It was amazing, how much a knife across the throat could achieve. Especially from a practised hand. Despite her weakness, Leliana did not waver as she opened up Felix from one ear to another in front of his father.

And, inspired by her example, neither did Alistair.

As soon as Felix's body fell, limp, at the feet of his father, Alistair started moving. For more than ten years, he had been neutralising mages. The teachings of the Templar order, while not the best, were definitely effective if employed at the right time. He had been caught unawares with connor. But here? Now? He was readier than ever.

To him, the veil had always felt like a curtain. But not a solid one. No, it was like a waterfall. A constant stream of magic, of power, flowing endlessly without beginning or end. Mages were like funnels for this power, capable of taking bits and pieces of it and using it to their ends. They stood under the waterfall with pots and dishes, hoping to collect some of it. Upon running out of what they had, they went and did it again. Through meditation and concentration, some mages were able to refill their inner well of mana quite efficiently and quickly. Alexius, being a Tevinter magister, could no doubt be a problem if allowed to get into the groove of things. That was why he needed to be nipped in the bud.

The best way to counter mages was not by creating a hole in their pail. No, they could still do things with the bits they had at their disposal. Templars, instead, froze the waterfall entirely. Without anywhere to draw water from, it didn't matter if they had a ladle or a giant bucket. Through proper breathing and careful manipulation of one's latent mana, a templar could cleanse an entire area of magic.

Cleansing was about careful control. However, while carefully applied magic could freeze a waterfall, an uncontrolled explosion could evaporate it whole. When with a startling crack an aura of vermillion energy enshrouded Alistair, burning away all magic from the chamber, everyone felt the pressure. Dorian and Alexius most of all, as their very connection to their magic was ruthlessly stamped out. The temperature in the room skyrocketed, perspiration pouring out of all present and throats running dry as Alistair, holding the sword of his father, slowly advanced upon Alexius.

There was no rush to his movements. No impending pressure to be quick. Red mana arose from him in a column, coursing up his body and growing more and more intense with time. His face was set in a scowl, brows knitted together, as he came to a stop before Alexius, who stood aquiver with impotent rage. Without his precious magic, be was just an old, weak man.

"Kneel," Alistair found himself saying. That single word, so laced with vitriol and wrath, came out sounding more like a growl. For some reason, it didn't surprise him, either, when Alexius fell to his knees in a hopeless heap, the fight having gone out of his body. His eyes communicated fear and defeat. It was plain to see.

As things should be.

"You brought Corypheus here." Alistair raised his sword, every rune burning an incandescent orange. Like coals. "You mined people for lyrium."

"It was for–"

"Shut up!" Not a growl this time. No, this time, it was a roar that shook the very stone underfoot. Alistair felt his armour begin to sizzle but he didn't mind. It felt nice. Natural. Finally, it felt good to just… be. He pointed at Leliana. "You clawed blood and meat from her body… for experiments!" Alive with rage, his tongue seemed intent on adding an envenomed edge to every sound. Placing the tip of his sword under the man's chin, Alistair raised his head with the flat. "Your Elder One. You said he's coming. Right?"

Alexius nodded. The heat, from such a close proximity, was proving too much for him to even open his eyes, let alone speak.

"Good. When he does, I'll send him right back past the grave to wherever he crawled out of," Alistair snarled and stabbed forward, burying his sword hilt deep into Alexius's throat and severing his backbone at the neck. "Go apologise to your son in the afterlife now. It's more than you deserve."

Lifting a leg, he kicked Alexius off his sword. As the body landed with a thud, he swung his sword back in an arc, but there was no blood on the blade to splatter; every drop had evaporated soon after coming in contact with the runes.

"Maker's breath, man," muttered Dorian weakly, mopping at his forehead with a handkerchief. "Unnecessary, but quick. Now can I have my magic back so we can get out of here?"

Grunting, Alistair sheathed his sword. Immediately, the red energy ensconcing him dissipated and he sucked in a breath as a new sensation assailed him. To his sudden dismay, Alistair felt his body rejuvenated. Healed. He felt himself absorb the life force of Alexius. Alistair could tell. Somehow, he knew whose it was. He tasted bitter regret behind his tongue and looked down at his sword.

"I remember," he whispered to himself. This time, at least, he remained conscious through one of his episodes. It wasn't pretty, but at least he hadn't gone insane and butchered a few dozen people. Alistair gazed down at the body of Alexius, at the blackened and scorched stone under his feet. It wasn't hot, but the ghost of it remained.

On weary legs, he made his way over to the side and sat down on the ground. The Inquisitor spared him a curious glance but otherwise said nothing as Dorian made ready his preparations for the ritual. The lyrium-infused Solas and Varric didn't say anything, either. It was, of all people, Leliana, who came over and handed him a waterskin.

"Drink," she commanded.

Having nothing better to do, he took it and did as asked. "Thanks."

