Archive of Our Own

Bethany hadn't stepped foot in her home country since she left Lothering all those years ago. She thought it would feel different, like her mother's warm embrace whenever she returned home. In Lothering, back when their family was whole and unblemished, her hugs were brief. As family dwindled, they'd grown gradually tighter, as though she feared Bethany would slip through her fingers if she dared loosen. Returning to Ferelden should have felt like that last hug, one that was familiar and known, the one Bethany was impatient to break in her haste to join her sister's quest into the Deep Roads.

The last time. Briskness and impatience and Maker, she'd left her mother without a word.

Returning to Ferelden was nothing like her mother's embrace. It brought no solace to reach this place where her family had started and where a part of it ended.

She didn't quite know why she was thinking about her family so deeply, either. Certainly the news she delivered didn't have the power to fracture her family anymore. Dear Bethany, the letter at her side said. Bethany hadn't the heart to read the rest.

You couldn't break what was already broken. Couldn't destroy what was already gone. Couldn't drench upon shores already flooded. No, it was not her at risk from the news weighing her steps into the mud-slick ground. It was fitting then that someone who was already lost would deliver this news. She was a pawn meant to soften a blow; a small piece on a grand, political board.

How her sister would laugh to know Bethany followed in her footsteps.

…

…

"Ho there!"

Bethany's steps slowed. A soldier skid to a stop near her: a man with a friendly smile and small eyes with a sharp eyed, taller woman following at his heels. Both had straw-colored hair and worn, dust coated armor. The heraldry upon their breast proclaimed them soldiers for the Ferelden crown, unless such symbols were common now. Wary, then resigned, Bethany stopped altogether.

"Begging your pardon, lass, we're looking for a warden ourselves."

"What need do you have of a warden?" she asked, gauging their armor and their expressions. Most who looked for wardens these days didn't do so out of the goodness of their hearts. But Ferelden was a strange place, the blight only ten years passed. She'd forgotten what it was like for someone to recognize her—and she fought the urge to reach for her weapon, as she had to do these last few months with wardens hunting her down.

The woman shook her head. "Not us. The Queen sends us in search of answers for her father."

"Why?" she asked, heart beating fast. "Her father has been gone some years, has he not?"

The man took over now, shrugging. "Oh, aye, but there's been rumors. Tons, mind you, so I havena thought which ones to put much thought into." When her expression didn't change, the man pressed onward. "About the wardens being recalled to elsewhere."

They were. If not to Corypheus, then further to Weisshaupt now. "They are often sent on duties. Loghain is no exception to the rule."

His lips curled then straightened, as if loathing was not quite something he could hide but he was duty bound to try. She didn't know if this was about Loghain's legacy in Ferelden—traitor or hero, some strange mix of both—or the wardens. Or maybe they knew. Maybe even now, word of the wardens' tainted legacy carried on a breeze faster than her mortal legs could walk.

"You are familiar with the teryn… that is, with…" the woman stumbled, frowning deeply.

"Loghain," said the man.

"Not all wardens are familiar with each other," Bethany deflected. If they knew, they were hiding it well, and if they didn't know… Well, Bethany wasn't inclined to tell them. The first time she spoke the words, it was for someone else's ears. Certainly admitting the truth to the only person who had lost as much as her was harrowing enough… A second time? Well, that was perhaps asking the Maker for strength He wouldn't give.

"Unfortunate."

"Good luck on your journey. I hope your queen can bear the wait for news," said Bethany.

"Aye. Suppose you can't give us a hint on where to find more information?"

"None. As I said, not all wardens are familiar with each other and I haven't been in Ferelden since before the blight."

They asked her several more questions and grew more discouraged with each answer before setting off. Bethany watched them leave, stomach sinking, and wondered if it might have been better to let them carry the burden. Let some other stranger speak the words that would break this queen as they were trying to break her. The urge to make someone else strike the blow nearly sent words toppling from her lips, but Bethany bit them back.

Her sister wouldn't have sent someone else with the burden. She'd have carried it with her to the end, regardless of the cost. Bethany may not have her sister's bravery, or strength, or compassion, or determination, but she did have some of her heart. It was enough to let the soldiers disappear over the hills and turn her back on them, continuing on her trek to the imperial highway.

One step forward, only a thousand more to go.

…

…

It was night when her skin prickled and her bones rattled. Darkspawn, her senses whispered, waking her from a restless slumber. It had been months since she slept longer than a few winks; first, hiding from the wardens who hunted her and Loghain, then in the Western Approach plagued with nightmares, now imagining the fade as the report had described it to her. Darkspawn were almost a respite from that.

Bethany grasped her staff and leveraged herself upright, peering around in the darkness. It was a cloudy night, moonlight winking in and out of existence. All around her was quiet, but her senses still hummed with a growing awareness. She packed, swift and silent, bag over her shoulder and staff in hand as she prowled through the darkness.

Where were they? She felt them, even if she didn't see or hear them.

They were… walking away from her. How strange. They weren't below her, that much was clear, and she walked further in search for them. The delay on her journey was a necessary one. Darkspawn on the surface was never a good sign after all.

She tracked them for several minutes until a hum of conversation drifted on the wind. The first sound of it made her tense, fingers twitching around her staff in preparation. Though the Inquisition had stabilized a part of the region following the Mage-Templar War, she didn't doubt there were still pockets of those who would see her staff first and everything else second.

Steps came towards her. Not darkspawn, the sensation of them moving further and further away.

Bethany ducked into the shadows of a bush as a pair of soldiers rounded the bend. In the darkness, she made out no more than the scuff of their steps over the newly fallen leaves and the flare of light from their torches. Friend or foe, she didn't know.

Had she spent too much time among the paranoid that she was becoming just like them? It wasn't like her to jump at shadow, but all the same, she held her breath until they passed and then for a heartbeat longer before she ventured from her hiding spot.

By then, the darkspawn were gone.

She cursed and turned on her heel.

A sword pointed at her nose. She followed the glinting metal, magic pooling at the tip of her staff, and halted at the sight of a woman. A familiar one. Her hair dangled around her face, strands loose and expression strained. "You again," Bethany breathed, cutting her magic only just. She flicked a hand, drawing a flame to rest in her palm as light. "Are you mad? I could have hurt you."

"Tell me why a warden might be lurking in the brush in the dead of night," she said tightly, eyes steely. "I have it on good authority none are still in Ferelden. Yet here you are."

"Not all are given the same duties. I am duty-bound to come here regardless of where the others are."

"There are no other wardens in Ferelden. Vigil's Keep is empty. Why would they send a stranger here?" she pressed, lips a thin slash across her face.

"This was my home once," said Bethany, a little surprised and a little offended. "My family fought and killed and bled for it once. Am I not allowed the chance to step foot into my country again? Have the wardens been forced from this land again?"

The woman's eyes narrowed. With a slow, irritated exhale, she tucked her blade into a holster at her side. "No. Ferelden will not deny anyone their place here."

Bethany let out a breath. Then the trickle of awareness struck again, stronger this time beneath the still hard thumping of her heart. Something was watching them, tucked just beyond the peripheral of her senses. Her fingers tightened over her staff, head tilting to the side, sliding a step back and then forward to gauge its direction.

The woman eyed her. No, she watched the flame in Bethany's hand intently. "You're a mage."

"So I am told," said Bethany, wary, spying movement in the brush and tensing. But, no, it was just an animal jolting into movement, running from—No, it was nothing. An animal merely startled into movement. The sickening feeling lessened with each passing second and Bethany loosened a breath. "Yes, I am a mage. Is that a problem?"

"No more than usual. What do you sense? Darkspawn?"

