(I threw in one single line of dialogue from the game. It's a famous one.

Just some light personal development in this one along with some fluff.)

1

Ellyn was discovering things about battles that she never knew before. When she fought as a mage, her focus was spread out. Reserving her mana for auras, she felt injuries in her companions in the form of emotions. A jolt of anger here, a flash of pain there, and she turned and rejuvenated them one by one. With a sword in hand, there was a different kind of focus.

Pain did not seem to matter as much. Instead of feeling a crossbow's bolt as soon as it hit her, now she felt the pain hit her all at once only when a skirmish was well and truly over. She had caused death before she wielded a sword; she had wormed her way into a person's mind while he died, felt the flow of life as a stream petering out into nothingness.

Swords were personal. Her first real kill, crossing into Orzammar, was a bounty hunter with a crossbow slung over one shoulder. She charged the man with her shield up as she was taught to do, the bolts thudding harmlessly into the oak, Spellweaver coming down to disarm and then across to kill, cutting through leather, flesh, and bone. She stood there, frozen, staring into the puddle of bright red pooling at her feet, steaming in spite of the chill, a stark contrast in the snow.

Alistair held her elbow eventually and pulled her away. "It gets easier," he said, as if he understood. Magic was a force, yes, and it killed as well as a sword, but it was different. Detached, somehow, disconnected. Her sword was covered in blood, her armour splattered crimson. She took the life of a thinking, talking person, and here was the proof, which would remain until she wiped it away.

As she pulled her blade across the snow to wipe away the blood, she saw war for what it really was. Butcher's work. Each cut she made, she was also struck, slicing away ribbons of her own humanity, and came a day when it ceased to hurt her, that's when she would know none was left.

She hoped it never got easier.

2

Orzammar featured dominantly in her history books. The Dwarven Shaperate was meticulous in their records, and the Circle Tower's library had an impressive collection of illuminations of Dwarven architecture. No amount of study could prepare her for the sight that laid before her eyes after crossing the hall of Ancestors, however.

For a people that was very short, they built very, very tall. The stone above her was so far away, that if giant spiders were crawling above, she would not have been able to see them. In her books, dwarves were afraid of living on the surface for fear of falling into the sky. In here, she wondered why they did not fear falling into the ceiling or into pools of lava.

It was beautiful and new, more magical than Kinloch Hold. They had an assembly instead of Teryns, Arls, and Banns; a King that was elected instead of the right of ascension; elevators powered by steam, which were in turn powered by lava; a hot water system continually heated by the volcano they all lived in. Magic, powered by lava.

Yet it was strangely traditional and backwards. Her tour of the Shaperate left her in a decidedly undiplomatic mood, their treatment of the casteless crueler than how the Chantry treated mages by far. How could these ingenious people be so intolerant of their own?

"They're both corrupt. I might as well toss a sovereign," said Ellyn, staring over her notes while the group sat in the rooms they rented in Tapster's. "The Aeducans have been politically involved with the Wardens since the first Blight, so Bhelen is the obvious choice ... but ... from all the rumours we've been picking up, he's likely to have killed his brother and framed the other one for it."

"Sounds like Antivan politics." Zevran cut in. "But of course in Antiva, the prince would have hired the Crows to do the actual killing. Getting one's hands bloody is rather unbecoming for one of the royalty."

"I have a feeling he poisoned his father, too. The King and the rest of the heirs dying off at about the same time is just too convenient," Leliana said. For advice on politics, Ellyn invited the rogues. She herself was not unused to the intrigues of the court, for the Circle Tower was a kind of royal court; First Enchanter and Knight Commander as the King and Queen – funny mental image, that – with the senior enchanters making up the assembly. Circle politics turned out just about as deadly, apparently.

"I have no doubt that he did." Ellyn rubbed at her temples. "I need to see them in person, but how? If I talk to one of them, the other will refuse to see me. How am I supposed to figure out which one to support if I don't know what they're like?"

"Oh, I have some ideas." Leliana rubbed her hands together and smiled.

By the end a week-long stay, Leliana had managed to convince both Bhelen and Harrowmint that the Warden was working for each of them while spying on the other one, won in the Provings, and decimated the Carta.

Prince Bhelen also insisted that they move into the royal palace in the Diamond Quarter.

"If and when we crown Alistair, I'm making you chancellor," said Ellyn. The sitting room, part of her suite, was huge, and somehow the sofas were comfortable in spite of the low height. Definitely a step up from Tapster's. "Your talents are wasted in the Chantry."

Leliana laughed, "oh, I don't know about that. Chantry life is very peaceful."

"The Ferelden court is quite peaceful compared to this mess." Ellyn had her notes open in front of her again; names of the noble houses. "It's a split. If the assembly vote on a King now the vote will hang."

