Teagan ends up being right, of course, about how quickly the afternoon passes. There is enough time to nail out a plan—they will fortify the village, survive the night, and at first light, when the dead have ceased to walk, they will enter the castle through a passage in the old windmill—and there is enough time for Savreen and Alistair to recount the happenings at Ostagar to a grim-faced Teagan, but little else. Soon there is a knock at the door to the rectory, and they are all three of them called out to help with the preparations and to tell the others of their decisions for the night's defense. Savreen is surprised to see Tali standing at the top of the village square, next to the man pointed out as Ser Perth, their heads together as they discuss something. Tali doesn't even notice Savreen as she approaches, so engrossed is she in the planning of where, exactly, to place the barrels of pitch and lamp oil they've recovered, for the purpose of some plan they've concocted.

In all honesty, Savreen is impressed. She leaves Tali be, though Alistair does not, remaining to listen to her and Ser Perth. Instead, on her own, Savreen heads further up the road, back up toward the windmill overlooking the village. It is peaceful up there, the smell of burned flesh faint and nearly gone. She considers the view below her: the village is clustered about the shore of the lake, buzzing with activity, brown against the twinkling blue-gray of the water, the color of wood and earth and stone. All her companions are so small and insubstantial, and she has to wonder for a moment if this is real, if they are real, if she is real. In miniature, Leliana hands out provisions of food along with the Revered Mother and the few other Chantry faithful. Sten assists in training and sparring with the men of the guard, a newly gifted blade glinting in his hands as he moves. Even Morrigan helps, preparing tinctures and poultices in a shadowy corner of the village square, mostly hidden from view.

"You have been a hard woman to find," Ranjit, though, is not in miniature, not as he approaches Savreen from the road. Savreen turns to him, watching as he stoops slightly to pet Sher. The mabari leans into the man's touch, and Savreen swears she could see him smile against Ranjit's palm before she looks away, back out over the village.

"There has been much to do." It is not really an answer. He knows as much.

"Indeed." As Ranjit nears, she does not look at him, but still out of the corner of her eye she can see him outfitted with borrowed armor and clothing, gifts from the knights. The muted brown of the leather and the noise of the plate is such a change from the bright red of his old tunic, the jingle of chainmail and char aina together. He stands there, silent, and Savreen watches, watches as the afternoon begins to fade and the sun traverses the sky and those below them in the village continue bustling about.

"Is there something you wish to discuss?" She has no time anymore to wait—none of them do. She wants him to discuss something with her, as equals, to say anything rather than to stand there in the corner of her vision, a temptation.

"If there was?" His words make her head snap, turning toward him so quickly that she feels faintly dizzy.

"That is not an answer, Ser Gilmore." Savreen enunciates his name, his title, and she watches him grimace ever so slightly in response.

"Neither are your words." He is right, of course. Curse him. But she wants him to say it, to say what he wants. However foolish it may be, she wants him to ask her rather than to be expected to offer. What, she doesn't know.

"What words would you have me say?" He considers her question. Everything that has passed between them seems as if it is ancient history and yet still it feels as fresh as a wound. The light catches upon a chain around Ranjit's neck, and Savreen realizes that he still wears the ring, mangled as it may be, and as closed off as she has been.

"I don't know, Savreen." He turns to leave before she can respond, before she knows how to respond, before she has stopped reveling in the way he has said her name.

Night falls like a blanket of dread over the village, the sun slipping below the horizon just as the guards and knights finish barricading the Chantry door once more. No one speaks as they return to the village square, torches burning in hand, watchfires lit. There is an unmistakable chill on the air, the chill of an early autumn evening and the chill of anticipation. Talvinder stands next to Ser Perth, watching Bann Teagan as he stands, stock still, staring at the castle above. As the stars blink into view, the sky fading from orange to purple to inky darkness, the mist begins to roll in—not from the shore of the lake, not as mist should, but down, down from the castle, down into the valley.

Around Tali, the knights and guardsmen shiver and stiffen. She glances up to Savreen and Alistair, both standing at Teagan's side, and finds them staring at the mist as it billows and moves like a thing alive.

"On your guard, men," Teagan calls, and it cuts through the silent air like a knife. To Tali's other side, Sten rolls his neck, cracking his knuckles. Leliana tightens her archer's gloves at her wrists, and Ranjit fiddles with something at his neck. Morrigan narrows her eyes, ignoring all those around her to peer up into the dim distance. To Tali's front, Abarie stands with twitching ears.

It is with incredible surprise that Tali realizes she feels ready for what is to come—ready because of the fortifications they've undertaken, ready because Teagan knows the terrain, ready because of her companions, but more importantly, ready because she must be. She thinks of Helena. This is something she must face, something she must best, just like the Darkspawn in the Wilds. She draws her sword and adjusts her shield. Minutes pass, and the mist seems to lap at the ground around their feet. They collect together, bunching in an incomprehensible blur of time passing. The moons shift across the sky, and it is perhaps an hour, perhaps two, perhaps not even ten minutes until there is movement up at the bridge, at the portcullis.

