
Table of Contents

Guarded Love

CHAPTER ONE

Naming Day

CHAPTER TWO

The Pieces

CHAPTER THREE

Reiss

CHAPTER FOUR

The King & I

CHAPTER FIVE

Parentage a Trois

CHAPTER SIX

Roommates

CHAPTER SEVEN

First Day

CHAPTER EIGHT

New Normal

CHAPTER NINE

Memory

CHAPTER TEN

Cloaks & Daggers

CHAPTER ELEVEN

You Can't Go Home

CHAPTER TWELVE

Garden Party

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Want To Have A Go?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Thunder

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Headache

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A Nap

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Backroom

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Love's Treason

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Trial

CHAPTER TWENTY

Dumplings

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A Taste

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Scaling the Summit

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Ghosts of Pain

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Another Taste

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Camping

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Damn

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Never-Sick

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Healing

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

And You Two...?

CHAPTER THIRTY

We'll Always Have The Kennels

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Afterglow

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

An Answer

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

A Big Break

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Math of the Stars

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Mother Issues

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Fire

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Hatred

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

The Letter

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Happiness

CHAPTER FORTY

Prepare For Weird

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Maybe

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

The Test

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Wants & Needs

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Misery

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Loves Company

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

A Turn

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Snake In The Grass

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Alistair

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

The Sun

CHAPTER FIFTY

Endgame

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Want

EPILOGUE

Miracle

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Uh-Oh

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

And Baby Makes...

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

If He Asks

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

A Little Rain

CHAPTER SIXTY

Made in Love

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

The Queen's Deal

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

Securing the Line

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

One Day

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

The Beginning

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

Baby Shower

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

It's Time

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

Help

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

The Whole World

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

Moving On Up

CHAPTER SEVENTY

O Holy Night

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

Hello There

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

Penance

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

Legitimate

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

Happy

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

Guarded Heart

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

K.E.W.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

Hate

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

Fear

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

Survive

CHAPTER EIGHTY

Dada

CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

Black Wings

CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

Witch Hunt

CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

Confrontation

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

Now What?

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

Weakness

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

Pride Goeth Before A Fall

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

Old Blood

CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT

The Straw

CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

Choice

CHAPTER NINETY

Bet On It

CHAPTER NINETY-ONE

Epilogue

CHAPTER NINETY-TWO

# Guarded Love

_ _

_Alistair's life isn't all bad. He's King, he's got two kids he adores a wife he's vaguely aware exists. The only thing missing in that blissful domestic picture is someone to love. But all in all, things are weirdly working out for him.  _

_That all changes when assassins dare to come after him and his children on the little prince's naming day. With a threat daring to be so brash to attack the King, he takes on a personal bodyguard. Picked seemingly at random from the City Watch, Reiss thought she was little more than an average elf trying to make it in thedas. Now it's all on her to keep the King alive against this enigmatic threat, and try to ignore the fact she keeps blushing whenever he smiles._

## CHAPTER ONE

#### Naming Day

Half of Ferelden must have shown up for this damn thing, a fascinating array of body odors floating through the crowds shoving near his ramshackle dais. Someone took the time to nail up a flag to cover over the hole behind him, but in their haste barely notched it in. Alistair couldn't stop fiddling with the nail head sticking out towards him, when he wasn't waving to his citizens or switching the bundle of blankets from one arm to the other.

The chair beside him loomed in emptiness, every third or fourth person having to comment on the lack of the Queen. He'd smile as best he could, then offer up some cheery joke about how ol' Bea was off walking orphans or something. A few were kind enough to smile at their silly King, but more than most would linger over the silent seat. _Maker, how much longer was this going to take?_

Stubby fingers tugged on Alistair's scabbard, causing his sword to pitch backwards until it jammed against the chair. He glanced down at the moon faced girl with eyes of emeralds. She began the day with her black hair braided tight and wrapped around her head like a lady should. Within an hour she had half of it down with weeds she considered flowers jammed in. "I'm bored!" she pronounced, folding her arms across her chest. "I want to play."

Alistair had to bury a chuckle at his daughter's obstinance. He happened to agree with her, but this was tradition. "Spud," he warned in what passed for his father voice which couldn't even discipline a fly for falling into his soup. For his efforts he got the slow eye roll of a two and three quarters year old. She insisted upon the three quarters even if she was nearing a full four quarters with every day.

"Why don't you go curtsy to those men in shiny hats over there," he said pointing at a few of the city guards. Denerim was kind enough to loan out their crew for this little meet and greet. Their polished steel helmets poked through the crowd of coiffed men and women hoping to wave at the newest addition to the palace.

For her part, his daughter looked over at two of the guards standing in as much rapt attention people paid to do it could. He thought she'd take him up on it. Someone had been teaching the princess how to properly curtsy like a lady and Spud loved it, though her approach was to grab both sides of her dress, spin around in a circle, and then squat as far as her legs allowed. Sometimes she'd forget about the squatting part and spin and spin until nearly passing out. Being only two, this of course delighted the Arls and Banns who had to find everything the princess did absolutely adorable. This time, however, she pinched up her little nose and frowned.

"Don't want to," she said, kicking her fancy shoe into the chair that was supposed to house her mother.

Alistair bit back a groan then reached down for her. "Come up here," he said, tugging her up to the extra chair. Scrabbling with his help, Spud didn't sit down to watch the crowds still sliding in and out through the reception line. Instead, she stood up in it and reached for the banner behind.

"Your Highness," a voice whispered from behind him where a bevy of nurses, handmaidens, and other busybodies waited in case he screwed something up, "it isn't ladylike for a princess to stand on her chair."

Sighing, he whispered to Spud, "Pst, you're not being a lady."

"'S okay, I'm a dragon now," she insisted, before giving out her feral roar that might startle a kitten.

"Your Majesty," the voice insisted, all but jabbing him in the back of the head.

He shrugged, "Sorry, you can't tell dragons what to do." The woman groaned, used to dealing with Alistair's petulant ways, but another chuckled beside him. Glancing over, he spotted the smiling lips of a city guard. Dressed in the unitarian uniform that rendered all gender down to a faceless lump it was impossible for him to tell who was hiding inside that tin can, but by the giggle he'd guess a woman.

About to ask the guard if she was all right or if standing in so much metal all day baked her brains away, Alistair's focus was pulled to the lump in his arms transforming itself from a mass of blankets to a gaping maw demanding attention. It wasn't a cry at this point, more a wheeze, but the moment it broke all voices across the bustling square died. Everyone turned to look at the little prince giving his first speech to the masses. It was hard to make out the words, but the gist seemed to be "I want something now!" About on par with most royalty.

"Well, good morning to you too," Alistair cooed at his son, running a finger across those chubby cheeks. Slowly, he rocked the bundle back and forth in his arms trying to calm the cries. For a moment they stuttered, just as they had when Spud was that tiny. Maker that felt like it was just a few days ago.

At her brother's sounds, she dropped to her knees on the chair and peered her eyes over the arm. She blinked a few times, watching the baby swaddled in the royal christening gown apparently all Theirin's wore since Calenhad. It was so ancient, Alistair wasn't certain which would get him in bigger trouble if he broke it, the gown or the baby wearing it.

Spud sat up and clapped her hands, "I want to hold him."

"Ah..." He glanced over at his daughter and thought to the last time he let her hold an egg. She was very gentle with it for the first ten seconds before her toddler curiosity made her wonder if eggs could survive being dropped from a parapet. Turns out the answer is a resounding no. "Next time, Spuddy," he said, trying to rock the prince back to sleep. The baby was having none of it, already on to Alistair's limited tricks.

Spud folded her arms up and stuck out her bottom lip. Maker, just what he needed, two kids screaming at the top of their lungs. Slipping the prince into the crook of his arm, Alistair snaked an arm around Spud's shoulders. Hauling her close, he planted a kiss on her forehead and mumbled, "You don't want to hold him anyway. There's unholy demons coming out of the back end."

It was doubtful she understood half of what he said, but the wobbling bottom lip sucked back in and she smiled. The prince had only been in existence for a couple weeks and already he was proving to be a bigger handful than Spud ever was to both her parents. While Alistair and Spud bonded as he'd snatch her up every night to take her on a walking tour of the castle so she could drool over all his finery, the boy wanted nothing to do with either of them. And the toll he took on his mother was wearing everyone in the castle even thinner than expected.

Weighing the screams that were growing more urgent, he turned to the one woman behind him he recognized. "I'm thinking someone's hungry. Marn," Alistair spoke to the wet nurse who had her own one year old clinging to her skirts for the ceremony, "I hope the kitchen's open."

"Always is," she said lifting the boy out of Alistair's arms. While Marn fished out the anatomy Alistair was lacking to make his son happy, he turned back to the crowd only to have thirty pounds of princess land in his lap. "Dear Maker," he groaned, his thighs unprepared for such an attack, "warn me next time."

"Sorry, Daddy." For her part Spud only smiled at her father's pain, those emerald eyes sparkling with total sincerity. They never worked on her mother, but he melted to her whims at them.

"Come here," he said, turning her around to sit properly on his chair that probably bore an indent from his ass. Just what it needed to get even flatter. Lifting up Spud's hand in his, Alistair waved with ferocity at the people who really didn't give a shit about meeting their king. They were all here for the prince, who he still had to officially name. Granted, that was the point of the day, gathering everyone in the square to tell the world that there was another little set of lungs screaming through the palace.

"Did I have a name thing?" Spud asked, kicking her heels haphazardly against the chair.

"You know you did," he said. She'd asked the damn question a good thirty times since her nanny pulled out one of the fancier dresses and told her about today. Still, it wasn't like he had anything better to do. Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair spotted the back of a contented baby's head suckling away. Pinning his daughter tight in a back hug, he chuckled, "You were a handful and a half that day. Whenever anyone tried to hold you, you'd howl and howl until I'd pluck you away then boom, instant smile."

"And Mummy was there!" Spud announced.

"Yes, your mother was there apologizing for your atrocious behavior. Quite unbecoming for a baby," he laughed into her hair. Beyond them stood the rest of the gentry, most crowded around the few snack tables someone set up. Isolde, the self appointed godmother, floated in and out through them while Eamon hung by her side. There were few Alistair cared about out there in the crowd, but they were all supposed to care about him.

Spud tipped her head back against his chest so those ornery eyes could beam up at him, "Did I really wear the same dress as him?"

Alistair reached over to run his fingers over the hemline of his son's dress, the ends drooping close to the ground as if the long dead sewer was daring him to mess it up. "Yes, you did. You were so tiny you fit along my arm." Spud yanked up his forearm, her pudgy fingers darting across as if she was measuring it.

"Nu-uh," she said, shaking her head and laughing at the absurdity of growth.

"It's true, I swear."

"Daddies shouldn't tell fibs," she said. Someone taught her that Princesses shouldn't do that and now Spud loved to run around insisting no one else should either. It was hard to tell her to knock it off when she was technically correct.

"I'm not," Alistair said, done in by a two year old. "Marn, you'll back me up on this."

His old adversary rolled an eye at him as she was currently busy fulfilling her hired role. Marn had little time for Alistair, and while she warmed up to letting the father near his children, it moved from the blood freezing breath of a frost dragon to the chill of being lost in the Frostbacks and thinking about eating your own toes. He hoped by the time his son was a year old he'd reach 'I might put you out if you're on fire, if I'm holding a bucket and it's not too much work.'

Speaking of, the demanding guest of honor detached himself of his own will and began to do that newborn baby wheeze at the indignity. Spud huffed in Alistair's lap at the cries, and he chuckled. She was going to have to get used to it, they all were again.

"Your Majesty," a voice oozed from before him and Alistair turned from Marn trying to appease the demanding royal suckered to her tit to a demanding Bann suckered to the royal coffers.

"Bann Cyrill," Alistair groaned, wishing he didn't have to know that name, or any of them come to think of it. He'd tried calling all the gentry Bob for a week once when Eamon was out of court. It made for a delightful game until there was talk of rebellion and bringing in chevaliers.

"May I give blessings onto the new son of Ferelden?"

"I dunno," Alistair shrugged, "may you?"

Cyrill's weaselly face with the sunken in eyes darted around the dais hoping to find someone to come to his rescue. When none of the women either employed by the King or sworn to protect him offered a hand, the Bann chuckled, "Yes, quite witty, your Highness."

He didn't seem to be in any mood to fade back in with the happy crowds, so Alistair turned to Marn and extended his hands. "Here, give him to me." The nursemaid shot her legendary dagger eyes through him, but Alistair only shrugged and jerked his chin at the anchored Bann. He wanted to give over his son for the damn fealty swear as much as Marn did but there wasn't much choice.

Scooping the prince up into the crook of his arm, a limp cry echoed from those tiny lungs. Spud twisted around in his lap, her unimpressed eyes boring into the baby. She reached a finger towards him to try and touch a cheek when Alistair lifted the boy away. He spotted a pout burgeoning with her bottom lip, but there wasn't anything he could do. It was tradition.

Cyrill placed his thumb to his lips and then against the boy's forehead. "I, and my lands, swear fealty to protect and honor this son of Ferelden," he said, his murky eyes glazing over. "Have you announced the name, yet?"

Alistair juggled from one arm to another the baby who was getting tired of people treating his head like a thumbprint cookie. "Trying to get some insider information to win a bet? You know how this works."

"I would never dare cheat, your Majesty," he mumbled, looking shocked that Alistair would dare demean him. As if all of Ferelden didn't remember who stood with Loghain during that fateful Landsmeet, nor would they ever let him forget. Betting on the winner was the way to succeed in both horse racing and politics, but getting it wrong with only one could end in your entire family being slaughtered.

"Daddy."

"In a minute," Alistair said. The baby began to cry, a more pressing one than before and as his hand drifted lower Alistair figured out why. "Marn, tell me you brought another nappy."

"That'd be the third this morning," she said, already dutifully whipping it out of her satchel for him.

"Boy knows his feces at a few weeks old. He'll be a natural at politics."

"Daddy!" Spud insisted, tugging on his sleeve and throwing off his concentration of getting the damn dress off without soiling it.

He yanked his arm away from her and turned to glare at her, "What is it?"

Smoke burst through the crowds, rising maliciously as if the street suddenly caught on fire. Screams echoed all around as people began to beat feet back and forth, scrabbling to escape. In the chaos, he couldn't tell if they were screams of fear or pain. Forgetting the change of pants, Alistair rose off his seat. With one hand wrapped around his son, he reached over to pin tight to Spud's tiny fingers. The acrid fog rolled through the crowds, trying to reach towards the dais. It stung his eyes and sure enough, both of his children began to cry as well from the pain they couldn't escape.

"We need to..." was as far as Alistair got when he spotted the darkness moving through the crowd. Shadows blacker than night shifted through the fog. One of them approached past the scrambles of nobles trampling each other for freedom, his head held high and a set of daggers glinting in his hands.

"Shit!" Alistair cursed, earning a glare from his daughter. "Spud," he tugged her hand to the hem of his shirt, "hold onto this tight and don't let go for anything." She nodded her head, her eyes wide despite the smoke biting into them.

Glancing down at the scabbard on his hip, Alistair shifted his son to his left hand and unsheathed his sword. _Maker, I hope this thing isn't just for show._ It glinted like gold in the sunlight, those damn jewels jammed into the hilt instantly nipping into his hands. _Stupid, stupid, the whole thing was bloody stupid!_ The shadow glared up at him and slowly the cloak's hood tipped back to reveal a man with a bronzed tan and the makings of a tattoo across his face. Of course it was a fucking Antivan Crow. Why not?

"What am I doing today? Oh just sword fighting with a fancy pants golden back scratcher while holding my infant son and daughter. Perfectly normal, why are you asking?" he babbled to himself while eyeing up the man advancing. How was he going to do this? How could he possibly fight while holding a baby? They never covered that in training!

The assassin's lips cracked open, revealing a silver tooth glittering in his wicked smile. For a bit of flare, he rotated his daggers around his palms before letting loose a feral scream and ramming towards the dais. Alistair braced himself by knocking Spud back and trying to put his babyless shoulder in the way, when a guard leaped off the wooden platform. She heaved her sword through the air and with the help of the fall, cleaved it into the man's shoulder.

Screaming at the agony of iron slicing apart his meat, the assassin scrabbled to stab at her sword arm, but she already yanked out her blade. Deflecting one dagger, the guard swung her arm wide and moved to slice through the air where the assassin's head was. _Ah shit!_ Alistair turned fully around, blocking Spud's view of the decapitation to save their lives. He pinned her head tight to his leg, but they all heard the head splat into the ground and bounce three times before coming to a rest in the gutter.

Carefully, Alistair tried to catch his daughter's eye, "It's okay, Tater Tot. I'm here. It'll be okay."

Her eyes were open wide enough they looked white, but she bobbed her head at his words, her fingers clinging so tight to his leg they pinched flesh below. Alistair wrapped his armed hand around the back of her head and placed a kiss to the top of her head. Turning back he began to thank the guard for her bravery, when they moved out of the smoke -- a good dozen or so assassins all wearing the same black cloak and brandishing a variety of weapons.

"Sire!" The guard who protected them slunk back at the advancement until she butted up against the dais. He was out of ideas, barely had any to begin with and this. How in the void could they stop this?

The assassins came prepared, but so was the Ferelden guard. Knocking through the useless and panicking nobles came the uniforms that normally stood around in Denerim protecting it from pickpockets. Blades met with blades, the enemies falling to chaos as the good guys took on the bad ones.

"Sire," the woman repeated again. He blinked against the smoke to find her sheathing her sword and extending a hand to him. "We should get you to safety."

Nodding, Alistair tried to work Spud around to the guard, but his daughter shrieked and pinched even tighter. "Spud, I need you to...Sod it!" He didn't want to hand her off until she was safe anymore than she wanted to be. Dipping to a knee, Alistair tossed his useless sword to the ground and struggled to scoop up his daughter. "Get on!" he ordered. Her tiny fingers scrabbled up, trying to traverse the finery not built for climbing. As she reached his shoulders, her hands formed a garrote against his throat.

"Let's not choke Daddy, okay," he tugged her hands forward before securing the baby and then leaping off the platform. As his boots hit the ground he mumbled to himself, "Your mother's going to kill me later, anyway." The second guard was rounding up all the handmaidens, trying to shoo them towards some building but that wasn't who the assassins were after.

Nodding once at his life saver, Alistair jerked his head towards her. "This is your show," he said. Barely stumbling at that, the woman turned on a copper and sped off down an alley. With a baby in his arms and a two year old clinging to his back, Alistair followed the woman through narrow passages, over drunks woken from their stupor, and down another five turns until coming to stop in a part of Denerim he'd never seen before.

The guard kicked in a door without a thought, ricocheting the boarded up wood and nails through the air. She shoved her body in the way of any shrapnel and waved them inside. "Quickly, get in."

Musty with age and lack of use, the room loomed with unspoken words and barely cremated ghosts. He felt Spud trembling on his shoulders and he had to drop down to a knee. She clung tighter to him, not wanting to let off, but Alistair needed to breathe. Slowly, his daughter slunk down until she stood on her feet, but he didn't rise up. Sliding around on his knees, he wiped a finger over her cheek. "Are you okay?" Her massive eyes darted over his shoulder to the guard, then back down to her father. Nodding once, she trapped her tongue between her teeth.

"Thank the Maker," he gasped, tugging his daughter to him for a hug. "That makes one of us." His son demanded attention as well, giving out a wail against all this ill treatment. "Yes, I know, life isn't fair. Welcome to it," he sighed, placing a kiss to the soft forehead.

"Sire..." the guard flattened back into the doorframe, her eyes hunting around the edges. Alistair turned away from his children to watch her. "I fear someone may have followed us."

"Maker's breath," he groaned, wishing the damn fat ass in the fancy chair in the sky would see fit for one thing in his life to go right. Staggering to his feet, he nodded his head at the guard. "Right, of course they did. Why blighted wouldn't they? Probably brought a pack of wyverns with them as well. I'm going to need your sword."

"Your Majesty?" she drug her words out, terrified to disobey but also unwilling to let him do something stupid.

Alistair passed her the baby, which she scooped into surprisingly relaxed arms, and then snatched up her sword. "If they're after anyone, it's me."

"Sire, I can't let you..." she began.

"Yes you can, because," he swallowed down the bramble building in his throat, "we've already got the backups in here that need to be kept safe. Got it?"

She looked like she wanted to argue with him, but nodded, "As you say, Sire. Ah, you should..." Shifting the baby to the crook of her arm, she yanked her helmet off. Alistair wasn't certain what surprised him more, the steepled points to her ears, the lush gold blonde hair she knotted into a bun, or the whisper of a smile on her lips from his idiotic move.

His fingers glanced across the helmet, that deeply stupid section of his brain falling dumbstruck by an unexpected beauty appearing out of nowhere. Shaking it away, Alistair sighed, "I'm afraid that's not going to fit me." Tapping his forehead, he confessed, "Fat head and all." She struggled to bite down a smile at his self deprecation.

"Here," Alistair picked up his son out of her arms and dropped him into the helmet. The baby sat inside of it, his blue eyes opening wide at this strange, new angle on the world. Watching in concern, the guard eyed up the King as if he was mad. "Baby armor," he explained before passing his son back to her. "And Maker is his mother going to murder me ten times over when she finds out about this."

"Daddy..." A little hand tugged on his sleeve and he turned to find Spud with her thumb jammed tight inside her mouth. _Oh Maker._ "I'm scared."

"I know, Tater Tot. But, you've got to be a big girl, a big sister for your brother here. He's going to need someone to sing him songs, and...no, singing's probably not smart. To make funny faces. Can you do that?"

Her eyes rolled up to her brother who was still gazing at this new world in shock. She sneered at the idea, wanting no part of his orders. "Please, Spuddy, you stay here with your new friend..." Alistair glanced over at the guard and faltered.

"Reiss," she said, bouncing the helmet and baby in her arms.

"Ser Reiss. She'll keep you safe, and maybe let you braid her hair." That last part got Spud's attention, her eyes lighting up as she no doubt took into account Reiss' mounds of golden waves.

"M'kay," Spud muttered before popping her thumb back in place. Alistair needed strength to leave them both, to abandon his children in order to drag away the ones coming to kill his family, and there was only one place he knew to find it.

Wrapping his arms around his daughter, he tugged her tight to him and whispered, "Through fire and ice, lightning and dragons, I'll come back for you. Always."

She smiled at the line from the book they always read together, her hands patting against him. His two year old daughter didn't care about the dangers ahead, the possibility of getting her chubby fingers on fresh hair to braid chased away any fear. Alistair released her and snatched up the sword. It was well balanced, the hilt firm, and a guard that would actually protect his damn hand without jabbing back into his side. He ran a pinkie down his still nameless son's cheek before turning to leave.

"Sire," Reiss' hand snagged onto his and he stared into her hauntingly yellow-green eyes. "Are you certain this is wise?"

"Of course not," he snickered, extending his hand out and slapping on his armor of bravado, "it's my idea." Alistair slid out to face down the assassins come for him on his own terms. They'd know that the King of Ferelden was not such an easy target after all. "Oh..." he jogged back and stuck his head in, "don't actually let Spud braid your hair. She just ties knots in it until it all has to be cut out. It's very bad. Bye!"

## CHAPTER TWO

#### The Pieces

Alistair barely got his blade wet before the real professionals swooped in to finish off the assassins. Smoke drifted through the Denerim square, permeating up tipped over tables leaving vittles and other puffed pastries to rot on the ground. "Is everyone okay?" Alistair shouted, trying to waft away the fog with his armed hand. People ignored the King, their focus all on either panicking, -- understandable -- or bossing everyone around for not bending to their noble whims. The latter Alistair shoved aside with his shoulder, earning him a deadly glower and a "Well, I never" until the Bann got a good look at the face.

"Sire? Thank the Maker you're all right," a voice called out through the haze. Alistair'd know his not-uncle anywhere and he paused waiting for Teagan to catch up. Time had been less than kind to the gentle Arl, walloping him good over the years as if every stressful moment from his life landed in one go. But that didn't stop Teagan from throwing up a gentle smile to all who crossed his path.

A woman clung tight to his arm, her fingers worrying over the Arl's no longer white finery. Alistair didn't recognize her, but he barely bothered to look at her face. He was too busy trying to pierce the fog for answers. "Yep, I'm just great. Really spiced up the party to have these stabby clowns added at the last minute. In fact, I'd love to sit down and have a long conversation with whoever thought to invite Maker damn Crows."

Teagan tried to shake off the woman, but she wasn't about to let up, her talons dug in tight. Instead, he sighed and patted her clutching arm before grabbing onto Alistair's hand and tugging him closer, "Sire...where are the children?"

"They're--"

"Milord," a bombastic voice echoed above the roiling din of cries, its bass deep enough to cut through solid rock and roll up Alistair's legs. Turning away from Teagan, Alistair spotted the cocksure walk of the man partially responsible for all of this.

"Commander Cade," he greeted him, unable to stop sneering, "I hope you've got a great explanation for what in the void happened here."

"We should get you to safety," Cade continued over top the king's words. He wasn't an ugly man, not by any means. If you were to take a side of beef and by some demon wish turn it human you'd have an approximation of the Commander of the royal guards. Everything about him was meaty, from forearms thicker than ribeyes to a nose broken and reset so many times it nearly fell flush against his juicy cheeks. Whenever Alistair met with the man he felt an instant craving for roast pork.

"Funny, I'd have thought my own damn city would be plenty safe. Well, aside from the shopping rush before Satinalia. Then you're just asking to have your kidneys perforated by an old lady bearing a hat pin," Alistair babbled to himself while surveying the bodies being carted towards the dais where he sat with his children what felt only a minute ago. He ran into a few assassins on his way back to the square but nothing worthy of being called a Crow. Maker, even Zev had better moves than the two that all but leaped onto his blade. One had his eyepatch slip to the other side, causing him to run headfirst into the wall. Alistair meant to knock him out for questioning, but then the man tumbled face first over the retaining wall and then another twenty feet to his squishy demise. Maybe a soothsayer could make out something in his entrails decorating a laundry line.

Shaking away his thoughts, Alistair jabbed the bloodied sword at the piles of bodies, "Did you catch any alive?"

"Afraid not, Sire," Cade shook his beefy head back and forth. Pink etched along his cheeks, breaking up the marbling of his skin. The man had been exerting himself.

"Who were they?" Teagan asked.

"Assassins," Alistair sneered, "as a group. One out of two guesses whose." While the House of Repose was always a good guess, they'd been on okay terms with Celene and her little love in elf with the Inquisition's help. It seemed unlikely she'd let her in house assassins off the lead that easily. There wasn't an official reason for Antiva to come after him, but Antivans never went in for proper politics. Treaties and diplomacy got in the way of all the best stabbings.

"Sire," Cade spoke up, rocking on his tiny feet. "Perhaps it would be best if you..."

Alistair ignored the concern dripping from people paid to keep him alive. Dropping to a knee, he ran his hands along one of the dead bodies. Lacerations to the throat and...ah, it was a thigh wound that got him in the end. Nasty way to go, better than a gut one at least. He rifled through the pockets but they all turned out empty almost as if they were ordered to remove all identification before leaping onto a guard's blade.

"Welp, I'm out of ideas," he said, slapping his hand to his knee and staggering up.

"It might be in your best interest if you leave it to the professionals," Teagan said, those sparkling blue eyes darting over the Cade.

"Aye, Sire, we will do all we can to get to the bottom of this disaster. You have my word."

Alistair nodded, his eyes darting over the bodies. There were a good half dozen, but he couldn't find the one that elven guard decapitated. Hm... Shaking off the thought, he turned to his Commander, "How many were hurt?"