"You're awfully familiar with Grey Wardens for someone who isn't one."

"I am familiar with them, yes," she replied, following Bethany's gaze to the brush. She scrutinized it a heartbeat and then dismissed it—and Bethany—to stride towards the path. "But I have never met a Grey Warden who grew so silent in the presence of anything other than darkspawn. Since you haven't lit the forest on fire, I presume we are safe from the threat of them."

It wasn't a question, but an arrogant certainty that made Bethany's skin prickle with irritation. "For now," she said with forced lightness.

"If you find word on—"

"On Loghain for the queen? I will send word. But I have little to share with you."

"Then I have little use for you. Continue with your quest and should that change, you know where to take it."

The woman was nearly one with the shadows again. Bethany bristled at the order, at the assumption, at the idea that Bethany would answer the order and call like an obedient dog. She hadn't for the Chantry, she hadn't for the wardens—she would certainly not do so for the whims of a nameless soldier on a foolhardy mission, regardless of whether they knew that or not.

"There are darkspawn nearby. Somewhere. Your Queen is better off sending people to remove the thorn of them before they grow than hunting for a singular warden who could be anywhere." And who was, she knew, nowhere at all. She felt a momentary satisfaction when the woman stopped in place, her fingers dancing over the hilt of her blade in a way that Bethany hoped was merely thoughtful and not violent. When they only continued tapping, her hammering heart settled.

"Where are they? I am told wardens can sense them. Surely you could point them out."

Bethany fell silent. The prickling sensation was gone, yes, but she knew it was only temporary. And she also knew frightening travelers about the darkspawn she could not point out was useless. Wrong, even. The woman turned, pinning Bethany with icy blue eyes. "Nearby, but I couldn't say where yet," she said finally, meeting her gaze and holding it.

The woman stared for a heartbeat. Then, at once, the haughtiness faded from her. She released a weighty sigh, aggravated, but her voice was gentle, almost exceedingly so. "I imagine they are always somewhere. You will grow comfortable with the feeling. Everyone in Ferelden feels their phantom touches, too, but I assure you, the blight is done."

Bethany held her tongue. She knew the blight was over, but Corypheus was still there. Still a threat. If he faked a calling for the wardens, could he fake the feeling that roused darkspawn from their nests? Could he summon them to the surface and bringing them down like a horde upon Ferelden? Upon Thedas? She blew out a breath, frustrated with herself. Darkspawn would find their way to the surface regardless of Corypheus. She needn't turn a monster into a bigger threat than he already was.

Another pause, thoughtful now, and then the woman inclined her head. "We have a camp ahead, if you wish for company."

"No," she said, instinct, heart-beating faster. "I can't."

Her brows furrowed. "No? You would sleep alone in the woods then? While thinking darkspawn lurk?" she said, dubious. "Ridiculous."

"I don't even know you."

"You know I am not an enemy."

Bethany's gaze flicked to the sword, brows raising.

Her lips twitched. "I was not expecting company."

"You didn't say why you were out here."

For a second, she didn't answer and only watched with Bethany with a peculiar intensity. "Nor you."

"I sensed the darkspawn."

"So, you went to find them? No plan?"

A familiar sort of embarrassment washed over Bethany. "I see no point in letting them ambush me in the night."

"No, but surely the great Grey Wardens have a better idea than this."

"I have heard such commentary before." Except he'd been a great deal more brutal about it. She knew not everyone joined the Grey Wardens from a place of honor just as few joined simply because familial connections forced their hand. Her shoulders slumped. "You did not tell me why you are here."

"… I heard movement, I investigated."

The pause was long enough to draw her attention. Bethany frowned. "I wasn't that loud, was I?"

"It is a quiet night. Peaceful. And you were loud enough to draw my attention though it appears I cannot say the same for our patrol." She heaved a sigh. "I am leaving now. Follow if you wish, or stay if you prefer. Know others will trail the forest before long."

"Is that a threat?"

"No," she said, startled, lips twitching slightly. "But I assume your reluctance to rest is a desire for anonymity. If you wish to repeat this discussion a thousand times over, by all means, stay in the brush like a bandit."

Bethany laughed. "A bandit? How ridiculous. No, I appreciate the offer, but I… I should continue on. I will watch for others."

"Maker go with you, then, Warden."

When she left, Bethany lingered a heartbeat longer. It had been a while since she felt something like laughter, and she wanted to remember it.

…

…

She found no trace of the darkspawn and returned to camp for rest a little longer. The letters in her bag burned, and she knew that if there no darkspawn to find, she had no reason to wait. It made her restless and jittery, at least until she remembered the embarrassment of rushing blindly into the night for darkspawn.

It was time to rest.

The letter burned still. Her fingers tugged it free, thumb tracing over the wax seal long broke. Firelight flicked over the crinkled parchment. No scent clung to it anymore, and she thought that was easier than the floral perfume which had stuck to it when she last opened it.

Dear Bethany, it started, and her heart squeezed tight at her sister's familiar swirling letters. She sucked in a breath, pressing onward.

Dear Bethany,

Do you remember before we left Lothering and Carver—

She crumpled it. Then smoothed it. Then folded it and tucked it away, imagining as she did that she was tucking each and every painful thought with it.

…

…

Darkspawn ravaged the next village. She saw the body of only one as she crept closer, her stomach twisting at the sight. Bethany watched it for a heartbeat, uneasy, and then swept deeper into the village. It was small, and held no name in memory or signage, and dread was a companion walking at her side until she heard voices. People. A sign that not all was lost.

It surprised Bethany little to find the woman was there, directing people into the village to search, staring at the bloodied dirt with hard, frustrated eyes. A man stood near her, helmet under his arm, his words so low Bethany heard not even a whisper.

At Bethany's footsteps, he fell silent and tense. His stance shifted, a warrior preparing for battle. His sword slid free, and Bethany stopped in place, staring, bemused. She was not afraid of a blade nor the man who wielded it. A phantom voice in her ear whispered about the foolishness of such bravado, and she ignored it.

The woman waved a dismissive hand without looking. "She is no threat for the moment. See if Ser Rorin needs help."

He hesitated. "But—"

The woman tensed.

He swallowed, slid his sword away, and marched off.

"No threat at all?" said Bethany, trying to channel her sister's flippant tones and failing. She never had the talent for her voice.

"For the moment, at least."

"I could be anyone."

"I doubt the wardens are so far gone they would work with the darkspawn," said the woman sharply.

"No," said Bethany, but she wondered if that was strictly true. Was that not what they whispered about Corpyheus? That he was a magister corrupted into some strange darkspawn abomination? Is that not why they used her father to seal him away? She wished she had joined her sister on that quest. Wished she had known what would happen then and what would happen now. Perhaps she would feel less blind and less foolish and certainly less heavy.

The woman exhaled. "You said there were darkspawn. I didn't believe you. And in the meantime, they destroyed this."

"You couldn't have known."

"We have seen no larger number of darkspawn in years. Not since the blight ended. When you spoke of them, I had thought it a paranoid wardens dream."

"I had hoped so," said Bethany cautiously. She didn't know what this woman would do. She wasn't looking at Bethany, still staring off into the village.

"How many would it take to do this?"

"An attack like this? I couldn't say. The village doesn't look well-fortified and I imagine even a small contingent of them would… cause enough damage." Bethany stepped closer—and her skin prickled in warning, so faint she almost missed it. She reached for her staff slowly. Her senses stretched.

The woman was speaking, but Bethany didn't listen.

Where was it?

She slid away from her. Her ears buzzed with anticipation, heart thumping. She stepped closer to the village, prickling sensation rising. The woman trailed behind her, ignoring Bethany's cautioning hand.

