betrayed her so that she could no longer fulfil her self-made promise alone. Cowering against him as he tried to calm her, the realisation of the request she had to make of him threatened to crush her.

She could not do it without him.

Maker, it had always been the case but it seemed such a cruel irony that it was when she wanted him furthest from her that she needed him right beside her. But this. This, she could not ask from him. Yet if she were to save all that was important in her life then she would have to. Hesitantly, she turned her face up to his and their gazes interlocked.

Seeing the conflict in her expression, he understood. He knew what she intended. And what she needed from him. He began to shake his head again, small movements at first but fast becoming more vigorous as though the action alone would prevent her from asking him outright. He would do anything for her but Maker, that was too much to ask. After everything, surely it was too much.

Another screech from the Archdemon caused them both to tear their attention from one another and back to the battle surrounding them. It was going well; better than could ever have been hoped for. The elves and mages continued to deflect the swarms of darkspawn from the two Grey Wardens while the men and dwarves retained a command over the Archdemon itself. All that was required was that final blow. Victory was close.

And so was their last goodbye.

Alistair pressed his forehead against hers and they breathed one another in. She had made no effort to hide the torment that was destroying her. Manifested in her appearance and seconded by the look in her eyes; she was broken. But able to see beyond the jagged edges of her shattered soul, he had to believe that she could be repaired. Healed and restored. As much as she might wish for it, this should not be her end.

"You will help me to do this."

A simple command. There was a hint of her old self which surfaced in the insistent tone of the words. He could almost believe that to refuse would be churlish. Almost.

"You can't order me to do this," his voice was hoarse. "It doesn't work that way."

"Better to die like this than in another way," she murmured.

He stiffened as he caught the implication. "Elissa..."

"Choose, Alistair."

"You are asking me to choose how you die. I can't do that!" His head jerked back and he fixed a frantic glare on her. "I won't do that!"

"Then accept what I have chosen," she pleaded, hands cupping his face.

Intended as a gift, she knew he felt it as a curse. But whether he was aware of it or not, the answer was already in his eyes even as his mouth moved noiselessly for the non-existent argument that would change her mind.

She forced him to abandon the futile search. "Thank you."

This was wrong. His whole being screamed at him that this was wrong. But unwavering to the last, he would not deny her now. Without another word, he rose to his feet with her worn out body in his arms. He held her close as he made his way to the creature, the arrows and spells which still rained down around them driving the darkspawn back. Both Grey Wardens were as far from the indestructible heroes of rumour as they had ever been.

The Archdemon was cornered and its head swivelled towards them as it sensed their approach amid the attacking forces in front of it. It began to thrash around as a panicked desperation enveloped it yet the injuries it had sustained prevented it from escaping.

The dwarves and men broke apart to allow the Wardens to reach the creature. In a rough voice, Alistair barked an order at the troops and they fell back to support the elves and mages. Cocooned in a small oasis of calm, he lowered Elissa onto her good leg but kept an arm around her waist to help her keep her balance. He waited while she struggled to steady herself before using his free arm to reach back for his sword. For a terrible moment, she thought he had fooled her. But with one swift movement, all he did was strike out across the underbelly of the creature to prevent it from causing her further harm. He had promised her the killing blow and he would ensure that promise was kept.

Turning back to her, she saw the expression on his face. A lingering shred of hope that she would falter and ask him to make the sacrifice. She clutched at his shoulder and forced her good leg to support her whole weight on tiptoe as she grazed his cheek with a kiss. Caught between supporting her and holding his sword, he was unable to do more than tilt his cheek against her mouth. The warm tickle of her breath against the lobe of his ear was the last sensation he had.

Alistair pressed the hilt of his sword into her hand, not trusting himself to keep to his unspoken agreement if he stayed with her any longer. The sensation of his arm slipping away from around her waist was more agonising than she could have imagined.

"Don't look back," she blurted out, gritting her teeth as she endured the stabs of pain coursing throughout her body. The ones from her fractured leg were the easiest to bear.

He gave an abrupt nod. "Eyes forward."

She made to say those three little words but he turned and walked away from her, stooping to pick up a discarded blade before taking his place next to his men as they defended against what appeared to be the last onslaught of the Horde. It was just as well. Ridiculous as it was, she found the words too final to be able to say.

Denying the existence of the hurt in both mind and body, Elissa forced herself to clamber over the beast in front of her and straddled its neck. Raising the blade, his blade, she found herself looking towards him. He stood facing the Horde but his head was turned over his shoulder and his eyes were fixed on her face. Of all the promises he had made to her, it was the last he failed to keep. And in the end she was glad of it.