"When you get back, you must warn the Inquisition of what is to come."

"I'm sure they'll do a better job than me." Alistair jerked his chin towards the Inquisitor and Dorian. "I'm just tagging along."

"But it will mean more to me coming from you."

He looked up at her at that. Leliana's face was unreadable, but she sounded sincere. Alistair got to his feet, fully intending on giving her a hug but, before he could, she interrupted his intentions by holding out her hand. Looking down at her gloved palm, he sighed out of his nose and placed the waterskin back in her grasp.

"I don't know if I'd trust me like this," he muttered.

"You don't have to," replied Leliana, opening the waterskin for a drink herself. "I do."

Before Alistair could respond, however, Dorian's voice broke in cheerfully.

"Good news," announced he. "This spell is familiar to me. In an hour's time, I shall have reverse-engineered it."

"An hour?" Leliana turned away from Alistair, aghast. "No, you do not have that long! The Elder One–"

"–is already here," Alistair finished for her, his jaw set.

"How can you tell?" Dorian asked.

"From the bloody headache that's suddenly exploded behind my eyeballs," he grunted, drawing his sword. "I'm a Grey Warden. I can feel an archdemon when its close." Then the entire castle shook, debris falling from the ceiling as a loud thump echoed through the stone, followed by a bloodcurdling screech of a high dragon. Alistair grinned grimly and pointed upwards. "That helps, too."

"Well, looks like we're up," Varric told Solas, who nodded. Then he looked at Leliana. "We're gonna hold 'em off for as long as we can. After that, it's your turn."

"Wait, no!" The Inquisitor wasn't too pleased with that. "I'm sure there's some other way!"

Solas and Varric were already walking away, however, and as they closed the heavy doors of the throne room behind them, Leliana said, "Look at us. We're already dead."

Alistair winced, but she didn't seem to care.

"Go. Cast your spell," she told Dorian, then turned to face the door. "You have as much time as I have arrows."

Here, Alistair could stop himself no longer. He went and stood beside her, sword and shield at the ready.

"You're not dying today," he declared, ignoring the sounds of fighting from outside filtering in through the walls. He ignored Dorian's incantation, too. Alistair's sole focus was on Leliana, on gauging her reaction. "I'm taking you back with me."

"Don't be ridiculous, Alistair." Leliana, for her part, took out six arrows. Three she held in-between the knuckles of her bow hand. Three more she kept in a similar fashion between the fingers of her right hand. Thousands of times Alistair had seen her do this. It reduced loading time. Allowed her to thin out the crowd easily. "I do not belong there."

"You will."

"Come off it. There is a perfectly normal Leliana waiting for you. Let me have this." She looked at him, her blue eyes without a shine in them. "Don't you dare come between me and my revenge."

"Alistair!" Dorian's voice. "Come stand in the magic circle, man! If you want to come back, that is."

"Go," Leliana added, her gaze firmly turned towards the door. She was waiting. "It won't be long now."

Crushed. Crushed, completely. Alistair felt his heart shatter into innumerable pieces. His brain, his godforsaken brain, knew what had to be done. What he should do. But his heart? His heart broke for this woman who had endured so, so much without him to share it with.

All alone.

"Though the path ahead holds naught but pain," he whispered and placed a hand on Leliana's shoulder, offering a final squeeze, "the pilgrim loyal should remember my name."

Gently, almost imperceptibly, Leliana nodded her head. "Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame."

"Maker watch over you."

"Maker watch over us all."

Alistair didn't wait. He turned and kept walking as he heard the hoard get loser and closer. He entered the circle as the doors came crashing down, as Leliana loosed all her arrows in the blink of an eye to take down abomination and cultist alike. Once inside the circle, he turned around to watch his beloved abandon the bow in favour of daggers, slitting the throat of a cultist with an arrow sticking out of her shoulder. As Dorian's magic took a hold of him, Alistair watched as Leliana threw her daggers right into the throats of two incoming knight, dropping them both. His heart soared with pride. Even on her last legs, Leliana's last stand was nothing short of moving. Alistair could only watch, so he watched on with tears rolling down his cheek when Leliana was caught by a tree-like demon. It wrapped its hand around her throat and lifted her feet off the ground.

Had it not been for Lavellan holding his arm, Alistair might have broken out of the circle. But he did not because Leliana's gaze met his just then. Just as Dorian completed the spell. Just as the demon buried its fist through her chest cavity. Just as she mouthed three very simple words at him.

Just as his heart, spirit, and will broke, he found himself standing before Alexius once more. Back in the throne room at Redcliffe castle, undamaged and pristine. Back before all the bad had come to pass. Dorian and the Inquisitor were facing off against a defeated Alexius, probably saying smart thing, but he didn't care. His head was swimming.

Without a second thought, Alistair fell to his knees, covered his face with his hands, and wept.