"Its moving," she murmured. "Did your people not clear the village?"

"For survivors. Are they smart enough to hide?"

"Some. Not long after the blight, I heard rumors of darkspawns who could talk," she said, then winced. "Pretend you didn't hear that."

The woman made a noise. It was hard to tell if it was a muffled laugh or not. "How many do you sense?"

"It doesn't work that way. I don't know why people think we can tell you the exact numbers—"

"My… That is, I was told some could estimate their numbers," she said, sharp, an undertone to it Bethany couldn't identify. She suspected embarrassment.

"Well, not me. Perhaps I am a lousy warden."

"Show me this darkspawn and that will be adequate enough for me."

"A small bar for victory."

"I cannot count this a battle to win," said the woman, sighing. "It is merely a wish to find a problem I can solve."

"No luck with your quest for the Queen? Have you considered telling her no?"

She laughed now. "You would defy a queen?"

"As a warden, I am technically not beholden to any ruler," Bethany said, thoughtful. She held out a hand to slow the woman, frowning, and then nodded towards an upturned cart at the village entrance. She kept speaking, casual, even as she readied her staff and the woman her blade. "We aren't meant to be involved in politics."

"Many Fereldans enjoy pointing out the queen only holds her throne because of the Grey Wardens," she said, voice tight.

"What, because some Grey Wardens said something and the last ten years of her rule have meant nothing?" said Bethany with a snort, summoning magic slowly. Her voice held a humor which didn't meet her face; that she had learned from her sister. "Mind you, I have no love—or hate—for royalty, but—"

Bethany sent a burst of magic at the cart. Shards of wood exploded outward, and the darkspawn screeched with outrage, animalistic in its fury as it leapt from the wreckage. It charged at them. Shouts echoed in the distance at the noise. She readied her staff for another hit, mana pooling like liquid warmth in her gut.

Closer.

Closer.

The woman cut through the darkspawn with a slice of her blade. It fell with a thump, and she stared down at it with disappointment. "I feel no better," she said, frowning.

Bethany crept closer, tilting her head back to peer closely at the woman. Her eyes were darker than Bethany thought, and they narrowed on Bethany with pinprick focus. "Did you get blood on your face?"

"No."

"Are you certain? None on your face? None in your mouth, your eyes?"

The woman glared. "I am certain."

"You need to wash your hands."

"So I shall. But calm yourself before you worry my men."

Bethany frowned, peering behind them. And there was the man again, sword drawn, looking between the cart and the darkspawn and the woman with something like disbelief. "Your—" he started, and the woman waved a hand.

"Search the village for survivors and darkspawn. I'll have no more of these creatures plaguing us. You, come with me."

It took Bethany a second to realize she meant her. The others watched her, gaping, and Bethany scrambled to follow with heat on her face. "I am not a dog," she hissed.

"What?" said the woman.

"You cannot simply order me around."

"It wasn't—That was not my intention." She fell silent until she reached the Drakon. Mud clung to their boots as they reached the water's edge. She washed in silence, Bethany watching, unable to explain what kept her in place. It was a long moment before the woman spoke again. "You say wardens aren't involved in politics. Yet you cannot deny the role they played in Ferelden."

"Yes, well, rumor says they also had a dog fighting at the Landsmeet so I am starting to think Ferelden has other problems," she said in a grumble.

She shook her head. "The Hero of Ferleden tried. They didn't allow it."

"You were there?"

"Yes," she said, amused.

"Did you go when you were twelve?" she said, squinting. The woman had nicer skin than Bethany, and she rather thought she took good care of herself. The past few months didn't count—it was hard to maintain the same amount of self-control while on the run.

"I am not quite so young, no. But we are getting off track. Do you think the wardens were wrong?"

"To put Anora on the throne?" she asked, frowning. "I wasn't there, but Ferelden has survived the blight, the recovery from it, and the Mage-Templar War for the time being. I imagine that speaks enough to her capabilities."

"Is that enough?"

"That's not for me to say. I am not Fereldan anymore."

"No? I thought this was your home once."

Bethany's lips twisted. "Once. Not anymore." Her home now was… Her breath quickened, and she wrenched her gaze away from the woman, afraid she would see the uncertainty. "I should continue. I will not reach Denerim in time if I don't."

"Denerim? What would the wardens seek in the capital?"

"It… " she hesitated, returning her attention to the woman. Suspicion lingered on her face now, replacing the curiosity and openness Bethany had heard in her voice only a few moments ago. "It isn't warden business exactly. I have news for someone who lives there."

"This was a long journey for news that a message could have brought."

"Some news deserves a face. Not a bird," she said, sharp, thinking of her own news. She wasn't a queen. She didn't get her answers delivered to her with someone capable of answering. She'd journeyed to the Inquisition. She'd asked, both for her sake and for this Queen she'd never met, bonded together through loss without either knowing the other.

"Very well," said the woman, curtly. "Denerim is that way. Be wary. I have hopes the darkspawn were quelled here, but…"

Guilt surged. "Yes. Hopefully." She should vanquish them. That was her responsibility as a warden. Her own concerns, her own worries—those didn't matter. That was the lesson he tried to drill into her head: duty over everything. Her sister was the same, in her own way; for all Bethany knew, she jumped into the abyss in the hopes of, finally, resting her head. The thought troubled and hurt in equal measure. "Perhaps your people found them all," she said, faintly.

"Perhaps."

A glimpse at the woman's face said she believed as little as Bethany did.

…

…

It was nearly a week later when she saw the smoke. Her pace picked up and she crested the edge of a hill along the West Road to its end. Just ahead of her was meant to be South Reach, one of the few villages large enough to warrant a name on the vague map of Ferelden she had as a guide. The smoke was too dark to be anything good, and Bethany went for it with a reckless type of determination born of her desire to do something. Anything.

She hadn't traveled alone in so long. Though perhaps it was better understood as she couldn't recall a time she'd been alone ever. Not in Lothering, not in Kirkwall, not in the Grey Wardens. In the last week, traveling with the type of grief which made every sound someone's laughter and every slash of wind curt words, she'd have traded everything she owned in the world for companionship. As if the Maker had any use for the meager things she still held: a letter from a sister which burned her, a letter from an Inquisitor carrying her with all the strength of a cloud, a staff near cracked, and a heart near broken.

It was maddening.

The closer she grew to South Reach, the more the wind carried the stench of decay, lurking just below the smell of smoke and charr and ruin. By the time she drew close enough to make out the figures moving in and out of the village, the sky was more orange than blue.

South Reach was a furnace, heat bathing her face, and flames glinting off the armor of soldiers who ran from the Drakon to the nearest houses. Bethany joined them, summoning rudimentary ice skills to cool flames and force magic to smother what ice couldn't quell.

The soldiers jolted, but none of them argued with her presence. Before long, they directed her places, dragging her from house to house. When she was nearly ragged, they sent her away.

Sweat dotted her face. Her eyes burned as much from fatigue as they did smoke. She swiped a hand across her forehead. Water from the Drakon was cold, washing over her fingers. She cleaned her hands and splashed her face, and when footsteps sounded behind her, she didn't need to lift her head to know it was the woman.

"Was it darkspawn?" Bethany asked. She hadn't looked. Hadn't wanted to know. Had she put her own desperation to reach Denerim above her duty?

"Yes."

Bethany dunked her hands in the water again. Her fingers hurt, cold and aching. She said nothing, for there was nothing she could say. If she had searched for the darkspawn, maybe it would have made a difference.

"It's less dire than it looks."

Bethany jolted.