Abarie and Sher both growl, long and low, their hackles raised. The first corpse comes down the road at a shamble, a slow, almost hesitant shape at the edge of the torchlight. It brings with it another billow of mist, flooding forward like water to pool in and around the cracks of the cobblestones in the village square. Then it begins. Corpse after corpse follow the first, all silent and eerie, some shambling, almost falling apart, some running, barely desiccated flesh and muscle pulling their frames along. The scent of decay and rot follows them, and Tali remembers the Darkspawn, the smell of them and their milky eyes.

"Hold your ground!" Ser Perth's shout rises above them, but it's interrupted by a cry as a guardsman behind Tali seems to recognize one of the figures running down toward them.

"Mira—Mira no—" he steps forward, toward the barrels spread at the chokepoint of the road, and Ser Perth only just manages to grab him.

"Your wife is dead, Micah." He says it softly, but the man in his grip still stares in anguish at a woman dressed in a burial shroud, gashes in her arms that look as though they were caused by something between an animal attack and a human jaw. "That is not Miriel, I promise you. We buried her less than a week past." Micah looks up at him, breaking his gaze with the woman, his wife. "It may be her body, but some foul demon has taken it. We will set her free and honor her, Micah, I swear it. But now is not the time—" As Ser Perth speaks, all the while the corpses draw closer. Tali watches anxiously, waiting for them to close in. The first to reach the barrels slows and then stops, tries to shove forward and fails. It is joined by another, and another, and another, and soon enough there is a small crowd shoving the barrels, and the open one at the top begins to wobble, to tremble.

With a crash, it falls over, interrupting Ser Perth, spilling pitch and oil over the crowd of silent corpses. There is a split second of silence before Tali hears the thwip of an arrow rushing past her, a streak of gold light in the darkness, and then the thunk of the arrow into wood and the whoosh of fire catching, spreading. Almost instantly, the doused corpses begin to catch alight. For the second time that day, the smell of burning flesh and fabric and hair begins to fill Tali's nostrils. She shifts her grip on her sword, fighting the urge to tremble. The others are behind her, watching, and she will not falter.

Micah lets out a small groan and a sob, but he stops struggling. Ser Perth's words seem to have had an effect on him, at least a small one.

"Micah!" Teagan calls out, "return to your position!" Reluctantly, clearly shaken, the man nevertheless listens. The corpses, burning rapidly now, stumble over each other. But there are too many, and even though the fire claims a large number, soon those untouched by the flames begin advancing once again, clambering over the charred remains. Tali readies herself, waiting for the right moment, until she can shout:

"Draw your weapons!" Around her, the sounds of blades rasping against their sheathes, of bowstrings tightening and stretching, echo. She can hear her breath in her own ears, steady and slow, and it is time.

They come in waves, seemingly endless, pouring down the road into the village. Savreen wonders only once where, exactly, all these bodies are coming from—surely they are too many to be housed in the castle crypts, in the graveyard—but there are other things to think about, other things with teeth and bone and ripping fingers turned to claws as the flesh falls from them. The corpses don't block blows well—which Savreen takes as a point in the favor of herself and the other defenders—but they are nearly unstoppable, continuing until hacked to pieces, until their skulls are crushed, until they are dismembered and impotent. To take down just one is exhausting, a project of endurance, and before long, she learns to conserve energy and wait to counterattack as each corpse reaches out, trying to land a bite or letting its leg linger in her proximity just a little too long.

The frantic and frenetic pace of battle makes it hard to keep eyes on all their allies, but that doesn't stop Savreen from trying. She must know the position of all the pieces in play on this board, just as she must know that the others are alive, safe, well. Her heart hammers in her chest as she tries to focus both on the corpses in front of her, seeking her with their hungry mouths and vicious hands, and on her companions, spread out in the fray. Leliana is the easiest to spot, still on the nearby roof she and the other archers clambered up to before the battle's start. Morrigan is next to her, though still a distance away, solitary even in battle. Savreen's eyes land on Sten next, his huge frame clearly visible even as she has to duck to avoid the blow of a mostly skeletal corpse. He's taken a position in the vanguard, with the other heavily armored knights, and he moves slowly but efficiently, making the most of his strikes with a simplicity that is almost elegant.

Savreen needn't look for Tali at the very least, not when she can hear her cousin shouting encouragement to the men of the Redcliffe guard. She stands at the center of a group just behind their original fortification, and when Savreen catches a momentary glimpse of Tali's face, she sees on it a steely expression that reminds her painfully of her uncle. Another corpse demands her attention, and Savreen shakes away the thoughts of Birsingh. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Alistair with Teagan, the both of them sweating and focused.