"We're not certain yet," Cade hemmed.

"Some of the nobles were trampled in trying to escape," Teagan spoke up.

"By other nobles who nobly ran right over top each other," Alistair groaned, well aware that when it came to the gentry it was every man and woman for themselves. Probably while you threw a gallon of pitch and lit a match behind you to slow the others down.

"Please, Your Majesty, this is a matter for the guards to handle," Cade said. "And we're gonna drag it out of someone, believe me."

Alistair tipped his head, accepting that he was in no position to go running around Denerim solving mysteries. For starters he looked like a right pillock with a pipe and hat. "Is the area secure, Commander Cade?" he asked, looking over the destruction of what was supposed to be the introduction of his son. So much for chiseling out his name now.

"Yes, Sire. We've made certain of it."

"Good," Alistair sagged before turning to Teagan, "Spud and the baby are holed up in the abandoned house at the end of the northern street. Blue chipped paint, rotted, Spud's probably ripping some poor guard's hair out. Take Marn and get them back to the castle."

"Of course," he said, tipping his head and almost causing his stupid hat to fall off.

"Spud can have whatever cake she wants. I assume Marn can handle the baby and..." he shook off the pain burrowing at the back of his head trying to chisel away his kingly stance. Alistair wrestled away the idea that he almost lost them both and knotted it away for later. Way later in the emptiness of his room where no one would see.

Patting Alistair once more, Teagan yanked back on the stricken woman clinging to him. He glanced over at Marn who shouldered through the flock of stricken handmaidens. Despite being in the thick of it with her own little one at her side, Marn was steady as a rock, with a face that could make a Qunari shit his little loincloth. Somedays Alistair wished she had been around for the blight. She'd probably have ripped an ogre in half with her bare hands.

"Ah," Alistair shouted, causing Teagan to turn back. Rolling the sword in his hands, he presented the grip to his uncle. "Can you return this to the guard I borrowed it from? Thanks."

Nodding that he understood, while also eyeing up the bloodied blade with a wary look, Teagan and Marn set off to find his children. Alistair wished he could go with, that he'd be the one to scoop up Spud, press a dozen stupid kisses to his son's forehead, and then load them both up with all the sugar in the palace, but he had king shit to do, and sometimes that took priority.

"Commander Cade, gather up the dignitaries from Antiva and Orlais. I think it's time we had a little chat."

***

"Sire?"

Maker's breath he was tired of hearing that. Day in and day out, sire this, sire that. As if all of Ferelden couldn't stop thinking about his, er...uh. Andraste, don't let them be imagining the royal scepter. He glanced up from his stance, arms folded tight into his armpits as if he was about to draw two daggers from behind him.

It was the Orlesian ambassador who spoke first, her dark eyes darting around the room as she somehow settled in while standing at attention. While the rest of Ferelden preferred to keep themselves dressed simply in the event they'd have to get work done, she was always swooping through the corridors with the extended hips of her outfit trying to knock down any end tables in the way. He heard that the scaffolding under her dress used to be wider until she wedged herself into a tighter hallway and someone had to cut her free. Lady Cherie was of noble blood about the same as him, a bit less bastard but there was some second wife in there or something. He ignored most of the dossier figuring it didn't matter. In the fifteen years since sidling near the throne they'd been through seventeen Orlesian ambassadors. There was a point when two arrived, couldn't decide who should stay or go and, after dealing with Alistair for a month, both abandoned ship back to snail land.

But Lady Cherie stuck it out. He suspected whatever she had waiting for her back in Orlais was less gilded than the Denerim palace, but she sure wasn't going to slip off her high horse and admit it. Smoothing down her silks with the palm of a bejeweled hand, Cherie tipped her mounds of black velvet curls at him. "Do you intend to inform us as to why we've been summoned?"

_No, I just invited you all here for a game of hide and seek. First one to find me gets the crown!_

Alistair shook his smart ass thought away. He wanted to retreat back from what happened, but he threw on the cold anger that rarely came to him. "I'm wondering what you two were up to today, you know, when assassins dropped out of the sky and then tried to murder me."

The second in that two was their Antivan ambassador, Baronet Donato. He wasn't a hundred percent certain what a baronet was, and on occasion Alistair asked if it meant the man was once part of an orchestra. Older than what one would expect in an ambassador, normally it was a young one's game, he bore that striking debonair look that could only be pulled off from the age of forty to about sixty five. A tasteful streaking of grey about the temples and slight baggage around his eyes were all that hinted at the bronzed man's age, as well as some interesting history on him and his involvement in Antivan politics.

"Your Highness," Donato bowed, his thick accent slipping in, "what occurred in the square was a travesty."

"Really? You don't end most naming ceremonies with Crows? Here I'd assumed that was tradition in Antiva."

"Ah..." Donato blanched, those steel eyes darting over to the woman a decade or more younger as if she had all the answers. "You are certain they were Crows?"

"Certain, no? What I'm certain of in this world you could jam through the eye of a needle. Which is why you two are here to answer a few questions," he began to pace around before his throne. The room was mostly cleared as his guards ran around handling the clean up in the square. There'd been no fatalities reported so far, which seemed highly unlikely. A pack of assassins and the only one killed were the trained killers? Maybe the Maker was smiling down on them that day.

"Are we on trial?" Cherie spoke up, her raspberry red lips puckering at the end of her sentence.

He blinked at it before shaking his head, "Depends."

"On what?" Donato asked.

Alistair's pacing paused right before his throne. He didn't sit in it but the sword of Ferelden did. Oh, of course someone made certain to snatch that thing up and protect it with their life. Wouldn't want the golden backscratcher to get lost. He knew it was practically useless, but the two ambassadors whose only experience on the battlefield involved reading reports long after the dead were burned kept shooting fearful looks towards it.

Stretching his arms wide and letting one dangle near the hilt, Alistair glared from one ambassador to the other, "If you had anything to do with it."

"Sire," Cherie scoffed. How did Orlesians manage to make laughing sound like they were putting on powder? Every grating chuckle was another dab of the lung choking dust into the air. "I understand you are...distraught and perhaps being overly emotional."

"Could be," he tipped his head back and forth, his lopsided grin sliding into place, "man can go a bit funny when his children are threatened right in front of him. Hard to not want to find whatever bastard was behind it and...see if they enjoy the multiple amenities of a dungeon suite."

Donato and Cherie didn't gulp, didn't shoot worried glances at each other, or scream 'you'll never catch me, mwhahahaha' while hurling down a smoke bomb and rushing out the door. They folded back into their damn safety ambassador bubble. He knew it wouldn't work to threaten them. She had that damn game, and it was doubtful Donato could show more than one, perhaps two emotions period. Alistair shot a quick glance over at Commander Cade who'd personally escorted both to his throne room.

"Sire, please, there's no need to bring threats into this matter. I'm certain the Empress..."

"Will fully side with Ferelden in this matter. Believe me, for all of Celene's fanciful metaphors hiding behind chevaliers, siccing the house of repose upon the children of a crown will turn her allies against her. Don't think the Free Marches isn't just looking for an excuse to knock about Orlais."

Cherie sneered below her mask. She wore it so often he stopped thinking of it as a mask and considered it her real face. It fit her personality better, all sharp lines and exaggerated features. "I do not know what low-brow Marcher politics you think you have control over, but I shall not be treated in such a fashion." She lifted up the ends of her dress about to spin in place when Cade's kindly hand thudded onto her arm.

"My Lady, you may wish to remain for the moment," Cade whispered, the man of meat towering far above her wispy frame.

She blanched below her piles of rouge, locking her arms back around her stomach to wait. Jerking his head, Alistair motioned the Commander away from the two ambassadors so they could whisper alone.

"Milord, if you don't have anything concrete to challenge them with I'm afraid we can't keep them hostage," Cade explained as if Alistair wasn't aware. Diplomatic immunity was a giant pain in his ass on a good day, and this was not a good day.

"This would be easy if those damn assassins had thought to keep an, I don't know, royal on them or... Blighted hell, what do they even use in Antiva?" Cade looked about to answer, but Alistair waved him away. He didn't care. "And where's our damn spymaster in all this?"

The answer to his second question charged through the door, knocking it open so fast it swung back at him and nearly bashed into his nose. "Sorry, sorry, got all caught up in...there were some, um...what'd I miss?" He skidded to a halt beside the two ambassadors and tried to stand at attention. Ghaleb was exactly what you didn't expect to find in a spymaster. While most were terrifying shadows come to life, he was an oil painting someone picked up and shook before it dried. His face didn't just drip, it all but sagged off his skull. As he was a good five years younger than Alistair it was all downhill from here. There were times the king wanted to grab onto both of Ghaleb's cheeks and lift them back up into their proper place.

Instead of a hood, Ghaleb always wore a turban knotted around his head. At the moment it was trailing along behind him, the ends coated in dirt. He followed his King's eye and then panicked at his mess before yanking the end up and trying to stuff it all back around his head.

"I'm guessing you heard about what happened in the square," Alistair said to his spymaster.

"Yes, yes," Ghaleb nodded before crinkling his ruddy nose. "Er, what happened precisely?"

"For the love of the Maker..." Alistair jabbed a thumb at Cade. "Fill the man in, and you," he pointed at Ghaleb, "get out there and find the culprits."

"Yes Sire!" Ghaleb saluted and turned on his heel about to run out the door. He paused before Alistair had to shout for him to get back here and sheepishly returned.

As his comically awkward spymaster listened to the full list from Cade, Alistair rounded back on Cherie and Donato. "I assume you both have alibis during the actual attack," he sighed. Anyone with any skill would have arranged all of this with themselves present to make it look good. He may not have paid much attention to Leliana and her bardic ways, but he at least got that part figured out.

Cherie nodded her head crisply; knowing that woman there were a dozen men clustered around and fanning her while popping grapes into her mouth. It was Donato who paused, his steel eyes drifting back towards Ghaleb as the spymaster kept bouncing a finger against his goatee and gasping. "Your Majesty, if you have intentions to place us under arrest..."

"No," Alistair waved his hand, accepting defeat. For all his bluster there was nothing in his hand. He'd been chucking a few joker cards at them hoping they'd fold if he caused a bad paper cut. "Not unless we find anything."

"So we are to be watched? Delightful," Cherie said and she sounded as if she meant it. Spinning on her heels, which she clicked together for no discernible reason, the Lady Ambassador clip-clopped across the throne room for the door. Baronet Donato bowed deep before sliding back to follow. Before exiting he cast another glance over at Ghaleb who was now jabbing his finger in the air as if he could see something no one else could.

When both ambassadors exited, Alistair yanked up his sword and collapsed into the throne. He hated the damn thing; it pinched his lower back, flattened his ass, and whenever he sat in it a bundle of nerves at the back of his brain blared as if someone blasted a horn at him. But right then and there he needed to sit and people'd probably frown on their king collapsing to the floor like a toddler. A cookie, juice, and a nap sounded delightful.

"Your Highness," Ghaleb shouted, his tenor voice echoing against every stone. While most other spymasters whispered he tended to scream as if afraid everyone would overlook him. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibilities, at barely five and a half feet and skinny enough to slide through the bars in the dungeon, he tended to blend in with everything. That, however, wasn't what made him their spymaster.

"Please tell me you've come up with something," Alistair said.

"Ah, perhaps. I'll have to run a few...and, no, maybe the left one is, but then again...I, uh." He gulped a few times, reining that galloping mind back in, "I'll go get to work right now, Sire."

"Good," Alistair waved his hand, "dismissed, get to it. Do that thing you do." He didn't watch Ghaleb scamper away, though it had to be entertaining, he was too busy crumpling up into his lap trying to not scream at the world. After a good decade of every damn noble in Ferelden hinting rather loudly that there should be a screaming mouth or five in the palace by now, they finally had not one but two. It wasn't exactly his doing, and while Alistair thought he'd keep himself apart from all that sire rearing, he didn't count on falling deep under the spell first of his daughter and then son.

Spud, not her real name obviously -- even he wasn't that cruel -- was beyond what he'd ever expected or hoped for. Alistair thought he'd let that side of him die, the selfish part that could get attached to things he wanted. Maker knew he certainly tried to bludgeon it to death after giving up Lanny post getting saddled with the shiny hat. He snickered at that thought, she was the only one dead certain that he'd bond with his daughter. Maker, how was that woman always right?

"Milord," Cade's rumbling broke Alistair from his maudlin turn and he flexed his face at the Commander. "I think it's time we consider security."

"Yes, someone should keep tabs on both of the ambassadors to make certain they don't, I don't know, take to hiding barrels of explosives around. Maker, that was fun."

"No," Cade interrupted. He was one of the rare ones to call Alistair on his bullshit without flinching and, funny enough, the King liked that about him. "I mean security for you." After whistling, the door was thrown open and a bear stepped into the throne room.

Alistair skidded off his seat, fingers fumbling for the useless sword, when he realized that below the mounds of black fur sprouting a foot off the chin and up over the head was a human face. He had to tip his head back even further to try and catch the eyes, the man approaching seven feet tall.

"How does he fit through the halls?" Alistair whispered to the Commander, eyeing up the man who could easily be two men and still have enough room for another half.

"This is Ser Brunt," Cade said, tapping his man on the back.

"Brunt?" Alistair stuttered. "Is that a family name? Did you have a grandfather named Phineous Brunt? Great aunt perhaps?" For his part, Brunt only grunted at that, the forced laugh shaking his beard.

"Milord," Cade continued, trying to snap Alistair's attention away. The king felt an urge to hand over a honey pot to Brunt just to see what would happen. "After the attack today it is obvious you shall require protection and this man is the best soldier under my command."

Alistair shook away his thoughts of seeing Brunt riding around on a pony while wearing a fez. "What? No, it's fine."

Narrowing his meaty lips, Cade shook his head. "Sire, as head of your security I demand that you have a bodyguard on your person at all times." Alistair turned to argue, when Cade added, "At least until we solve who sent those assassins."

That did him in. He had a pretty good excuse, it wasn't as if he was without fighting skills and a few of the ol' templar ones if he focused really hard. But this was different. They nearly got to him. They nearly got to...

"Ser Brunt will guard my children," Alistair pronounced in such a Kingly fashion even Cade took a moment to interrupt.

"Sire?"

"You said it yourself, he's the best, right? And what I want protecting them from whatever's out to get us is that. The best. All seven feet of it."

Brunt turned down to look at his boss, confusion clouding his massive brow. Swallowing down what sounded like a dozen objections, all of which Alistair could easily deflect when it came to his kids, Cade licked his lips. "And what of you Sire? You still require a bodyguard."

"It's not a problem, Commander."

"Milord?"

Alistair picked up the golden sword and slipped it back into its underused sheathe, "I've already got someone in mind."

## CHAPTER THREE

#### Reiss

As an elbow came hurtling for her nose, Reiss found herself regretting two things. One, that she'd chucked her helmet with the nose guard aside and two, what she was about to do to her friend. Lashing a foot forward, Reiss knocked into Lunet's thigh, throwing off her stance and sending her sparring partner scattering back out of the ring. Okay, ring was generous for the circle they drew in the mud behind their guardhouse. Some of the nicer sections of the city had real ropes and everything, but people working their beat near the tanning district made due. At least they had real swords. They said the fools stuck patrolling through the outskirts were armed with butterknives.

Lunet twisted around, her balance out of whack as her taped hands fell to the ground. Pausing, Reiss dropped her guard to try and offer aid, which was when Lunet struck. Barreling through, her narrow shoulder bit into Reiss' open midsection, driving them both backwards towards the wall. Lunet released something of a chuckle roar, obviously meant to be serious at first, it broke down into a continuous spray of giggles as she flattened Reiss' body to the ground.

"Okay, okay," Reiss gasped, "I give."

"Damn straight you do, Rabbit," Lunet smiled, extending a hand to the only other female elf in the city guards. There was a single male one elsewhere who was deathly serious all the time and never spoke to his own kind.

"I got you last time, Rat," Reiss said while trying to suck in a breath. A sound broke from the open windows of the guardhouse, and from the sides of her eyes she caught the shadow of heads bobbing on the opposite wall. "Don't look now, but the shems are watching us again."

"Course they are," Lunet stretched her arms above her head elongating her already graceful body to its full elven stretch. She was what you had in mind when you thought of someone dark and mysterious; hooded cinnamon eyes framed by lashes thick enough to paint a masterpiece and hair blacker than the night. With an Orlesian name, Antivan coloring, and the most braying Ferelden accent one could find Lunet was a constant study in contradictions.

Batting at her bun, and extracting out the knitting needle she dislodged in the fight, Lunet began to wind it all back up while casting a look back at the humans watching them. Reiss was less than impressed with the constant attention, "What do they want?"

"I bet," she finished wrapping up her hair and smoothed away the finer escapees, "they're just waiting for me to throw you onto the ground, squat over your supple body and then...start sucking face."

Reiss laughed at Lunet's eyebrow waggle. "You sure you're the only one who can do the body tossing?"

She parted her hands, "It comes with the territory. Have sex with a woman and suddenly you gain the power of ten ogres."

"Hm," Reiss scratched her chin, "I may have to try that after all. It'd make standing around in that armor all day more bearable." Glancing back at where she tossed her regulation greaves that slipped off her hips, the chest plates that could rotate around her, and gauntlets in danger of slipping off if she swung her arm, Reiss sighed. Lunet's hand landed upon her shoulder, drawing her attention. "One more go?"

"All right," Reiss nodded, sliding into place. She kept her hands in a position unlike the rest of the city guards - most of whom couldn't be bothered to spend their free time sparring. They were fortunate, humans almost always had an upper body strength advantage over elves, as well as height. Reiss lucked out in comparison to her fellow knife-ears and somehow came out at nearly average human size, but she wound up with the thin kind of body most would sweetly call reedy while swinging their voluptuous hips around. Even Lunet who was a good head a half below Reiss was blessed with better curvy bits, which she put to good use, of course.

"Okay," Reiss dodged Lunet's swing, taking both to her forearms. "Let's hear about her."

"Hear about who?" Lunet asked, her voice skipping around as she widened her stance.

"Your latest conquest, I know there's got to be one. There's always one when we haven't seen each other in a fortnight." Despite being in the same guardhouse, they tended to keep their only elves on separate rotations almost as if the humans feared one day they'd go mad with power and try to take over. Their only time together was on Lunet's day off and the lag time as Reiss adjusted to night patrol. It wasn't the worst fate, they had a lot more to talk about that way.

Lunet smiled smugly, swinging a knee toward's Reiss' stomach, but she was prepared this time. Sucking in her gut, she slapped a hand onto Lunet's thigh, knocking the woman back. "Come now, how many beautiful elven woman do you think there are in Denerim for me to--"

"Take advantage of?"

"I was going to say romance, but...that taking advantage part is fun too."

"Mothers lock up your daughters," Reiss sighed.

Lunet laughed for a moment before shaking her head, "If you must know in your obstinately prying way, there is someone and she's...different. Special."

"Maker's breath," Reiss' stance faded as she stood dumbstruck, "Do not tell me the lusty Lunet has gone and fallen in love."

"Psh," she tried to wave it away, but a cherry flush burst along her bronzed cheeks. Turning the tables back on Reiss, Lunet lashed a punch out and asked, "What about you? We never talk abut your love life."

"Pretty pointless to talk about nothing," Reiss said, deflecting the punch slower than she should have. "Oh look, that nothing's still sitting there doing nothing. Good for it."

"You wander by the alienage every now and again," Lunet pointed out. While she only dipped in when on business or necessary, Reiss preferred to spend her downtime amongst her own. There was a small two chairs/one table restaurant that served the most amazing dumplings in all of Ferelden, and best of all there were no shems to watch. "Tell me one of the strapping young men there caught your eye."

Reiss growled, punching through the air as if it personally spat on her. Lunet dodged but barely, as Reiss felt thick air skimming above her knuckles. She liked Lunet because the woman could talk to fill every silence Reiss left wide open, happily tossing in bon mots or observations about life and every piece of shit that came with it. But when Lunet turned her fiery focus on Reiss she wanted to cower away and wave it off on someone else.

"What about the King?"

"The wha...?" Reiss' need to disembowel the air vanished to shock, her fists hanging free as she stared at her friend.

Lunet lifted her shoulder in a shrug, "Did _he_ catch your eye?"

"For the Maker's sake! I was a bit busy what with the assassins and then, you know, his kids right there. I don't know," Reiss shouted, throwing her arms up in the air and obliterating her entire stance. "He's fine for a shem, I guess."

"Very well, I'll stop picking. Doubtful you'll be seeing him or anyone else royal ever again," Lunet said, dropping her own hands.

Reiss snorted at that truth. She was only tossed up onto the stage beside him and the rest of his entourage because Davis fell ill, Matchkins got his damn head stuck in the floorboard again, and Oless refused to go anywhere near the King thinking she'd accidentally behead him or something. The elf wasn't really trusted enough to be let near nobility, but everyone figured it'd be an easy job standing around in the hot sun watching nobles stuff themselves until their silks burst. Maker, if she hadn't reacted without thinking who knows what would have happened.

A mewling drew her attention away from Lunet and as Reiss turned, she spotted a grey shadow moving through the shrubbery sprouting over the wall. Smiling, Reiss reached into her pocket to find something that remained from a dinner. Armed with a piece of cheese, she lifted up the branches to reveal a set of golden eyes glittering in anticipation of the promised vittles. Holding her hand flat, sharp teeth gently picked it free and a purring rumbled up from the cat's gut. After giving her offering, Reiss was free to pet across the acres of grey fur.

"What are you doing with that mangy thing?" Lunet asked, leaning back.

"She's not mangy," Reiss spoke in her baby voice to the kitty. "She stops by every now and again, sometimes sits up on the overhang and watches me. I feed her, pet her, scratch her ears," Reiss explained the basics of what one does with a cat.

"Is that hygienic?" Lunet asked, "You don't know where its been."

"It's a cat, Lune. They tend to go wherever they want," Reiss chuckled. As she extended her hand, the cat rose up, stretching her spine to guide the fingers to the best spot. Secretly, she called the cat Sylaise enjoying the idea of something so elven slipping in and out of the guardhouse unnoticed by the shems. She looked well cared for, but it was possible Sylaise was scamming others for food as was becoming for a cat.

Having finished with the elf, Sylaise stretched across the wall plopping her grey body right into a sunbeam as her tail twitched up and down to frame the stones. Reiss pulled her hand back and watched the kitty, "When I was working on the farm, there was this mouser cat that slept in the same barn as me. Every damn night that mean ol' tom would wake me by scratching across my face so he could steal the warm spot where I was sleeping. I get it in my head to try and make a peace offering, so I'd keep a small piece of my meal in my pocket and give it to the tom."

"Wherein he left you alone and you two became best friends," Lunet interrupted.

Reiss turned around, an eyebrow raising as she eyed her up, "You've never had a cat, have you? No, all I did was teach the damn thing that it deserved to be pampered with a free meal and if he didn't get it...whack, even more scratches across my face."

Her fingers rubbed up and down Sylasie's back, getting more purring for her effort, "Cats don't deal, they take whatever they want without regard for the people around them."

"A bit like shems then," Lunet said aloud what Reiss often thought. Even still, she whipped her head around at her friend and narrowed her eyes. "What? We're completely alone. If I can't talk about how exhausting humans are with you, where can I?"

She understood the thought, but Reiss was trained to hold her tongue under any circumstances. Lunet grew up in an alienage, one north in Highever, and was surrounded at all times by elves. Whenever Reiss felt her tongue about to wag she'd remember her mother flicking her in the back of the ear and saying "Do not speak ill of them. Hurting one turns them all upon us." Still, sometimes it was very tempting.

A loud noise rattled down the usually quiet streets of their district, causing Sylaise to shriek and leap back to her secret shrubbery. "What in the Maker...?" Lunet began when a carriage of all things rolled around the corner. Banners flapped off the ends each decorated with the seal of Ferelden. Reiss and Lunet exchanged a look as their guard captain leapt out of the house to try to stand at attention.

"At least he put his pants on," Lunet observed, both of them with their chins upon the wall trying to peer out through the bushes to see whoever disembarked from the fancy wagon.

It wasn't until the door flew open that they got a good look at the design painted on it and Reiss felt her heart drop to her stomach. A bright gold crown painted against a shield of red: it was a royal coach. Their guard captain reached out to pat the shoulders of a woman in fancy armor stepping out. Reiss couldn't watch what happened next, she was shrinking back, her worst nightmares playing behind her eyes.

"Oh yes, do that weird cheek kiss thing you do to the woman who looks like she'll hurtle you through the wall," Lunet kept up her commentary to herself, "That's a brilliant idea, Ser..." Her voice trailed off as she turned back to catch Reiss doing her damnedest to not hyperventilate on her feet.

"Rye," she called out to her, "what's wrong?"

"You don't...do you think they're here for me?" she gasped, struggling to yank her suddenly too tight tunic collar so she could breathe.

"They're from the castle, why'd they be here for you?" Lunet asked, before gasping, "Oh shit, what did you do?"

"It wasn't, I..." Reiss screwed up her eyes and thought back to the King leaving her in charge of his children. "I had to protect the princess and prince, you know."

"Yeah, I saw the baby shit sloshing around in your helmet. Can they not afford nappies in the palace or something?"

Reiss shook off Lunet's side jokes, her vision winnowing as she spat out her confession. "I was on high alert, you know. Trust no one and...Maker's sake, how could I know who he was? I'd never met any of the nobility before and..." She sucked in a breath, her fingers grasping for something to hold.

Spinning away from the wall, Lunet snatched up her hand and almost guided her to a bench like an old woman. "Rye, by the void, what happened?"

"There was a knock on the door, a shadow and a voice called out. I didn't know who it was and, fearing he came for the children, I...sort of, um," Reiss twisted her fingers around, a nail thudding along each of her many calluses, "threatened the Arl of Redcliffe's life."

"Oooh shit," Lunet gasped, her palms spread across her lips.

"And held a sword to his throat," she folded in on herself. In the confusion, Reiss hoped that everyone forgot about all of that. Once the princess smiled and threw her arms around the woman with him, Reiss yanked her sword back and apologized profusely. But there it was, she - an elf - held her blade in a threatening position against the throat of one of the most powerful men in Ferelden. The bare facts caused her shoulders to shake as she crumpled to a ball.

"Rye, come on," Lunet patted against her, "it's not. I mean, what are the chances they can pick one of use knife ears out of a pack? We all look the same to 'em."

That was true. She rose up, confidence shoring up her wobbly knees as she looked Lunet in the eye. Humans often had troubles telling elves apart. Maybe there was hope she could get away with her life at least.

"It's okay. In fact, I bet they're not even here for you. Probably gonna congratulate the Fatain on saving the king even though he was back here dousing his mustache in lard."

"You..." Reiss patted her fingers, and gulped, "You're sure?"

"Positive," Lunet beamed, her smile widening as she ramped up that elegant beauty to eleven. It made no sense, but somehow that calmed Reiss's jitters. She was right, it was not a problem. They'd speak with the captain and then move on back to the palace district where they belonged.

Reiss slipped an arm around her friend's side to hug her when the ramshackle door to the training grounds burst open. Captain Fettan stood rod straight as he gazed over at the pair of them quickly sliding apart. Her boss' grumble about those damn lady loving elves wasn't what melted Reiss' spine, but the calculating eyes of a woman easily twice the size of her sizing up the shrinking elf.

Nodding once, the woman boomed, "I am here for Ser Reiss."

"Or maybe I'm wrong," Lunet whispered under her breath.

"Which of you is...?" she asked, glancing from the dark haired beauty to the scrubbed plain blonde as if they were carbon copies of each other.