The woman stood beside her. Their reflection in the water warped them. Bethany's face was ashen and pale, cheeks stained with soot. Beside her, the woman's dirty, her armor smudged with ash and blood. Her hands were clasped behind her back, stance still straight, while Bethany's bones felt soft and sluggish. She did not feel like a warden, then, but like the same mage who had kneeled in the mud in Crestwood, lectured on duty.

She swallowed something sharp. "A poor consolation to those who lost their homes," said Bethany quietly, removing her hands and flicking the water from her skin.

"True. But they are strong people and they will weather this storm."

"Ferelden and their people have weathered a great deal already." She stayed kneeled at the water's edge, but peered over her shoulder towards the village. Smoke lingered in the air still, but a breeze was sweeping away the remnants of the haze. They had won against the fire. Hopefully against the darkspawn, too, but she hadn't dared asked.

Instead, she wondered where the people were. Had they scattered to the winds? Had they marched to a neighbor, door to door, until they were on the opposite sides of the village walls than her?

"Thank you for helping."

Bethany tilted her head, but didn't move her stare. "I have been a refugee before. I know what it is to lose everything. I wouldn't wish it on anyone."

The woman studied her. "You left Ferelden during the blight, didn't you?"

"I did."

"But not as a Grey Warden."

It wasn't a question. Bethany frowned and now she did look, studying her with the same intensity. Her blonde hair was tightly braided and her blue eyes piercing, like she might tell Bethany's motives from a glance. "Who are you?" Bethany asked.

The woman looked startled and then her lips stretched into an amused smile. "I see."

"What is it?"

"I am not used to introducing myself."

Bethany shifted. "Ah," she said, uncomfortable. "I mean no disrespect. But it has been a long while since I've spent anytime with Ferelden. I would not know anyone's titles."

"Its no matter. I don't mind the anonymity. And it seems… unimportant now to care about rank or status."

Bethany sighed. "Were the darkspawn found?"

"A few. I am told a handful left when South Reach fought back."

She loosened a breath. "They survived. That is good."

"We Fereldans are hearty. Take some comfort in knowing we will survive, we always have."

"You are very certain about that."

The woman tilted her chin, looking from Bethany to the village. Her eyes were unreadable. "Some say I am simply stubborn like my father. But I find it important to remember we have survived much already."

"Some people would say you're due for a break."

The woman laughed; it made her eyes crease at the corners, everything in her face lightening with her amusement. It was unexpected, and it eased the weight on Bethany's chest from a druffalo to a nug. Laughter fading but lightness remaining, she let out a quiet sigh. "Oh, I would relish one. But that is not always an option. You must make your own peace wherever you can find it. Experience has taught me much in that regard."

They fell silent, simply watching the village, and then Bethany stood. "Well, I will find the darkspawn. Maybe that will give them some measure of peace knowing they won't return."

"Indeed, it would. Though how do you imagine to tackle them on your own?" Bethany shrugged. The woman didn't look reassured. "You need not worry about heroics at this stage. If you have a lead on the darkspawn, I can help. My people would be relieved at a chance to repay the favor."

"That's not necessary."

"Its not a favor to you," said the woman, a touch impatient. "The darkspawn attacked our people. You are but one person. What will you do if there are many?"

"I will fight them and prevail. As wardens do." In war, victory. She may not be the warden others wanted her to be, and she may not be warden enough to replace those they lost at Adamant, but she was the one they had.

"And die," said the woman with disapproval, a divot forming between her brows. Her eyes seemed darker, and Bethany was frustrated to find the expression momentarily derailed her thoughts. "Then where will your mission be? I imagine it wasn't slaying these or you would have done so before."

Bethany winced.

The woman made to speak again, but a whistle sounded and she lifted her chin, surprised, as if she had forgotten where she was in the midst of speaking and only now remembered. She straightened. "Excuse me, but pray think about what I've said. Only fools run off to die alone."

She left, and Bethany watched her retreating back for far longer than she should.

…

…

She wasn't a fool, but the woman was probably right about the idea of dying alone. Magic pooled on her palms, spluttering and dying, faded from patching up the worst of her wounds and now too depleted to work any further. Was it enough? From her swimming vision, she thought not.

She thought of her sister and stood anyway. Her limbs were sluggish and slow, but they obeyed and sometimes that was all anyone could ask from their body. She leaned heavily on her staff, climbing over the charred remains of a darkspawn, their blood and hers pooling into the divots of her armor and the heel of her boots.

One step. Two steps. They'd tucked themselves into a narrow cavern; if she hadn't trailed over the region for days now, she wouldn't have known. But she had crawled over it. Had even slumbered in the yawning mouth of the cave, none the wiser to what lurked deeper within simply waiting. They never told people about that—how a darkspawn's presence was a buzz one could mistake for cold or fear or nausea or grief.

Bethany never had a knack for finding them and only half a sense for feeling them. Now, at least, she could say she died with a better understanding of it.

The cave fell behind her. It was sunny and bright now, the haze of the fire long gone in the week it had taken Bethany to find their lair. Now, it was a beautiful day, and she traced the clouds with weary eyes as it shone over the rolling hills. Her steps followed their shadows; she wasn't sure where she was walking, only that the clouds led her and when those faded, the sound of a river lured her.

The more she walked, the more she ached. The more she ached, the more she thought that she was going to live.

She didn't hear the camp. Her ears rang too loud to pick up anything other than the river and her own pounding heart, and it bloomed from swaying grass like Andraste herself had deposited them in front of her. Their voices washed over her, indistinct from the water, and she stared in confusion as the trunk of a tree became a shadow and then a person.

"I know you," she said slowly, making out a man with wheat colored hair.

"Aye, lass."

"You were looking for Loghain for the queen."

"Aye."

"Take me to her." Yes, that was right. Bethany wasn't going to die, but she wanted her mission done. She wanted to go home. Wherever that was now without her sister. Without her companion. Without her friends. Maybe the woman was right, maybe she was a fool.

His eyes lifted over her shoulder. His brows raised in question. She heard footsteps, and she recognized the woman's movements without turning to see.

"Why?" the woman asked. Now, Bethany turned, regarding her. She'd cleaned up nicely since she last saw her, but a pinch sat the corner of her lips. The sight of it eased her, shoulders slumping, foolish as it was to find comfort in that frown.

"You said I should bring her answers if—"

She cut her off. "You fought the darkspawn on your own, I see."

Bethany offered a half-smile. "I did. And lived."

"So you have." She sounded disbelieving, and a little dubious. Her gaze was heavy. "You should rest. The Queen can wait."

"No—"

"Arguing with me won't change my decision."

"But I need to tell her—"

"It can wait— Are you well?"

She wasn't quite sure. Now that she wasn't moving, the ache returned.

"I am okay," she murmured.

The woman didn't laugh, or stare, or even speak. She reached out a hand, grasping Bethany's shoulder to steady her as she swayed. "I think not," she said, flinching, drawing her fingers away to look at the blood coating her palm. "Maker preserve me. You're actually wounded. You there, wake the other mage. The healer."

Bethany shook her head. "I have to tell the queen," she said, head shaking. Her vision swam a little. "I am okay, just tired. I used a lot of magic."

The woman adjusted her grip, hand sliding down to Bethany's elbow and drawing her deeper into the camp. "Then this should take no time at all."

"You're getting blood on yourself."

"I am Fereldan. Blood is no matter to me."

"I have to tell the queen," she urged.

The woman sighed. "You are insistent. Tell her then."

"Take me to her."

"You have her. Tell me."

Bethany blinked slowly. "You are… Queen Anora?" Her head tilted, sun blinding, haloing around the woman's sharp features and piercing eyes and sunshine colored hair. Hadn't all the art painted her like that? Hadn't all the stories? Bethany had thought it her own silly, yearning heart that painted her as a vision, but now she wondered if it was simply the bearing of someone who was a queen.