It's Ranjit she can't seem to find, even as she shoots desperate glances all around. But the skeletal corpse in front of her will not be dissuaded except by her blades, and she has no choice but to focus on it. With a grunt of frustration, she dispatches the skeleton, disconnecting its lower jaw with one sword and swiping through the new gap left behind to sever its spinal column with the other. Sher rips its leg apart, flinging the bones away, too far to be of use, and it falls to the ground, twitching limply. Savreen stomps on the bones of its hands, pulverizing them with the metal toes of her war boots. Finally, chest heaving, she has a moment to really look around, and she sees Ranjit at last, in her blind spot, just behind her, where he's presumably been this whole time. He, too, pants heavily, his chest rising and falling quickly, but he is unharmed. Several corpses lie at his feet and around him, one of them a fellow defender of Redcliffe, her flesh torn apart by fingers and teeth.

When Ranjit meets Savreen's eye, he nods—not quite in deference; more in recognition of the fact that she has noticed the way he defends her. Grateful, trying not to think of their discussion that afternoon, she returns the nod before pausing to gather stock of their general surroundings. Things have quieted slightly, and while the fires still crackle, there are few corpses still in motion. Savreen looks up toward the heavens, seeking the moons, seeking some answer for how long they've been there, and she's shocked to find them moved across the sky, indicating at least two hours gone, lost in the fray.

As she ponders the sky, she feels a hand clap on her shoulder and looks up with a start to find Tali, smeared with grime and sweat and blood, but mostly fine.

"Are you hurt?" Tali asks her, and she takes a moment to look over herself, suddenly aware of the sensation of her body again, the reminder of time's passing bringing with it a feeling of exhaustion and the ache of effort. There's a long scrape across the side of her hand, curving towards the back, stinging lightly and bleeding only at an oozing pace, and another series of cuts to her leg, just above the knee. Blood stains the fabric of her pants, but the wounds are beginning to scab over. "You should have Morrigan see to—"

"I will, Tali." The words are a monumental effort as she finally feels the burning in her lungs. Swords still in her hands, Savreen shifts her grip so that she can swipe an arm across her forehead as Tali speaks.

"That went…well. I think it went well." When she looks back to Tali, Savreen sees the confidence of before has faded a touch, replaced by slightly raised eyebrows and wide eyes that seek reassurance. That is an easy thing to give as Savreen looks around, seeing the small number of their own dead and wounded in comparison to the remnants of corpses already being piled together on the ashes of last night's pyre.

"It did," she says, wiping the blades of her swords before sliding them back into their sheathes. "You did well, Tali." A nervous smile flickers across the edge of her cousin's lips, and once Savreen returns it, it grows to a full grin. With a faintly awkward shrug of her shoulders, Tali changes the subject.

"Dawn is still a few hours off—you've been doing a lot lately, for all of us. If you want to get some rest in the meantime, I'm sure no one will mind."

"Tali—"

"We'll be ok, Sav. It's just the—just the cleaning up." Savreen watches as Tali grimaces at her own words, not quite knowing what to say, how to say that all they need to do now is to clean up the bodies, charred, hacked, bitten, that litter the square, lives reduced to debris. She wants to say no, I'll be fine, I'll help, if only just for the way that Tali looks so uncomfortable with the reality of battle.

But no, Tali is ready for this, Tali is ready and she wants to lead and she's offering Savreen an out, and to be honest, a rest does sound incredibly nice. Once more, she smiles at her cousin, beginning to nod just as there's a splash from behind them, down at the docks, strangely loud in the quiet of the night. Instantly, she shoves the exhaustion down as best as she can, turning, already back on full alert. Tali, though, takes off running first, into the darkness, Abarie silent at her heels.

"Tali, wait!" Savreen sprints after her, watching with a faint twinge of sympathetic pain in her hips as her cousin leaps down the small set of stairs cut into the road toward the docks, clearing more than half of the stone steps in one go. She follows, taking the steps two at a time, eyes darting across the small marina, until she can see what it is that's drawn Tali's attention, made her run so fast. Down at the boat launch, drowned corpses clamber from the water, bloated, slimy, but for all intents and purposes, nearly the same as the corpses that came down from the castle.

"Bann Teagan! Bring your men around to the docks!" Savreen shouts over her shoulder, letting Tali continue to run ahead, sword out. It's hardly a moment before the sound of armor clinking in movement indicates that the knights have heard, and Savreen directs them down, drawing her own swords once more. There appear to be less corpses emerging from the water than there were loping down from the castle, but she dreads what this second wave means, suspicion sparking in her mind. Leaving Tali and the knights to handle this new wave of corpses, she rushes back to the village square, and finds exactly what she expected to: another wave of attackers, shambling down the road from the castle.