Reiss felt Lunet slide forward, as if she was about to throw herself on her own sword for a friend, but Reiss couldn't let her. Grabbing onto Lunet's arm, she yanked her back and announced without any wobble in her voice, "I am."

"Good, your presence is required at the palace."

"Oh, okay," Reiss nodded, trying to not picture a giant pit opening up below her. "Uh, right now then?"

"Yes, unless you have some other requirement...?" the woman looked back at the captain who lifted his hands and shrugged.

"Right," Reiss glanced over at Lunet and began to shuffle towards her doom. She felt like she should extend her hands to be manacled, but there wasn't much point. She was already as good as dead. "I can go with you now."

"Good," the woman clapped her once on the shoulder before tugging her towards the door, through the house full of her fellow guards all gawping, and into the carriage to ride to her end. Before she was yanked away, Reiss shot a single look at Lunet and feared it'd be the last.

## CHAPTER FOUR

#### The King & I

She was dead. The entire trip through the ramshackle boroughs up to the gilded palace district her handler didn't speak a word, but she kept one eye on the road and another upon the guard stuffed into the carriage beside her. The same guard who was suddenly aware that she was dressed in her underarmor. With filthy cuffs, split hems, and trousers stained in equal parts blood and muck there was no chance she was being taken to see the King for a hearty thanks. People who met royalty were buffed and shined within an inch of their life so they could pass under the easily disgusted noble nose. Nope, Reiss was certain she reached the end of her rope. All that remained was the final snap to finish it off.

Staggering through the palace grounds, she had to keep from glancing around at the architecture that lifted up to the sky. The ceiling was so high she couldn't make out if there were any stains on it. _I wonder how they dust it_ , Reiss thought to herself. No hands jammed into her back to keep her moving, but a few of the royal guards in their far more intimidating armor stood noticeably close. Whenever she slowed to stare up at a statue and wonder how easily it could tip over and crush her, the guards would stop a foot behind and wait with fingers upon their hilts. No one checked her for weapons, no one thought she was of any concern. That thought almost made her snicker. How like shems to assume the elf was helpless. But, given the arms all around her and the fact she didn't have a dagger on her person, they were accurate. This time.

Her handler paused outside a set of doors large enough to close off the alienage gates. The woman ran her fingers through her hair and tried to fluff up the peplum clinging to her hips. It seemed unnecessary as the woman bore thighs that looked like they could crush a man's skull clean open, that fact evident even below her skirts. But there was fashion to maintain, apparently. Absently, Reiss patted her messy bun and drew away five strands of straw. Maker, how much more was stuck in there and no one said anything?

There wasn't time for her to look as the handler threw open the doors to reveal the infamous Ferelden Throne Room. She'd only ever seen one other throne room before, but that was different. While it sat an impressive chair, the owner kept it more relaxed baring tables always stacked with food to provide sustenance to those both common and noble lingering around. This place sparkled, every breath echoed against the walls and floors. It felt as if she stepped inside a priceless porcelain vase that could crack with a single misplaced footstep. Guiltily, Reiss glanced down at her shoes to find mud and muck from the grounds had followed her tracks and now a clump of horse manure clung to a mabari mosaic embedded into the floor. She wanted to bend down to clean it off, but the handler paused in the middle of the room and shouted.

"Your Majesty!"

Three sets of heads lifted at the end of the room, none of which sat in the chair at the top of a handful of stairs. They'd been in a rapt discussion that faded quickly as the blonde one shouted, "Maker's breath, Karelle, get over here. I'm not spending the whole time screaming across the gap."

Karelle bobbed her head at the King's command and without glancing back at her prisoner, stepped across a line. There was no physical barrier, but the stone bricks changed from a slightly grey to a white as if that was how far common muck were supposed to get near the seat of power. The King however seemed unused or uncertain about such tradition judging by the scuffs in the floor that paced from one end to the other.

Following her eyes, Reiss realized that the guards that stood behind her remained back at the door. She was technically alone as the handler sidled up to her King; she could escape. All she had to do was leap up the polished pillars to land upon a wooden rafter, scurry across a foot wide beam and then squeeze her body out a hole that could at best accommodate a cat. Oh, and all without making a noise and before anyone thought to glance back at her. No problem whatsoever.

She was deader than dead.

Trying to hang her head in shame, with a million apologies to the Arl clinging to her tongue, Reiss slid closer to the clump of people with blood bluer than lyrium. Over the mumbling crested the King's voice, it bore a nasally timbre that oddly wasn't unpleasant. Anyone else and that almost mucus sound would grate but it worked for him. Perhaps it was the lightness mixed within. If sunshine itself could have a voice, it'd probably sound like the ruler of Ferelden. Reiss snickered at herself, the mind came up with strange thoughts when one was walking to her doom.

Stopping behind the handler's massive shoulders, Reiss lifted her head and waited for the end. After nodding at something the others said, the King glanced over at her and his lips widened. "I see you brought Ser Reiss with you, Karelle. Good job."

"No need to be patronizing, Sire," Karelle bit back. "It was a simple matter."

The King didn't lash out at his underling's tongue, only rolled his eyes and shook his head back and forth. Karelle passed whatever papers she'd been fiddling with in the carriage ride over to him, which he flipped through at first quickly before pausing and returning to a line. No one seemed to be in any hurry to damn Reiss to the executioner's axe, they were probably enjoying watching her twist in the wind. Strange, she didn't spot the Arl of Redcliffe mixed among the crowd.

"Do you require me to explain the bigger words?" Karelle asked after a time, drawing the King from the papers.

"Ho, ho, see what I have to put up with?" he asked point blank to Reiss. She paled at the focus and slowly shook her head, feeling a tremble begin in her lip. _Maker's breath, just shoot me already and get it over with!_

"Right, okay, Ser Reiss--."

"That's not accurate, Your Majesty," she spoke up then winced at interrupting a King. But a part of her worried that it may all be some test, or his wrath could increase tenfold when he learned the truth later.

For his part, the King only blinked slowly then turned back to the papers, "What was what?"

"I..." her voice dipped lower into her throat, struggling to be heard. Anywhere else in Ferelden it'd have faded away to nothing, but in this echo chamber it reverberated across every shiny stone. "I've never been knighted. Your Highness. I'm only a Corporal." She winced after finishing it.

"Oh," he folded up the papers and banged them together in his hand. For a brief moment he glanced over at his no doubt advisors and shrugged. "Sorry about that, Corporal Reiss. Maker, that's a mouth full. Major Reiss, that's got a better ring to it. Sounds a bit like majorities. Major Reason..."

It was idiotic but a small chuckle broke in her throat from the King playing around with her name as if he hadn't summoned her to answer for the unanswerable, as if she wasn't facing a most likely swift and bloody end. Anywhere else, from anyone else she might almost find it endearing. A gruff cough paused the King's rumination and he turned to the man hiding in the shadows. Reiss' brief candle had the wick slit in half as the Commander of the royal guards stepped closer to the King. If Commander Cade was involved she was beyond praying to be saved. Now she could only beg for a quick end.

The King tipped his head back and forth, the humor drying up. Returning to his papers, he asked, "Corporal Reiss, you were born in Ferelden...near South Reach?"

"Ah," she rolled her tongue, uncertain if she was supposed to respond or not, "yes, your Highness."

"But you spent a lot of your life in the Free Marches," he ruffled through the papers and read off, "some of it in Kirkwall, no less."

She didn't wince at the mention, having learned how to bury that one ages ago. "Yes, I did." Reiss shored up her legs and rose to attention but a surprising pair of compassionate eyes lifted from the paperwork to her.

"Blight?" he voiced that solitary word that changed her life forever. Reiss found her tongue flopping over, unable to raise a response from the strange shared remorse in his face. Instead, she nodded and glanced at his shoes only to start at realizing the King was wearing boots muddier than hers.

"We lost a lot of good people because of that," he said, his eyes darting over to Cade. Something unsaid passed between them, but whatever argument the pair had, the Commander broke and folded his closed fist against his chest in solidarity.

"Aye, Milord."

Wafting away the cloud the moment it appeared, the King rifled through what she realized was her file. "Then one day you up and decided to work for the Inquisition."

It wasn't how Reiss would put it, but close enough. "Yes, your Highness."

"Lots of accolades listed here," he said, his eyes widening in a strange respect. "The Emprise, the Dales, even patrolling the High Plains for awhile. What'd you think of Orlais?"

He asked it casually, but Reiss noticed the hungry look bouncing from the Commander as well as the drippy, tanned man standing beside him. Swallowing, Reiss said the first word to enter her head, "Exhausting."

The King laughed, his hand cupping his forehead as he dug fingers through to fluff up his hair. "My thoughts exactly." In a surprise, the other Fereldens began to chortle as well, even the Commander broke for a moment, his meaty lips rising in a rare smile. _Maker's balls, what was going on?_ If this was how they read a prisoner their sentence before hauling them off to Fort Drakon it was beyond balmy.

After wiping a tear of joy from his eye, the King flipped back open her file. "Let's see...awards, lauds, praise, and even a personal recommendation from..." the flippant smile fell and a terrifying darkness crossed his sunny face, "Commander Cullen."

"Is that...?" Reiss tried to rise up on her toes to see what the Commander had to say about her, but the King held it tighter to his face. "Is that a problem?" she asked, terrified of the answer.

Snorting, the King twisted his head to the side, "No, it speaks very well of you." He smacked his lips a few times and then rolled his eyes to her, "He's a hard man to please."

Reiss had no idea how to respond to that. She'd rarely met the Commander beyond spotting him a few times while on the field. In fact, she didn't even know about the personal recommendation he put into her file. The idea to ask her about the Commander of the Inquisition seemed to be perched upon the King's lips, but he shook it away and turned to Cade as well as the man beside him.

"Well, Cade, Ghaleb, I'd say she checks out."

"I have a few questions first, Milord," Commander Cade interrupted, stepping closer to her.

"You could bowl me over with a breath at how shocked I am," the King rolled his eyes back.

Cade didn't falter from the King's response, those sharp eyes narrowed down at Reiss and she tried to not think of how the blade against her neck would feel. She'd come close a few times in her life, but it never broke the skin, much less her spine. "You left the Inquisition, yes..."

Knowing when she was being led, Reiss folded her hands behind her back and nodded once. Any word she spoke was dangerous and could be twisted against her. Even something as innocuous as 'I like cookies' could turn into 'She despises all things cake and would see bakers burned alive.'

"To work for," Cade spun on his heels and tried to snatch the papers out of the King's hand, but he didn't let go. As the Commander cast a glower at his technical leader, he stopped trying to yank and slowly let go. For his part, the King only sighed again as if it was all some stupid dance they had to go through.

Throwing them open, he drew his finger down to the near bottom of her file. Reiss pinched into the flesh between her thumb and finger trying to slot on her Wicked Grace face at the name she knew was coming.

"Bann...Declan." His deep brown eyes shot up at that and the King mouthed, "Declan? Maker's breath, what in thedas for?"

"He required guards, for reasons that weren't entirely made clear. I fulfilled that role for a time," Reiss said, doing her damnedest to not think of the time in her life that probably counted as the worst damn decision she ever made. She had to keep her opinions private because, knowing her luck, the Bann was some favored cousin of the King.

Sneering, the King scratched a nail against the vellum and whispered, "I hope you got hazard pay." A laugh tried to exit out her nose, but she managed to turn it into a cough. "Andraste's fiery sword, the last time that pompous, dullard was in the palace I..."

"Your Highness!" Cade interrupted.

"What? Right, fine, I think what Cade's so inelegantly getting at is why'd you only stay for a few months. Wait, we know why Cade. I'd gladly chew both my legs off if I was trapped for more than an hour with the slime sucking, toad out of a hole Bann De..." His diatribe paused at the depths of annoyance radiating off his Commander. "Very well. What other screws do you want to put to her?"

At the mention of screws Reiss tightened up. She'd been drawn in by the King's lackadaisical approach as if she wasn't dangling above a shark pit with the rope slowly unraveling. The Commander eyed her up, "Tell me, Corporal, when did you leave the Inquisition?"

"9:43, Ser. Honorable Discharge!" she saluted, her voice echoing over every stone in the room.

The King seemed to track it for a moment, his finger following the reverberations to a window when he paused and turned back, "43? After _Mwhahahaha, I'm your new god_ went splat but before they transferred power to the chantry?"

"Ah," Reiss had never heard Corypheus summed up so, though it was accurate, "yes, Your Sireness." She scrunched her nose up at the fumble, but the King didn't notice.

"I knew we got a great bump after the Council decision, bit terrifying to have well trained and unemployed soldiers knocking about, but we made do."

"Yes, Sire, _I_ did," Cade interrupted, smugly grinning.

"Do you want a parade in your name? I'm certain we could have one arranged. I'll go tell Isolde and..." the King said, watching a sliver of panic part the meaty face. Shaking it off like a wet mabari, Cade fell back to his usual hating everything stance. "So, if it wasn't the great winnowing down that pulled you out, what made you quit the Inquisition?" he turned the focus back on Reiss.

"That's personal, Ser," she said. "I mean, Your Highness, Majesty..."

"Whatever," he responded back, folding his hands across his chest while finishing her sentence.

"Personal is not an answer, Corporal," Cade thundered, stepping even nearer to her. Reiss' eyes darted down to the hilt of his sword, cracked on the side as if it'd been hit from the left. She shook the stupid thought away. That wasn't helping her. Maker, how could she possibly explain why she left the Inquisition without sounding incompetent at best?

"I..." Reiss began, when the King interrupted.

"Let her have a secret," he said, shaking his head at Cade. "Personal's as good a reason to give up on the march to war as 'I got sick and tired of blisters bursting in my boots.'"

"Perhaps I should try that one instead," Reiss muttered to herself and the King leaned nearer. Despite being the most royal noble she'd ever met, he smelled not of expensive oils but sweet hay and mashed up carrots?

"Make sure and give me credit," he whispered, "I get so very little for everything else I do."

"Of course, Sire," she gasped, regretting her slip of the tongue. Reiss ran the back of her hand against her forehead and shook the flop sweat off onto the floor.

"Welp, there we go. Left the Inquisition because of personal reasons, and abandoned Bann Declan for the Denerim guards because an ass full of blisters is better than having to sit through one of that man's recitals."

Reiss involuntarily shuddered at that memory. He would have them often and required everyone at his estate to sit and listen.

"I'd say she's good to go, more than qualified. Did you really take on a dragon?" he turned back to her.

"A wyvern, Sire. Small one, hadn't developed its poison sac yet..." Shutting her eyes, Reiss tried to will the world to make sense, for something of reality to seep back into what had to be an accidental trip into the fade. But when she opened them again, the King, the Commander of the Royal Guards, and a mysterious stranger she didn't know all stood before her. "What precisely am I qualified for?"

"Andraste's girdle," the King cursed before spinning to Karelle, "You didn't tell her?"

The handler shrugged, "I had a lot to accomplish and I've found saying 'The King needs to see you' works better than a lengthy explanation."

"Ser..." the King shook his head, "Sorry about that, Corporal Reiss, after your service to protect me and my family from assassins I would like to hire you to serve as my personal bodyguard."

"Ah," Reiss gasped, her fingers smashing into her mouth to stifle a scream. They weren't going to hang her, or chop off her head, or even toss her into the dungeon. She was safe. More than safe, they wanted to give her a job. A job protecting the King.

"I..." the King's eyes darted over to his Commander, "I know it's a big decision, which I'd hoped you'd had time to mull over in the ride here but--"

"Yes," Reiss squeaked, her eyes widening. Instinctively, she stuck her hand out and grabbed the King's. "I mean, I gladly accept your job offer." As the giddiness of living faded, Reiss noticed that she was clinging to the King's hand as if someone like her deserved to touch it. _Oh Maker_ , letting go would look bad but she was holding it too long. What was she supposed to do? Shrugging, she shook their conjoined hands up and down.

The King chuckled, nodded his head at her, and shook back. "Now that that's settled, you..." he pointed at the drippy man behind him wearing a set of grey robes, "go and figure out who hired the assassins that came after me. Do some of that spying you do so creepily well."

It was the Spymaster. She'd only heard a few whispered rumors of his existence, not that a castle having one was a surprise, more that people weren't certain what to make of the man. He seemed to return from whatever far away land his mind drifted off to, shaggy brows meeting in the middle as he bobbed his head a few times. "Right, I will go and do that. We've got a few ideas, chatter to piece together and other things that need to be accomplished you don't care about. I'll go and be going that. Bye."

The King watched him scuffle and apologize but the man didn't actually move as if he was waiting for everyone else to leave before attempting it. Barely nodding at the strange behavior, he turned to Commander Cade. "I'm certain you know what to do."

"Yes, Milord," he said, not bothering to recite back his orders. Either he was already told them ahead of time, already surmised what the King wanted, or wasn't going to listen to whatever his Majesty said.

"Good, good," the King lifted a hand to his forehead and raked his fingernails across the skin. The specks of dirt jammed under them littered the wake, sparkling against his pale flesh. Strange. "Karelle, I assume you can get Ser Reiss...sorry, Corporal. You know what, let's do something about that. For saving my worthless life, you're a knight now. Congrats. We'll have a fancy knight party later to celebrate. I think there's a special cake or something with knives."

"I..." Reiss had no idea how to respond. This was beyond imagination. She felt as if she should reach up and yank the tips of her ears out to make certain he noticed. You didn't knight elves, you certainly didn't make them personal bodyguards to a king! Maker, what if she was already dead? What if Karelle had killed her during the carriage ride and this was her afterlife? You'd think you'd imagine yourself in better attire at least, Reiss.

"Right," the King slapped his thigh with the file, yanking her out of her flight of fancy. "If you don't mind, I have a very important meeting to make."

"Uh, Sire..." Reiss stumbled, certain she needed to say something, to kowtow onto the ground and humbly insist she was not worthy of his gifts.

He turned a smile pure as honey upon her, "Don't worry, Karelle will get you all kitted up. She knows everything about everything." The handler snorted at his assessment. "Then we'll talk later." Chucking her file at the Spymaster, who actually caught it, the King all but ran out of the throne room. Commander Cade snorted once at Reiss before following much slower behind while the Spymaster seemed to disappear within himself while staying rooted to the ground.

A knight. A bodyguard. In the Palace. To the King. Andraste, bride of the Maker, what just happened?

"If you'll come with me, this is going to take some time to get you set up," Karelle mumbled, leading Reiss to her new life.

## CHAPTER FIVE

#### Parentage a Trois

He played the King all day, ordering people to do things while standing regally beside the throne and - more often than not - glowering. Normally people would stagger up to attention and maybe give a hearty wave at Alistair as he sauntered past through the halls of the palace. Sometimes, when in a cheeky mood, he'd stop a servant and ask where the bathroom was. Now, he blew past everyone, barely bothering to say a word. A few guards milling on the stairs leaped back as their King rounded on the staircase, muttering apologies for not anticipating him, but Alistair didn't have time for any of that. He had one last important meeting to get to, the one that he'd been aching for the entire day.

No one stood guard at the door, though Maker knew how long that semblance of serenity would last. In fact, the door was left wedged open, a strange green and blue light wafting through the gap. Smiling to himself, he remembered when the merchant presented the balls to the King as a gift. They lasted about five minutes in his possession before someone else discovered their amazing ability to alter the color of fire.

Leaning into the door, Alistair stepped into the nursery. There used to be a crib right by the closed window, but its occupant grew too big and the newest addition was too tiny to be trusted inside it. He glanced over at the partition that was supposed to hide away her trundle bed, but the blankets were all tucked into place, nary a toy scattered from the pile on her pillows.

As he stepped further in, he turned a corner to spot the fireplace roaring to an eerie purple as another color took hold. Marn kept a tight grip on the princess' arm so she wouldn't lurch forward and try to make friends with the flames. Smacking her chubby hands together, they missed in her eternal joy as the toddler bounced up and down from the fire's pretty colors.

"Again!" she commanded, turning to look up at Marn who sighed, and in reaching for one in the basket on a shelf, caught Alistair lurking in the shadows. Spud followed suit and a squeal broke from her throat. "Daddy!"

He didn't actively fall to his knees, his body folded in half plummeting him towards the ground as his daughter dashed forward to wrap her sticky fingers around him. Whatever gooey substance was digging over his shoulders with her hug also coated the little cheek burrowing into his chest. Alistair pulled her so tight to him there was no way anything bad or evil could get in.

Maker, he nearly lost her. Lost everything.

During every damn meeting to prove the King was fine, that the throne was secure, that they were on it to find the culprits and bring them to justice or at least drag them behind a horse for a few miles Alistair would glance up at the second floor and ache to scoop his daughter into his arms. They kept telling him she was fine, Teagan reported she fished out a quill and took to doodling, even Marn wandered by at one point carrying dinner for Spud -- who decided a few weeks past she would only eat red foods. But none of it felt real, he didn't believe them until he could hold her tight and know in his heart that she was safe.

"Daddy?" she whispered against him, caught up in the hug.

"Yeah, Spudkins?"

"Can I play?"

A laugh broke through his throat, and Alistair started at the realization he was crying. Releasing his hold on Spud, he staggered up to stand and tried to wipe away the evidence quickly. "Sure, sure," he nodded, his breath shaking every word, "go ahead."

"There will be no playing tonight," Marn spoke up, defying the rule of her King.

Spud spun around and glared at her nursemaid. "But Daddy said..."

"Young Lady, you have been given ample excuses tonight. We've even put Mister Tibbles to bed," Marn gestured at a taxidermy frog from the library Spud took as her own, currently tucked cozily beneath one of her mother's kerchiefs. "It is time for you to sleep."

Her quibbling bottom lip stuck out, but it had no bearing on Marn who batted it away with an easy swipe of her mother bear paw. The one who couldn't stand it was Alistair. "Come on, Marn. After the day she's had..."

"It is best she return to her routine," Marn insisted, crossing her hands over her chest.

"I wanna play wif Daddy!" Spud insisted in her outdoor voice. Being two she didn't really have an indoor voice; there was her typical bellow and then a true wrath of a volcano scream when something set her off.

"She's right, Tater Tot," Alistair said, stepping up to bat for Marn. The nursemaid turned a surprised eye on him, as if he had the same temperament as a toddler. "Come on, I'll put you to bed. Okay?" He asked that last part at Marn who opened her hands and shrugged. There had been a contentious battle over the years with the nursemaid of the opinion that fathers were best kept far from their children unless the fruits of their loins were cleaned, pressed, and starched to a nameless perfection while Alistair would often be the one coating Spud in jelly.

He expected a fight this time because he never got the putting to bed part right, but Marn acquiesced her power to the ass on the throne. Nodding once, Alistair turned to Spud and asked, "Do you have your jammies on?"

She picked at the play dress someone slipped on her after they left the square and shook her head violently.

"Why don't you go and get them?" Alistair asked, causing Spud to smile wide while nodding in excitement. Dashing off to her chest, she tried to heave the lid open but it stuck. Before she had to say a word, Alistair lifted it up to help her and held it steady.

While his daughter all but climbed inside to find her pajamas, Marn clapped him on the shoulder.

"I shall attend to the baby under the Queen's care." Her eyes cast over Spud who was half buried in a pile of socks. "It was a near thing."

"Yes," Alistair tried to shake off the sob building in his head. He had a training dummy in his room that was going to lose a few limbs tonight. "Yes it was."

"Good luck," Marn said as she slipped towards the middle door that led to the Queen's chambers.

"We'll find the ones who hired the assassins," Alistair whispered while watching Spud dig deeper into her pile of clothes, trousers scattering through the air. Maker, two was far too young to learn what an assassin was.

"I was thinking more good luck in getting my Lady dressed for bed," Marn said. A smug look permeated her face as she slipped through the side door and slowly closed it.

"What...?" Alistair began before hearing Spud pop out of the chest and shout.

"I'm done!"

She had a pair of bathing trunks on over her chest, yanked a skirt up under her armpits, and then topped it all off with a pair of socks on each of her ears. "Andraste's flaming sword," Alistair groaned. Heaving his shoulder into the lid, he dug into the chest. "Spud, you can't sleep in that."

"Why not?"

"Marn'd skin me alive for starters," he said. They had to be around here somewhere. In her digging, Spud completely obliterated any sense of organization there ever was. His daughter found the predicament she put him in hilarious as she jabbed a finger at her stomach protruding above a tight waistband before turning to poke at him.

Alistair barely noticed the child's finger jabbing into his forehead and cheek as he finally found what he was looking for. "Ah ha!" he pronounced, unfurling the fabric as if it was the flag of Ferelden. "How about you wear these instead?" One piece, with socks sewn onto the bottom for a princess who kept losing hers, these jammies were special because someone took the time to mimic the look of armor with fancy stitching giving the illusion of mail below a chest piece and greaves. They were the only trump card Alistair had in his deck and thankfully, Spud adored them.

"Yes!" she squealed, already ripping her bathing shorts off.

While Alistair helped his daughter into them, he said a silent prayer of thanks to the one who gifted them these magical pajamas. Spud would wear them every day all day if she could, parading back and forth in her special armor just like Daddy. Marn objected, and even Bea insisted she needed to appear like a proper lady in front of the gentry, but on occasion Alistair would secret her out in them to sit on his shoulders while they inspected the troops together. It wasn't any big surprise that Marn kept such a tight watch on him.

Kitted out properly, Spud happily crawled under her covers and then yanked out a book she insisted Alistair read. It was over a foot thick on some magical theory involving thaumatic energy and the splitting of a headache or that was as far as he understood it. Somehow, it also became Spud's favorite. He suspected it was her way to try and draw out their time together, but she would squeal in laughter whenever he did the funny voices.

"According to acclaimed mage Tiberius Numbertity Bumbersnatch," Alistair said, bouncing a finger under his nose to mimic a mustache far more impressive than his wispy thing. "Thaumatic energy can be harnessed in only one form, as lyrium. Due to the," a yawn broke as he turned the page to follow the dry sentence. Spud copied it, her own fist -- bundled around a dolly's armored hand -- racing to cup her mouth. He was getting close. "A hem," Alistair shifted in his seat, trying to blink away his own urge to fall face first onto the floor and not wake up for a good ten hours. "Due to the resonance of lyrium upon its extraction from various veins below the surface of the earth, there are questions as to the validity of Tiberius' theories. Item one, if mana can only be derived from..."

He paused, glancing over the top of the leather bound mole smasher to catch Spud's eyelids drooping. She shook sleep away, trying to rise higher, but it had a tight grip upon the girl. "Can only be derived from the source of lyrium," Alistair continued, making certain his voice drifted to a whispered monotone. "...then we must question why is it capable of being harvested in both liquid and, and..."

The book didn't skip, he wasn't reading the boring sentence anymore as he watched Spud's head fall flush against her pillow, her emeralds sealed off tight behind her eyelids. Alistair waited a few breaths, watching his daughter snuggle deeper into the fade. Silently closing the tome and placing it on its reserved spot upon the nightstand, Alistair slid out of his reading chair. He began to inch away, when he paused to watch the serenity of the picture before him. It wasn't the princess sleeping blissfully in her perfect pink dress while various woodland creatures watched in awe. She was his daughter, hair plastered and misshapen with a cowlick rising from the back, holding tight to a doll that came with her own set of wooden swords, and the special fireplace powder coated along her cheek.

Risking waking her and having to delve back into lyrium theories he'd never understand, Alistair inched closer to the bed. Dipping down, he placed a soft kiss against her forehead and then tried to gently wipe away the glittering green dust. He mostly smeared it around, but there'd probably be a wash in her future soon. Spud smacked her lips but didn't awake. "I'll come back for you," he whispered to her, "always."