She didn't hear the response. The ringing in her ears grew louder and her vision narrowed until it was no more than a pinprick of golden hair and nothing at all.

…

…

She woke to cool sheets over her bare legs and a soft bed beneath her back. Rain sounded, muffled, striking against a glass like drumming fingertips. Where was she? None of her homes held such luxury. She urged herself to wake when she heard the quiet murmur of conversation, near lost among the rain, stop.

"She's waking, Your Majesty."

"Leave us." It was her. The woman. Not a random soldier as Bethany first thought, but… Wake up, she urged again, scrunching her nose. Her eyes flicked open, squinting, staring up into a bed with a wooden canopy and gossamer cloth. It was beautiful, hand-carved, and most certainly too much.

"…Your Majesty?" said another voice.

Silence. Then, a shuffle and a cough. Footsteps retreated, a door creaking open and then closed. Bethany tilted her head, blinking away remnants of sleep.

"You never did tell me your name," said the Queen.

"Bethany, Your Majesty," she murmured, shifting with a wince. Her body ached, and the scent of elfroot rose to her nose in the same instant her arm pinched. She touched her shoulder, confused momentarily.

"It is late to stand on formality. It seems you were my mission and I was yours."

"What… do you mean?"

"I read your letter."

Sleep drained away. "What? You had… You had no right," she said, sharp, swinging upright in bed. The bed-sheet pooled around her waist, and she yanked it upright to cover what was, she realized, only a slightly too big linen shirt.

The Queen managed a smile, but it was nothing like the others Bethany had seen. It held no wry humor or quiet wit. "It bore my name, did it not?"

"It wasn't ready. You weren't supposed to read it." Bethany blinked hard. Sleep was gone, and all that stayed was a bone-deep weariness. "Nobody should read about it in a letter."

"It being my father's death?" Now the Queen's voice held an edge. "I deserved to know when it happened, not months after he—" She ended her words with a sharp exhale, tilting her head to the side as though thinking. Now that Bethany was staring at her, resplendent in a dress fit for royalty, she didn't know how she hadn't noticed it. Though Queen Anora held none of Loghain's colors, she saw the same unimpressed tilt of their lips and the sharp logic in their eyes. Unlike him, she yanked her temper under control. "What is your name?"

"Bethany."

"I am quite surprised that you are alive," she said, hands clasped in front of her. The sleeves of her dress dangled low, embroidered with thin threads of gold that matched hair. "You were far more wounded than you led us to believe. You spoke a great deal more eloquently than I expected from someone who was awaiting Andraste."

"Was I? I healed myself."

"Which is perhaps the only reason you are alive. Or you are too stubborn to die."

It cut deeper than the Queen perhaps intended. "Stubborn doesn't keep people alive. It's always just… dumb luck," she said, lifting a hand to rest against her shoulder, trying to summon her magic.

"There is little more healing you could do with magic. My best healer was incapable of doing more," the Queen warned.

Her hand fell into her lap, lips pursed together. She couldn't heal herself. She couldn't deliver her message. She couldn't— "Why am I here?" she asked, puzzled. If the Queen already read the Inquisitor's note, Bethany didn't see a point in attending to her. If it was the goodness of her heart, she also didn't see why she would bring Bethany here. It was a room fit for someone important. Not her.

"Pardon?"

"You could have sent me anywhere. Why am I here? Where is here?"

"We are in Denerim."

Bethany stared. "We were… days from Denerim. Was I out so long?"

"I am not one for exaggeration so you will believe me when I say you were quite injured. As for why you are here," said the Queen, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, as if preparing herself for an argument. Bethany winced, recalling at once that she was pressing for answers from a Queen. "I am not cruel, no matter what others may think, I would not leave someone to die."

"Nor do I imagine you so altruistic to invite a stranger in your home for no reason," Bethany pointed out.

Her lips twitched, and a momentary pleasure swept through Bethany. It was a flash of a real smile, surprise and amusement, silenced under the Queen's self-control. "No, not so altruistic. I have questions, and I presume you have answers. When you are well, I will—"

Bethany cut her off, fighting a wince at the arch in Queen Anora's brows when she did. "I can answer them now."

"Can you? You look unwell," she said bluntly. "You should rest."

"I did not travel this far and this long to let a little injury waylay me." She didn't want to sleep anymore. Injury had kept away unease and fear, but it was only a matter of time before something like numbness returned. She shifted to climb from the bed, a leg sliding free. Cold air prickled against her skin, and she let out a little noise of protest. Then flushed red, sliding back beneath the blankets, letting out a little awkward laugh that made her face feel hotter. "Ah, but…" She stuttered.

"Rest. Wash up. Tomorrow, you may answer my questions."

"How kind of you to allow me," she said quietly, forcing herself to act less like the silly teenager of her youth and more like the woman who had survived horrors. People who fought darkspawn didn't blush because someone like Queen Anora saw them near naked. And now her thoughts flooded with every other thing she'd done in front of the Queen.

Queen Anora was leaving the room when Bethany stopped her with a noise. She halted, peering back at Bethany, brows arched.

"Er, why didn't you tell me you were the Queen? I was… never reverent."

"You would be surprised how little I care for reverence," said the Queen after a pause. "You may find that foolish in my position. I have no wish for people to kiss my hem and wish me well with a lie. Rather an argument to my face than whispers and doubts and knives at my back."

When Bethany didn't continue, Queen Anora hesitated again, words at the tip of her tongue, and then left the room without a sound.

…

…

One of the Queen's lady maids knocked on the door nearly two days later, scanned Bethany with a critical eye, and then deemed her fit enough to meet the Queen. They left the casual finery of a guest wing behind, passing through hallway after hallway which looked near identical to her, but the lady maid navigated with ease. Before long, it grew more refined, the rugs softer and brighter, the windows gleaming, the light brighter.

"Where are we going?" She suspected this wasn't a meeting they'd attend to in the courtyard for any passing courier to hear, but the deeper they pressed into this place, the less people she saw who weren't guards or maids in matching dresses as the one who escorted her. This was not a place random people dwelled, and those who lingered eyed Bethany with distrust.

The lady maid peered at Bethany, a slight rise of her lips and a gleam of amusement in her eyes. She was older, elven, and happy enough if the crinkles at the corner of her eyes said anything. "The Queen's private gardens."

Bethany frowned, but said nothing more.

"My Lady is eager to hear from you."

"I wish the news I bore was less of the heavy kind."

"Ah, she is much used to heavy conversations when it comes to this topic," she said quietly, halting at an unassuming wooden door. She knocked twice and waited, speaking quieter still, "I imagine she will be thankful to speak with someone about him."

Before Bethany could ask, the door swung open to admit a woman clad in a nearly identical dress as the one beside her, though the lady maid's uniform in the garden was a great deal neater and her expression a great deal less happy. "Who is this?" she asked, crisp, eyeing both.

"The Grey Warden."

"Ah," she said, critical. "If you hurt my Lady, I will gut you like a fish."

Bethany made a noise. "I am sorry?"

"I said what I said."

Bethany didn't reply. Both nudged her into the gardens, gesturing her through the greenery across stones. It was nothing like a real forest; it held none of the wild, the random, the free. But there was a certain tranquility to it nonetheless as she left behind the lady maids and pressed deeper into the cluster of plants and trees and roots.

The stone led her to a small covered platform upon which sat a bench. Queen Anora sat, her face in profile, something soft and private enough on her face that Bethany scuffed her boots purposely to announce her presence. When Bethany looked again, Queen Anora looked composed and regal. Still so very beautiful. It told Bethany everything about her delirious thoughts before passing out were not quite bore of her injuries, but something else altogether.