"To arms, now!" Hurriedly, she rouses the resting guardsmen, urging the archers back to their feet. Ranjit is at her side suddenly, followed by Sten and Morrigan, down from her spot on the roof. "Hold the square, all of you! Stand your ground!" As the tired villagers around her take up their positions in the square once more, Savreen knows the night is far from over.

The corpses that rise from the lake are, to Talvinder's mind, far worse than those that came from the castle crypts and the graveyard. They hiss with waterlogged vocal cords, skin putrid with muck and algae. She's in their midst before she really realizes that's the decision she's made, hacking with her sword, blocking and bashing with her shield. Every splash brings a new billow of stench, up towards her nostrils, but she keeps going, keeps moving, keeps fighting.

Behind her, she hears Savreen yell for Teagan's men. She hears the clank of armor, the heavy footfalls of the knights approaching, running from the village square, and she hears the wheezing groan of a corpse as it grabs at her with dissolving fingers, gripping the back of her neck with an icy, gelatinous hand. Tali lets out a strangled cry, half shock, half disgust, and lurches forward, feeling the skin of the corpse's hand come with her, revealing bone, scraping across her flesh and raising goosebumps. As she whirls about, her sword slides through the waterlogged flesh with little resistance, decapitating the grasping corpse and sending it flailing back to the ground. Abarie growls, leaping onto its skull and crushing it against the boat launch.

There's no time to waste, though, and the next corpse reaches out with blind fingers, seeking the warmth of Talvinder's skin with fingers too clawed, teeth too pointed. She throws up her blade, halting the thing's advance and wedging the flat of her sword between its teeth. But with a guttural wheeze and an otherworldly strength, it pushes forward, reaching, even as she struggles to keep it at arm's length. Nails scrape at her cheek, and another corpse approaches, but still she can't push this one back, and its eyes—empty sockets, jellied with algal growth and studded with barnacles—stare into hers. Out of her line of sight, Abarie snarls, tearing apart another of the ghastly corpses, too busy to help, and still more approach, and the corpse on her sword strains against her arm, bearing down upon her, the claws of its nails seeming to turn to talons as it aims now for her eyes.

The heavy clinking of armor suddenly is just behind her, and there's a yell as a figure breaks away from the rest of Teagan's men. Alistair barrels into Tali's vision, moving almost too fast for his own feet. He catches the corpse on her sword with his shield, slamming it back. The sudden loss of pressure makes Tali lurch, but quickly she regains her balance, running forward herself to decapitate another of the lake corpses before stomping hard into the chest of the corpse that had just been assailing her.

Her foot, aided by the metal toes of her janggi mojeh, drives down through rotted and weakened ribs. When she pulls her foot back out, turning to counter another blow—and slice a skeletal hand, ribboned in lakeweed, off the attacking arm—the hooked blade at her toes snaps up through the sternum. The corpse seems to fall open on the ground in front of her before Alistair drives his own sword down, beheading the thing for good measure.

"On your right," Tali calls, and before even looking, Alistair throws up his shield, blocking the blow of another skeletal figure rising from the water. Tali is dimly aware of the knights fighting around them, the sounds of armor clinking against itself mingling with the strange quiet of blades against only flesh and bone. She turns rapidly, catching a fleshy, bloated body in the throat and then bashing it to the ground with her shield before she sees the fresh plume of smoke billowing up above the thatched roofs of the village.

"Talvinder, behind you!" She curses the dead as they rise from their watery grave, curses the way she knows she can't run back to Savreen, back to the village square. Tali dodges the corpse grabbing for her, and it trips only to be dragged to the ground in Abarie's jaws. The near silence of the fight is broken as a knight lets out a single, strangled scream, cut short into a gurgle and then again back to silence. The water, though, seems to be stilling, its surface mirror-smooth, and Tali hopes that it means Lake Calenhad has given up all the corpses she holds. She feints to the side as another corpse reaches for her, and it tumbles forward, allowing her to land a blow that rends its back almost in two, shoulder to hip. It does little to slow the skeletal body, though, and soon it rights itself, turning back towards her, perhaps a bit more unsteady on its feet, but nothing else.

Frustration makes Tali yell as the sky tinges orange over the tops of the houses, with fire or with dawn, she's not sure, but she needs to be able to find out, and she can't while these damned dead refuse to die. With a surge of ferocity, she charges forward, landing blow after blow, hacking limb from unnatural limb until the last waterlogged body stops moving, stops fighting back. The light above the village may be in part from the oncoming dawn now leaking across the sky, but the crackle of an enormous blaze also echoes down to the docks.

"The Chantry!" Teagan's yell is horrified, but almost lost in the way Tali screams Savreen's name. She takes off running, Abarie practically galloping at her side, and to her dim surprise, Alistair keeps pace.

When she rounds the corner of the last house and the village square comes once more into view, Tali sees a tower of flame.