"You do still have a Crow with you, my dear lady." Zevran leant back on the sofa with his legs crossed on top of the coffee table, wearing his signature smug smile. "If we eliminate one of the candidates, the choices will become quite clear for them, yes?"

"We're not in Antiva, Zevran. It's not going to be much of a secret who killed them if one of them gets assassinated, and I can't afford a divided assembly right now. Whoever becomes King, I need an unanimous vote to send me that army."

"Both Prince Bhelen and Lord Harrowmint suggested that we go into the deep roads to find their lost paragon." Alistair added. The more he listened to this the less he wanted to be king, not that he ever wanted the throne in the first place. "I'm not looking forward to it, but if that's what it takes ..."

"They've been 'lost' in the deep roads for a year," pointed out Ellyn. "I doubt they brought enough food for that long. The only way they could have survived for that is if they started eating darkspawn."

"If that's the case -" Alistair started, his face taking on a grimace.

"- we're looking for ghouls." Ellyn finished for him.

Leliana and Zevran exchanged a look. Since when did those two started finishing each others' sentences?

Ellyn sighed. How had the last Blights raged for hundreds of years? It had only been little over four months since Ostagar; Lothering had been overrun, the darkspawn had emerged from the deep roads entrances near West Hill, Blight sickness took the villages in that area where the spawn hadn't simply slaughtered all the people. She couldn't afford losing time in the deep roads herself. Thankfully, a Blight on the surface meant less spawn in the deep roads.

"We set out tomorrow morning. I need to talk to ... Sten, Leliana, and Wynne. The rest of you, get some sleep in a real bed. We'll be camping again tomorrow." She waited until the three were all that was left in her palatial suite, as well as Fleur, who hadn't left her side since the companions rejoined near Soldier's Peak. "Wynne, you're not going to like this."

Wynne sat back in the sofa and waited, a faint smile on her face. "Another blood mage you wish to spare?" When she saw Ellyn's mouth hanging open, she shook her head. "No. I'm not going to like it, but I'll respect your decision."

"I'm sending the three of you to the Circle Tower. Take these to the First Enchanter," Ellyn pulled two sealed letters out of the pile of papers on the table. "One of them is just a request for that girl we met outside, Dagna, who wants to study in the Circle Tower. The other is an order of conscription for Jowan."

"Shouldn't Alistair be in here for this?" Wynne said with a note of reproach. "That mage did poison his uncle."

"Not unless Jowan survives the tests, no." Ellyn handed the missives to Wynne. "Collect a vial of darkspawn blood after they release him, and take him to Avernus at Soldier's Peak. He'll know what to do."

"You're asking me to rescue a blood mage from the Circle dungeons and then ... take him to another, much more powerful blood mage?"

"Jowan is harmless." So harmless, in fact, that she doubted he would survive the Joining. She had to try, however. Jowan was innocent compared to Avernus, and she had allowed the older blood mage to live. "Where he ended up is entirely my fault. I should have told him that Irving had his eye on him all along, or at least told him that it was foolish to think of escaping the tower. As for Avernus ... technically he's under my command for now."

Sten grunted his disapproval, but said nothing. Ellyn knew how difficult was for him; the Qunari had an extreme view of mages. At least the Chantry didn't muzzle and chain theirs. Sten had been training with Alistair on templar skills, and short of sending Alistair, the Qunari was the next best warrior to accompany a blood mage.

"Jowan isn't really a blood mage," she grimaced under Wynne and Leliana's combined searing gazes. "He's used blood magic once or twice, and he had had no contact with demons. Otherwise, I would have known."

So, should her and Alistair perish in the deep roads, the Blight would be ended by two blood mages. Ellyn suppressed a smile. Leliana did not miss it and she quirked an eyebrow. "Are you sure you won't need me here?"

"We might be down there for months. I've taken a look at the old maps – the deep roads spread all the way under Ferelden, spreading into the Free Marches. Even with the maps, it's still worse than looking for a needle in a haystack."

"This is a waste of time," Sten said, unconvinced.

"I'll be closer to the Archdemon, if it makes you happy." Ellyn batted her eyelashes at him, and he only groaned in exasperation.

"Watching the Deshyrs bandy about in the assembly is a waste of time." The pile of notes on the table was proof enough. She had gone around polling the nobles all afternoon with Fleur by her side, hoping to figure out which candidate had more support. That was a total waste of time. "I've already picked up a bunch of jobs that require going into the deep roads, so if nothing else, I can better equip the army I already have." Not that werewolves needed armour or weapons, of course, but the mages certainly could use more runes.