"You are well, I trust?" Queen Anora asked.

Belated, Bethany dropped into a curtsy. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Queen Anora's lips twisted, another flash of something indescribable before she inclined her head. "You may rise. Tell me, I see this letter is in the Inquisitor's hands. Why send you? Why not a courier? It would have reached me many weeks ago."

"I thought it would be easier to speak in person."

"Easier?" said the Queen dubiously. "I spent months sending my people for news about the wardens. When we heard hint of movement leaving Orlais, I assumed a role among my soldiers to hear from one of them myself. It was not altogether unpleasant, but I would not call it easy. Nor have I seen any evidence of ease in yours."

"Wardens are used to it." It went without saying that she had been a warden nearly ten years and still did not think herself used to anything. A droplet of water struck her cheek as a rain started. It was cold as ice against her skin.

Queen Anora studied her, looking as if she knew those hidden words. "Regardless, why send you?" she pressed, intent on her task. It did not matter how the letter was delivered in the end. A gleam hit her eyes, and they burned a brighter, angrier blue. "Did they hope I'd feel some sympathy to their cause if it was another warden? Or some measure of relief?"

"I cannot say their reasons. They did not demand anything of me I did not ask to take." Another drop of water, then another. She wondered if the Maker sensed their dancing words, the topic both avoided outright saying, as if putting it into words would make it real. She didn't know if the rain was a blessing or a curse, not until Queen Anora flicked her hand. Bethany tilted her head, confused.

"Come under here before the rain worsens," she said, impatient, then sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. Composed herself in a blink. "I imagine this discussion will take longer than either of us imagines. I have no wish to send you back to our physician for an illness next."

"She is very attentive," said Bethany, making her way up the steps. Her hair was slightly damp now, a bead of water trickling down her face and neck to her collar. Queen Anora traced it with her eyes, lips pressing firmer together, gaze trailing from Bethany to the gardens once more.

"She is," she said, distracted.

Bethany settled on the bench opposite her, forcing herself to look elsewhere than her profile and the curve of her lips. It was, she thought, ridiculous for her mind to focus on this when there were other things to attend. It did not matter the strange camaraderie linking them, nor the shared tragedy bringing them to together. She was sitting with a Queen, not the soldier she had traded words with several times over the last few weeks.

Neither spoke. She knew her own reasons, ridiculous as they were, but she wondered at the queen's silence.

The sky unfolded. It left a mist over the garden and drowned out the sounds of anything save the two of them. Queen Anora folded her hands, long slim fingers interlacing together and resting over her knees. "You were adamant about telling me something. Was it…" She took a breath, lifting her head to catch and hold Bethany's eyes. "Was it just to tell me my father was dead?"

Bethany swallowed. "Yes. I had thought perhaps I would die without telling you what I knew about him."

"And what is it you know?" she asked, cautious now.

So Bethany told her. About meeting Loghain when she was a younger warden, fresh from her joining, frightened and uncertain of her duties. When she met him, he wasn't a warden much longer than herself and only a few years into his exile, but he held experience enough to command the respect of his peers. If people knew his history, they did not comment on it. Bethany herself only knew rumors for the longest time.

But that didn't matter. Not the how's of their meeting. What mattered was the duty afterwards. He'd taught her how to fight with strategy, how to survive against the odds—all the things she knew from her time with family and sharpened into something else. It was not always a good thing, nor was it always a fun thing, but it was a necessary one for wardens.

Then, Corypheus came, and the Calling sang for all of them. She'd thought it a frightening sound, and Loghain found it an unbelieving one. When he refused to heed the Clarel's call, Bethany followed her mentor's decision and hoped it was the right one.

Weeks of hiding. Months of fighting. It was akin to her time with family growing up and it was hard to think of Loghain as anything other than a particularly stubborn and paranoid and maybe broken parent to replace the ones she lost. In time, she came to realize he was also replacing someone he lost—this she did not tell Queen Anora.

Adamant was still raw, and she skimmed over the details of it with only the necessities. "—And so he stayed behind," she concluded, surprised to find her voice was still even when everything else inside her roiled and fought to escape her.

"I see," said Queen Anora. Her knuckles blanched from her tight hold. "So he is possibly not dead."

"He is gone," said Bethany, now feeling a tightness in her throat.

"But he—"

"It has been weeks. The fade is not kind, and it is not easy, and it will not spare him simply because someone cares for him."

"I do not think it would," she said, sharp. "But my father is strong. Clever. If anyone can survive—"

"I have thought the same, but…" she swallowed hard. "But the people left behind aren't coming back, Your Majesty."

Queen Anora made a noise of disgust, unfolding her limbs to stand. She was much taller than Bethany remembered, near towering over her in grief and anger. Her hands trembled at her sides, and Bethany marked this show of emotion. "Why didn't they simply… " She broke off, head tilting back. "Why did you have to bring this news?"

"I thought you should know that he didn't die alone."

"You were there?"

"No. No, I wasn't." Would it have mattered if she'd gone with them? If she had entered the fortress with the Inquisitor rather than bow to the whims of her sister and Loghain? She doubted it. If the best didn't survive, why should one woman made a difference?

"Then how could you know?"

Bethany let out a slow breath and tried to find the words. They wouldn't come. They had ricocheted inside her, tearing through muscle and sinew and bone like they were paper, and it hurt all the worse for holding it back, but now that she could set it free, it refused to leave. She swallowed hard, chest tight, and shook her head.

Queen Anora paced. It was odd to see her so unnerved; the woman she'd met on the road and the queen she'd pictured in her head hadn't matched until then, like she was seeing two of a coin and only now seeing the glint of them was the same. "What is it? What more horror can you share with me?" she demanded finally, coming to a stop in front of Bethany, peering down at her with trembling lips and sad, wet eyes. And it carved through her, at last dislodging the words she'd tucked behind her ribs.

"She stayed too," Bethany whispered.

"Who?"

"My sister." Bethany's voice cracked.

Dear Bethany, the letter read. She couldn't bear to see the ending. Couldn't bear to know what her sister had told her, as if she might still exist somewhere in the world if Bethany never finished it. As if she might someday send another, chiding Bethany for the lack of a response. Her eyes burned.

"So you see," she said tightly, trying and failing to grab the scattered pieces of her heart as they fell down her cheeks in painful, watery rivets. "I had to tell you. Because if anyone knows what you've lost, its me."

Queen Anora let out a shuddering breath. She collapsed onto her seat once more and cried.

…

…

Their talk didn't continue the next day or even the day after. Responsibilities swept Queen Anora away to the heart of her court, far from where she planted Bethany for safe-keeping. Bethany healed slowly, strength returning under the careful watch of a court physician who tsked and tutted whenever Bethany used her magic to heal what, in their own words, they thought should be healed with time.

But Bethany didn't want to wait. The longer she took to recover, the more she would have to simply sit and stew in her own misery. Or not quite misery, for she imagined that required feeling something other than the numbness she longed dreaded. It meant sitting on the bed, stretching carefully to avoid tugging on her still healing wounds, reaching time and time again for the letter she hadn't yet read.

Dear Bethany,

Do you remember before we left Lothering and Carver—

She hadn't read anymore still.

Queen Anora's had taken the brunt of her picking. She wondered what the queen thought to see the creases and folds of her letter. Would she ask Bethany, or would it matter little in the grand scheme of things? What did imperfections matter to what the words contained?

She pulled her letter free again. If Queen Anora could read the one made for her and the devastation it held, Bethany could read hers. It would be fine.