With his daughter down and safe in her dreams, it was time for the even more awkward part of his day. Opening up the side door, he followed Marn into the Queen's chambers. This was an entirely separate world for him. While most of the palace was functional in that down home, maybe we sanded out most of the splinters kind of way, Bea had an aesthetic that was all her own. It wasn't Orlesian, not by any means, but it felt priceless, antique in the good way instead of trying to spin something that was a mouse infested dresser into gold. He hated coming in here because he was afraid he'd breathe on a vase from the Calenhad days and shatter it. Even the few times he'd venture into Redcliffe castle proper as a child he didn't fear scuffing a rug as much as he did padding through his wife's bedroom.

A few handmaidens sat beside the fire, prodding into it with a poker as if they had nothing else to do. Though, that was probably true. They glanced over at the King and scattered off the ground like song birds, but he waved them away. "It's okay. Just here to see the missus."

"As you say, Sire," the redhead said. He should probably know their names. Bea only had two to carry her dress and do other things handmaidens did but they slipped through his mind like sand out of a colander every time he tried.

"Is she...?" he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the bedroom with the bed part in it.

"Yes," the muted brown one spoke up. "She is with your son." He'd figured that, be a bit weird to keep the baby in the stables. The handmaidens shared a look before adding, "As well as Brother Cordell."

"Ah, good," Alistair said, he'd been hoping the good, no-longer-a-Brother was around. The handmaidens both blushed a moment, their hands covering their mouths as if they had some terrible secret they were keeping from him. He tried to not take it too personally, the whole situation was a bit confusing if you stopped to think about it.

Pausing at the door, he knocked thrice before saying, "It's Alistair, mind if pop on in for a minute?"

Some shuffling sounds occurred before Bea's patient voice answered, "Of course, please enter."

While the sitting room was lively with a fire and candles reflecting off silver mirrors, this was a tomb. Darker than the Nevarran catacombs, only a single candle lit upon the nightstand, its wax pooling in an old saucer. Marn stood to the side, her arms wrapped around the baby as she tried to pat all the gas out of him. The Brother sat at the head of the bed with his hand wrapped around a book. As Alistair stepped closer he could see it was one of those Swords & Shields serials. More than likely Cordell snatched it up quick to try and cover for the awkwardness. The final person in the room, the one it was meant for, tried to lift up off her pillows.

"My King," Beatrice said, her more muted green eyes focusing fully on him. She wasn't unattractive by any means; certainly some men loved that mousy, quiet, darns your socks and hums a sweet song by the fireplace type. With yards of wavy black hair she always kept pinned in place, Bea cut a fine figure that all but screamed patient and kind mother. Even before Spud was born, Beatrice was the one to quietly tut her tongue and insist everyone get along and play nicely. That was her right down the middle to the very quick -- nice -- and it drove Alistair bonkers.

They'd had little choice in the marriage. Okay, he had none and he suspected that she had little as well seeing as how she wound up married to him. They needed a Queen to pop out heirs and it didn't matter if they liked each other, never mind were attracted to one other. For the first years of their marriage Alistair only saw her during court, sometimes at meals, and holidays which was more than enough as far as he was concerned.

Now, things had changed in his life and Maker, he was trying. Beatrice tried to sit up higher, but she groaned at an internal pain. "Hey, no need to rise on my account," Alistair said. She bowed her head, always the proper one, while Cordell dug a washcloth out of a basin and pressed it to her forehead. Even by the dim light he could see how her normally pale rosy, skin turned to ash, circles darkening under her eyes. On the plus side, she did look better than when the baby first came out.

Alistair turned to find his son nestling back down to a sleep everyone in the castle needed. "May I hold him?" he asked Marn. She didn't balk this time, and passed the bundle to his arms. Alistair skimmed his cheek above the boy's forehead, savoring the warm skin still smooth as Teagan's bald head. "Sorry we didn't give you a name yet. Things got a bit...dicey out there. What do you do when you don't finish the naming ceremony anyway?"

He glanced from Marn to Bea, who was taking a slow sip of water. It was Cordell who answered, "Traditionally, another is planned but given the delicate situation..." He was concerned, as concerned as Alistair about the safety of the children. That fact should probably cause some jealousy to rise up in his gut, but after two and some years of this arrangement he felt a strange calm that he had someone to share in this mess with.

"Why not simply send out a crier to announce the name?" Beatrice said.

"That should work," Alistair remarked, patting his son's mercifully empty nappy while rocking back and forth, "I can't think why not. Or we call him baby until he's eighteen. Prince Baby. Think that'd warp him?"

Beatrice gave him that patient 'I'll wait for you to stop being an idiot' look she'd perfected in their years of marriage. Then her eyes melted to pure motherly love as she glanced over at the tuckered out face poking out of the blankets. "Cailan Maric Ozgood Theirin."

He tried to not frown at the name choice having little to no say in it and unable to fully elaborate why the first two bit into him. Alistair also wasn't a fan of Ozgood but it was Bea's father's name and who was he to argue, even if sounded like an order given to a mabari. Oz...good! Oh well, give him time and he'd find an acceptable substitute for the boy as he did for Spud. Then he wouldn't have to shout for his dead half-brother to get back in his room and put pants on before the Orlesian dowager has a heart attack on the salmon mousse.

"Not sure if Cade told you the news, but he's got a bodyguard for the children. Supposedly the best in his bunch."

Beatrice tipped her head, "He did inform me of Ser Brunt and I spoke with the man briefly."

"He can talk?!" Alistair gasped, "I assumed he communicated through a series of grunts and leaving a dead deer outside your door."

He got that look again, which meant Alistair was already treading on thin ice. _Well, may as well get the worst part over with._ Glancing over at Marn, Alistair said, "Could you give us a few minutes alone? I've got some private matters to discuss with the Queen."

Marn's eyes only darted to Bea for a moment, but he knew she was waiting for the queen to give her the go ahead. Shrugging, the nursemaid headed towards the door. Cordell rose up, but Alistair shook his head, "No, you're gonna want to stay for this part."

"Ah..." the once Brother to the chantry glanced over at Bea before nodding solemnly, "As you say, Sire."

Alistair winced at that. Okay, maybe he wasn't entirely over their weird situation. As Marn shut the door behind her, he began to pace back and forth trying to drive up the ability to begin this conversation. "Okay, so, here's the thing. I...Maker, why is this so weird?"

"Perhaps prayers to Andraste will guide your tongue," Cordell said. Despite his having to leave the chantry, it never really left him. He all but acted like a spiritual advisor to the Queen's entourage when a Mother or Grand Cleric wasn't around, always leading the group in prayers, songs, the occasional snippets of the chant. It reminded Alistair of his days in the templars when everything, no matter how mundane, was always tied back to Andraste or the Maker, as if either of them cared how you fold your socks.

"Bea, you can't keep doing this," Alistair focused on her.

She frowned at the shortening of her name, before her eyes darted over to Cordell. "Doing what?"

"Having children. Don't get me wrong, I love these squirts to pieces but this little one nearly killed you. All the healers are saying another would... Let's just say I had to sit through a very long and very detailed talk with one about how I needed to do everything in my power to keep you from getting pregnant."

"Ah," she said, folding back to the pillow.

"I didn't elaborate with him on how little effect I could have by pulling out...not the point worth talking about."

"Sire, I..." Cordell glanced over at his lover before eyeing up the King. "Am uncertain what to say."

"I'm not saying you have to stop doing, uh...because I don't even want to be involved with any of that, but there are potions which the apothecary can brew up or something for Cordell to do with needles jammed inside and... Okay, I blacked out at that point." He paused, feeling the prince stir in his arms. The boy who was his but wasn't in that technical sense of how biology worked. Awkward, so damn awkward. Maker, he'd been having this conversation in his head for a week. Beatrice had a hard time with Spud but she bounced back relatively quickly. This second time was a nightmare, and there was a moment when Eamon was suggesting they bring the Grand Cleric in just in case. Alistair had Spud in his lap while they waited on the news, and he had to cover her ears while hissing at the man who'd served as an advisor for his whole reign to shut his fat gob.

"Sire," Cordell spoke up, breaking Alistair's thoughts, "I do not know how to continue this conversation."

"Yeah, I feel like that a lot," he admitted. "Ferelden it's, we've got two little butts to fill that potential future throne now and that's enough. Right? An heir and a spare, and..." He thought after Spud was born they'd shut up about his needing to produce children as if they could burst fully made out of his thigh or something, but if anything it got worse. Heir and a spare echoed through every bell tower and hallway in Denerim until finally the second one came along. If anyone insisted they needed a third, Alistair was going to put them through a wall.

Bea's eyes wandered over to her lover, the secret father of their children, and they shared a moment. Her paper thin hand lifted off the bed to caress down his always clean shaven cheek. Cordell blushed at the contact before placing his lips to her palm. More than an awkward blush rose in Alistair at the crystal clear intimacy. Jealousy at what they had clung too. It'd been quite a few years since he'd felt that doe eyed way about anyone, certainly anyone who'd want him too.

"I shall do as you say, my King," Beatrice said, softly bowing her head.

"Good, good," Alistair nodded melting into the floor with each moment, "um, probably not needed now but I can work the potions into your rotation without anyone the wiser seeing as how..." He let that sentence trail off, not wanting to think about any of the mechanics.

"But," Cordell spoke up a moment, "is it not sinful? To use magic in order to prevent a gift from the Maker."

"Oh for the love of..." Alistair began, glaring over at the good, chantry boy who got the sweet, pious Queen knocked up. What a time for him to start throwing around what the Maker did and didn't want.

He wanted to rant in his face, but Bea ran her fingers over that round jawline and whispered, "Magic should serve man, not rule over him."

"Ah yes," Cordell smiled, "I understand your meaning. You are correct, of course."

"Thank the Maker," Alistair sighed, relief flooding his exhausted veins. What he wanted was to curl up to sleep inside a giant marshmallow and then eat his way out of in the morning. Too bad he had more to accomplish before he could even pry his boots off. "If that's done and over with, I need to be seeing to my own new bodyguard."

Turning to leave the two love birds alone, Alistair stepped to the door when Bea's soft voice called out. "You're forgetting something in your hands."

He startled, realizing he still held the prince nestled in the crook of his arm, the baby amazingly dozing for once. Alistair tugged back on the fold of a blanket to stare down at the spotty red and white face. Spud had a muddled look to her but it passed quickly. This one seemed to intend to keep looking like an underripe radish for as long as possible.

Bea struggled to sit up, her heavy arms lifting to reach for the baby. He paused a moment, almost wishing he could hold the little radish a bit longer. "Unless you intend to breastfeed your son, I think it best if I keep him," she said, and he turned in surprise at the joke the Queen made. He'd thought she was incapable, like a witch cursed her or something.

"Here," Alistair passed the boy back to his mother's waiting arms. Bea melted instantly as she cuddled him to her nourishing breast. For all their cold distance she never faltered on calling them Alistair's children, not even in private. It was a strange threeway of parentage but they were doing their best to make it work.

Dipping his head lower, Alistair turned away from the two that created the baby. He had an entire damn country to father.

## CHAPTER SIX

#### Roommates

Chamberlain Karelle, as Reiss later learned was her official title, whipped her so fast through sections of the palace there was no way the awestruck elf had a moment to catch what anything was. They paused at the stables, Karelle nodding once over at the kennels nestled in the back and a litter of pups yipping for attention. Reiss shook off her wandering fingers aching to pat soft heads and maybe sneak one out in her coat. She was here on business, a unimaginable one, but it was business. After that it was past the official royal guard training grounds where Karelle sized up the elf without tugging out a single measuring stick. She didn't even work her hands around to try and surmise Reiss' less than human proportions, only nodded once, and said that this was the best armor they had for now but something could be taken in.

It was the fanciest metal she'd ever been allowed to touch. During the Inquisition years, unless you were on the front lines or assumed to be, you made due with their boiled leathers and scraps of splint mail dug out of the back of Orlais' armories. And even then, that was ten times better than what they suffered in as a Denerim guard. "Is this actual gold?" Reiss stuttered from the lines of shining yellow dipping down the breastplate and forming the Ferelden shield front and center.

Karelle shook it off, unimpressed with the splendor as she must see it every day. "It should suffice for now..." the chamberlain began, but Reiss waved it off. She'd been padding human armor to fit her ever since picking up a sword. This was no problem.

After returning the armor to a stand marked with her name, as well as selecting a few swords and a bow should something strange occur, Karelle looked up at the other royal guards shuffling inside. "It must be nearing on midnight if they are changing shifts. Perhaps it would be in our best interest if I show you where you will be sleeping."

"Ah," Reiss nodded. She began the day assuming she'd stand all afternoon in the baking sun waiting for nobles to shuffle out, and was going to end it being given a bed in the royal palace. Maker's breath, this had to be some trick. Lunet would come rounding the corner and laugh herself silly at the look on Reiss' shocked face.

Unaware of her turmoil, Karelle led her through a back path. All the other hallways bore sconces of gilded metal but these were brushed steel, with no paintings or rugs to spruce it up. Even the stone looked cheaper as if they barely hewed it from the earth before slapping it up. A servant's entrance if she ever saw one. Catching her thoughts, Karelle said over her shoulder, "We often employ some of the older passages to get through the castle undisturbed."

"Who would disturb you?" the woman trained as a solider then a guard, aka killer of all fun, asked.

"Any and all who think you can get them a moment of the King's time. I rather suspect as people come to know your face you shall find yourself swamped with requests." Karelle paused in the narrow staircase and turned back to face her, "Do try to use your best judgment with them. We don't want any incidents occurring."

"No, no, of course not," Reiss nodded, fully lost. What did she mean by incidents? Did they think she was going to throw the doors open and invite in all the elves of the kingdom for one big party?

"Ah, here it is," Karelle slid out of the staircase to heave open a plain, unassuming door which revealed the most decadent hallway Reiss had ever seen. Granted, the closest she came to Orlesian splendor involved the frozen, half rotted town of Sahrnia so perhaps they did it better. Instead of rich crimson and gold as bedecked most of Ferelden's fancier decor, it was all a cobalt blue embedded into silver finishings giving the hall a crisp and more modern feel. Reiss reached a finger out to glance against the silver sconce, expecting it to be freezing to the touch. That was what the hall was -- like stepping inside a beautiful but terrifying glacier.

"Ahem," Karelle coughed, shaking Reiss out of her thoughts.

"Right, sorry," her head hung down as she scampered after the imposing chamberlain.

Walking down the empty hall Karelle continued in her booming voice that quieted for no one, "These are the King's quarters. As you'll no doubt note, they're rather bereft." She had no idea how bustling an honest to the Maker King's bedroom should be, but even Declan had a few foot servants stand around near his bed for shits and giggles. It was strange that no one else rushed past. "People will arrive with schedules, laundry, on occasion snacks, but in general our Majesty is...peculiar, as you will no doubt learn."

She said that often "No doubt learn." Reiss felt like she was five years old again with her father about to toss her into the river where she'd either figure out swimming or drown. She screamed her head off, terrified of the water and certain that it'd tug her down to its depths without a second thought. But, of course, the minute she hit it survival took over and within about five minutes she was paddling from shore to shore in the creek barely three feet deep. If she'd stood up, she'd have been fine. Something in her soul told her this river she waded into was bottomless and one wrong stroke would doom her to the abyss.

"Ah, here it is," Karelle paused at a door and Reiss expected her to open it, but she only pointed at it. "This is where the King often enters. He has three rooms at his disposal, though tends to only recline in two and the third contains, well..."

"I'll no doubt learn," Reiss interrupted, a laugh in her throat. Then she paled at interrupting the chamberlain and tried to apologize but the woman found it quaint.

"You two may get on after all," she said, her finger knotted over her lips revealing a small ruby chip embedded into her nail. "I wanted you to familiarize yourself with this door. Beyond the servants, all of whom you shall meet tomorrow, no one else should enter this room without his Highness' leave. Is that to be understood?"

"Yes, Ser," Reiss nodded solemnly.

Karelle smiled at the Ser. "You will be sleeping near in case of an emergency, or long nights, or any other such matter the King may require your services for. He's rather known for keeping late hours of his own accord."

"All right," Reiss tried to not imagine what the long hours all meant.

Stepping past the mythic King's Bedroom door, Karelle walked her past another one seemingly connected to the quarters before stopping. She pulled a key out of her pocket and inserted it into the lock. Twisting it, Karelle pushed on the door revealing a unitarian room. A free standing vanity with basin sat across from her, Reiss watching her dark reflection in the mirror. Beside that was a bed; simple, sturdy blankets covering what was probably an old but well made mattress. To finish off the small room was a desk, its edges dark from age but someone took the time to add stacks of fresh vellum and an ink bottle to it, no doubt the chamberlain's influence.

"For previous regimes, this was to be used for the King's live in servant but he seemed to be of the opinion that that was of no need," Karelle tipped her head, obviously in disagreement with that assessment.

"I'll be staying here?" Reiss tried to not stutter, her fingers tracing over the desk as she stepped into the room.

Without a thought, Karelle whipped a flint out of her pocket and struck it upon a sconce on the wall. "For the time being. I admit, we're not well prepared for this eventuality and the room is lacking in size, but I can supply you with anything you may require. A chest to hold your change of clothes is already being hunted for, and any books you would like to whittle away your down time with."

Small? Reiss' eyes wandered over every inch of the room, her mind all but screaming in shock. She'd shared a room half this size with her siblings and parents. In the Inquisition, the barracks -- while of a giving size -- housed a good fifty people at a time. And in the guardhouse, she was always sleeping behind a partition while other guards moved in and out on their shifts. This was the first time in her life that Reiss would have a bedroom all to herself. She was in such insane joy, the edges of her vision began to sparkle. Great, why not have a stroke right now, Reiss? That'll be the perfect start to your new job.

"Regarding your salary," Karelle began, yanking Reiss back to reality. Damn, she was terrible at this part. "Twenty-five Sovereigns to begin."

"Twenty-five a month?" Reiss said. With the guards she pulled down twenty and that was without taking into account boarding she had to pay for. In the end it amounted to about 12, half of which then went to various amenities. An extra five Sovereigns would really help her.

"No," Karelle shook her head, a hint of a smile turning up those flat lips, "Twenty-five a week."

Yup, it's okay to stroke out now. Just flop right onto the floor in total shock. Her 'she was dead' theory roared back to life as one half of Reiss' brain screamed that was a hundred Sovereigns a month while the other gibbered something incoherent and pissed itself in the corner.

"You understand, I hope, that this is not a simple you head home at the end of the day job," Karelle punched through her pink, fuzzy fog of joy. "The King will require constant protection until these monsters are found, and if anything gets through..."

There it was. Reiss knew it had to be waiting for her, that damn catch to trip her up and send her careening off the cliff. Of course, even if it was fully beyond her control, if she had to be in two places at once and failed, the first one they'd string up for endangering the King would be the elf. She nodded her head despondently, her moment of levity dampened by the heavy hand of duty.

"I expect you to act with the solemnity that comes with the uniform of a royal guard. Try to refrain from any cursing, spitting, sexual innuendos, or political statements while you are serving in the official capacity."

In other words, have no life. Well, they picked the right elf for that job. She hadn't had one of those in...since before the Blight, really. Nodding her head, Reiss saluted against her chest, "Yes, Ser."

"That second door there," Karelle stepped over and pushed it open, "leads to the King's chambers. It will most likely remained locked and, of course, anything you overhear in there should be kept under the strictest of confidence."

"Right," Reiss bobbed her head.

"You are wondering why this room has two doors," she said, smiling at the instincts percolating in Reiss' head.

Reiss pointed first at the hall, then back to the King's room, "Is it so..." That brain of hers, the one that often drug her into trouble whether she wanted it or not, spat out an answer, "if there is a certain situation occurring in his Lordship's room I can return to mine without disturbing him?"

"Exactly as you say," Karelle beamed. She seemed to be treating Reiss like a student that got a math problem right, or perhaps a small dog that learned to not wet the carpet. Either way, the patronization was beginning to wear on the elf. "And on the subject, if the King should bring someone of a feminine mystique back to his room you should not under any circumstances draw attention to it."

Reiss nodded grimly, that order she was used to. Now if there were sheep involved... "Yes, Ser."

"Excellent," Karelle clapped her on the back, the giantess all but scattering Reiss to the floor. Maker's Breath, how was she not the Commander of the guards? As the elf massaged her shoulder, trying to bring life back into it, the sound of shoes stepping across the floor drew her to glance out at the hallway.

The voice, however, came from behind her. "Fancy running into you here, roommate."

Reiss whipped back to find the King standing in the doorway to...of course he was standing in the door to his chambers. It's his bedroom, Reiss. He had his royal hands folded up against his chest, a smile that never seemed to slip away plastered on. "Karelle, how'd it go?"

"Fine, Sire. I believe she has things well in hand until the morrow when we can introduce her to the rest of the crew."

The King nodded along, waiting for his chamberlain to finish speaking before asking, "Are you finished with her because I'd like to have a few words with the new bodyguard?"

"I..." for a moment Karelle's eyes lingered over Reiss as if she was uncertain to push the baby bird out of the nest. "I am, your Highness." Before turning away, Karelle rolled a key off her loop and pressed it into Reiss' hand. "Welcome to the royal guards," she said before turning on her heels and marching back to her own bed somewhere else in this gilded fortress.

Reiss' fingers flexed over the key to her bedroom, trying to imprint it into her palm. Maker, this was the first time she'd ever been entrusted with a key. Even on the farm, the foreman was the one to lock them in at night for fear they'd all try to nick the silverware and run off into the night. As if you could sell cheap ass ceramic forks for anything more than a song.

"So," the King began, drawing her away from the milestone. Dropping her hands to the side, Reiss stood at full attention. "Bit of a strange day for you. Me too, come to think of it. It's okay," he snickered, waving a hand at her, "you can calm down. We're going to be stuck together for a lot of the day and I thought perhaps a little..." He waved his hands back and forth between them but she had no concept of what he wanted.

He tried a few more times, his hands increasing in tempo before falling slack and groaned out, "Getting to know one another."

"Ah," she didn't anticipate that. Fellow soldiers in the Inquisition came to know her, some more than others, but rarely the commanding officers. They had their own friends in higher echelons to keep track of, those of the rank and file preferred to stay in their own stratum as it were. And Bann Declan had no use for anyone that wasn't an Arl or greater. "You have already read my file, your Highness."

"So I did, so I did," he wafted back and forth on his toes uncertainly. "Lots of war stuff in there. A few mentions of helping little old ladies cross the street to beat up demon possessed chickens. Uh..." Reiss waited as patiently as possible while the King seemed to be struggling to put together his words. "Do you, um, have any children?"

"No."

"A husband, or wife, or someone waiting for you?"

Reiss tried to not roll her eyes at that thought, "No."

"Good." He smiled, drawing her eyes to him and an almost adorable panic crawled across his face. Lashing his fingers back to his forehead, he tugged his hair upward while shrugging, "Because, it would save on us having to send a runner to fetch them for reasons of making it all easier on everyone trying to sleep. And not for any other reason that it probably sounded like when I asked. Ha. Okay, truthy time from me. I've never had a personal bodyguard before."

She tried to not chuckle at his obvious admittance. Folding her arms, Reiss glanced over at the man acting as if his shoes were two sizes too small. "I guessed as much."

He shrugged, that lopsided almost dog-like smile knotting up his lips while Reiss mentally shook herself. Did she know that about him? How did she know that? Okay, he was acting like a fool, but people said that of the King often. And he seemed to have no concept of how to establish a line of command quickly, letting -- oh Maker -- someone like her talk back to him.

"I mean, Sire, I..."

At that he winced, "Right, first thing's first, how about you call me Alistair? We're going to be stuck together for Maker knows how long and I'd much prefer my name, as boringly common as it is, to any of the titles involving how tall or wide I am. The less said about the validity of my um, trouser contents, is...I really hate Sire."

Reiss mouthed his name a moment but gave it no breath. "I..." Andraste's flaming buttress, she wanted to obey his order but she knew in her gut she couldn't. "I'm sorry, Si...your King. I don't think it would be proper for someone of my station to refer to you so informally."

"Why not?" he gasped shaking his head.

She knew this would probably be her downfall, snapping to a noble's impossible demands was what elves were kept around for when not singing songs to get flowers to bloom or turning straw into gold. Bye bye her own room, so long more coin than she ever imagined possible. Unable to voice it, Reiss slowly ran a finger up the slope of her ear until knocking the tip forward out of her knotted hair. Arls could call the King by his name, no doubt some Banns would get away with it, but if she breathed anything other than total groveling it'd be an instant obliteration for her. She'd be branded the 'uppity elf' for life before she finished the third syllable in his name.

Her eyes darted away from the floor to catch his face softening into an almost bitter understanding. "Right, I get it. Don't like it, but...okay."

"What if..." She shifted back and forth on her boots, for the first time since walking to her assumed death feeling the blister on her pinkie toe, "what if I call you Ser?"

"Respectful, fancy but not stuffy, and technically correct," he shrugged, "I see no downside. Ser works when you need to get my attention. I will on occasion answer to 'Hey You' and 'Stop That!'"

Her lips broke open causing a laugh to tumble out of her throat. Maker's breath, Reiss, this is your boss. No, this is your sovereign who could have your head cleaved off your body and stuck over the bridge if he was of a mind. Be serious. Solemn. That was the deal. She tried to wipe the laugh away and any hint of jocularity while the King's eyes traveled away from her face. Reiss steadied herself for the once over she'd known since turning thirteen, but his eyes didn't linger down her small chest or towards the even thinner hips.

He pointed at her and asked, "Do you have tape on your ears?"

Flames, she completely forgot. Her fingers rolled up her skin to nudge against the white tape she began the day with. "Yes, Ser."

"Is this a new elf thing or personal preference?" He tried to lean closer without taking a step nearer as if attempting to honor the sovereignty of her room. Which seemed particularly stupid as it was his castle.

"No, I..." Reiss steadied her breath and tugged her hands down from the edge of the tape flaking free. She could deal with it later. "The city guard helmets are not designed with elves in mind, so our ears will often chafe and sometimes blister or worse. I tape it up to prevent that."

"You," he gasped, jabbing a finger at her while Reiss felt herself melting into a puddle at the attention. "Why didn't anyone say something? We could get new helmets or..."

She should apologize instantly for making him agitated. Put all her sentences in the form of questions as if begging for permission. Internally, in the rarely delved smart part of her brain she knew that, but something in him brought out the old soldier that didn't have time for niceties and needed to get that old lady to finish off the demon infested chicken. In a gruff voice Reiss explained, "There are only three elves in all of the city guards. Forging new helmets for so few of us would be expensive and, given the always lagging coffers, it didn't seem prudent to become known as one of the complainers."

"Does it hurt?" he said and she winced. No one ever asked her that. Certainly none of the other humans in her guardhouse no matter how often they'd watch Reiss and Lunet ripping off sections of tape with their teeth and trying to line it up in the mirror. Often, one or the other elves would signal when it'd fall off their skin and stick in hair.

"No," Reiss lied, "I've grown used to it."

"Well, royal guards don't wear helmets so we can keep track of who's coming and going. Which I should ask Ghaleb about later. Do you know him?"

"No, Sire...Ser. Sorry, it will take some time to adjust."

"No problem, Ser Reiss," he grinned a pure beam of sunshine upon her and for a moment she felt something flutter in her stomach.

"He's our spymaster, everyone calls him weird. Okay, he is weird. Spymaster's tend to be, but..." the King tapped his finger against the wall, his eyes darting past her shoulder to the hall. "The man you beheaded, the assassin..." Reiss nodded, remembering it well. That was a difficult thing to forget. "Do you know what happened to his head?"