With a grunt, she drove the sword through the creature's skull. The explosion of light encased her being and the piercing agony of her soul being consumed by the evil within the creature drove any further coherent thought from her mind. It was as though she was being torn apart from her very core, splintering into a thousand fragments as the creature's taint rushed through her body and consumed everything contained within.

And then as suddenly as the pain had come, there was nothing.

The onslaught never came.

The silencing of the Archdemon was enough to sever the purpose which drove the Horde. The foul creatures began to scatter, abandoning their assault and fleeing what were now the restrictive streets of the city.

Motionless amongst the flurry of commotion, Alistair remained where he stood and stared across the emptying rooftop. He was able to hear his own thoughts. No constant screech of tainted song or discordant notes of a demon whispering into his mind; his mind was his own once more.

He had never felt so alone.

The desire to hear the call of her taint was overpowering. It seemed to reach out to him from some deep and dark place in his mind; taunting him with the all too brief moment of happiness when he had found it again only hours before. The curse of the taint had been warped into something beautiful; a constant reminder of her presence. And now it was only a memory. As was everything they had. As was she.

He swallowed and forced himself to draw breath at the full realisation of his loss. He could still hear her song, etched as it was into his head, and he did not know whether to take comfort in the false sensation or banish it as the pitiful substitute it was. He did not know what he wanted. Except her. He wanted her. And she was gone.

More than that, he had let her go.

The prickling sensation across his skin alerted him to the numerous pairs of eyes which were turning towards him, looking for a signal that the seemingly impossible battle had in fact been achieved. He knew he should make some gesture and be seen to embrace the victory but he had nothing left to give. Instead, he made a vague gesture towards Oghren who mercifully understood and with typical dwarven enthusiasm succeeded in rallying the troops.

Reassured that the task was indeed complete, the various regiments permitted him the space he craved as they each looked to their own. The casualties were acceptable. At least, that was what the rational part of him argued. Yet as he focused in and out of the sight of the elves, dwarves and humans in front of him, he understood that such rationality had no place in grief. His own sorrow reflected that.

Her song began to fade away from his mind. He imagined that the further he moved through time from the moment then the quicker she would slip away from him.

Her body lay behind him but he had no wish to search for it. Still warm yet without a soul, he did not want to be reminded that it was only minutes ago he had cradled her. Despairing as she had been, she had been whole. Now he was left with only the shell. And as beautiful as he had come to see that shell, he had no interest without her essence to enliven it. Yet he could not bear the thought of any other touching her. Perhaps being close to her body with the faint echo of her song still in his mind would provide some form of comfort to draw on through the next days, weeks, months. A desperate reassurance that he had made the right decision, that it had not been cowardice and that setting her free from the darkness eclipsing her heart had been his only intention.

With slow and halting steps, Alistair retraced the paces he had taken from her. Then it had been ten, completed in a deliberate stride which suggested a sense of purpose and self-assurance. Now it was more than double that number, made with a reluctant tread which revealed the performance for what it had been.

The thing had bucked as the sword had been drive through its skull and she had slipped from her perch, crashing onto the stone below. She was crumpled in a heap next to its body. One small form dwarfed by her surroundings.

As he neared her, the faint trill of her song trickled through the back of his mind and his spiteful memory seemed to heighten the sensation. He crouched down and tenderly gathered her up as if she was only sleeping. Her head lolled against his shoulder and he lowered his chin so that his cheek brushed across her hair. In the past such a movement would have been accompanied by a disgruntled mutter as she half woke from her sleep. A murmured word from him was always enough to reassure her that all was well and she would nestle against him, her breathing settling back into a steady rhythm. Cradling her, his malicious recollection traced the movement of her chest rising and falling as though she still took those breaths.

Her far arm hung down and disturbed the peaceful imagery he so wanted to impose on her. There were clear scorch marks on the hand closest to him which was draped over her chest. He had the urge to bandage them in case the injuries should cause her pain. The ridiculousness of the desire was as painful as the realisation that there was nothing he could do which would heal any hurt she endured now.

"Ataash varin kata." Sten approached him from the side.

He resented the intrusion but knew the Qunari was offering his own form of consolation even if he did not understand the words.

"Her arm," he said dully. "Move her arm."

Sten made a guttural noise at the back of his throat but respected the order given and grasped at the arm hang limply down. He made to manipulate it so that it rested across her chest but stopped with a frown.

"There is life here."

"No, she's gone," the gruffness of his voice developed into a deep growl at being forced to speak the words.

The Qunari ignored him as he laid fingers across her throat. Satisfied by what he felt, he raised his head and issued a booming command across the rooftop.

"Healing, now!"

"Sten, she is dead!"

The Qunari fixed one of his unblinking stares on the smaller man. "No, she is not."