Dear Bethany,

Do you remember before we left Lothering and Carver tried to convince us to pray to the Maker for happiness? Mother was the same, surprising as that might be to you. I always thought—

Bethany sucked in a breath. She did remember that. They'd laughed at him, unease lurking beneath joy as they packed what little they could hold and fled. She didn't know why her sister would bring that up. Certainly she didn't need help thinking about her brother's final moments; it had long haunted her, as many things seemed to do now.

She tried to read again, but her eyes prickled and her throat hurt. Maybe the Maker would forgive her if she waited longer.

…

…

It was a week before they spoke at all, and then only in brief passing. Bethany should leave, she knew it. Duty called her, even if she didn't yet know where that was now. No family to visit, no sister to follow, no mentor to lead. Just her, and she wasn't sure what that meant.

Queen Anora didn't send her away, but drew her closer, inviting her to dine and to walk and to simply sit.

They did not speak for all of these, not at first. Then the words trickled free in bits and pieces, innocuous conversations from two lives so fundamentally different they were alien. She saw, sometimes, a glimpse of the woman Queen Anora was before life shaped her into a ruler.

They spoke of family, but only the distant past and the memories untainted with time. She didn't know whether it was good or not that they didn't speak about Adamant or the wardens or the future. Better, maybe, to pretend it didn't exist and the… not quite happy but at least not devastated bubble could persist for a little while longer.

…

…

Bubbles of numbness never lasted. Her sister had told her as much, and Bethany had always doubted her. It was during one of these conversation about fathers and mothers and childhood homes that Queen Anora ventured into the topic they'd avoided for these times together.

"You and my father were… close."

Bethany inclined her head. "Close enough. We were among the few who questioned the orders when they reached us," she said, slow, finding the words still hurt to speak but did not burn as they had in the gardens. She hoped that meant the time would come that they wouldn't hurt at all.

"And he was pleasant?" she asked, an edge to her voice.

"He was, I suppose," said Bethany, somewhat confused. "If you can avoid the briskness, it was fairly civil."

Queen Anora tilted her head, dragging a long finger down the page of her book. "Right."

"Your Majesty, I—"

She made a noise, lifted her head, and pinned Bethany with a stare. "Anora," she said, sharp as a blade.

"Pardon?"

"We are beyond titles. I had thought you understood that."

"I… did not."

"You were nearly family from what it sounds like," she said, lashes lowering to shield her eyes, an unusual tone to her voice.

Queen Anora—Anora was a pretty face with watchful eyes. If someone lingered too long on the first, they missed the second. Her silk dress and colorful makeup and polite smile hid her sharpened edges, but Bethany was familiar with the way someone tucked away the stars with some clouds. She'd done it all her life, after all, and she noted the too cool expression on her face and the pinch at the corner of her mouth.

And she understood, finally, what Anora was saying. She bit her lip, suppressing laughter. "I promise you, I was not courting your father to any degree. We were not together in the sense others may think from our time together. He treated me as a gentleman and authority figure would." She hesitated to say daughter, but certainly he'd protected her and lectured her like one. It had reminded her of her own father—if he was brisk and paranoid and sharp.

A pause lingered. Bethany still giggled, forcing the laughter away with all her strength, made harder from Anora's frazzled expression. A million thoughts flashed across her face, blonde brows raising high on her forehead. "Then you are not in love with my father?"

Bethany burst into laughter now.

Anora pressed her fingers to her mouth, head shaking, relief in her face so open and obvious that pushing laughter away was impossible. It burst from her lips, a cackle better suited for a campfire or a tavern than the refined, well-lit library of Denerim. But though heads poked free from the stacks of tomes, and though a soldier twitched at the noise, no one commented.

It was for the best because when the laughter dried up enough and Bethany composed herself, she was struck at the expression Anora's face. Amusement, yes, and relief still, but also something soft and something watchful.

Maybe even something happy, despite everything.

…

…

It was the happiness which scared her. Bethany could feel it blooming inside her, grass reaching for sunlight, and she wasn't yet ready for it. She packed her bags to leave, chiding herself for the delay. For neglecting duty. But she took no more than a few steps down the corridor before a voice stopped her.

"You don't intend to leave now, do you?" asked Anora in a chiding voice, tilting her chin to regard the downpour. Rain lashed against the window. She wore a night-robe, her hair loose around her face.

"What are you doing here?"

"Simply walking."

"And I was being loud, was I?" she asked, feeling her lips twitch despite herself.

"In a way, yes, but it is quite late."

"Which is why I am surprised to see you wandering the hallways. Alone."

"I am hardly defenseless."

"It would only take one person to ruin everything, Your Majesty."

Anora narrowed her eyes. "Leaving now is ridiculous. I insist you stay."

Her fingers clenched at her side. "Is that an order?"

Anora faltered. "I… No, no it isn't," she said finally, softly.

"You're a queen, you can order whatever you want," Bethany prodded.

Anora was silent for a long moment, grasping the collar of her robe. It was ordinary looking, and it shouldn't have enchanted her so thoroughly. Her fiddling with its edges loosened her robes just enough to expose the soft swell of her breast. "There are a great many things I can do as Queen, but that is not one I will do."

Bethany tore her gaze away, face hot, desire tugging hard and joining the warring conflict inside her. "Why?" She didn't know why she pushed, only that she thought there was little else for them to lose. She was leaving regardless, after all.

Anora frowned, confused. She slid closer, enough for Bethany to pick up the faint smell clinging to her hair. "You must know. You are not naive or thoughtless, no matter how you try to convince others you are."

Bethany swallowed. "Yes."

"Yes? And you still wish to leave?" Another pause, longer this time, as Anora studied her with an intensity that made her burn. Slowly, her hand reached out, light on Bethany's cheek. All the blood in her body rushed to the touch, dizzy with want and fear in equal measure.

"I…" She leaned into the touch, closing her eyes briefly and then opening them, certain she was dreaming.

"Do you not feel it, too?" Anora whispered, emboldened at Bethany's continued presence. "Does it not drive you mad?"

"It does," she said, breathless, heart pounding.

The smile on Anora's face threatened to crack her resolve, flimsy as it was. Anora came closer, and her lips were so soft, so sweet, so perfect as they pressed against her own. It was no more than a phantom touch, everything in Bethany rattling and threatening to break, before she wrenched away with a shake of her head.

"I can't. You are—" She didn't finish, tasting Anora's lips on her own still.

Anora's smile faltered, her hand falling once more to her damnable robe, unaware of the fact that Bethany was slowly burning inside. "Because I am Queen," she said, grim, matter-of-fact. "I imagine that is frightening. I do not hold that against you. There are few who see me as anything more than Cailan's widow still. And you have humored me staying, haven't you? Beholden to no ruler, but you have manners enough to stay because I asked nonetheless."

Truthfully, Bethany hadn't considered any of that. Not royalty, not widowhood, not even the wardens. She thought only of letting anyone else into her heart who would shred it when they left, voluntarily or forcibly, and she didn't know if she had the strength to let it happen again. She didn't know how to say this, and so she didn't.

The silence stretched.

Anora walked away, but not before Bethany caught sight of the fracturing expression that Anora struggled to hide. It struck her own chest like a blow.

Bethany marched into her room, tossing her bag aside so it thumped hard against the floor. Fell onto her bed, fighting the urge to scream into her pillow and simply squeezed it instead.

Her fingers hit parchment, and she extracted the letter, chest tighter at the knowledge she would have left it behind. And because she could not feel more wretched now, she opened it and read with reckless abandon.

Dear Bethany,

Do you remember before we left Lothering and Carver tried to convince us to pray to the Maker for happiness? Mother was the same, surprising as that might be to you. I always thought mother attended services at the Chantry simply to remember his voice and his prayers. She stopped going for a time until you were gone and then it was practically impossible to extract her from it. If there was a chance for praying, she was saying something.