"I," she shook her head slowly, "I'm afraid not, Ser."

The King threw his hand up and shook his head, "Maybe it's not important, or I'm...Maker's breath, I'm tired." His head lolled down, trying to roll a knot out of his neck, "Beyond tired. This was a long day, one I hope to never repeat."

"I shall endeavor to make that come true," Reiss said, standing at attention.

For a moment the King's head snapped up at her, a hint of a smile wafting away his exhaustion. "Thank you for that. And thank you for saving my ass," he stuck his hand out and instinctively Reiss took it. "I mean it. I know there wasn't much time in the thick of things and..."

"Ser," she shook their hands again and then in true soldier fashion slugged him on the shoulder, "that's what you pay me for."

He laughed at her response, and more of that fluttering rose in her stomach. "I suppose I do. Okay, I'm going to go fall flat on my face on the bed. If you hear a scream in the morning, it's one of the maids thinking I'm dead. They're always doing that." He turned to walk away before snapping a finger and whipped back around. "Ah, here, you should probably have this..."

The King pressed a second key into her hand, this one with a small crown decorating the top. "Ser?"

"For the door between us. I'm terrible about losing those things and you seem to be the responsible type."

That was putting it mildly. "I try," she said, already sliding the key in beside hers.

"Right, okay, goodnight Ser Reiss. We'll dig into the real marrow tomorrow."

"Sleep well, Ser," she called out before the King shut their door between them. Weary feet shuffling over the stones, she could hear him moving deeper into his rooms alone until another door opened and closed cutting off all sound. For a moment, she thought about locking the door between them, but that seemed unwise at least until there was a reason. Instead, she closed the door to the hallway and slowly turned around in her room.

Her room.

Maker, she had a bed she didn't have to share with her siblings, or the other farmhands stuffed into the same straw pile, or a gaggle of soldiers fighting for space on a pallet. Reiss' ecstatic vision drifted up to the mirror where she caught a glimpse at herself. _You look even worse than usual, and that's saying something, Rat._

Her broken nose barely set when it happened a few months ago, leaving a swelling at the bridge she was coming to accept as normal. Mud from the training grounds, and smoke from the assassins stained her cheeks, but it was the tape that drew her attention. That damn tape that set her apart from the rest of the shems, trying to protect the part of her they rarely looked past.

Someone, most likely Karelle, was kind enough to leave water in the basin below the mirror. Reiss drew a finger across it; cold but not freezing. She'd suffered worse before. Sliding next to the fogged mirror, she twisted her head until she could see her ear from the edge of her eyes. Working a nail under the tape, Reiss slowly tugged it off. A sharp hiss of pain broke from her lips as she ripped off the layer of skin below. Dabbing the end of the cloth into the basin, she carefully scrubbed away the blood caked into the tips of her ears. They rarely looked this red, the day having involved more action than normal. Swelling puffed up under her skin, giving her an even more elven look than usual. The last time her tips were this red her sister was flicking at them with her fingers and calling her 'turtle neck' while Reiss kept dodging to get away. She hadn't seen Atisha or her brother in such a long time.

Scarlett bloomed through the water basin as Reiss turned to tackle her second ear. Maker, what would either of them think of her here in the palace working for the King? To even have elves as servants was unheard of for royalty. They were so well off they didn't need to slum the alienages for their foot maidens or whatever they were called. Not just any servant, not just any guard, but the personal bodyguard.

Reiss wiped off as much of her blood as she could manage, leaving the raw and oozing skin to heal in the exposed air. She thought the Inquisition was her salvation once. It offered her a job, a bed, and a surprising number of friends. And then she went and ruined it all because of...it didn't matter. In the end it was her choice, she did it, and she'd been scraping by ever since wishing she had someway to correct her biggest mistake.

Maybe, just maybe, for once the Maker's looking out for you, Reiss.

***

Metal sliding against leather dug through the fog of sleep and straight into Reiss' sore ears. She sat up, her fingers searching for the blade she kept stashed under her pallet. Ambushes weren't common in the camps but this far out on the road they could...could. Her fumbling hand pushed down upon a mattress, a real one stuffed with feathers and not straw. Quickly, the past day snapped back at her and she tried to not groan at her first foolish assumption that she was back with the Inquisition.

Sometimes her fellow guards would think it funny to wake the elf by trying to cover the tips of her ears in cream. That stopped when she sat bolt upright, grabbed what she thought was a red templar's throat, and shoved him into the wall. Ever since then people tended to give a wider berth to Reiss when she slumbered.

This is the castle, remember. Palace. Whatever they call it. The fancy one on the hill in Denerim. She snickered, realizing she'd have to learn its proper name in order to send out any letters. Though 'Where the King lives' would probably work just as well. And you're here because...

Another sound echoed through the night, muffled but the distinct crunch of sword digging into wood.

Because you're the King's blighted bodyguard!

Reiss leaped out of her bed, her feet smacking into the floor. She'd tossed off her trousers before sleep but there wasn't time to put them back on. Instead, she unearthed her short sword off the belt and tugged back on the door between their rooms. No screams of the male and dying variety broke the air and she breathed a sigh of relief. _It would be just like you to fail within not even twelve hours of your new job._

Lamplight from one of the old glass ones used by night patrolmen cast shadows along the wall. One in particular moved outside of the flame's dance, a sword extended in its hand as it advanced towards something on the other side of the room. Gripping tight and trying to not think about how she was in her smalls and a training tunic that was more stain than not, Reiss inched closer towards the potential attacker come to finish off the King. If she was quick, he wouldn't see her. Dropping down her sleeve, Reiss planned to jam it into his mouth to muffle the screams. No reason to go alerting any other potential assassins.

Fancy furniture of the chifforobe and armoire type stood in the way, providing a strange maze for Reiss to navigate. She flattened up to the edge of one of those mabari statues that littered all of Denerim. At nearly seven feet tall, it easily hid her form as she waited for the opportunity to strike. The shadow stepped closer and closer to its target, to the exact left of her, leaving its back exposed.

Gripping tighter to her sword, Reiss made a step to move out when blonde hair whipped backwards. She froze in the shadows, her brain filling in the rest. The King, for reasons unknown, was stripped to the waist while running with a rather plain sword at something further inside the room. He didn't spot her, thank the Maker for that, even as he stood with chest heaving a few feet away. His focus was upon whatever dummy or piece of royal furniture he got it in his head to destroy, while Reiss' was, well...

Maker, those were gorgeous shoulders. Lunet gave her constant grief for her fascination with that part of the male anatomy. As she'd often put it, "What could one possibly find interesting in shoulders? They're lumps of muscle atop arms." The bad ones, sure, but when you got the right set like a taut ball dipping forward and back as the arm sliced through the air, something in Reiss awakened. She didn't care much about stomachs, or asses (though Lunet could talk her pointed ears off about them), but Andraste's holy pyre did she ache to dig her nails into the right kind of shoulders.

Something of a gasp broke her lustful concentration, causing Reiss to notice a few scars decorated the King's chest and one in particular against those tempting shoulders. Still unaware of his audience, the King dropped his bastard sword down and wiped at his forehead with the back of a forearm. Whipping the arm away to shake it dry, he turned to glare at the practice dummy. Certain that his attention was too focused to see her, Reiss inched nearer to spot one that looked like it belonged in her guardhouse. Simple, stuffed with straw, the arms were knotted on by rope and hooks. Only a cheap wooden crown perched on its head made it appear any different. Three throwing knives were embedded into its chest while another dozen littered the ground.

Rolling his shoulders back, the King stood at attention. His stance, normally knock kneed and uncertain, fell into perfect formation. With right foot forward and left back, he lifted the sword high and charged at the dummy. It was a massacre, straw spilling to the floor in clumps as the King cried out incoherently. "I...Am...Tired...Why can I ever-? Just fix it...Ahhh!" Tumbling out of his hands, the sword clattered to the ground, metal echoing against stone as it rolled back and forth. The King knotted what she saw were red and swollen knuckles in his hair and tugged upward. Moaning, he dropped to his knees, the hands he'd no doubt been wailing upon the dummy with earlier collapsing to the ground.

_You shouldn't be seeing this._

Reiss knew in her heart that this was supposed to be a private moment, the King showing weakness in the only way he knew how. But, some silly stupid part of her wanted to reach out and help him, as if he wouldn't rear back, wipe the tears away with his bloody knuckles, and then shout her out of Denerim for thinking he ever cracked.

"Damn it," Alistair breathed, the tears evident in his broken voice. "Damn it all."

Slowly, Reiss slid back from the King, certain that there weren't any assassins leaping through the windows about to finish him off. She could have explained what drew her out of her room, maybe he'd even understand, but...this was wrong. Too personal and private. And she'd been gawping at his half naked body no less.

Scowling at her ineptitude and lack of decorum, Reiss slithered towards her room. Before she closed the door, she watched the shadow across the wall. It staggered to its feet, bent over to snatch up the dropped sword, and then picked up the dummy's hand to shake it for a well fought match. Terrified the King might catch her, Reiss closed her door -- muffling the final click -- but she stood beside the wood listening. No more sounds of battle filled the night, he seemed to have worked it out of his system.

_Don't.  _

Reiss heard her mother's words ringing in her head, first ordered to her when she was only seven years old and wanted to play with a neighbor boy.

Don't get involved with shems. It never ends well for the knife-ear.

## CHAPTER SEVEN

##

#### First Day

Adjusting to a bodyguard was going to take some time. In the back of his head Alistair knew that, but staggering out of his bedroom in search for anything to pry open his eyes and nearly running head first into an armored chest was a bit unexpected. It did wake him up a treat though, fear of death was far more efficient than a bucket of cold water dumped on your head. She seemed about as uncertain as he did with the whole situation appearing to have dressed, breakfasted, and probably read the entire works of Brother Genetivi before dawn. While he wasn't a sleep 'til noon and stumble into the throne room with a sheet knotted around his waist kind of King, mornings and Alistair weren't friendly. If you took a wyvern and made it square off against a shark while a giant hurled a massive boulder into the arena...that metaphor went nowhere, but Maker, that'd be fun to watch.

After dressing on his own and trying to not seem too proud that he managed to get the boots on the right feet in the first go, Alistair waved off the itinerary guy. He had an official title with lots of frilly letters attached at the end but Alistair didn't much care. Every morning the slope headed, fuzzy cheeked man coughed at his bedroom's threshold, placed his hat upon a hook beside the door, bowed once to the king, and then told Alistair everything he had to do today.

For the first few years it worked spectacularly, Alistair terrified of this tiny but potentially dangerous bureaucratic man ordering around the King. Now, he'd humor the itinerary man if he had nothing better to do. You know, before someone sent assassins after him and his children. That previous life was far more likely to include instructions like 'Appear in rose garden and have brief ten minute discussions with visiting dignitaries from Nevarra.'

What he needed far more than making small talk about aphids was a very frank discussion with his Spymaster. Rounding up the twisted staircase two at a time, Alistair pulled a bread roll out of his pocket and jammed it in his mouth. Realizing his lacking manners, he turned to shoot a glance over his back at the woman struggling to keep up.

"Sorry, would you like one?" he asked with his lips around the food he snatched off the breakfast table. Alistair held a second roll out, after having absconded with a good five. It was a habit he picked up as a child uncertain if anyone could be arsed to remember to feed him. And there had to be five or more swiped each time because the dogs refused to share.

"Ah," Ser Reiss shook her head slowly. "No thank you, Ser."

"Your loss," he shrugged, mashing down the last of his roll with his teeth and swallowing, "they're actually good this morning."

"Yes, I had a few earlier when they were fresh," Reiss admitted as they resumed their climb. Why Ghaleb insisted on living in the tip of the stupidest tower was beyond him. The old Spymaster before him, prior to throwing in the towel, had a salon on the first floor so she could keep watch over everyone that came and went. This one preferred to be as far from people as possible.

"Maker's breath, how early did you get up?" Alistair paused, letting the bodyguard catch up. The narrow, twisty staircase was hard enough to manage, and he was used to the damn thing.

"I..." She'd rolled her hair back into those knots that women sometimes made on the top of their head before jamming fancy needles and the like into 'em. Though Reiss seemed to have a stiletto hilt sticking out of hair, the grip glittering by the sun. It was such a bardish hairstyle he was surprised Leliana never tried it. "In truth, I tended to work the third shift and my body isn't used to sleeping at night."

"Gotcha." Alistair sighed, "Maker, I remember that one. It's brutal."

"Ser?" She twisted her head to the side almost like an inquisitive bird. One of the cute ones though, like a wren or sparrow, not like an evil goose.

"Having to stand guard outside the camp. I was always drawing the short straw and wound up getting the fun of being bored while freezing my ass off. Sometimes I'd see how far I could toss small rocks...right until I slipped and had one smack into the qunari. Forgot about that." He smiled at the memory when he streaked through the underbrush hiding from a wrathful Sten. His only saving grace was when Lanny stepped in to distract their big, scary qunari friend. Though he did get a 'Don't do that again' look off her.

Alistair came back from his trip down memory lane to find Reiss staring through him as if searching for a lie. "Why so surprised?"

"I...I didn't think Kings ever did their own guarding."

He chuckled, his head dipping down, "Don't worry, I'm not about to steal your job. This was before the fancy hat and," Alistair sighed, "fancier chair."

"The blight," Reiss whispered, her eyes hardening.

It was a rare Ferelden who wasn't in some way touched by the Blight, but as the years faded people sort of stopped caring. Maker save him, he'd once had to sit in on some Bann near the northern border convinced that it was all a hoax concocted by the secret dragon people living amongst them. Alistair's guards tried to pry him away to avoid an incident, but he found it all hilarious, until the man started talking about how Lanny was a doddering puppet put forth to make mages seem sympathetic. After that, it was a wonder the Bann made it out of there with all his teeth.

"Templars too, boy did the Grand Cleric hate me," Alistair said, trying to waft away the pain rising through the air.

"You were a templar?" she asked, brandishing the full green fields of her eyes upon him. He tried to not gawp, well aware that it would probably look bad, but there was such an intensity burning in her verdant gaze he had to pinch himself a moment.

"Maker, why doesn't anyone know about that bit? They seem to know everything else about me including the mole on my...um," he swallowed, feeling a tug of a blush knotting up his cheeks. Rolling a hand through his hair, Alistair shrugged. "Me, a templar, sort of. Not so much the mage watching and or killing part. I was only into the studying, training, and then being reprimanded on the regular when the Revered Mother's voice was up to it."

"You're kidding," she chuckled, her hand coming to rest on the sword dangling off her hip.

"Nope. In fact, I doubt there's a pot in the entire chantry here that hadn't at one point been scrubbed by me." He placed a hand to his mouth and whispered, "She _really_ didn't like me."

A smile lightened up his bodyguard's face, and Alistair felt an urge to run away and blush himself to death. He got as far as failing to step higher, his heel cracking against the stair causing the edge to scrape his ankle. _Andraste's flaming sword!_ He managed to curse internally while spinning back around to try and shake some sense into his mind. You're a thirty seven year old man, for the Maker's sake. Oh yeah, and King. Kinda in charge of a whole country. Stop acting like a gibbering idiot!

Slowly he stepped upwards again, but as he turned the corner he glanced down and saw the same entrancing smile upon Reiss' lips. Okay, so she's cute. Your bodyguard is attractive. You can admit that and keep it professional without being creepy. Probably. Hopefully. He made plans to strangle his libido later while finally reaching the long lost holy land that was the Spymaster's door.

Rather than waste time knocking, Alistair pushed on the latch and heaved his shoulder into the sticking door. It wasn't a rookery filled with shitting ravens that met him, nor some glittering storage for daggers lining the walls. Ghaleb kept his workspace impeccably clean. There were three desks, Maker only knew how he got any of them up this high, each with color coded vellum sitting in pin straight piles upon the desktops. Along the wall stood his thinking board, as the Spymaster described it. Names coated the space the way towns would fill out a map, scattered across the landscape in a way that only made sense to the man who did it. Once Alistair asked Ghaleb to explain it, and by about the third sentence he begged him to stop. Whatever it was, it worked to an almost hose wetting degree.

"Ah, Your Highness, I didn't hear you make an appointment," Ghaleb said rising from his chair. A cup of tea sat perched upon the footstool and not the desk right beside it. For a moment Alistair thought to wonder, then remembered who he was dealing with.

"Yes, life's full of surprises like that," he smiled at the man whose watery eyes trailed back behind his shoulder. That was normal, but instead of staring into space they seemed to be focusing. Alistair spun around and spotted Reiss slotting into the doorframe, her own eyes wide in surprise. "This is my new bodyguard, Ser Reiss. You met yesterday. Remember?"

"Reiss. Inquisition, Fifth Infantry under Lieutenant Commander Addley. Two siblings. One in Jader. Curious. Kirkwall not a concern. Some talk of the Viscount, but with connections to the crown..." Ghaleb faded off, his thoughts tripping back.

"You know me?" she said, her eyes honing on the man as she stepped forward.

Ghaleb snapped back from whatever far reaching problem he solved. A puppy dog smile curled up his lips and he shrugged, "No." Without any subterfuge, he extended his hand for her. Reiss' eyes darted over to Alistair for a minute with obvious concern.

"It's okay, he doesn't bite," Alistair vouched for his spymaster. Smiling, Reiss took his hand and gave it a good, strong shake.

"But she's known to," Ghaleb pronounced.

Snarling, Reiss dropped the hand and glared at him. "What?"

Before his new bodyguard hauled the Spymaster up by his robe and dangled him out the window, Alistair stepped in between. "Which she are you talking about, Ghaleb?"

"Hm...? The Duchess of, no, she's no longer, because of the war. Well, will be because of the war. Papers take time to move." Having struck at whatever was puzzling through his mind, Ghaleb picked up a quill and returned to his name map. Some woman in Orlais must have been fascinating him.

"Ghaleb, I didn't come here to listen to the bedroom proclivities of half of Orlais."

"The sheep population has suffered a decline due to foot and mouth disease," he repeated, his eyes wandering over the big map.

Alistair cracked his neck as he glanced over at his bodyguard with a look of disgust and confusion etched across her face. Damn, he should have remembered how the man did around new people. "I'm here to see what you've found out about the assassination attempt. Do we have any names yet? Leads?"

"No, no, pockets stripped bare, no one's laid claim. The Crow's coffers remain the same." Ghaleb didn't turn away from his board while his teeth chewed apart the feather on the quill. This was why no one ever borrowed any from him.

"What about the Antivan diplomat?"

"No connections to be found."

"To the Crows? He's Antivan," Alistair snorted, "everyone there's blighted related to the Crows. I think it's fashionable to host one for Satinalia."

"Cousin, once master assassin, killed on job. Aunt, informant but not official. Again, no connection to the assassination attempt in Denerim. No talk whatsoever of agents in Denerim. Most strange."

It all sounded right, an almost instant summation to prove that Crows weren't involved told in Ghaleb's special way, which was what had Alistair's hair tickling. Life wasn't that perfect. "Right, good, okay. Tell me again, what was the Baronet's alibi during the attack?"

"He was..." Ghaleb paused and yanked up the green sheets off the middle desk, his eyes keeping far from Reiss. "'Attending a play in the chantry gardens.'"

"And let me guess, he didn't want to reveal that before because it'd look bad for the diplomat to skip out on an important royal prince celebration."

Ghaleb rolled his head around in neither agreement nor disagreement. He knew people before they walked into a room but didn't understand them, which made for a fascinating man that also caused a splitting headache at the best of times.

"Fair enough," Alistair agreed. "Focus on Orlais. I know we don't have the same connections to the House of Repose."

"Cherie, second cousin to Gaspard, displaced after Inquisition stopped assassination. Always dangerous, don't trust her smile."

"Right," Alistair nodded, "that's true of all Orlesians."

Something in his tone traveled through Ghaleb's fog and he focused on him. "Why is that?"

"I have no idea," he said truthfully.

"Hm," Ghaleb spun back to his board, stretching a blue thread across all of thedas to knot around the pin where he wrote down his own name.

"Good, glad we had this chat," Alistair said banging his hands together. He nodded his head at Reiss and twisted it to the door. She slid out first, seeming to be glad to be away from Ghaleb. "Hey, did you ever find the head of the tattooed man?"

The Spymaster's hand paused and he slowly shook his head no. "Did not know of that. Curious." Blindly reaching down, he unearthed another dozen pins and began to jab them into areas all across Ferelden.

"Well, if you make any more headway, be sure to climb out of your exile and find me," Alistair said. Ghaleb didn't even bob his head to acknowledge the king's order. It wasn't much of a surprise that he didn't survive in anyone else's court. Reaching the door, Alistair turned over his shoulder and as haphazardly as possible asked, "By the way, where were you during the naming ceremony?"

Ghaleb's fingers paused in writing out 'Tattoo? Dalish?' before he turned to look over his shoulder at the king. "Here. In my tower."

Alistair smiled at the answer and slid out of the room, shutting the door on a man he suspected could take down all of thedas for breakfast and then Par Vollen over lunch if he had half a mind. For the years he'd served as Ferelden's spymaster Alistair never thought he would. There was a staggering amount of empathy there. He once rescued a baby pigeon with a broken wing and nursed it by hand to health. Despite everyone else rearing back at the strange hermetic man, the King trusted him, even enjoyed his delightfully quirk approach to life. But in his gut Alistair knew Ghaleb was lying and it had something to do with Antiva and Donato. The Spymaster could spin yards of fragmented sentences over minor disturbances in the baker's flour supply and all he got for an assassination attempt was 'Nope, it's all good.' That was beyond strange. Maker, just what Alistair needed, assassins at his door and his spymaster most likely in their pocket. Even if he was wrong and Ghaleb was merely put off by someone new in his room, it seemed smart to bring in a new set of eyes to spy on the spymaster. The question was who could be smart enough to pull it off.

"Ser," Reiss struggled to look up at him from below the stairs. "Is that man well?"

"Ghaleb doesn't do well with new people. How did he explain it to me? For him it's like stepping from a pitch black room into the sun. Too much information too fast and he skitters back into two word sentences. Sorry, I forgot about that. Should have warned you."

"What all does he know about me?" Reiss asked, sliding back and forth on her legs.

"I have no idea. He can look at someone and know that their great aunt regularly pinched coppers out of the chantry collection plate."

"That is...overwhelming to think upon," she struggled, no doubt fearful that her past would rear its head.

"He's a bit scattershot at times, but can work miracles without a single dagger having to be drawn. I can't argue with the results even if it means trudging up a good hundred stairs to talk to him."

His bodyguard swallowed, those...Maker, the color reminded him of a gem but he couldn't think what it was called. Started with a P. Pearl? No. He clapped her on the shoulder, trying to steady her nerves in a friendly way but found his lips lifting in a smile from the warmth below the armor. "We should probably get out of here. I'm sure itinerary guy's gonna have a ton of stuff for me to do."

"As you say, Ser."

***

Working for the King was going to take time for Reiss. Impossible demands made at all hours, expecting everyone to smile politely and/or growl on command was normal to her. This man was beyond understanding. People would walk up to the ruler of all of Ferelden to berate him and he'd take it. More than take it, he'd either laugh, shake his head with an 'oh you,' or stare blankly until they left. Already he'd gotten into an argument with Karelle, Cade twice, and one of the passing merchants who must not have recognized him and not once did he call for someone's head. Reiss kept flinching, waiting for the 'be respectful' shoe to drop but none seemed to be forthcoming.

After having finished whatever needed to be done with the Spymaster, the King had a few meetings with various members of the court and all the while he kept up a polite chatter giving Reiss a tour of the palace. It wasn't until they walked the long way around the kitchens, with the King seeming to know nearly every member of the staff, that she realized he was doing it for her benefit. That was both surprising and terrifying, the move playing up her natural aversion to being singled out. People paying attention to an elf was like spotting a rat in the larder. If the elf wasn't quick down came the cleaver.

After the tour, he settled into an antechamber off the throne room. Cozier than the lofty grand hall, a hearth blazed despite the warming spring air. Desks were scattered against the walls, framed by bulging bookcases that only broke up to allow a chair here and there. Most were filled with clerks jotting down things the King said or asked them to while he sometimes sat in an overstuffed armchair. It was ragged beyond imagination, faded to a tan grey. Reiss quietly flicked up a folded section of the back to note it had once been crimson. Claw marks bigger than a human hand were dashed down the side, which the King on occasion picked at when he was supposed to be paying attention.

"What do you think, Alistair?"

"Huh?" he sat up, wood chips snagged under his nails. "Yeah, you should do what you were saying, Eamon."

The once Arl now Chancellor sighed in his chest. He wore a proper elder gentleman's overcoat and leaned onto a silver cane. Despite the abundance of chairs, he refused to take one, preferring to lean back and forth on his slippered feet. Most everyone else in the study wore soft shoes save the armored bodyguard and the King. Eamon shook his snowy head, "Were you even listening to what I said?"

"Bannorn upset, something something, talk of treason, all die, giants riding dragons into battle, bandits stampeding, cattle attacking travelers on the roads...The usual," the King responded with a shrug.

"By all the...Your Majesty, this is important." Everyone else treated the King like someone play acting as the ruler except Eamon. Even when he seemed to be seconds away from wanting to wring the King's neck, he always fell back to a station of deference.

"I am aware, and you also are aware that I have about as much control over the...price of grain being sold in southern markets as you do darkspawn."

Eamon blinked in surprise that the King was listening to his words after all. Rising to his feet, the King began to pace back and forth, a finger tapping against his chin. "So, unless you can raise up an archdemon that I didn't know about I'd say I'm doing all I can right now."

"There are measures," the Chancellor began.

"Roger," the King shouted to one of the clerks doing their damnedest to not overhear what seemed like an important meeting. "What'd we do the last time some Bann was trying to inflate grain prices?"

"We..." Roger began to squeak out before the King interrupted him.

"Do that. Now, if there's anything else...?"

"Not on my docket for the moment, however--" Eamon began before Alistair tried to shove past him towards freedom like a boy escaping school at the end of the day. He made it across the carpet, with Reiss trailing behind, when the door opened. A woman dressed in teal robes with white trim stood there primly, and the man beside her caused Reiss' heart to sink into her boots. _Oh Maker._ She tried to slide back hoping he wouldn't recognize her.

"Teagan," the King greeted the Arl with a bob of his head, before glancing over that the woman, "and our mystery guest for the day." She smiled wide, an honest to the Maker finger twirling through her pin straight black hair before she curtseyed deep enough to nearly come to his waist.

"Your Majesty," she breathed.

Alistair's eyes darted down her voluptuous form before he turned back to the Chancellor with an obvious question knotting up his brow. Eamon sighed, "I was about to tell you our new Arcane Advisor has arrived."

"Ah," he tipped his head back and forth before turning back to the mage who'd at least risen back up to her maybe 5'2" stance. Reiss felt like a giant beside her and she was an elf.

"I am Linaya," she giggled extending the tips of her fingers to Alistair as if she expected him to scoop them up for a kiss. For his part, the King grabbed her whole hand in his and pumped it up and down. The gesture looked jolly, but he seemed perturbed, his eternal smile wilting when she announced her name.

"A gift from the Mage's College, I'm guessing," he dropped her hand and staggered back to Eamon. "For doing such a good job of letting them have a bit of land to mess around on."

He said it all to the Chancellor wearing a particular grin upon his face, but it was Linaya who stepped forward, "I was chosen by Grand Enchanter Fiona herself to try and aid the crown in any magical matters."

