The rain was seeping beneath her collar, soaking the wool padding beneath the heavy plate. The greatsword's weight in her hands was excruciating – one of the bastards had gotten a hit under her arm, and bright red blood was running down her side, mixing with the black that covered her in spurts and spatters. The familiar sensation of healing magic blossomed in her shoulder as Erise moved towards the grey-haired man and extended an arm. The movement hurt, but she clenched her jaw to stifle a wince. She could not show weakness.

"Commander?" When she nodded, the man relaxed. "I'm Seneschal Varel." His gaze moved from her face to her arm and the blood that stained her armor. He hesitated once before grabbing her offered hand, a frown forming on his face when she let out a small grunt as he pulled himself to his feet.

His face was inches away, honeyed eyes fixed on hers as the rain streaked down their faces. "Welcome to the Vigil."

She'd recruited the mage – a choice he couldn't fault – but the young Howe was another story altogether. As he questioned her, her eyes turned as sharp as the daggers on the young man's hips. "In all things at the Keep, I expect you to question me." Her accent lay thick on her tongue. "The one exception is the Wardens. There you will accept my judgment without protest. Is this clear?"

Varel stared a few moments, something inside him fighting against an Orlesian commanding him so clearly. Unable to bring himself to say the words, he could only nod.

This had been unlike any Joining she'd ever attended. Twenty years a Warden, countless recruits who had put the cups to their lips, dozens dead – none of it compared to the disquiet tonight's ritual had put into her bones. Aside from her own Joining, there'd always been the comforting sensation of other Wardens, of others who knew that it was worth it, others who she could feel in her room at night. Tonight she'd been alone and a stranger had held the cup. She was certain he didn't understand it was her right, her burden to bear as their commander, but she had been too far gone in grief to say anything. Of the dozen Wardens sent from Orlais, eleven were missing. Kristoff had gone to Amaranthine a few days before, and with any luck, she would be able to track him down. She'd known three others who had been here - Gerer, Lyandrin and Laurent. None of them were like Kristoff; he had been more than a brother of the Grey – he was a brother of her heart. It had been that way since the day of her own Joining – he had been there when she woke with a hot bowl of stew and a heel of bread. Until he had been sent ahead, they had been inseparable as Wardens, always at each other's side whenever duty called. Even in the darkest parts of the Deep Roads, the presence of the other had been a comfort and a strength.

It would be two months or more before she could sense the new ones beyond ten paces. As her breath echoed in the cold stone room, hot tears welled in her eyes. She was alone.

The Commander was in a mood. She'd returned from Amaranthine in the middle of the night, soaked through, swearing in Orlesian. She'd gone alone, insisting she'd return with someone else, but no one had been by her side. He had important orders of business – Mistress Woolsey had given him a sheaf of papers to present to the Commander and he had concerns of his own. The nobles wanted an audience and several of them had arrived during the day, claiming right of residence until they were seen by their liege lord.

When he reached her door, he could hear her pacing – metal on stone, metal on stone. Knocking firmly, Varel drew himself to his full height. The woman made him nervous for reasons he couldn't quite name.

The pacing stopped and there was a long moment of silence before the door opened. The Commander's eyes were red. "Commander, I–" He trailed of as he noticed she was still clad in full, heavy plate and her short hair was damp and plastered against her skull. "You need to get out of your plate. You're soaked."

The Commander settled a cool gaze on him. "My squire is asleep in the barracks and I haven't seen any servants since arriving."

He almost protested, scolding her for the late hour, for travelling alone in bad weather, when a slip or a run-in with even a few darkspawn could turn deadly. Something stopped him and he nodded once. Setting the papers on her desk, Varel motioned for her to turn around. "I haven't forgotten how this style works. If you're willing to listen to some important matters, I can assist."

The Commander raised an eyebrow before complying, nodding once. "Very well. Speak."

The plate came off in bits and pieces, each piece removed and carefully reconstructed on the armor stand. Words tumbled from his mouth and leather buckles slid beneath his hands. She listened in silence.

Oodles of thanks (as always) to my lovely beta decantate!