Never been much of prayer type person, as you well know. The last few weeks have made me reconsider it. Not from any of that Herald of Andraste nonsense. Or even from any particular reverence. But I can see a little more the comfort Carver and mother might have felt in wishing aloud. I cannot say I think the Maker or Andraste is listening, but I like to imagine they are listening to me. Mother and father and Carver, obviously. The Maker and Andraste probably don't care about whatever mess I get myself into, but I imagine everyone else in our family rolls their eyes fondly.

You must be wondering why the sentimentality! Have no fear, it'll take more than some silly magister wannabe to scare me. I was just thinking it might be nice when we're together again and this Corypheus business is behind us, we might return home to Ferelden and say goodbye to them officially. We've never done that, can you believe it? Years and years in Kirkwall, and we've never once returned to Lothering. I should like to do that once. Say goodbye. Maybe leave a flower or two, something sappy enough that Carver rolls his eyes and mother gets all—Actually, maybe not flowers. Can we leave a nice hat? A portrait perhaps?

You understand what I mean. Anyway, we're heading to Adamant tomorrow. I should hope by the time this reaches you, news will have already spread about us kicking their ass so you can show your face around people again. No more running—I am officially commandeering you from the wardens. I've already talked your stoic friend into handing you over. See, I told you we'd be happy again!

Speaking of your stoic friend. You do realize that's Loghain right? Like… the Ferelden traitor? That's wild. I have so many questions. Don't die fighting the darkspawn nest, I know you'd prefer to be here, but its better this way. You can bitch all you want on the way to Ferelden. Maybe we can sneak your friend in, too, I bet that won't cause any problems.

All my love,

Marian

She read it once. Then twice. And she felt no better in the end, more wretched and broken and sad than ever. Her face hurt, her eyes hurt, everything ached afresh, and it was like ice breaking to release the water. She cried, the type of ugly sobbing which made someone feel sick afterwards, and curled up on her bed feeling miserable.

…

…

Daylight came, shining through the window and blinding her when she peeled her eyes open. Her head pounded, yes, but she thought the letter had punctured at last through the fog. Now, she was awake and she was well-aware that she had done something very stupid.

Her sister had asked her to visit Ferelden. Had asked her to say goodbye. Bethany had done the first, but clung so tightly to the latter, it had become part of her. Now, she chipped it away, and though it hurt, she thought it wouldn't in time.

She reached for the letter and panic seized her. It was gone, and she had lost the last thing her sister ever wrote, had forsaken—

It was on the floor. It had fallen from her grasp in the night and now sat nestled against her bag. It had fallen open when she tossed it, and she stared at her meager belongings with a fissure widening inside her. She grasped the letter, tucking it safely into the bag, though she imagined the words themselves were seared into her head.

Anora's face flashed through her mind. She had done something stupid last night, she knew. She sent a quick prayer to the Maker—and her sister, who would probably laugh to know Bethany's plan was as reckless and foolish and heart-filled as anything Marian had done—and then scrambled to dress. It was daylight, and warm, and she knew on days like this, after a night like that, there was only once place Anora would have gone.

No one sent her away. In the weeks and months she'd spent at the palace, they'd come to accept her presence. Most eyed her with distrust, but none considered it important to send her away. They knew, as she had come to realize but never acknowledged, that Anora would never let them force Bethany away.

She knocked on the door and the lady maid who opened it narrowed her eyes on Bethany. Her lips parted, and Bethany cut her off, "Please do not gut me yet. Check again in several hours and then maybe," she urged.

She wondered if the lady maid would be the first to send her away. But then she shrugged and stepped aside, uttering a warning of "Don't do anything stupid" that Bethany barely heard as she bypassed her into the gardens.

The last time she was there, it was cloudy and cold with a rain to follow shortly after, but today it was bright and sunny and she cared little for her surroundings in her haste to reach the shelter. Anora sat there again, annoyed at the sound of footsteps and then, at Bethany's face, confused. "You are still here," she said, frowning again, doing everything within her considerable power to hide her own hurt.

"Yes," she said, marching closer, nearly stumbling as the sun chose then to shine through tree branches and angled to catch Anora just right. She was lit from behind, like something Maker given, and she wondered for a heartbeat if her sister was right when she said someone was listening.

Anora didn't stand up. Her head tilted. From this distance, Bethany could see all the shades of blue in her eyes. "Why?" she asked, and the movement drew Bethany's attention from her eyes to her lips. Her stupid yearning heart skipped a beat, and words fled in the wake of it.

She held her face in her hands, fingers sliding into heavy golden hair, having no more than a moment to see the surprise flickering across Anora's face before she kissed her. The kiss was not soft, nor was it the type of kiss a queen deserved, but it was everything Bethany felt and feared poured into the action.

Her lips tasted of her tea, and they parted under Bethany's touch without hesitation. Everything in her relaxed, softening, sinking into the kiss she'd longed to give. Anora tugged her closer, yanking her down onto the bench with impatience.

Bethany laughed against her mouth. "I am sorry," she murmured against her lips.

"If its an apology for kissing me, I will perhaps reconsider my mercy and send you to the gallows," Anora declared, pulling away, nose scrunching with distaste.

She kissed her again. Her nose, her cheeks, the corners of her mouth. Her lips again, distracting them as they learned the taste and feel of the other, until such things as breathing and some measure of propriety bid them to stop. "Not that," she said, breathless, relieved to find Anora's looked as devastated by their kiss as Bethany did. "Last night… It doesn't bother me that you are queen, though I don't know how to handle that. Nor does it bother me that you're a widow. Only that I…" Bethany tilted her head away.

Anora tapped her chin until she returned. "Only that you…?" she pressed.

"I have no family left."

"Nor I," said Anora, still cautious.

"I have no wish to lose more of it."

"Then it is hopefully a comfort to know I am not a damsel in distress nor a soldier sent on the front lines. Between the two of us, I fear you are the one most in danger," she replied. "Yet I am not afraid."

"Why not?"

"I would rather know happiness now than not at all. Would you begrudge yourself the same out of fear from a what-if?" It was a challenge, one which glinted in Anora's eyes, something which required an answer in some form.

Bethany kissed her again. She hoped that was enough. She hoped that time healed their wounds enough for certainty someday, and that, until then, they might simply try.

…

…

Nearly a year into a time of peace, they walked the streets of Denerim together. Bethany held a flower in her hands, hidden beneath the folds of her cloak. He would find it foolish, she thought, to honor him and mourn him with a flower. But he wasn't there to argue with her for once, so she allowed herself this once to do what she thought was right.

A light rain fell on their heads. Anora looped their arms together, shoulders pressed against each other, a display of affection they rarely in public. But it had been some weeks since they'd see each other and Bethany was content with any amount of touch.

"I built it in front of the Orlesian embassy," said Anora with an odd note to her voice.

Bethany laughed. "That sounds very much like him."

"I thought the same." She sounded pleased. "And how was Lothering? You did not speak of it in your letters."

"I, uh, planted a tree?" No flowers, no portraits—both were too fragile, both would fade with time, but she thought planting a tree and letting it root was, perhaps, a more fitting goodbye to her family than anything else.

"A tree?" repeated Anora.

"It will be nice to see it grow and blossom someday," she said. Anora didn't press, only hummed in acknowledgment, a glinting of understanding in her face. Bethany let out a breath of relief. It wasn't always easy walking the line between grief and happiness, and some days were easier than others for both of them. Today was the first step of many in loosening the stranglehold of grief and letting in room for the thaw.

Happiness would come if she let it—she'd learned that from her sister, too.