The mention of the Grand Enchanter caused the King to snap up straight, his eyes chewing through Linaya. "She did? I...oh, okay. Well, that's good then. Um. I, uh...Do we have any magical stuff that needs to be...? Eamon? Karelle? Right, she's not in here." He whipped his head around hoping for anyone to take over.

"Come," the Chancellor stepped forward picking up the young woman's slack arm. "I have matters to attend to and can deliver her to Karelle's hands."

Alistair smiled, and patted Eamon on the shoulder for stepping up. This got him close to Linaya who whipped her hand out faster than a snake's strike to grab up his fingers. Lifting her striking blue eyes at him she curtsied again and smiled, "It was a pleasure meeting you. I pray we can become well acquainted with time."

"Ah, um..." the King wilted in her soft grasp, a blush charring up his cheeks. The move was so bold everyone else in the room awkwardly shifted in their seat. Judging by the petrified glances out of the sides of their eyes it either rarely happened that women were so obvious with him or occurred so often they grew tired of it. This was what you signed up for, Reiss. It was either standing in a warm, gilded room watching two people awkwardly flirt, or stamping through the wet, frozen streets chasing after a mugger about to break your nose. At this point it was a toss up for her.

Eamon tugged on the woman, pulling her towards the door. Regretfully, she released her hold on the King - who, once freed, staggered away and stared at his hand - and slipped away with the Chancellor. The only one remaining in his wake was Teagan, the man Reiss threatened a day ago. She felt his eyes wander over to her as he took in the room. Trying to bite down on a tremor crawling up her spine, Reiss shifted her stance and stared at the ceiling waiting for the Arl to call for her head.

"Well, that was a thing that happened," the King interrupted the Arl's scrutiny of her.

Blinking, Teagan turned to the King and smiled, "She seems very certain of her position."

"What is it they say, subtlety only counts in farriery?"

"Ah, close enough, Sire," Teagan said shaking his head at the King's runaway metaphor. "It has been awhile since we had an official mage in the palace."

"All of 'em stomping off to war kinda did that in," Alistair loudly whispered to his uncle whose eyes were once again tripping over Reiss. He knew, he had to know who she was. Maker, there was only one chance she could try and fix this...

"Forgive me for interrupting," she spoke, taking one step forward.

"Okay, no problem," the King chuckled, "you weren't interrupting much."

"I would, need to apologize to the Arl," she lifted her head and took in his face. Most said that the Arl of Redcliffe was a kind man, beloved by his people to a degree that seemed almost fanatical for his contributions during the blight. He bore the lines that hinted at more smiling than frowning and she prayed that the rumors were true.

"To..." the King jabbed a thumb at the Arl, "to Teagan? Whatever for?"

"During the troubles yesterday, I failed to recognize him when he came to collect the children and may have inadvertently," don't say threatened. You cannot admit you threatened an Arl's life, "ah, held him at knife point."

She didn't risk looking up, doing her best to appear completely heartbroken by her actions, until the King let out a braying laugh and slapped Teagen on the shoulder. "Did she really have you at sword point?"

"Yes, your Majesty," Teagan sighed, seeming to be unimpressed with the joy the King found in this.

"For how long? Did she make you prove you were the Arl of Redcliffe? Have him recite a code or maybe show off a royal birthmark?"

Reiss had no idea how to answer him, her cheeks burning as the King twisted her mistake into something monumental. It was Teagan who spoke up, "Nothing so...amusing. Marn was recognized by the princess and--"

"Oh, right, no one can say no to Marn. At least none who'd live to tell the tale."

"Please," Reiss leapt in before it grew even more awkward, "forgive me, my Lord."

Teagan looked over at her, his eyes falling back to her ears before he sighed, "There is nothing to apologize for."

"You were doing your job, and doing it spectacularly from the way it sounds. Protecting my children, even if it was from their mean ol' uncle who sometimes makes Spud eat all her vegetables," the King spoke the last sentence in a funny voice at Teagan who rolled his eyes.

"She does act more and more like her father with each passing day. I fear what a decade shall turn her into." The Arl took in Reiss and a soft smile lifted his lips, "You are to be the King's bodyguard, then?"

"Yes, your lordship," she answered, still feeling the need to apologize to him.

Teagan leaned closer to her and in a staged whisper spoke, "You have my condolences."

"Why's everyone keep saying that?" the King asked spreading his arms wide and knocking over an ink bottle. Black oozed across the desk, pooling in what had been Roger's day long work. "Ah, sorry, sorry, um..." he snatched up the drapery and, yanking it to the edge of their coils, dabbed at the ink with probably hundred year old curtains.

Teagan groaned, "I shall fetch someone to clean this up. Make certain he doesn't accidentally kill himself."

"Yes, Ser," she said, saluting. As the Arl slipped out, Reiss glanced over to find the King with papers stuck to his hand and shirt, black ink pooling across it all. With a shrug, a bright smile beamed across his face and she couldn't help but laugh before trying to help free him.

## CHAPTER EIGHT

#### New Normal

While Reiss rather enjoyed the laid back atmosphere of the study, the throne room set her teeth on edge as it seemed to do to the King as well who, despite everyone eying up the chair the room was named after, couldn't stop pacing before it. They'd invited all the nobles who'd panicked during the assassination attempt to, as the King put it, "tell them that I'm not dead yet and to cancel their redecorating civil wars." For the first hour Reiss was on high alert watching every hand and belt for hidden blades or worse, but despite the clumps of nobles the only cutting they did was with their eyes and tongues. Either they all knew getting anywhere near the King in this state while armed was a certain death sentence or Cade and the rest of the guards were thorough, almost so thorough it was a wonder the original assassins got through at all.

"Daddy," little hands yanked on the King's tunic, drawing him away from an Arlessa. He glanced down at his daughter who was wandering around under the watchful gaze of their nanny or perhaps nursemaid. Reiss wasn't entirely certain of her role but she remembered the woman during the attack; at her staggering proportions she was impossible to forget.

"What is it, Spudkins?" the King asked, trying to tug his daughter closer to hear her words.

"I..." her eyes widened as she gazed around at the hordes of people milling about. The bellowing voice of a child dropped to a squeak and she struggled to rise up to his ear.

"Didn't get that, what'd you say?" he asked again. The princess tried to tug his arm down but that was currently full of the prince whose name everyone had been cheering and toasting once someone thought to pull in a cask of wine. Alistair groaned, but bent over. Grabbing onto his face, the princess whispered right in his ear. "Ah," he smiled. "She's hungry. Do we have any of those little cakes around or...?"

The nanny clucked her tongue and folded her arms across her chest, "She's had more than her fair share. It's the lady's proper dinner time. I shall escort her to the kitchens and..."

Crying erupted out of the King's arms, which cut off her offer as the prince roused from his nap. The King tried to shift the baby, rocking him back and forth but it was having no effect. It was rather impressive that he was even trying. For Reiss' few times dealing with nobility, they seemed to view children as a necessary curse like suffering the smell off a latrine.

"Looks like Spud's not the only hungry one," he sighed, seeming to regret handing the wailing infant over for dinner. "How about I take you down to the kitchens?" he said to his daughter. She squealed in delight, grabbing both hands around her father's, when Eamon stepped into view.

"Your Highness, it is best if you remain. You don't want your guests to feel slighted given the precarious nature of certain deals."

Despite standing behind and to the left of him, Reiss could see the King roll his eyes in such an exaggerated fashion it was surprising they didn't fall out. "Come on, Eamon, it'll be five, ten minutes at the most. Would anyone truly notice if I'm gone, much less care?"

"Oh, your Majesty," the voice of Linaya carried across the floor above the din of small talk, almost as if she amplified it by magic. Somehow in the interim she'd shrugged off her more modest robes for something that cut perhaps an inch above her nipples. The acres of cream colored flesh kept snagging the attention of everyone but the one she honed in on. Alistair was too busy tangling with his daughter to look up into the never ending cleavage of the mage.

"Lady Linaya," Teagan said brightly, "you've settled in well."

"Arl Teagan," she gathered up her robes and curtsied deep, nearly causing her barely strapped in self to spill free. The Arl's eyes were drawn downward from the movement and he froze almost horrified for looking. It was impressive how quickly he rallied back, showing almost no strain as Linaya rose up. Beside Reiss, she heard the nanny tut her tongue once before having to slip the Prince to her other nipple. Royalty ate well.

"And this must be the princess," Linaya squealed, eyeing the girl up as if for a snack. The princess dug into her father's leg, a thumb popping into her mouth. "Such a beautiful lady."

"Ah, yes, she's not usually this shy but hunger does the strangest things to us," the King explained, his head tipped down to watch his daughter ramming her shoulder into his knee. She wasn't in the mood to put up with any of it.

"Quite," Linaya smiled, all her focus on the King. "If I am not careful to eat I can succumb to fainting while casting."

He nodded then laughed, "I once ate an entire cheese wheel on my own, only to find out later that I was supposed to take the rind off first."

"I, uh, that's so interesting," she bounced back instantly from his non sequitur, her hands smoothing down her stomach.

Hands tugged harder on the King's tunic causing it to dig into his throat. "I'm hungry," the princess whined before popping her thumb back in.

"Right, right. I, uh..."

Stepping forward, Reiss spoke up, "Ser? Perhaps I could head down to the kitchens and round up something for the princess to eat."

"Thank you," he smiled wide and tried to dig her hand off of him to hand over. "Spud, you're going to head down with Reiss. You like her, remember?"

"No!" she fussed. No amount of convincing her that she liked someone she barely knew was going to work. Alistair continued to try to pry her fingers off, but once he'd get one hand free, she'd pop out her thumb and grab on with the other hand.

"It's all right," Reiss said. "I'll go and gather a few options to bring back. She can remain here with you." At that the princess' eyes darted up to Reiss but she didn't smile, the two year old clearly calculating what she could get away with.

"That's a good idea. The cook, she'll know what Spud loves. Ah, do you know where the kitchens are?"

"Follow the smell of fire and food?" Reiss shrugged.

That earned her a belly laugh from the King, "Hopefully not food on fire, but if it's been a long day and the wine's low..." He moved closer to Reiss to whisper that but Linaya inserted herself.

"How delightfully funny, Sire," she chuckled. "What are some of your favorite Ferelden dishes?" He blinked slowly in response while Reiss slipped into the crowds. In truth, she knew how to find the kitchens not by following her nose but the elves in attendance.

It didn't take her long to find them in the lower sections of the castle as a herd of servants stood watch along the way, most of them grumbling under their breath about Lords and Ladies whose preferred method of cleaning up involved throwing unwanted food on the floor and digging it in with a heel. They flitted in and out, barely casting a glance at someone in a guard uniform. It wasn't surprising, most guards took free food as a perk of the job and spent half their time lurking in the kitchens to guard it from any low life rats.

No one was working the blazing ovens, letting the flames fade down out of the hellscape they normally were. Reiss struggled against the heat, sweat already dripping down her back and heading towards creating a swamp in her greaves. Through a doorframe, she heard a deep guffaw followed by the sound of liquid gurgling into a mug.

"...Now that one, Maker, she ain't subtle." A woman sat with her leg stretched upon the table. She leaned back in her creaking chair, a sack of rice burrowed into the small of her back, no doubt to help with the problems of standing in one place on stone for too long. Perhaps fifty, if that, she was missing a leg below the knee which she kept elevated upon a melon.

"Did you see the dress she waltzed in in?" A boy sat beside her. Though, perhaps boy wasn't accurate. With his mounds of floppy brunette hair, and smooth face that looked as if it couldn't produce a whisker on a bet he looked at most sixteen for a human, but something in his eyes and the way they darted with a cynicism told Reiss he was older than he looked.

The woman snorted, causing wine to spritz out of her nose, " _See_? Damn near every Arl and Bann and other snoot nosed lord saw. Be beating it to that tonight, for certain. Ah...shite, we've got guests. Whatcha need, dearie? Thought all the guards were on orders to stand at attention 'til the rest of 'em cleared out?"

"I'm not under Commander Cade, I think," Reiss said. "I'm the King's new personal bodyguard."

"Oh, it's her," the boy spoke, jabbing a finger at her as if she wasn't in the room. "The one I told ya about."

"An elf, eh? Takes all sorts, I suppose. What's his Highness want?"

Reiss tried to not take any offense at the surprise of her being an elf. In truth, sometimes she was still pinching herself to make certain this wasn't the fade. "It's the princess actually, she's hungry and the King said you'd know what she likes."

 "Ah, course, course," the woman moved to slide her leg off the melon, when Reiss raised her hand up.

"You need not get up on my account. I can gather the food if you point me in the direction."

Cautious eyes slipped over her no doubt breaking the hierarchy code, but the cook shrugged, "Fine by me. Name's Renata by the by. You'll want to get a plate of cheese, down in the larder, second shelf."

Nodding, Reiss yanked open the door and slid inside. She called out to the others, "I'm Reiss." She spotted the cheese mounds in various colors and shapes, some cut into stars. That had to be for the princess. Snatching up a basket on the side, Reiss began to fill it.

"Ser Reiss is how I heard it," the boy said.

"Ah, so the King decreed," Reiss said. She wasn't certain if that was legal without her having any connection to an army, and as there'd been no official ceremony she wasn't pinning her dreams upon it.

"Princess loves fruit. We got some old jams in the back, plum in particular. Oh, and crackers'll do her up good too. Adores 'em."

Reiss followed her orders, arranging it all in the basket as best she could before slipping out of the larder and closing the door. "Is there anything else you think she'd like to eat?"

Smiling wider, the cook Renata beamed, "Still got that new job tremble in ya, eh? It's all right, I know how that goes. Here..." She dug into her pocket and placed a slip of something clear as glass but bright red into the basket. "That'll get you on her good side. Trust me." Reiss nodded and smiled in eternal gratitude.

"Reen, is that really the one you should be buttering up to?" the boy interrupted.

Rolling her eyes, Renata rubbed a hand through the boy's long hair, "This rascal's Philipe. Orlesian born but don't go holding that against him."

"Me mum's from Ferelden, so it still counts!" he insisted, jabbing a hand on his belt.

"Aye, it counts. Pain in my side, but damn fine at working the bellows, if ya make sure he don't get too into it and take out yer eyebrows."

"That only happened once," Philipe struck back. He rolled a potato back and forth across the table, watching it with focused eyes. "Soooo, does the new bodyguard want to get in on the bet?"

"Bet?" Reiss asked. She should be returning to the princess as fast as possible, but getting to know the people of the castle was important as well.

"Don't go wagging your tongue, we don't know if it'll even start," Renata clipped him around the ears, but Philipe dodged it and sighed.

"Yes it will. It does every time. I say two weeks."

"That fast?"

"With bosoms big enough to smother a dragon in its sleep?" Philipe held his hands out a good foot from his chest and rolled them over. "You could balance a ship on those things, maybe two the way she had 'em propped up."

"I'll give ya that one, but I dunno. Two weeks seems too fast. I'd say four, maybe five if we're being careful."

"And if she breaks her leg walking down the stairs cause she can't see her feet over those gigantic breasts," Philipe chuckled in the way only a man who'd never had breasts could.

"Ah, sorry," Reiss butted into the conversation as Renata sucked down another glass of wine, "What is this bet about precisely?"

Philipe stopped laughing and his eyes broke into pity, "Oh, that's right, you'll have to suffer the worst of it. Sorry, condolences and what not." She wanted to laugh, but he looked genuine.

Renata wiped her mouth off and sighed, "'s the King. We're taking bets on how long it'll be 'til he takes that newest little arcane advisor to his bed. How long did the last one take?"

"Two months, but she was..."

Renata shuddered, "Aye, I remember. Don't go reminding me."

"The King and..." Reiss swallowed deep, her basket feeling heavy, "oh."

"He's got a real thing for robes," Renata explained.

"Especially when they're filled out to bursting," Philipe exercised his bushy eyebrows with his barely innuendo.

Of course, she knew that it was bound to happen. Sex was a part of life, and her job was to guard that life no matter the cost to her own. It may be awkward to have to listen to the moaning and watching Linaya stagger out of his room in the morning, but any amount of displeasure was worth it for a hundred sovereigns a month. "I see," Reiss said diplomatically.

"Ah hun," Renata scooted over and patted her on the hand wrapped around the basket's handle. "It's not so bad. He's more discreet than most."

Reiss smirked, "So less orgies in the throne room, more secret sex dungeon in the catacombs. I've served with nobility before."

Cackling, Renata slapped her hand on the table. "You're gonna be all right. Swing on down here whenever you need something, at least to catch up on the shit."

"I'll be sure to take you up on that offer," Reiss smiled, slightly bowing. "It's a pleasure meeting you both, Renata and Philipe."

Reiss gathered up her basket and strode out the door. She barely slipped past the threshold before the two began the long known tradition of talking about someone the moment they leave the room.

Renata began it, "Whatcha think about her and the King?"

"Never happen," Philipe announced certainly.

"Why not? They spend that much time together things have a way of startin'."

"Don't matter. She's a no-maj."

Renata snorted, "No-maj? What's a blighted no-maj?"

"You know, no magic. Not a mage," Philipe sounded certain in his pronouncement.

"Bloody stupidest word I've heard. Just call her normal, like you and I. There's mages and normals. Simple. _No-maj_ ," she scoffed, "What do you call a scout, no-sword?"

"Fine, fine," Philipe groaned, before the sound of him dragging his chair closer echoed out of the room, "but I say two weeks."

"Okay, put me down for four weeks, three days with the mage, and...seven weeks for the dark horse there. Sometimes men surprise you."

***

By the time she made it back to the throne room half of the nobles had dispersed, which suited Reiss just fine. She caught a glance from one of the other guards stationed outside the door. Maker, she should know his name, know all of them. The longer she didn't introduce herself the faster animosity would grow over the outsider who bullied her way in. Reiss gulped, expecting a glare or worse when his head slowly turned towards the mage leaning close to the King, her arms tucked tight behind her back. A cruel smile twisted up the guard's lips and Reiss caught on. Rolling her eyes she sighed and nodded her head softly. That got her a laugh from her fellow guard and hopefully would work to something of acceptance in the barracks.

Passing the remaining gentry who heard free food and weren't about to leave until someone dropped a fireball, Reiss came upon the King with his daughter in his hands. He almost seemed to be using her as a barrier against the arcane advisor but judging by the romantic talk that seemed unlikely. Perhaps he was unaware of the woman's obvious interest. Wasn't that how it always worked with men?

He nodded his crownless head a few times to whatever one of the nobility beside him was speaking before catching sight of Reiss. "The hero of the hour arrives, I hope. Pray. Spud's wasting away to nothing in my arms." To elucidate his fact, he hung her upside down, her dark pigtails trailing across the floor. She giggled as he swung her back up, then insisted he do it again.

"Forgive me, Ser," Reiss smiled, taken in by the happy family picture.

"Whatever took you so long?" Linaya began, a purple fingernail drawing down her lips as if she was trying to hold a secret back.

"Ah," Reiss darted to the King a moment, but he was busy trying to get his daughter to the floor. That was foolish anyway, why would she expect him to come to her rescue? "I'm afraid that there were far too many offerings in the kitchen and it took me awhile to find something acceptable." With that she passed the basket to the King and he plucked up the tea towel to dive in.

"Look, Spuddy, jam. And plum no less. She'd eat her weight in it if given a chance." With an expert hand, he unscrewed the lid and dipped one of the crackers through it before passing both down to greedy fingers. The jam and cracker both vanished before either could drop a mess down her clothes.

Smiling at her voracity, the King leaned nearer to Reiss to stage whisper, "I worry somedays she'll bite a finger off. What do we say?"

"'fank you," the Princess gasped through a pile of crackers, the crumbs spattering across the floor.

"She's so delightfully lively," Linaya stood closer to the King, that attention grabbing chest almost skirting across his arm.

He screwed back on the jam lid and turned back to her, "Oh, yeah, you hope kids would be. Don't want them to be all not alive and what not...How's it going back there, Marn?"

What would have been beyond the pale in any kingdom was greeted as happenstance here as the wet nurse sat on the throne trying to get the Prince to quiet down. His toothless mouth howled against the world. "Not well, as you can hear," Marn quipped back, her eyes darting over the King. She was what some women could call pleasantly plump, in the cushioned shape of a plum that when enraged became a trebuchet boulder. Reiss knew a few of the motherly to a village types in her days. There was one in the Free Marches she couldn't have survived without, even if they made it next to impossible to live with as well.

Sliding up next to the throne, the princess gripped onto the arm. She chewed on a cracker while watching her baby brother with a determined expression. No one else seemed to be paying much attention to the child save Reiss who realized what was about to happen the second before it did. Yanking her tiny hand back, the princess walloped her crying brother across the face. The slap echoed through the throne room, every voice falling silent -- even the prince's lapsed before an unending wail erupted out of tiny lungs.

The nanny began to reach over, but it was the King who snatched up the slapping hand, tugging it away from the baby. Growling, he twisted the princess around until she faced him. "Why did you do that?!" he hissed at her, his hands around her shoulders.

"Owe," she complained, rubbing her wrist.

"We don't hit!" he continued, a focused anger that seemed out of proportion for the small slap. "You know that. Why would you hit your brother?"

"Don't know," the princess eked out. Her eyes stared at her shoes, which she shuffled back and forth under her dress.

"You don't know... Fine," staggering up, the King kept a grip upon his daughter and hauled her over to the corner of the room. Nobles scattered away from him like flocks of geese. His obvious anger seemed almost palpable as the haze of good times evaporated. Plopping her into the corner, he jabbed a finger in her face and ordered, "You're going to stand here until you can tell me why you did that. Understood?"

"..."

"What?" his voice boomed across the floor and nearly every eye twisted over to the man they'd written off as frivolous.

"Yes!" she screamed back, her balled up fists dropping to her sides.

"Good," the King stomped away from her, before turning back, "and don't you move an inch from that spot until I say. Do you hear me?" He didn't wait for her second yes, the girl staring dejected at the corner as she hunched her tiny shoulders up to bury her head to her chest. Actively ignoring his pouting daughter, the King reached out for the baby, "How is he?"

"It's not bad," Marn insisted, "a bit red where she hit, but..."

"Andraste's flaming..." he shook off the curse into a voiceless growl while trying to soothe the baby. Something in the King's radiating rage struck even through the newborn and he quieted down. Carefully, the King glanced a thumb across the baby's cheek bearing a bright red mark before he sighed. Aware of the silent faces watching him, he shrugged, "Kids. What can you do?"

That broke the tension, most of the crowd chuckling and people speaking of their own heirs peccadillos, those who spent any time around their children at least. Reiss cast a glance back at the pouting princess who kept a glare at the floor but didn't move a muscle. As the celebrations resumed, she too folded back into the party. Arl Teagan struck up a genial conversation with her, inquiring about her background and time with the Inquisition. She didn't want to talk about it, but figured one word answers for the man she threatened wouldn't end well.

"How was it to serve under someone like yourself?" he asked, rolling a wine glass in his fingers.

Reiss bit down on the sarcastic "Oh, I didn't know the Inquisitor was once a woman" response lodged in her throat. She knew what he meant, people were always asking her that. It must have been so lovely working for another elf, right? They were trying to be polite, the less polite ones just spat knife-ear and went about it, but sometimes that bothered her more. In trying to be welcoming, they made it even more obvious that she wasn't like them, as if she'd ever forget.

"In truth, your lordship," Reiss said, "I rarely saw the Inquisitor. I answered to others in the army. On occasion he'd appear for meals but he moved beyond my station. Far beyond it."

"Ah," Teagan paused and blushed a moment, "of course. I only exchanged a few words with him but he seemed an introspective and quiet sort."

She'd heard the same, the Dalish barbarian turned icy Inquisitor often striking an imposing figure in conversations during late nights in the barracks. No one, even the type to spit knife-ear and chuckle about another exalted march, ever said a bad word about the Inquisitor. Some of it was common sense as they ran a tight ship of kicking any nay sayers out instantly, but some of it was all on him. In carrying himself so aloof it gave the man a strange power that Reiss knew she could never manage. If anyone ever saw the real man below the Inquisition eye armor, she never met them.

"A few of my old crew, in the same battalion, they all went out and got matching tattoos to honor the Inquisitor after he kicked Corypheus' ass, uh, returned him to dust," she coughed to cover up her slip.

"Interesting," the polite Arl said, no doubt bored by a bit of pointless trivia. "The Inquisition eye, I assume."

"Nah, they all, uh, copied his Dalish tattoos but elsewhere on the body. Though Gregory almost got drunk enough to do it right on his face but he wanted it reversed. We talked him out of it because, Maker..." It seemed a good idea at the time, the humans making certain a few elves fell in with their crowd and even a dwarf all to honor the man who saved the world, right. Then one of them was spotted with ink across his shoulder, and it all got complicated fast. The Inquisitor didn't walk into their barracks, but the Commander did, his face flush as he growled out that unless they planned on joining the ranks of pirates on the Waking Sea no one was to get inked without permission.

"What of you?"

"Hm...?" Reiss shook off the whispers of confusion from the memory.

"Did you have them done?" he asked, struggling to make small talk.

"Nah, no, I..." She'd thought about it, sometimes even entertained the idea of slapping on a copy just so the shems would fear her, but her parents used to call the Dalish 'Foolish sots who'll all die of exposure. They wander because they can't see what's possible in front of them and would rather pout than build something.' "I have a fear of being jabbed repeatedly in my flesh," she said instead as an explanation earning a smile from the Arl.

"That I can fully understand."

A cough drew her eyes to the nursemaid who turned over a timer glass and jabbed it at the King, "It's been ten minutes."

He nodded a thanks at Marn, "All right, Spud, you can..." Every eye in the vicinity turned over to the corner that was missing one princess. "Maker's sake," he cursed, all but tossing the baby over at Marn. Raising his voice above the crashing din, the King shouted, "Spud! This isn't funny! Get out here now or it'll go even worse for you!" Spinning around in a circle with his hands cupped around his mouth, it was obvious the King was trying to appear comical but a grit twitched upon his jaw and his forehead stained red. He was stuffing down a strain as the princess continued to cease to be.

In an instant, everyone panicked, people jostling skirts trying to see if a girl was hiding under them. Servants checked under tables which were then canvassed by nobility dropping to knees. The King grabbed onto Linaya's elbow and hissed, "Can you do a tracking spell?"

"I shall try," the mage said, terrified to admit if she couldn't from the panic in his face. While she did magical things, he stomped around shouting for his daughter and jabbing into all the places a girl could sneak off to.

"Cade!" the King cried at the guard Commander waltzing in, "Spud's missing. Probably a game of hers, but..."

"I shall close the gates and we will detain our guests."

"Right, good, uh..."

"And then send my people to search all the rooms," Cade said, a hand landing upon the King's forearm. He seemed beyond approach, horrors haunting his face which he kept trying to wipe away before anyone noticed.

"Okay, got it. I should do something to..."

Cade lifted up his thick head and hollered, "Will everyone clear out to the foyer!" It wasn't a question and like mabari snapping at an order, everyone began to filter out of the room leaving a once bustling space bereft with tables flipped over and glasses scattered across the ground.

Reiss watched uncertain if she should follow the panicking King or search for the princess herself. Her job was to protect him, but she suspected she knew what he'd say. Shaking off the dressing down she'd probably receive later, she stepped over to the corner where the princess had stood for a good ten minutes or less. Slowly, she lowered herself to a knee and tried to see what the girl would have. Too many people were watching her, pitying, or worse passing judgment. She couldn't have slipped out through the entire throne room without someone noticing. No, but what if...

Turning on her heel, she spotted it out of the corner of her eye. It was barely noticeable to the untrained eye, which was the point. A servant door built behind a bulge of the wall, not even a door really, but a small square window that they could quickly move things from one level to the next. Or sit and listen in as most tended to be used for. And, if she didn't miss her guess it'd be just big enough to fit an angry three year old.

