Sounds of battle rang out through the air, cries of pain, anger, and even triumph not quite drowned out by the rhythmic banging of the battering ram against Fort Greystone's gate. Siara stood at the front of the men garrisoned within the walls, her blades held loosely in her hands. Her chin was raised determinedly, and she hardly blinked as she watched the wooden gates begin to splinter. Shards of broken off wood went flying everywhere, shredded from the gates with sickening ripping sounds. Their enemy had received reinforcements, the Inquisition now outnumbered worse than before. Siara knew that she could handle being outnumbered four, or maybe even five to one, depending on the training of her opposition, but she didn't feel as confident in her comrades. They were mostly scouts, or younger recruits with less experience. Some of the men and women she was garrisoned with would be able to cope, maybe, but Siara still didn't much like their chances.

The likelihood that Corypheus was involved was pretty high, and he wasn't about to send untrained soldiers into battle. He wasn't the type to use militia, though it appeared he was at least allying himself with them. Bandits, at least, wouldn't be too much trouble to handle. Even the scouts could deal with them in small doses. The numbers, however, and the Venatori, even the few red templars Siara had seen scattered throughout the small opposing army… that was where the real challenge lay, and it was unlikely that the few Inquisition members within Fort Greystone's walls would be able to hold out against them in a front on assault. And yet, she couldn't afford to show her doubts. Morale was low enough as it was, and even though she didn't want the job, Siara was basically their commanding officer now. Even she knew enough that having at least some good morale was better than nothing, and if she showed the slightest hint of uncertainty, the limited morale they had would vanish in a heartbeat.

Adam stood beside her, his helmet hiding his face. One glance down at his knuckles told Siara all she needed to know, though.

"You're too tense," she told him, keeping her voice as calm as she could. "Loosen your grip a bit."

"How do you do it?" he asked her, his voice shaking a little as he forced his body to relax. "How do you stay so calm in that face of… that?"

Siara half glanced at him as he gestured towards the gate, which was now bowing against the blows. For a moment she didn't say anything, not sure how to answer his question. She took a deep breath, lifting her chin.

"I don't think about dying. I just think about the fight, and what I have to do to stay alive and kill the next person."

"I haven't actually… killed many people."

"Many, or any?"

"I…" his voice trailed off, and Siara saw him shift uncomfortably out the corner of her eye. Maker, had he really managed not to kill anyone during his time with the Inquisition? She wasn't sure how to comfort him.

"War changes people, Adam. It's not something to be ashamed of, and you should never enjoy killing. But you need to compartmentalise. Keep your mind on the here and now. Feel the guilt when you get out of this alive."

"Do you think we will? Get out of this alive, I mean."

"I've seen you training. You're a good fighter."

"That wasn't what I asked."

"Yes. We'll get out of this alive." Siara hated herself for lying, but she didn't see another way to dodge answering Adam's question. Her fingers tightened reflexively around her blades, and she had to consciously loosen them again before the men noticed. If luck was on their side, then Cullen and the reinforcements would be arriving soon. It wouldn't do any harm if the Maker could back them up, too, but Siara didn't know what the chances of that happening were.

There was a sickening crack and a roar of triumph and encouragement from the other side of the gate, and Siara knew that the bandits, Venatori, and red templars were almost through. She lifted her chin, glancing around at the Inquisition members either side of her.

"Ready!" she called out, her voice ringing surprisingly clear over the crowd around her, feeling her soldiers getting into better stances for fighting. She could hear Adam's breathing quicken ever so slightly, felt the mood shift from apprehension to barely contained fear. All she could do was hope that all fear would be replaced with determination when their foe charged through those gates. There was nothing more she could say or do to prepare Fort Greystone and its inhabitants for the battle ahead. All she could do was pray that Cullen and the rest of the reinforcements would arrive soon.

Cullen stopped briefly at the top of a small rise, looking out towards where Fort Greystone stood in the not-too-far distance. He frowned as he took in the scene before him. Smoke billowed from the fort, dark grey against the blue sky. The sounds of battle just reached him, carried by the breeze. It didn't sound good, and he sent a quick prayer to the Maker. Please, just let them get there in time. He was the one who assigned all those men and women to the fort, he had thought that it would be a simple assignment. He was the one responsible for any deaths that occurred. His fists clenched into tight fists as his sides as he turned back to face his men.

"Enough rest," he called out. "The gates have been breached."

Everyone hurried back to attention, the familiar organised chaos of a small army readying to move onwards. There was an edge to the atmosphere that told Cullen everyone knew the seriousness of the situation. Solas and Varric were already near the front and ready to move on, Varric helping a young dwarf to collect some gear, Solas just holding his staff ready in front of him. Both of them wore frowns to match Cullen's, and he knew that they were just as worried as he was. Varric looked up and met the commander's eyes, quickly passing the dwarf one more item before crossing over to Cullen.

"How are you holding up?" he asked.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look it."

Cullen did his best to suppress a sigh. Varric was right, of course. He felt like shit. Coming off lyrium the first time had been bad enough, but this time it was damn near torturous. The first couple of days had been almost fine, but after that the withdrawals were the worst he'd ever felt them. Thankfully he'd started having a few more better days by the time Solas had received news from Greystone, but the travelling had been doing nothing to help with Cullen's aches and pains. Not to mention the fever he knew he was developing.

"I'm fine," Cullen repeated, avoiding making eye contact with Varric. "I have to be."

"You won't be able to help them if you're too sick to help yourself," the dwarf pointed out.

"I've been through this before, Varric. I know my limits."

And when to push them. He would be fine for this battle. He had to be, or he'd be more of a hindrance than a help.

Varric was watching him closely, a slight frown on his face.

"You're not thinking of doing something stupid, are you, Curly?" he asked. Cullen's eyes flicked to Varric, his eyebrows knitting together slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not going to take lyrium, are you?"

The temptation was there, Cullen had to admit, but he'd made a deal with Siara. Although, if she died at Greystone, that deal would hardly count for anything. There wasn't even any guarantee that she was still alive now, they hadn't received any more news from Dorian about the situation.

"I hadn't even thought about it," Cullen lied. "Now, stop interrogating me. We need to get a move on."

Varric stayed where he was for a moment longer, seeming to contemplate what Cullen had said, then nodded and turned back to helping the Inquisition to move out. Time was limited, and Cullen didn't want to think too hard on what awaited them at Fort Greystone.