"Sten, Ranjit: I need you to keep them piling up at the chokepoint, as long as possible." With their original makeshift barricade partially burned, Savreen knows it's a hard ask. But the breastworks behind it still stand, logs carved to sharp points. "Leliana," she shouts, and her voice rasps at her throat but she ignores it, "keep the archers firing. Hold on the flaming arrows until my mark." Atop the nearby roof, Leliana nods, chin-length hair bobbing around her smoke-smeared face as she notches another arrow and calls for a volley. Looking for the last member of their party, the only one who can make her idea into an actual plan, Savreen spins on her heel, seeking Morrigan, who stands just behind her to the side.

"Shall I assume you are to give me some fanciful directive? An assumption of my magical—" Savreen doesn't have time to indulge the witch's sarcasm, as nervous as it is. The corpses may have a way to come down the road into the village, but they're moving quickly, already past the windmill.

"I need you to burn them."

"Well, that…'tis rather simple." Morrigan seems almost confused at the simplicity of the request.

"I need you to keep them contained, in one place. I need you to burn them all."

"That is less simple."

"Can you do it?" Hesitantly, Morrigan looks up. The corpses are closing fast.

"Give me a spark with which to work. Only then."

"Leliana will call for a fire volley. Will that be enough?"

"Should it catch—"

"It will catch."

"Then yes." Savreen nods, unsheathing her swords, twirling them in her hands to find her grip, a movement as practiced as breathing.

"You wait for my signal, understood?" Without a word of argument, Morrigan nods. Savreen turns away from the breastworks at the last moment, back to the members of the village guard who still stand. The sound of shambling, thudding, scraping, dragging feet is almost deafening in her ears against the silence.

"Folk of the Redcliffe Guard, you are to keep the enemy out of this square until my signal. You are to survive. You are to win." She raises a sword, and the guard ready themselves. She brings it down, and with a cry, they charge forward to meet the corpses.

Everything dissolves in sprays of bone, skin, the splatter of fermented blood. She's aware of the fact that, at her side, Sher snarls and bites, powerful jaws snapping bone. She's aware of Ranjit and Sten, at the front of their men, swords glinting. She's aware of the arrows that flit overhead, finding their marks, slowing down the oncoming corpses. She's aware of their numbers increasing, building up, caught in the chokepoint of their makeshift fortifications.

She's aware, and she waits. She waits, all the while she swirls and slashes, eyes never leaving the slowly massing group of corpses in front of her. They swell, pushing against each other, shoving, trying to break the defenders' line, but the Redcliffe guard hold them back. The breastworks creak, sharpened logs impaling bodies until they're blunted and capped by flesh. Only when the crowd of corpses has massed together almost completely, when they are nearly impossible to hold back, when she sees Sten and Ranjit giving ground, does Savreen yell for Leliana and Morrigan, sprinting back through the square.

The village defenders follow her. Sten and Ranjit wait until the last moment, when Leliana signals the archers to light their arrows aflame, when they aim their bows skyward, when they loose their arrows in sparkling arcs across the sky. Morrigan steps into the square, staff raised, and she seems almost to pull at the lines of fire in the sky, forming a net of orange light. She twirls her staff, straining with the effort, and the net spirals down, ensnaring the crowd of corpses as they finally stumble past the dilapidated barricade, splintering the breastworks.

As soon as the fire touches desiccated flesh, it roars to life, almost uncontrollable in its sentience. The heat is as intense as a sudden summer day as the flames, contained in a single circle, lick toward the heavens. It becomes a firestorm, swirling in its own wind and energy, climbing higher and higher. A very few corpses escape its radius, and even their skin bubbles and fries in the heat, blistering black. At the far side of the square, Savreen raises a hand to block out the blinding brightness of the column of fire. Morrigan is almost impossible to see, silhouetted so starkly by the light. The fire continues to roar, and the bodies at its center dissolve into ash. Savreen thinks she sees the muscles of Morrigan's arms start to strain, her legs tremble, the skin on her hands blister as she holds her staff. The paint on the wood and stone façade of the Chantry begins to peel and blister and Savreen feels panic burst into her chest. The villagers inside—

"Morrigan!" She has to scream to hear her own voice, and the smoke scratches the inside of her already dry throat. "Morrigan put it out!" The fire seems to lick hungrily at the nearby houses, at the corner of the Chantry, and the wood of the heavy barricaded door begins to smoke and char. Again, Savreen thinks of those huddled inside, and she feels sick. "Morrigan you have to put it out now!" The witch, still straining, glances over her shoulder, and Savreen thinks she meets her eyes. She turns back to the fire, and Savreen knows she hears Morrigan scream in exertion and pain as she pushes her hands together, inwards, down.