Reiss reached down to yank open the wooden door. She budged it an inch, when it stuck fast and then slammed shut. "Princess?" she said.

"No one's here," the girl shouted, giving away her hiding spot in an instant.

"I see," Reiss said nodding her head. Slowly, she dropped to the ground until her back rested against the wall and she spoke to the closed door. "Well, no one, you know the King is worried like crazy about his daughter. Do you happen to know where she is?"

"No!" the voice shouted from behind the door.

Reiss tried to drown out the exhaustion in her voice. The shift change was catching up to her fast. "Are you certain?"

"Daddy doesn't care."

That caught her. She'd expected a long game of 'I'm not here' which would lead to her tempting the girl out with that treat the cook slipped into the basket. Something in the princess' voice reached beyond the typical toddler exhaustion and rage from having so many emotions and no idea how to express them. Tears hung in the air.

"Of course he does," Reiss began before changing tactics, "Why would you say that?"

"He only likes _him_ now."

Ah, right. Sliding her legs out, Reiss leaned her head back against the wall and spoke, "Is that why you hit your brother?"

A silence fell from the wall before a soft voice muttered out an, "I dunno."

"Did you know I have a brother and a sister?"

"Are they always crying?"

Reiss tried to not chuckle at her obvious distress, "No, they've grown past that stage, mercifully. But, when I was little I tried to leave my baby sister in a lost and found box in the chantry." She was five at the time and so jealous of the attention Atisha gathered the moment she hit the ground Reiss could still remember her big plans to get rid of her.

"Did your Daddy be mean to you?" the voice inquired.

"Very much so," Reiss said. When they found out, she could barely sit down for a week, both of her parents terrified of what may have happened to an elven baby left alone anywhere, never mind within a chantry. "But, he did it because he was worried about me. Because he loved me."

That trite response got a kick of the princess' shoe inside the wall. She wasn't buying that. "I hate him."

"Your father's doing what he thinks is best for you," Reiss said. _Maker, how did she get wrapped up into this?_ And on her first day no less.

The princess continued on her rant that seemed to have been building for weeks, "Don't care. I hate him. He...he made Mummy sick and she won't play with me anymore. He cries all the time and, and stinks!"

Oh. The King wasn't the him she meant, the girl unable to let go her focus on her brother. Reiss dropped her head down and accepted that logic wasn't going to work on the girl in this state. "If you stay in there forever you'll starve to death," she said, trying something she used to use on her own brother when she wasn't at her wits end from hunger and exhaustion.

"Don't care!"

"We'll dig out your skeleton, it'll be very sad."

"No!"

Okay, the macabre wasn't working. She was probably too young to understand death. "You won't be able to play with any of your toys and...and your brother will get them all."

Slowly, the door to the hideaway lifted open revealing a black curl and a haunting green eye. "You're lying?" she accused.

"Nope, it's written in the rules of the kingdom. Any princesses that live inside walls have to give all their toys to their baby brothers," Reiss sat up straighter before holding a hand out to the girl. "Do you want to come out now?"

Her eyes haunted around the empty room before landing upon the unassuming elf. "Yes," she said before scurrying out of the crawlspace. Cobwebs coated her black hair, giving her a strangely aged look while dust dirtied her knees. As the princess staggered to her feet, Reiss followed suit before extending her hand again. Those emeralds weighed up the woman before she gripped onto her fingers.

Reiss quickly held it tight in her own hand and began to walk her across the throne room to find her father. The princess kept up, but her head hung down.

"Is Daddy gonna be mad?"

"He..." Reiss knew it wasn't her place to speak for the King, but she had to say something, "he'll be very happy to see you again."

***

"Maker's sake, do you know what you did to me? Look at all this grey hair. Yards of it. I bet my beard's gone stark white now," he babbled while he kept his hands locked tight around the princess, both of them with tears in their eyes.

" 'm sorry," she kept mumbling regardless of what he said.

"You scared me so, so bad, Spuddy."

Reiss found him in an antechamber sizing up some lesser nobles while Cade prodded through their things for answers. She barely had to speak before the King ran across the floor and scooped his daughter up in his arms. Guards and nobility watched on alike as the King tried to chastise his daughter while also praising anything in sight for bringing her back.

"Where did you go?" he asked the princess before turning up to Reiss. "Where did you find her?"

"She never left the throne room. I spotted an old servant's lift and suspected she may have snuck inside there," Reiss explained.

A grateful smile turned up his lips and she felt one stirring across her own. "Andraste's blessing, you're good. You're very good. Spud, you should thank her for finding you so quickly."

The princess' haunting eyes turned around and she glanced up at Reiss, who cupped a hand below her elbow and waved at the girl. "'fank you," she muttered, her eyes boring into the floor.

"Where's that, uh," the King staggered to his feet and absently wiped a forearm along his eyes, "the basket of food?"

"Here, Sire," a hand passed it over. It was almost as if they'd been leaving crackers and jam crumbs on the floor to try and lure out any princesses.

"Daddy?" The girl's grubby hands tugged on his tunic as the King dug into the basket. He paused in his search and glanced down at her. "Am I in trouble?"

"Immense," he admitted, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Are you mad?" those stark green eyes sized up Reiss as if the blow about to come was all her fault. It only seemed fair in the three year old's mind.

The King surprised her as he cupped the back of his daughter's head and tugged her tight to him for a hug. "No, I'm glad you're here and safe. Still shaking a bit from fear, but I'm not mad. I can't entirely blame you for finding a way to skip out. I wish I'd thought to try that servant's door."

"Ah, it's at best two feet wide," Reiss said, terrified she may have to one day yank him free of it.

He ran a hand down his impressive frame and then shrugged, "So you're saying there's a chance." His almost boyish charm brought a laugh out of Reiss before she became blisteringly aware of the eyes watching her. In particular, Commander Cade was watching with a razor focus. "Ooh," the King yanked the red candy out of the basket, "look at this, Spud!"

All her internal torment vanished as the princess snatched up the treat. Her lips suckled it deep into her mouth, red goo dripping down the sides of her cheeks in absolute bliss.

A sly smile twisted up the King's lips and he whispered to Reiss, "Renata?" Which earned him a nod. "She must like you. Spud, don't stick it in your hair!" The princess shoved the candy back in her mouth, but through the sugary pacifier her eyes darted up to the new bodyguard. She seemed to be waiting for her confession to land as much as Reiss was regretting that she had to bring it up.

To stall for time, Reiss pointed at the basket, "There's also some cheese the cook suggested..."

The King yanked up two of the stars and popped both into his mouth quickly. Swallowing fast, he sighed, "Spud hates cheese."

"So the stars were for..." Reiss buried her realization instantly and smiled, "I see."

Sighing, the King took in the little girl who managed to streak her dress in a red, sugary glaze in record time. "Has anyone seen, Marn?"

"I have, Sire," a servant popped up, the man as ruggedly handsome as an elf ever got.

"Good, take this walking lolly to her for a bath," he picked up her daughter's fingers with as light a touch as he could manage and passed her off.

"Don't want to go!" Spud suddenly erupted, her fingers reaching out to him.

"You're not off the hook, young lady," he spoke certainly, but without the heat from the slap. "You will do as Marn says, head to bed, and then...I'll talk to you about your punishment later."

"'Kay," she shuffled her feet back and forth, accepting the elf's grip. "What about the book? You must read it!"

The King's unbendable stance shattered and he picked up his daughter's black curls, "Don't we always? After your bath I'll be up, I promise."

She didn't make it easy on the elf, but the princess fell into his tug, both of them vanishing to find the nanny. Even then, the King kept a locked focus on his daughter. He seemed to want her to go as much as she did. "Maker's sake, I swear that kid's gonna kill me. Boom, keel right over, not even give the darkspawn a chance," he whispered the last bit to himself, but Reiss overheard it. Seeming to see her, he grabbed her armored hand and pumped it freely, "Thank you again for tracking the wily toddler down and dragging her back. I'm certain she didn't make it easy. She's got the will of an avvar warrior."

"It's not a problem, your Highness," she said, trying to tap down a blush at the attention. Slowly, he yanked his hand off hers, revealing a red stain in its wake. The King winced at that, but she barely batted an eye. "Um," Reiss sidled a bit closer, her eyes watching the nobles. "Could we speak in private?"

"Right," he nodded, "Cade, you've got this?"

"As always, Milord," Cade groaned, "Ladies and Gentlemen, we apologize for the inconvenience, but..."

They wound up returning to the throne room that was only filling with a handful of servants who thought they were free to try and clean up the mess. The King paced near his throne, trying to spot the hidden door his daughter snuck into. "Was that it?"

"Yes, Ser."

He whistled at that, "Maker, she's tinier than I thought. Right, you wanted to say something. I hope you're not quitting already."

"No, no, though this has been a memorable first day."

"At least the baby didn't vomit on you...and now that I said that it's probably going to happen," he groaned, his head dropping down.

Reiss chuckled, "That I am used to, but what I wanted to say does concern your daughter." He focused his full attention upon her, which caused Reiss' mouth to dry out. While the King's vision tended to hop from one shiny bauble to another, when it honed in on something it was as if the rest of the world fell away for him. "When I found her she was distraught."

"Of course she was, she's two and knew she was in trouble."

"I understand, but she made mention of her brother and, um," Reiss swallowed, aware she was wading into dangerous waters, "how he made her mother sick."

A groan reverberated in the King's throat but he didn't thunder how that was none of her concern or try to toss her from the palace. Instead, he buried his head in his hands and tugged on his hair, "She noticed? Of course she did. It worries me how smart she is already. In another year, she'll be outthinking her father and then what do I do?"

"Kids tend to notice things, change in particular is..." Reiss paused, blanketing down her emotion, "hard on them."

"And with Marn working nursemaid duty, she was never supposed to be official nanny but Spud's particular and..." the King shook off his own internal torment to return to Reiss, "You sure you don't have any children?"

"I think I'd know," she chuckled, before paling at who she talked down to. "I helped to raise my siblings."

"Right, of course, that's what people do with siblings, I think," the King picked at his elbow awkwardly before nodding at Reiss. "Thank you for telling me. It'd take me days to get it out of Spud, if even then. Not that I can blame her, I'm tempted to crawl under my bed for a few weeks. Maker, why can't the world stay normal for one damn year? Is that too much to ask?"

"Sometimes I fear what else can be waiting on the horizon," Reiss admitted.

"It's one hell of an age to live through," Alistair groaned, shaking his head back and forth. "I'm gonna go check on my kids. Ah, feel free to take the rest of the night to yourself. I think there was something about Cade wanting you to meet the other guards or, oh right, your old guardhouse. They probably need to be informed and your things shipped here or somewhere."

Reiss patted him on the shoulder, her fingers flexing into the knotted muscle below. "It's all right, Ser. I shall handle it."

His fingers glanced over top of her gloves and he smiled. "Thank the Maker one of us can."

## CHAPTER NINE

#### Memory

After he gave a gentle talking down to Spud, who was very penitent and used every trick in her book to try and convince him she didn't need punishing, Alistair got a professional tongue lashing from Marn. While he could have stomped away, or maybe sent her to the stocks for awhile, he felt like he deserved it. He knew he'd overreacted when Spud pulled her vanishing act, that it played right into something something... Marn's words washed over him while Alistair kept glancing over at his daughter curled up in bed with her stuffed frog. That tiny hand clutched tight to its webbed foot, her wide eyes shut tight as she traipsed through the fade.

"Look," Alistair interrupted Marn, who reeled back in her words but glared for having to do it, "I get it. Okay. If I was the perfect father of the year, I'd have done things better. If I wasn't sitting on a teetering edge constantly afraid all the damn time that some fat arse off in Antiva or Tevinter gets it in his head to off my kids to make a point, maybe I wouldn't have overreacted. Welp, sorry, this is the king you're stuck with full of all that gooey feeling stuff they're supposed to scrape out of you in war. Somehow I missed that part."

He expected Marn to renew her attack with more vitriol, but instead she sighed and shook her head. "A'right. Fair enough. And I don't think we'll have a spoiled brat on our hands for one over reaction followed by her father lavishing her with attention for a night."

"Thank the Maker for small miracles," Alistair scoffed.

"But make a habit of it and you will be facing a tyrant in short pants," Marn threatened.

"Tell me again why I don't have you out there chasing down these assassins? I think you'd put most hunting mabari to shame."

She snorted and folded her arms up tight across her chest. "You ain't the first man in thedas' history to fear for his children."

"I am well aware, but...it feels like it," Alistair admitted. He flexed his bruised knuckles that he'd only soothed the pain partially away with a balm. To think, in his younger years he wouldn't have even noticed the pain unless the skin broke, or a bone. And his need to work out the emotion last night was nothing, just a small sparring practice. Maker's sake, he did far more damage to his knuckles when they met that templar's jaw. By the void, what were they feeding them in Skyhold, actual bars of iron?

Marn plucked up her own child into her arms, and with the love of a mother bear carting her young out of the stream, she plopped him into the shared bed with Spud. His daughter only began sharing it with the boy a few months back, and at first it was the true end times upon abandoning the crib, but she seemed to grow more used to it. Routine. That's what she needed.

"How's the Queen doing?" Alistair asked.

"Why?" Marn shot back. After prudently tucking her boy in, she took a moment to kiss his forehead and he snuggled in to sleep.

"Because I wanted to talk to her about Spud and other things. Is that so bad?"

Marn folded a moment, her head tipped down, "She's sitting by the fire with Cailan."

Alistair tried to not shudder at the idea of his dead brother haunting through the castle sitting by fires and whispering to people. It felt like the first few years he took the stupid crown, so many of those velvet portraits were hung up in every damn room of the palace. Sometimes Alistair would turn around and he could swear a portrait would appear on a wall that'd been empty a moment earlier. Nodding thanks at Marn, he slipped into the Queen's chambers. The two personal handmaidens were asleep, or feigning it, upon the daybed thing. He wasn't certain what it was called when it wasn't quite couch and wasn't bed either.

The lone rocking chair creaked back and forth before the hearth. Funny enough, it was a gift from the Dalish. Carved from ironbark it was a mother's rocking chair that could double as a shield should the need arise. Bea's hair, that was always pinned up in fancy dos, cascaded down her shoulders as she hummed a song softly to her son sleeping in her arms.

"Hello," Alistair began, feeling like a stranger walking into someone else's home.

She turned her head to the side, the flames highlighting her face that finally bore a bit of color. "Good evening, my King," Bea whispered.

With that opening, he stepped closer and took a knee beside the chair. Even with business hanging in the air, Alistair couldn't stop from peering down at the little face framed by blankets. He dipped a finger down the baby's cheek, and froze when the tiny mouth opened in a yawn. But Cailan wasn't in the mood for more screaming, as he settled back to sleep.

"Someone's had quite the day," Beatrice cooed to her boy.

"How's his, uh..." He couldn't bring himself to admit that he let their daughter slap the baby on his watch.

"It is fine, barely pink now, probably not even going to bruise." She turned over to look at him and in a voice one used when talking to particularly stupid dogs said, "These things occur between siblings."

"So everyone keeps telling me," Alistair admitted. "That's what I wanted to come talk to you about. I heard...Spud misses you. She knows something's wrong and I think that's why she's acting out."

Bea's head hung down heavy from the crown of motherhood, "I miss her too."

"I was thinking, maybe tomorrow, if you're up for it, we could all gather in the garden. You could sit on the bench with ol' stoic here," he gestured at the baby, "while I roll around in the grass with Spud. And, Cordell can come too, to take over when needed so your daughter could sit in your lap. All five of us for a day of garden fun." It sounded idiotic he knew, but it was the only answer Alistair could come up with.

"That sounds delightful," Beatrice smiled at him, "but you're forgetting the day." He lifted a shoulder in confusion. "Tomorrow is the fifteenth." Alistair parted both hands. Fifteens tended to come after fourteens, that wasn't any big reason to cancel garden plans. Bea dropped her head and she whispered, "The fifteenth of Cloudreach."

_Andraste's grace, how could he forget?_

"Cade's informed me that the usual parade has been cancelled due to the attacks, but people will expect you to appear at the memorial," Beatrice explained while Alistair kept mentally kicking himself.

How could he blighted forget _that_ date? There were only four he kept tattooed in his memory; the end of the Blight, the fall of Ostagaar, his ignominious entrance into the world, and that one. Might as well forget your birthday next time too. Wander into Isolde's party shirtless and covered in mud asking what everyone's doing standing around in their best outfits.

"And," she shifted around her arms to slide the baby into his. Without thought Alistair accepted his son but his mind was on the other side of Ferelden. Rubbing her sore arms, Beatrice smiled at him, "I rather suspect you would not wish to miss it."

"No, I...everything's been so blighted crazy lately, I forgot what day it was."

"I understand," Beatrice traced her own manicured fingers across the boy's chubby cheek, "and I imagine she would have as well."

Alistair sighed, "Probably. Depended on what mood she was in." One of Cailan's fists tumbled out of the blankets and Alistair curled it up with his pinkie. He was fascinated by the teeny tiny nails on the ends of each adorable digit. Who would have ever thought he'd become so entwined around two chubby fingers? Spud could make him leap with a look, and he suspected this one would be giving him heart attacks once he figured out rolling over. Maker, the first time Spud did it, she nearly rolled right into the stuffed teeth of a bearskin rug. That was the fastest Alistair had ever moved in his life, including at a broodmother and away from dragon fire.

"I really want to get this right," he whispered to the baby.

"Right isn't a thing in parenting," Beatrice said. "All there is is trying your best." She was a few years younger than him physically, but she acted like she was fifty the moment they met. Considering how often she tried to patiently mother him, Alistair was grateful to feel no attraction to her because that would just raise all kinds of confusing questions.

He snickered at the idea of trying his best, knowing just what kind of a mess his best tended to cause. Bending over to his son, he placed his lips close to his forehead and whispered, "Sorry."

***

If the King rose in the middle of the night to attack his dummy either Reiss didn't hear it, or, more likely, he found other ways to work off the tension of the day. On the plus side, no bountiful mages slipped out of his room in the morning. She was waiting with gritted teeth for that day, but for now it was simply the two of them. The King waved away the clerk he dubbed 'itinerary guy,' snatched up his daughter from her room, and had breakfast while their two bodyguards stood watch.

Reiss spent some of her free time after the princess incident speaking with Commander Cade, who introduced her to Brunt - a man of few words and all muscle. He'd been receiving a dressing down for losing the princess when Reiss stumbled across the guardhouse, then he had to stand and listen to her praise for finding the girl. It was so awkward, she began to suspect that the Commander was trying to punish them both as if to say they needed to remain in their lanes and any deviation, even if it was a gain, would be frowned upon greatly.

After breakfast, and the King taking the time to scoop half of the princess' dropped food off the floor, he sat her in a special chair and brushed her hair. The princess kept giving him tips for the entire attempt, passing over silver combs and boar's hair brushes which the King pretended to run over her locks before slipping them back in a drawer. Brunt was ordered to sit in the tiniest pinkest chair and watch. While Alistair attempted to dissuade the girl, her bodyguard huffed, and balancing his weight all on his feet, hovered his mighty frame right above the chair. It was the kind of humiliation that would do in the most hardened veteran, but Brunt bore it with aplomb. After the King added a fifth bow to the pin straight locks, the nursemaid appeared and swept her away.

"Spud," he ordered to her retreating form, "you be good. I have to go do official stuff." Her face fell at that, the girl wishing she could spend the whole day with her father, "But I think you're going to go play with your mother today, right?"

Those green eyes widened and her jaw popped open as she turned up to Marn who slowly nodded. "Mummy?" the princess shrieked, whipping her pigtails back and forth in excitement.

"So much for the surprise," Marn huffed. "Come along child, and you need to be calm."

"Okay!" Spud shouted at the top of her lungs.

"Right," the king clapped his hands together, "that was the lighthearted easy part of the day." He turned his eyes over to Reiss and asked, "You read for the somber portion?"

They travelled by horseback a rather short distance of the city, barely getting more than a few blocks past the palace's gates. Reiss tried to not roll her eyes at the royal fear of walking, until she spotted where their destination was. The King arrived first, as if he and the horse could reach the memorial by memory. Dismounting quickly, throngs of mourners parted in his wake, though one stepped up and bowed his head.

"Teagan," the King smiled, throwing a half a hug around the man.

"Your Majesty," the Arl sighed weary with the world.

"I swear, this comes up earlier and earlier every year," the King spoke quietly to the Arl before reaching over and shaking hands.

Reiss dismounted fast off her horse, leaving someone else to tie it off as she fell in behind the King working through the crowds. While during the naming ceremony he had a cool, detached approach to greeting everyone now he took the time to speak to them, listen to a few stories they had to tell, and kept accepting a flower from each.

Teagan tried to tug the growing bouquet away, but the King chuckled, "I've been carting a two year old around. Unless someone's gonna stuff an anvil in here, I've got it."

She was supposed to be watching hands, shoes, looking for anyone suspicious or out of place, but in truth everyone looked out of place. Commoners dressed in tattered cloth stood beside nobility in silks and neither blushed at the idea. Even a few elves moved through the mix, the King taking his time to speak to them as well. A young child of six was thrusted forward by his father. The King paused at the terrified look in the boy's eye and waited as he gathered the courage to thrust forward a wad of elfroot. Not even pausing, Alistair placed it next to the roses from the better off.

"She loved elfroot," he smiled at the boy, "we were always stuffing handfuls of it in every pocket." It took another twenty minutes before he'd worked through the crowd, giving each a moment or two and despite his assurances to the Arl, the King's arms were waning from the foliage stuffed in them.

He rose up the stairs and stood before the door. "I feel like I should give a speech, but...in truth she hated them. Would often do as that girl there is and make foolish faces at me whenever I tried." The twelve year old tugging down her eye retracted in her tongue at the attention and tried to slide back into the crowd. Sighing, the King scrunched up his eyes and spoke, "Thank you all for coming. It would mean the world to her to know how many care all these years later."

Turning around, he nodded at a pair of servants. Each tugged open the wooden doors to reveal the memorial for the Hero of Ferelden. The King stepped across the red carpet, Arl Teagan close on his heels, to the base of the statue. Dropping to a knee, he placed the bundle of flowers at the foot of it and whispered something. As he stood up, his hand glanced across the statue's foot. Suddenly, his eyes shot up and Reiss noticed he left a green smudge across the onyx. With as much grace as the man could manage, he tried to wipe it off with his shirt.

Tapping down a laugh, Teagan turned back to the crowd to announce, "Please, come in and remember."

In a great rush, the people raced into the memorial. It wasn't an orderly funerary procession whispering but a cavalcade of voices laughing, speaking, celebrating. Reiss stepped in quietly, trying to blend in with the background which was hard to do. The memorial was built in a circle, the walls stuffed with books, staves, quills, robes, weaponry, even tea cups that belonged to the Hero of Ferelden. All of them sat behind glass, which the people were leaving fingerprints on as they leaned over to investigate. In the middle stood a fifteen foot tall statue of the woman herself. Carved from a jet black stone, it was illuminated by mirrors placed around the base, casting light upon the determined eyes facing off against an unseen foe. Her staff bore a globe on the end that glittered with red light, which projected an image of the archdemon across the white ceiling. It was the only hint of an enemy in the statue. Most had the victor standing upon a mountain of skulls or some hint, but whoever carved it seemed to only want to see her standing ready for battle but not yet engaging in it. A protector instead of a warrior.

While the King worked through the crowd yet again, pointing at a grey warden shield and telling some story that got everyone to laugh uproariously, Reiss slid closer to the statue's base. A plaque of gold bore the words:

"Solona 'Lana' Amell

Defeater of the Blight

Hero of Ferelden

Born

Fifteenth of Cloudreach 9:11 Dragon

Lost to Us

Sixth of Drakonis 9:42 Dragon

_She Stood Against The Darkness To Make Thedas Brighter_ "

Thirty one when she died, her same age now. Reiss reached out, her fingers glancing across the words, when a voice whispered beside her, "Is this your first time here?"

"I..." she pulled her hand back and let it fall to her hilt. Turning to the King she answered, "I've seen the memorial but have never entered it prior."

He had his head turned far back as if studying the statue's face, or perhaps trying to remember the real woman who once bore it. "We try to do something for her birthday. Okay, I try to do something and some people show up too." He glanced around the crowds standing beside her things, some of them hoisting children closer and explaining who the Hero of Ferelden was. "She had a way of touching lives without trying."

"Yes, I..." Fire lapping across the grass, as she cowered beside the over turned carriage. Chittering from the darkspawn echoed over the screams as they plunged blade and teeth into the humans from the caravan. There was no hope. There'd been none when she left home, and now...

Shaking off the memory, Reiss tipped her head up at the hero, "She saved me during the blight."

"Oh?" the King turned fully to face her now, his once waning focus burning bright.

"I was trying to flee with my...family, from South Reach after Lothering," she swallowed hard. It'd been nearly seventeen years and it still pricked her heart open.

A hand landed upon her back and she caught the King misting up. "Lothering was...Maker, we tried so hard to--"

"I know," Reiss interrupted. It was easy to forget that for every step the hero took the King was at her side. She was the savior from the Blight while he took on the farce of jester. So many in Ferelden were happy to take that as fact in the years since, even those who fought beside him forgot. But she watched the true pain of war, of watching helpless as the enemy swarmed over people you couldn't hope to save scrawling away his boyish charm. An almost deathly pallor replaced it as his eyes wandered over to look at a sword hanging on the wall.

"The Hero, she saved me and my siblings from being torn apart by darkspawn," Reiss explained, her heart feeling strangely heavy.

Barely fourteen, her hands locked around her five year old brother while trying to stay as quiet as possible. Ice shards firing through the air and impaling one of the screaming darkspawn in the throat. The girl with no home buried her head in her brother's hair, terrified to face what was certain to come, when a hand, a human one lands upon her shoulder. "It'll be alright," was all she whispered.

Reiss didn't voice the memory aloud, uncertain if she could tug it back. But she whispered to herself, "I never thanked her for it."

The King placed his hands behind his back and stretched up, "She hated when anyone did. Drawing attention to her, she'd blush like her cheeks were on fire from it. But, for what it's worth, I think she knew." Ignoring his blubbering bodyguard, he traced a finger across the date of her death, a day of mourning for all of Ferelden.

"You were in the Inquisition," he stated. "Were you there when she...?"

"Adamant," Reiss recited. Yes, she was there fighting first grey wardens, then alongside them to destroy the demons. "At first, everyone was cheering. The Inquisitor closed the rift, saved us all from some terrifying nightmare demon army. I remember people clapping all across the fortress and then..." Like a stone tossed into a pond, ripples of horror echoed outward silencing the celebration. "We heard that the Hero, our Hero, sacrificed herself to save us, all of us. Every Ferelden in the army all but collapsed, even the Grey Wardens were bereft. The Commander," she spotted him being led out, not speaking a word to anyone, "seemed to be in shock."

Alistair's hung head lifted a moment and he snorted, "That sounds about right." Tears glittered in his eyes, which he blinked back down before they escaped. "I, uh," he shook off the sadness and covered it over in a goofy smile, "should probably return to all that kinging stuff before there's a coup. Excuse me, Ser Reiss."

The day wound down slowly, the King taking the time to speak with any and all who showed up to the point his voice scratched and he had to cough to keep going. As the hour grew longer, the final visitors left leaving only the King, Reiss, and Teagan behind. The Arl himself stood regal staring up at the statue, an inscrutable look to his eyes. How well did he know the woman carved in stone? By his stance it was impossible to tell, but the fact that he hadn't moved in hours told Reiss there was more than gratitude underneath.