This room was too large, she thought, as her friends filed out. She pondered her current choice of companions. Alistair would never, ever leave her side as long as there was a Blight to defeat; Leliana was there because of a religious vision that Ellyn highly doubted, unless it was one the spirits who sent it to her; Wynne, Sten, as well as Zevran owed her their lives. She could doubtless rely on their loyalty. Could she rely on Jowan's, if he survived? After all, it was her fault he was caught in the first place, and her actions condemned Lily to Aeonar.

It was a near thing. Either he would blame her for Lily's predicament, or blame himself. Ellyn was hoping for the latter.

3

Orzammar was full of curiosities and stone walls. The way the walls and pillars were constructed, with the ends disappearing into the rock itself, reminded her of Andrate's temple. Perhaps they were all constructed by dwarves, for theirs was the only way that endured, with their Thaigs still somewhat intact in the deep roads.

"So, is there any reason why we're not all going into the deep roads together?" Alistair asked at camp their first night. There was no real need for tents, and they all lain on their bedrolls around a small fire, carefully kept to a soft glow so as not to stifle the air they breathed. "We might need the numbers."

He was right, in a way. Even with Prince Bhelen's reassurances that the deep roads were especially quiet during a Blight, they still ran into pockets of them in the crossroads, with their ambushes and traps. "We might be here a while, so I've sent some of us to do surface jobs."

"I just thought it's kind of strange that ... you sent Sten off to lead their little group."

"Alistair, 'Sten' is the title of infantry commanders in the Qunari army. It's natural that I let him lead," Ellyn sat in front of the fire with her herbalism kit, preparing for another day of fighting spawn. They had plenty of potions, but if they kept running into giant spiders and deepstalkers at the rate they were going, they wouldn't be able to last three weeks. "He and I have an understanding."

"He's always challenging you, Ellyn. If any one of us is likely to mutiny, Sten would be it." Alistair observed her across their small fire; she was usually not so occupied, and he took in the way her skin appeared to glow in the dim light, blond hair framing her face casting soft shadows over her high cheekbones, her brow creased in concentration as she measured out distillation agents with a measuring spoon, the way she bit her lower lip to steady her hand. He shook his head to clear it. Serious conversation. Right.

"Yes, he always questions my leadership, and then promptly follow my orders to the letter. That's why I'm sending him." She quirked an eyebrow at him without looking up. "Unlike somebody I know."

"What? Are you talking about me? I follow orders just fine!" Alistair crossed his arms, indignant, until he heard Morrigan's cackle across their little camp. "I'm not talking to you!"

"Well, if I were to send you with Wynne and Leliana, and keep Sten with me, you'd probably say no." She smiled through the little flask in her hand as he said nothing, then waited a moment to continue. "Of the two of you, Sten is more willing to follow orders than you are."

Alistair was annoyed at himself for feeling even slightly jealous of their stoic Qunari, "and what do you mean by your having 'an understanding' with Sten?"

Ellyn placed the finished potions on the ground and stoppered them one by one, sealing each with a dab of wax. Silence grew thick between them, but she wanted to take her time. She was about to say something that would probably lead to an argument. Sometimes she wondered why she tried to get through to him. Why she could not placate Alistair as easily as the others, nor did she want to.

It seemed as though he wanted to be provoked, and Ellyn was only too happy to oblige.

"I understand that he likes swords and he follows orders, that I can trust him as long as he has given me his word. If he wants to attack me, he'll ask me to draw my weapon first." Ellyn pulled her bedroll next to Alistair's and sat cross-legged upon it, as she placed the new potions in her waist pack methodically. "'Happiness is fragile. Nothing can be built upon it that will last. Only duty endures.'"

"Do you really believe that?" Impulsively, he reached out to touch her cheek. Her hands paused in their motions and he felt a jump in her pulse. She placed the last potion in her pack and pushed it away to one side as if his hand did not bother her at all. "Is that the Qun?"

"It's something Sten said," Ellyn moved her head away to dislodge his hand, in a motion that made him almost believe that she did not do it to slight him. "It is something on which we agree. I'm not saying that I agree with the Qun. They muzzle their mages and I don't even know what they do with women who show magical ability. Kill them the moment they show signs, probably. But I'm saying that I understand some of the Qunari philosophy, and I trust Sten. He will not betray me – he has too much honor for that."

"Right. He's just so quiet sometimes it's unnerving. I mean, most of the time I don't even notice he's there and he's the biggest person I've ever met." In the beginning he was against bringing Sten with them. The Qunari murdered an entire family with his bare hands, and there was Ellyn, readily handing him a two-handed sword from their salvaged weapons, even throwing in whatever armour she found that fitted him. That was not what was bothering him at the moment, however. "But I've totally gone off topic. Do you really believe that happiness is fragile?"

She stared daggers at him, "I'm a mage, Alistair. You've had your share of chantry teachings. What do you think?"

Ah, of course. Mages were not people. They did not keep titles, marriage was denied to them, their children were taken away to be raised by the Chantry. Magic was a curse. "Excuse me while I take my foot back out of my mouth. I'm sorry."