As Morrigan does so, the fire shrinks, suffocates. Soon it is almost entirely gone but for the charred embers and coals it leaves behind, cobblestone cracked and seared in a perfect circle beneath its footprint. Savreen stands stock still, dazed, before she realizes that Morrigan has sunk to her hands and knees on the ground, back heaving with breath. Somehow, Tali is there, and she runs to Morrigan, grips the witch by the shoulders, holds her upright, says something to her. There's blood running down Morrigan's nose, trickling over her lip, onto her chin, plopping to the ground, and it snaps Savreen back. She, too, runs to Morrigan's side, taking her by the hand. She means to ask if Morrigan is all right, means to say something else, but when she opens her mouth, she finds herself speaking of her tongue's own accord.

"It worked," she hears herself say, slightly incredulous. Morrigan swipes her hand across her face, attempting to wipe the blood away, but it just smears, along with the dark waxy lip color she wears. She doesn't seem to mind, though. Instead, she smiles, something leonine in her expression, despite the way her chest still heaves, despite the shaking in her reddened and burned hands.

"Did you think 'twould not?" Savreen laughs, one short, sharp peal bursting from her lips. Everything is lighter, somehow, even though the fire has stopped burning. She looks up to the sky and notices for the first time that the sun has begun to rise, weak rays of light seeping into the night-black sky.

"No," she says, "I didn't doubt a second."

The casualties and losses, to Talvinder's extreme surprise, are nowhere near as bad as she feared they would be. There are four dead out of nineteen, split amongst the village guards and the Arl's knights, seven badly injured and needing Morrigan's care, and three more with minor injuries and ailments. The other five have only scratches and shaken expressions, weary eyes that will soon be able to rest. For Tali's part, she had expected to feel her exhaustion more come morning, and yet she finds herself pacing the village square as the others prepare, anxious for them all to make their way into the castle.

It is Tali, still pacing, glancing worriedly up at the road and the windmill, who sees the portcullis open first. She watches as two figures run, hurried and frightened, from the castle bridge. She yells as they come closer to the village square, drawing her sword and sprinting to meet them, Abarie on guard at her heels. But it's only a woman, slightly younger than middle-aged, thin-featured and blond, dressed in fine—if dirty—clothes, and what appears to be another of Arl Eamon's knights, wearing his livery. As Tali stares at them, these people who have just appeared, alive, out of the castle that last night spewed only horrible dead, Bann Teagan rushes from the Chantry.

"Isolde?" His voice is shocked, but not frightened, and hesitantly, Tali lowers her sword, bringing Abarie to heel.

"Teagan!" The woman, presumably Isolde, cries out in a tearful Orlesian accent even more ornate and gilded than Leliana's, rushing forward to enfold the still startled Teagan in a tight, desperate hug. "Thank the Maker you yet live," she sobs into his shoulder. Noticing the commotion from his place sitting on the Chantry steps, Alistair joins Tali with a hesitance that seems almost as if he's approaching a lit fuse of blackpowder. Remaining behind Talvinder, he absently pats Abarie on the head and ignores her faint growl. Quickly, Tali sheathes her sword again, slightly embarrassed to have drawn it in the first place and to have held it out so long in the second.

"Did Teagan say Isolde?" Alistair whispers, and Tali turns her head ever so slightly to find him leaning almost into her shoulder, his lips a hairsbreadth from her ear.

"I—yes, he did?" Instead of responding, Alistair stares at the woman draped over Teagan's chest, dissolving in tears in the Bann's arms. Tali thinks his expression hardens ever so slightly, but Teagan speaks before she's sure, drawing her attention away from Alistair once more.

"Isolde I—I am as surprised as you are, to find you alive. How did you—what's happened?" In response, Isolde draws in a stuttering breath and steps back, wiping at her eyes.

"I do not have much time to explain, Teagan. I slipped away from the castle the first moment I could, and I must return quickly." She hesitates, blond hair falling in her distraught and red-rimmed eyes as she turns to look back up at the castle. "And I—Teagan, I need you to return with me. Alone." Talvinder doesn't like this.

"What exactly do you need Bann Teagan to return with you for?" she asks, stepping forward. Isolde is startled, stumbling backwards and staring at Tali as though she hadn't noticed her before that second.

"Who—who is this woman, Teagan?" The way Isolde looks at Tali—distrust mingled with fear—seems strange given the circumstances and the trouble she's very clearly in. Instead of Teagan, though, Alistair is the one to answer, stepping forward with a sigh and a grimace. He speaks as though a good two feet smaller and ten years younger, resignation coloring his voice.

"You remember me, Arlessa Isolde, don't you?" Isolde looks him up and down for a moment before barely biting back a sneer. Something like anger flashes in her eyes, and suddenly she's on the defensive.

"Alistair. Of all the—why are you here?"

"For someone who seemed in need of aid not three minutes ago," Tali speaks before she's fully decided what to say, indignation flooding her veins and making her head feel too heavy, too hot, "you're quite happy to insult those here for that very purpose." Her words make the woman furious, and ice snaps, freezing, in her eyes. She opens her mouth, finger raised, but Teagan interrupts her before she can speak, laying a hand gently on her shoulder.

"They are Grey Wardens, Isolde. They have saved the village, and I owe them my life." As do you. While still clearly unhappy about Alistair's presence, Isolde swallows her feelings, closing her eyes and shaking her head before she speaks again.

"Forgive me. It has been a trying time, to say the least, and my faculties for pleasantries are…considerably diminished." Tali snorts, and Isolde pretends to ignore it. No amount of 'trying' circumstances will prompt Tali to forget Isolde's face on realizing that Alistair stood before her, nor will they cause her to forget her unease. Behind Isolde, her escorting knight appears nervous and flighty, glancing between the castle and the village every few seconds.

"Isolde," Teagan begins gently, trying to focus her once more, "I will not press you overmuch for answers, but we had no idea that anyone in the castle still lived. We must know something, at least. Eamon…" He trails off into silence, searching Isolde's face, and she takes a long moment to answer in a stuttering, stumbling voice.

"I know you need more of an explanation, but I don't know what is safe to tell."

"Safe to tell?" Alistair asks, suspicion heavy on his voice. The way Isolde flinches at the question, and then glares at him, has Tali feeling similarly unsettled.

"We need to know something, Isolde. Please." She looks back to Teagan as he speaks, and with a glance up to the sky, at the rapidly rising sun, she seems to crumble into acquiescence, and rushes to get the words out.

"There is a terrible evil within the castle. The dead waken and hunt the living." This is old news, Tali thinks ruefully, but says nothing. "The mage responsible was caught, but still it continues, and—oh Teagan, I think Connor is going mad!" Isolde tries not to break down into tears, but she's only partially successful. This revelation unnerves both Alistair and Teagan, too, and they share a distraught look.

"Connor? What's happened to Connor?" Alistair asks, causing Isolde to stumble over her words, hiccupping back a sob. She tries to answer, but ends up simply shaking her head, reaching out for Teagan once more.

"You must help him, Teagan please! You are his uncle. You could—you could make him see reason—"

"Why does Connor need to see reason?" Tali's question makes Isolde cry harder, apparently unable to explain, and the unease in Tali's stomach doubles, sharpening to an uncomfortable pain of nausea. Teagan comforts Isolde, hand gently rubbing in circles across her back, and when her tears have ebbed again, he returns to questioning her, though this time in a more soothing voice.

"Isolde, what about your husband? Is my brother alive?" Isolde draws in a shaky breath, but she nods, prompting all the others to breathe a sigh of relief.

"He is. But Teagan—we are all in danger. I was allowed to seek you because I begged, for Connor's sake. You have to come back with me. I cannot be gone too long."

"Why not? Isolde is it this 'evil'—whatever raised the dead?" As Teagan and Isolde continue conversing, Talvinder glances towards Alistair, meeting his eye by chance. She tries to communicate her unease without words and thankfully, Alistair seems to understand, mirroring her expression back at her and nodding.

"It is something the mage unleashed, Teagan. So far it allows Eamon, Connor, and myself to live, as well as some of the staff. But so many were not so fortunate. It killed them, and turned their bodies into nightmares—they stalk the castle halls by night. It is dreadful."

"It sounds like whatever this evil is, it didn't just stick to the castle." Tali's observation is, perhaps, a little obvious, but she wonders how much Isolde realizes of what has happened outside the walls of the castle. It doesn't seem to be much, from the way Isolde stares at her in horror.

"By the Maker," Isolde gasps, hand trembling as she presses it to her forehead. Somewhere, a bird caws, a crow, and it seems to startle Isolde, make her realize just how long they've been talking, how much higher the sun has risen. "There isn't any more time, Teagan, please. I was allowed to leave because I begged, because I said you could help Connor—" Teagan hushes her gently, calming her before her pleas become frantic. With a glance at Talvinder and Alistair, he speaks.

"We need my brother now more than ever, and I will not abandon my nephew to this. I will return to the castle with you, Isolde, but I must speak with the Wardens first."

"Bless you, Teagan, bless you!" she cries out, pressing a frantic kiss to his cheek. "I will wait by the bridge, Teagan. Please, hurry." Hurriedly, Teagan ushers Talvinder and Alistair over to the side. Abarie is the first to follow him, trotting at his signal, while Tali moves slowly, watching as Isolde and her knight hurry back to the bridge, Isolde frantically wringing her hands.

"I don't like this." She blurts it out just before Teagan opens his mouth, and he frowns, but doesn't disagree.

"Here's what I propose," he suggests. "The others are making themselves ready. I will go in with Isolde, and the rest of you should immediately enter the castle through the passage in the windmill." As he speaks, he twists an old, worn ring from his finger, struggling a bit while attempting to slide it over his knuckle. But eventually it slips off his finger, and he places it gently in Tali's hand.