He watched Ellyn as she smiled wistfully through a fringe of blond hair. Alistair would never understand. She wanted to shout at him, hurt him, hate him, because he was taunting her all the time, giving her confusing feelings that she was not allowed to have. Uncharitable thoughts floated to the top of her consciousness. Maybe I should let him die. Guilt chased away that strand of thought as soon as it surfaced, the idea of losing him unbearable.

Ellyn cursed those damnable fairy tales. They were great fantasies up until she was away from the tower, where Alistair pursued her with the persistence of a mabari. She tried antagonizing him, belittling him, but nothing seemed to shake him off. The constant laughter in his voice gave her butterflies, he finished her sentences, stared at her until she turned crimson. Weren't princes supposed to be perceptive? How many times did she have to remind him that mages did not love?

Mythal asked her to give her heart, but she said nothing about pursuing an actual relationship. It would make things too complicated. Ellyn knew that she was trying to find a loophole in the deal, and failing badly. Approaching Cullen was difficult enough, even knowing all along that nothing would come of what they had. Being anything but mean to Alistair was excruciatingly difficult. The only times she managed to be nice to him was when he was already suffering.

"If I had my way, you wouldn't have to live like this." He swept her fringe of hair aside, revealing a pair of frightened eyes, and Alistair sighed. The world was far from perfect if someone like Ellyn believed she didn't deserve love or liberty.

Alistair was tired of holding back his feelings, tired of watching her run away from him. Courting Ellyn was like hunting a rabbit. The moment he thought he was close enough to capture her, she darted away with words or deeds that set her against him. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a long linen wrapped package, which he unfolded to reveal a rose.

"Do you know what this is?" He held it out to her.

Ellyn held the dry stem in her hand, careful not to crush the petals. It was dried artfully, probably hunt upside down while the petals settled. The fragrance wafted to her as she moved it. "A very dead flower?" Then she felt it, the spirit inside that felt like a beating heart, shining. She drew on the power of the Fade, just a trickle, for with something so frail, an inrush of power could bring death just as well as life.

He stared as the glow of magic trickled from her fingers, slowly, tendrils of ethereal blue enveloped the flower in her hand, the petals reflected the glow, its texture turning velvety under his gaze. When it was done, it was bright and beautiful just as the day he saw it in Lothering. He looked up from it then, and saw her eyes, bright hazel, more blue in this light from the residual magic radiating from his rose, and he heard himself babbling about how he picked it in Lothering and when he saw how it reminded him of her. A rose, untainted and pure amongst the destruction of the Blight, how something so beautiful could survive amidst all this. Her smile spread and she mumbled something incoherent, for he heard no more than the rush of his own blood as his pulse quickened, and a background noise, the distant murmur of the darkspawn so loud in the deep roads.

Alistiar thought he might have been still talking as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, all thoughts of propriety forgotten. He meant it to be a chaste kiss, one of confession, but he had held onto those feelings for so long that when he felt the tingle between their lips he poured his want behind it until she pulled away, breathless and teary.

She looked terrified, the kiss having woken something that she tried all this time to deny. She had always watched him – wanted him, over the fear and the disdain, and the kiss woke the want in her, the need to possess him that she pushed away to the farthest corner of her mind.

When he saw that look Alistair pulled her into his arms, afraid of her running again, pushing him away again, "please don't run from me. I love you." As if speaking those words out loud solved everything.

His words solved nothing, only made things more complicated. He was to be the King of Ferelden, she was a mage. Nothing good could come of this. She could no longer push him away, however much she wanted to, for when he kissed her she leaned into it like she was living in a dank dark cave all her life and he was the sun. She drank up his kiss like the flower soaked up her magic, and she felt how it brought her to life.

"This will not end well, I know it." She shook her head. How did a flower live without sunlight? It would grow pale in the dark, forever reaching upwards, never blooming, but at least it would never know its plight.

"I know. Even if we both live through the Blight, we'll still end up here. In Orzammar. In the deep roads." He smiled wryly, and raised one hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. That was the most optimistic outcome; that they should be together in thirty years, to live long enough to see their Calling. She couldn't help but smile back. Was he ever only able to imagine the happiest ending possible? "If you only think of how things will 'end,' death is the only outcome. Well, eventually anyway. Meanwhile, you should live a little."

There was something wholly familiar to that line of thought, but she couldn't place it now. It was a strange place to speak of living, the deep roads. She did not tell him she loved him, but he thought he felt it all the same. He tipped her head up and kissed her again, this time, her hands came up to rest behind his neck.

"Maker's breath. But you are beautiful. I am a lucky man." Alistair touched his forehead to hers, wearing a silly grin, his eyes shining in the dim light.