"Here," he says. The warm metal is heavy. "My signet ring will unlock the door. Insert it into the lock and turn it twice. Once you enter the passage, it will lead you into the crypts beneath the old castle. Make your way up through the dungeons and you will come to the servants' quarters, which should bring you out to the courtyard. Do you understand?"

"I remember the way." Alistair's voice is quiet, but it makes Teagan stop and pause. There's something aching in the way he looks at Alistair, but he doesn't address it.

"I thought you might," is all he says in response. "It—that's good."

"Once you're inside with Isolde? What then?" Tali can't help but glance again at the woman, who paces the width of the portcullis now, wringing her hands and pulling at her dirtied finery.

"I will try to help Connor, and see what can be done to distract whatever this 'evil' is that Isolde mentioned. With any luck, I should be able to increase your chances of getting in unnoticed." His voice trails off, and Tali understands that this is the entirety of his plan. It's not a bad one, necessarily, but…

"What exactly am I…supposed to do? How do we fight this?" With a sigh, Teagan tries and fails to answer her question.

"I wish I knew. You should be prepared for anything, but most assuredly, be prepared to encounter more of the risen dead. This could be a demon or a blood mage, or any number of foul thing, and I have limited experience in those matters—more perhaps than Isolde, but I cannot tell anything from her words." More unknowns, unknowns upon unknowns. It frustrates Tali, but she tries to keep her voice level.

"And it's all up to us then?"

"Ser Perth and his men can watch for danger at the bridge, but the second gates can be risen only from inside the courtyard. You will need to make it through the bulk of the castle by yourselves, but once you reach the courtyard, they can move in and assist you." It's such a small party to clear a whole castle. Tali, Alistair, Savreen, Ranjit, Morrigan, Leliana, Sten, two war dogs—nine of them against what could be a whole other army of corpses. It makes Tali shiver, thinking of the hands of the corpses in the lake, cold fingers gripping the back of her neck.

"Is there no one else?" The question seems so small and hopeless. Teagan shakes his head.

"I don't think we can afford to strip the village of her few remaining defenders. Just in case." Lead in the pit of her stomach, Tali nods anyway.

"I understand," she says, trying to keep the grimness from her voice and failing. Isolde calls back, yelling for Teagan, urgency in her voice, and Tali knows time is running short. Before he leaves though, he grips both Talvinder and Alistair hard by the shoulders, speaking in a low, urgent voice.

"Whatever you do, whatever happens, remember: Eamon is the priority here. If you must, just get him out of there. Isolde, me, anyone else—even Connor—we're expendable." Shocked, Alistair scoffs, almost unable to verbalize his displeasure as he stares at Teagan, mouth open. He finds his words, though.

"Absolutely not. That is unacceptable."

"Alistair—"

"No, Teagan—why would you even say—"

"If it comes down to it—"

"It won't!"

"Then you'll have to do—"

"How can you think—"

"We're wasting time!" Teagan raises his voice, cutting off Alistair at last, stemming the flow of their quick-fire exchange. He can't stop the way Alistair glares, though. "We're wasting time," he repeats, softer. "I know it's not what you want to do, Alistair, but if it comes down to it, a choice might have to be made." Silence. Alistair crosses his arms and looks away, jaw clenched.

"We'll do what we can, Bann Teagan," Tali says. She would prefer not to think of anyone as expendable, even though she distrusts Isolde.

"I hope it does not come to such a choice. I—allow me to bid you farewell, and good luck." With those words, he hurries to join Isolde, still pacing and wringing her hands. She says something Tali can't hear as Teagan approaches, and then ushers him beneath the open portcullis and across the bridge to the castle. Tali, Abarie, and Alistair stand, silent, watching, waiting until they hear the far-off clank of the second portcullis closing. Whatever is happening inside the castle, they can only hope that it doesn't claim Teagan before they rejoin him.

The clank of armor behind them signals the return of their companions.

"Where is the Bann?" Leliana's question is confused, and it makes Tali grimace.

"He's gone on ahead into the castle." Alistair's voice is incredibly displeased, and it seems only to confuse the others further.

"Gone on ahead?" Savreen asks sharply. "How?"

"Others in the castle are still alive. The Arl's wife asked for his help." The explanation Tali gives is substandard, but it will do. Sav frowns, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Then we are on our own."

"So 'twould seem." Morrigan stands next to Sav, arms crossed, visibly disgruntled. "This does not appear to be a good plan."

"What choice do we have?" The witch looks at Tali, and eventually she nods, acquiescing grudgingly to her point.

"Shall we go save your nobleman, then?"

"I'm ready when you are," Tali says, but as they relay their plan to Ser Perth and approach the windmill, she feels anything but ready. As she slots Teagan's ring into the hidden stone lock, she dreads what they'll find at the other end of the passage.