"Welp, not bad for having to rearrange everything," the King said clapping his hands together.

"Indeed, Sire," Teagan announced.

"Would you," the King ran a hand over the back of his hair and fluffed it up, "could you give me a few minutes alone? You know, to clean up and..."

Teagan smiled sadly, "Of course, your Majesty." After casting one more look up at the woman's face, he turned on his heel and walked towards the doors.

Reiss paused uncertain if she was meant to leave as well, when the King chuckled. "I don't think there are any assassins hiding in here. Least I hope not. They can't go invisible now, can they?"

Nodding, she began to slip out but paused at the entrance. Covering an eye, Reiss sighted around the memorial making certain to check the shadows for anything out of the ordinary. "Looks clean," she pronounced, getting a grim smile from her boss. Accepting that he wasn't likely to be stabbed, Reiss slipped out of the memorial and quietly shut the doors. As she took up guard, Teagan stood at the edge of the stairs watching the sun set on the horizon.

"Maker, it's nearly nightfall?" Reiss gasped.

"I'm surprised we finished that early," the Arl chuckled. "He can take a fair share of time with this."

There'd been rumors for years about the King and Hero of Ferelden being close. More than a few bawdy books were spun about their bodice ripping adventures, some of which Reiss had to hide under her pallet at night so her sister wouldn't see them. While she knew little of the Hero beyond seeing her once, the King in the books bore no resemblance to the one she knew now. In the tales he was suave and charming, the type to take command. It took Reiss all of five minutes of speaking with him to realize that was an entire fabrication of the author. She'd assumed the very romance itself to be as well, but the way his eyes burned even these six years since her death...

"Oh Maker," Teagan cried pointing at one of their horses slipping off its post and making a run for it. He began to beat feet after it. Reiss rose to join, but he waved at her, "I'll catch it. You stay with the King." And beyond any common sense, the Arl of Redcliffe began to chase after a horse down the streets of Denerim.

Reiss followed the order, remaining rooted on the spot, when she heard a muffled voice speaking from behind the door. She should ignore it, block it out, or pace back and forth to obscure it, but... Sliding back, she hooked a finger into the door handle, pulled it just far enough to jam her toe in the way, and listened.

Sounds of pacing back and forth were all that filled the air at first, the King perhaps making good on his promise to clean up, when his voice rang out. "So, happy birthday. The big 36, eh? I think that's an important one. Better than 37, let me tell you. That's when everything breaks down into one big mess. They've got me drinking this white glop before bed, helps with my constitution or something."

He sighed, and then the sound of his foot being drug across the floor echoed. "Wherever you are, I hope you've got something big planned. Or something to celebrate. Better than what we did during the blight. Ass deep in darkspawn in the middle of the deeproads and you turn to me to say 'Hey, I'm twenty today.'"

A laugh broke up his higher pitched voice meant to mimic hers. "I swear you did that just to watch the panic in my face." Another silence fell, this one heavier than thedas itself.

"Maker's breath, but I miss you Lanny. I wish you were here. That you could...I know why you can't be but Andraste's grace, I'm scared. Assassins right. We've been through this a dozen times, friended one for some reason. What are a few more traipsing about in the shadows? I should be able to shrug this off but...Flames, I can't. If they'd gotten to Spud or the baby who, oh yeah, we're calling Cailan. It's weird, I know, but no one wanted to listen to me. Let's name your son after your dead half-brother that way it's like he's always haunting you. Wooo!" He tried to laugh at the end but the joke turned into a soft sob.

"I don't know who I can trust, aside from you. Even when you hated me, which I rightly deserved, I still had faith in you and..." Alistair groaned, then slapped his hands against his cheeks, "I'm supposed to be wishing you a happy birthday. So, that. I won't sing, I promise. But please tell me you made your templar do it. That'll at least lighten my mood."

Reiss scrunched her nose up at that, confused what he meant. Perhaps there was some templar friend waiting for the Hero across the veil. She risked a quick glance inside. The King's back was to her as he faced the statue. No one else moved around, but an eerie red glow emanated from in front of him.

"I should go. Lots of beheadings and other kingly stuff to do. Oh, you'll love this. I got myself a bodyguard. Yeah, I know, poor thing. Funny thing though, I bet you'd like her. Be careful out there, Lanny. I'll see you later." The red light vanished, and the King began to turn around.

Reiss yanked her toe out and spun back, letting the door fall shut. She tried to will back the erratic beat of her heart for eavesdropping, certain that the King made her, but when he opened the door he was all smiles again as if something washed his psyche clean. "Don't tell me, Teagan ran off and left us with the check," he chuckled.

"No, Ser, he's..."

Hoofbeats clattered down the road and the Arl rode up on the runaway horse. His hat hung precariously close to falling off and an exhausted flush burnt his cheeks, but he seemed in good spirits. "I caught her before she fled through the city gates," the Arl proclaimed, dismounting off the King's horse.

"That horse is a master escape artist," Alistair complained, jogging quickly down the stairs to grab at the reins before she bolted again. "We once found her on the roof."

"You did not, Sire," Teagan laughed stepping back to gather up the last two horses.

"I swear to the Maker, it's true. Middle of the night I hear a crash and think either thunder or Orlesian invasion. But nope, it's a damn horse standing on the roof, clipping along like she's on a run through the meadows." He ran a hand down her nose, curling it up through the mane while this master escape horse snorted. "You're lucky we don't turn you into glue." Despite his proclamation, he seemed to have a real affinity for this magical horse. There were a good dozen in the royal stables he could have chosen, but this was the one he was drawn to.

As the Arl swung up into his saddle and Reiss in turn followed suit, the three of them clopped down the street to the palace. "Gonna be hanging around for a few more weeks, Teagan?" the King asked. Despite the long day he sat bolt upright in the saddle, something seeming to have energized him.

"I'm afraid not. I should return to Redcliffe soon." The Arl smiled, "It should give your bodyguard some breathing room at the very least."

Reiss couldn't tap down the burn rising in her cheeks from the attention. The King tried to turn his head fully around to look at her before shooting a glance at the Arl, "Are you two still on about her nearly trying to chop your head off? That was two days ago. Stop living in the past."

"As you say, Sire," the Arl chuckled and Reiss followed suit.

"Before you go, I've got a few letters for you to take with," he all but whispered to the Arl.

Teagan's formal facade melted a moment, and he closed his eyes, "I'll be sure to deliver them myself, Alistair."

"Good, good," the King nodded. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm famished. Let's go see if we can find a tavern with a steak the size of our heads."

## CHAPTER TEN

#### Cloaks & Daggers

"I'd like to keep this under strictest confidence," Alistair whispered to the woman sharing the booth across from him. While he felt the need to dress for the clandestine meeting in a cloak complete with drawn hood, she wore leathers that cried out whenever she moved. Seeing as how they were in a less than savory tavern in the middle of the dwarven districts few people glanced over. Most were too busy drinking themselves into a stupor while banging out a rather melodic ballad upon helmets. Alistair didn't get close enough to see if the heads were still inside.

She took a small sip of her mead and turned a slow eye at him, "Please don't tell me you've invented a secret handshake we have to use."

A blush burned up his cheeks, and absently he turned back to spot his bodyguard sitting alone at the bar. She was within protecting distance as well as listening and was well aware that Alistair spent some of the night perfecting one. "No, nothing like that," he waved it away.

"Right," ex-scout Lace Harding didn't roll her eyes but she chuckled into her mug. After placing it down, she turned her dissecting stare upon him. "I doubt you brought me here for just a drink. And, before you go any further, you should know I'm spoken for."

Now his blush was in full form. Maybe it was having to turn around from Lanny's memorial and trudge out to a backwater tavern complete with a few ladies of the evening trying to pry him out of his coin and hose, but Alistair felt he was all of twenty again and terrified that speaking to anyone of the lady persuasion would cause him to melt through the floor. He glanced over at Reiss, who'd asked surprisingly few questions when they ditched Teagan to head out drinking. She still wore armor, though threw a cloak over some of it to disguise the obvious royal parts. Anywhere else in Denerim she'd stick out, but even the waitresses in The Forge were better kitted out than he was at Ostagaar.

"I assume you heard about the assassins at the naming day celebration," Alistair began, his fingers rolling a coin back and forth across the filthy table. Harding nodded, then daintily wiped away the drink clinging to her mouth. "Well, funny thing it seems that the esteemed ambassador from Antiva's alibi is full of more holes than a colander chamberpot."

She winced at his metaphor, but nodded, "Got it. But why turn to me? What about your Spymaster?"

"Ghaleb. You know him?"

"We met at one of the spy conventions."

Alistair threw his hand up, his thought trail fully abandoned, "Wait, wait, there are spy conventions?"

"They're very popular. All the espionage aficionados show up to trade in advice, catch up, network, spy on each other. The usual. I'm not an official one, but was there to help ease Charter in after Leliana..."

"Took the big hat?" Alistair threw out.

"Your Spymaster was there as well. He's rather peculiar," Harding said, careful to not anger anyone. "There was this fancy dance where everyone was supposed to dress up like their best get. Half of them pretended to be Empress Celene, as if anyone could get that slippery Orlesian eel, and Maker feathers were everywhere. You couldn't move without breathing them in."

"Who'd you go as?" the King was doing his best to not focus as he didn't really want to voice what he had to.

Harding's eyes dropped to her mug and she mouthed, "Erimond." At that name, Alistair sneered but nodded his head, glad that particular snake was without a head. "But Ghaleb wore no feathered pauldron nor mask and dressed in the same outfit he wore the entire day. When pressed, he said he came as himself. No one was certain if it was the most idiotic or brilliant costume of the night."

"Yeah, that's the problem with him. Figuring out what he's thinking requires a second Ghaleb and why I need your help."

"I don't think anyone short of a flock of mages is getting into that mind," Harding interrupted.

Absently Alistair worried his fingers together, the coin alternating across the knuckles, "Ghaleb claimed he checked out Donato's story, that it was sound. I happen to know for a fact that the chantry was putting on a play that day as the Grand Cleric apologized for the conflicting schedules twelve times. And I also know it was only to be attended by the Revered Mother and a few Sisters. Unless Donato's given up manhood in order to take up the cloth, it's a wee bit fishy."

"All of which any low level Spymaster would have sussed out in a day," Harding finished for him.

"Right," he nodded, his head slipped down as he tried to pry a thought from his brain. "If I can't even trust my own Spymaster where does that leave me? Assassins, secrets, lies..."

"Throw in a sex scandal and you have the makings of a good crime serial," Harding laughed, breaking up his maudlin turn. The coin stopped flipping up and down over his fingers and he watched it. No one bothered to mint his cheap mug on any of them, for which he was eternally grateful. This copper still bore Maric, the lone eye of the father who never wanted him, the father he had to kill, the unknown father's metal gaze always watching him from the back of his money. Maybe that was why Alistair never carried coin anymore.

Slipping it into his pocket, he tipped his head back and forth to the beat of the helmet drums, "How's your mother?"

The change in topics didn't even swerve Harding. She smiled softly, then folded her hands against her mouth. "Well, all things considered. I think the move to Denerim has helped. My aunt's here and they spend afternoons together playing Diamondback. It doesn't replace my father, but..." Her words tailed off, pain threaded through each one.

Kicking himself for bringing it up, Alistair tried to refocus, "And you, how's not-Inquisition life?"

"Fine. Bit dull without Qunari attacks, red templars, giant magisters who want to be gods, the usual. I sell wares with a dwarf in the main square. Took me forever to talk him into updating his slogans. Shouting the same thing day in and day out at people isn't going to exactly endear you to any customers. 'Fine Dwarven Crafts' indeed."

Alistair shifted in his seat and leaned closer, "This whole bit with my Spymaster, and assassins, and potentially Antiva trying to start a war, I really would prefer the Inquisition not find out until it's been settled."

An enigmatic smile twisted up Harding's lips, "Why Sire, I'm no longer with the Inquisition."

"Right, and I'm the Archon of Tevinter," he said.

Shrugging, Harding shoved her mug away, "My lips are sealed for the time being. Ghaleb and the Antivan ambassador?"

"Donato, Baronet Donato. No, I don't know what Baronet means either," he said.

"A Baronet is a vassal to a Baron, often in the form of a non-noble line knight who most likely served with great honor or his own family line did," Hardin recited without pause. At Alistair's gobsmacked look she shrugged, "I had a lot of time to read while waiting for the Inquisitor to show up at camp sites."

"Thanks Harding, for coming out of retirement for this," he said bowing his head.

"No problem, just doing my civic duty and all," she moved to slide out of her seat when she paused. "If I find something you don't like...?"

"Your mother is still welcome to stay in Denerim. One, I'm not stupid enough to grab the Inquisition's horns to shake them. And two, I know you're going to find something I don't like."

Harding slipped to her feet, her stature barely putting her above Alistair while sitting in the short booth even as he struggled to keep his long legs under the table. "Pleasure doing business with you. I'll drop you a note when I've got something." He nodded at her as she walked towards the front of the house. Pausing, Harding waved her hand and shouted, "Oh, and thanks for buying me a drink."

"I didn't...?" he began when a massive tal-vashoth appeared instantly at the table and grabbed onto his wrist. Reiss staggered to her heels, her hand reaching for a hilt, but Alistair shook her off. They were incognito, no reason to go spilling ox man blood here. Gulping, Alistair glanced up and up at him. Slowly he dug out his coin purse and asked, "How much do I owe you?"

As the qunari bouncer skipped off with half the coins in the King's pocket, Reiss slid into Harding's vacated seat. Her eyes coldly followed the ox man's wake. If looks could kill, his grey skin would've lit up like a bonfire. Alistair was about to ask if she knew him, when the elven woman turned to him. "Ser, if I may be so bold?"

"Please, be as bold as you want. Bolder than a naked man crawling through a dragon's nest of thorns."

He anticipated a groan, but she smiled a moment before dipping down her head. By the weak rune light of the tavern, her cheeks were thrown into high contrast, elongating the small nose. "If you have concerns about your Spymaster why not have him brought in?"

"Only to learn that it was all some big misunderstanding and the real villain was the butler the whole time! In fact, Ghaleb was ten steps ahead and about five to the right as his quirky, little brain often is. Then I'm stuck with a Spymaster who knows all the secrets of blighted everyone he's ever met that also hates me."

Reiss' crisp eyes narrowed before sliding out towards the door. "So you enlist a known scout of the Inquisition to aid you because if she is caught..."

"That damn chantry can't stop poking its nose into other people's business," Alistair chuckled parting his hands, "We all know how much Mothers love hearing the dirt on their flock."

"Everyone spoke of you as being..." Reiss's smile faltered to panic, her face falling slack in terror but Alistair leaped upon the grenade.

"A complete and utter moron? A man incapable of finding his own ass if you drew a map on it and then jammed a few daggers into the flesh? The essence of true stupidity concentrated and distilled down into one teeny, tiny brain?" He spoke each one with a laugh, savoring the outlandish rumors. Oftentimes he'd traipse up to Ghaleb's tower to sit and hear the best ones the man collected. Everyone else tried to keep Alistair from them, but Ghaleb never wavered in forking them over. He enjoyed the Spymaster for what he was and hated the idea that he was wrong about him the entire time.

Reiss watched him spin each joke; she was a cautious one. He hadn't seen a front wall that thick in years, but every now and then a few gaps allowed her real self to prod through. Tapping her finger on the table, she paused a moment before speaking, "How is it no one knows the truth of you?"

"Ah," Alistair blinked rapidly, suddenly feeling the sting of smoke in his eyes, "I...who's not to say it isn't? There's a damn good chance under my rule Ferelden could fall into the sea and then catch on fire. I suspect it hasn't due to my incredible dumb luck, emphasis on the dumb." Maker's sake, was it hot in here? Dwarves loved their lava pits, but how could they recreate the boiling pits of Orzammar in a tiny tavern in Denerim? Shifting uncomfortably on his ass, Alistair tried to not glance over at the pretty woman who seemed to be sizing him up. Usually he took it on the chin, prepared for the scoff and hair flounce once a decision was reached but this one made him uncomfortable. His stomach knotted and it felt as if he'd eaten an entire pot of his lamb surprise stew in a night.

Reiss' scouring eyes shifted back to the denizens of the bar, "Are you certain it is Crows?"

He was about to shrug it off, having been as certain of that as anything else, but something in her tone caught him. "You have some idea on that?"

For a moment her lips opened, a finger lifting on the table. He knew that look, remembered it from Lanny when she'd have some brilliant theory erupt in sparks across her brain. But Reiss reeled it back in. "Not quite, Ser. I was only curious."

"Right," Alistair finished off the last of his mead and tried to ignore the lump of metal someone dropped in the bottom of the cup for flavor. "If all goes well, Ghaleb will track them down, we'll have a small man hunt, and then a beheading."

"And if all doesn't go well?"

Digging his palm against his forehead, Alistair knotted his eyebrows back and forth manually. "It never goes well. Plan for the worst because Maker knows the best is impossible. Okay, that's enough cloak and daggers. I should head home. Big day tomorrow and all."

Reiss nodded her head, already sliding out and ever so gently clearing a path to the door. For being someone he plucked at seeming random, she appeared to breathe this job. Maybe when the matter was resolved, and he didn't have to worry about assassins lurking like deepstalkers, he could offer her a more permanent job in the royal guards. It'd be nice to have someone that didn't bark "Yes Sire!" at ear splitting volume in response to Alistair's random musings.

Following after his bodyguard, Alistair tugged the cloak's hood up to disguise his face. Would it be too much to ask for this kinging shit to get easier? Laying on the table were the last of his silvers, Good King Maric glaring up at whoever came to claim them.

## CHAPTER ELEVEN

#### You Can't Go Home

She didn't anticipate a parade by any means, but barely anyone lifted a glance as Reiss strolled back to her old guardhouse. The last time she left them, she assumed she'd been walking to her doom. Three days later and all she got were a few whispered, "Oh, I didn't realize you were gone." None were impressed that she'd been hired up at the palace either, though a few eyes wandered over her and she felt a "Why her?" trailing her movements.

After gathering her few possessions which only filled a quarter of the trunk the chamberlain gave her, Reiss trailed out of the guardhouse to try and find the one person who could be bothered to give a shit about her. She found Lunet where she expected, curled up at the exact corner of two main streets, with her chair turned precisely so she could keep a side eye on who was coming and going.

Despite the book jammed up to her face, at Reiss' approach Lunet snickered, "Well, well, look at what the rat drug in."

"News of my demise has been..." Reiss glanced back at the guardhouse a few blocks back, "generally responded to with a shrug."

Closing her book, Lunet sat up and chuckled, "Did the pet rabbit expect anyone in Guardhouse number twelve to care?"

Reiss yanked back a chair across from her friend and sat down. Shrugging she prodded at the flimsy table, "It'd have been nice if there was at least one black band. A daisy. Something."

"We got word a few hours after you left that you'd been tapped for the royal guards. Shiiit, the look on Fatain's face alone," Lunet laughed so hard she had to wipe a tear off her cheek. "Maker, that memory will keep me warm on patrols. You should have seen it, I swear his face was the exact same color, shape, and consistency of a moldy tomato. He trounces into the middle of the station, tries to lift that weak chest and grumbles out..." She dropped her voice as deep as possible, causing it to crack, "'That damn elf's working up at the palace. No, not that one, the other one.' Course he points at me as if people can't see I'm already sitting there angry beyond imagination that my best friend in the whole world couldn't swing by to tell me the news."

"I am sorry I missed it," Reiss admitted. "Sounds like an image that should be captured in a painting."

"One of those pastorals where there's ferrets and shit crammed into it because it's all symbolic," Lunet laughed before taking a drink. While Reiss preferred anything dark and brown, Lunet consumed only beverages an unholy color concocted by mages. Most of their names were either sexual innuendos, so blatant as to not even be considered innuendos, or a mage term in the old Tevene tongue. Reiss called them sugar highs.

Noticing her friend inspecting the drink, Lunet pointed at it, "Do you want one?"

"Since I wish to sleep tonight, no. I'm content at the moment." It felt as if a month had passed since she last saw her friend. Slowly, the ice armor Reiss built across herself to survive chipped away. She stretched her arms, feeling free.

"So..." Lunet swirled her grass green drink which had pink smoke drifting over the surface. "Royal guards? Is this part of some outreach program of theirs? Ah crap, there's not talk of another riot in the alienage they're trying to head off, is there?"

"No, not to my knowledge. I haven't been in a few weeks, but it seemed fine."

"As fine as Alienages get," Lunet snickered.

Reiss scooted her chair closer to her friend which drew the woman's attention. Placing down her drink she focused on her. "This isn't just a royal guard position."

"Oh?" Lunet's well manicured eyebrow lifted in a perfect line, "Here I assumed your job was to stand outside the gate and look extra elfy."

"Lune, I'm the King's official bodyguard."

Her friend slapped the table in shock, "You are shitting me, no, no, I know this one. This is when you have all of my friends leap out and tell me I'm dying of blight."

"What? Why would I...?" Reiss began before Lunet talked over her.

"King? King King? Our King? The one on all the banners and shit scattered around Denerim? And your job is to protect him?!" Lunet squealed in joy before a cloud parted her brows. Slumping into her seat, she groaned, "So they think someone's gonna try to kill him and need a knife-ear to throw onto the pyre first, eh?"

Reiss gritted her teeth. She's been suspecting the reasoning as such for some time, but it made little sense. From the way everyone acted it seemed as if the King himself picked her out of a lineup and why would he actively choose someone to blame his own murder on? "I am uncertain," she chose.

"Good to see all that finery hasn't filled your head with air yet," Lunet knocked a gentle fist against Reiss' head. After taking another deep gulp of her sugar green drink, Lunet asked, "So, what's he like?"

"Who?"

"Bloody, blighted, void demons. _Who?_ Why that fat arse that runs the rug stitching shop down off the Drakon district, of course. Who do you think? The damn King. Our King. Maker's sake, you talked to the King."

Reiss patted her fingers together trying to find a diplomatic way to gossip about her boss. It was one thing with the Captain, and generally all led by Lunet but this felt like a quagmire. "He's...not what I anticipated."

"What? Got two sex dungeons and a tower stuffed with porcelain dolls? Those things are creepy."

"No," Reiss groaned.

"You ain't never had to fight one when it's possessed by a demon. 'Come here, I want to play with you forever,'" Lunet's voice ratcheted up high as she waved her frozen hands back and forth. "I smash every damn glass eyed face I see on principle alone now."

"The King he, he asked me to call him by his name," Reiss confessed.

"What in the world for?"

Reiss shrugged. It felt like a trap, she knew around others it still would be, but coming from him it seemed genuine. That was it, the man was genuine and the idea confused her the more she dwelled upon it. "I don't know. I put a stop to it."

"Yeah, no kidding, unless you want your ears turned into a coin purse."

She knew he friend was kidding around but Reiss touched her earlobe. The fingers slid against the scab on her tips, the tissue enflamed as it healed.

Lunet finished off her green drink, which in the interim turned yellow, and asked, "How long are you working for this common King that likes elves to address him informally?"

"Doubtful it'll last past a month or two," Reiss admitted which got a scoff and nod from her friend. It was amazing if an elf had a job last a year. Security was for shems. "But," Reiss scooted closer and dropped her voice to a whisper, "I'm getting paid twenty five Sovereigns..." she waited, watching Lunet's unimpressed eyes before dropping, "a week."

"Andraste's hemorrhoids!" Lunet screeched, all but tumbling out of her chair. "That's bloody a hundred a month? You could walk away from this with two hundred Sovereigns?!" Reiss could only nod her head, her teeth biting down on her tongue as she weighed the situation. "And all you've got to do is keep the King safe. Which, from what I've heard of him seems like it might be worth that much. Actually, shouldn't you be off doing that now?"

"He's with his family, dismissed me to gather my things and then I'm to return before nightfall. I doubt you'll be seeing or hearing much from me," Reiss said. She suspected aside from a few servants this would probably be her last conversation with an elf until this was over. The fact rattled her brain which was funny as she'd gone years in the service of nothing but humans.

"Ah, right," Lunet reached into her doublet to lift a few envelopes from her hidden pocket. At least these weren't jammed into her cleavage, which was where she tended to prefer to stash things away. "These are from your kin, came to the station when no one was around." She tossed them over to Reiss who spotted the marks of Kirkwall and Jader respectively. "Feared someone in there thought they'd try and snatch one away to read."

"They always assumed I was receiving illicit mail from across the sea," Reiss repeated as if Lunet wasn't well aware. While her friend didn't receive much, Reiss' weekly letters from her siblings kept the station chattering with gossip. It seemed surprising that not only would a knife-ear be literate but that they'd use those reading and writing skills. Someone floated a rumor that Reiss was composing dirty tales and was selling them to the gentry in Orlais to make coin on the side. As if she wouldn't blush from her nose to the tips of her ears writing down a kiss, much less...

"There's some money to be made in that, but you've got to get in good with a printing press," Lunet said sagely before catching Reiss' shocked eye. "What? I didn't do it. I was with this gorgeous redhead who pretended she was damn near anything in thedas for years. Half of the men in Orlais kept her in jewelry in furs."

"Men? But she was with you?"

Lunet shrugged, "We're all players of the game on the great stage of life. More boring in bed than you'd expect too for all the fantasy playing."

Shaking her head, Reiss spun around searching to see if the barkeep was going to give an elf the time of day. Lunet caught her and raised an eyebrow. "If I'm going to have to hear about your sex life, I need to be at least buzzed."

"Afraid your cheeks'll burst into flames?" Lunet laughed, banging her palm against the table. It drew the attention of a few humans shuffling down the street but she ignored it. Reiss trailed them a moment, marking their general appearance and height, before sighing at her friend. "Don't worry your serious little head, I'll be keeping it all to myself."

"Maker's breath," Reiss reached over to run a hand against Lunet's forehead getting a slow glare from those doe eyes. "Are you ill? I can't feel a fever but..."

"Ha, ha, ha, oh you're so delightfully on point today, Madam Rattus," she sighed while rolling her eyes before sliding back in her chair. A pair of fairly well-to-do ladies strolled by, parasols tipped over their shoulders in deference to the spring's sun. Reiss caught the eye of one with a sneer across her face as she all but spat in the direction of them.

Over the din of Denerim, both elves could hear her, "They'll let just about anyone wander the streets nowadays." Her friend responded, no doubt in agreement, but kept it quieter. She seemed terrified that the two elven women sitting at the table were about to turn feral and disembowel her. Please, it wasn't even First Day. One has to save their savage sacrifices for solstices otherwise what's the point?

Lunet ignored them as she rotated her book around on the table. "I'll have you know my _little_ romance has been well _stitched_ together," she winked at that weird metaphor and Reiss scrunched up her face. That was code, but she had no idea what it meant. She expected Lunet to elaborate but for once her lips seemed to be sealed. "What about you?"

"Andraste's flaming sword, we saw each other three days ago. You really think I'd fall madly in love in 72 hours?"

"Isn't that how all the great stories go, girl meets boy, barely exchanges a word and they're both struck in the heart by the Maker's lovecurse." A dangerous smile lifted up Lunet's lips, "Ah, but you have access to an entire new level of potential conquests now. Such as...?"

"I have no interest in the King!" Reiss spat out quickly. She thought that would shut her friend up, and at first Lunet blinked in shock. Then that sly dragon look twisted her friend's face.

"I wasn't going to say anything about his Majesty, but now that you have..."

"Oh for the love of..." Reiss folded her face into her hands and wished she could tunnel down into the deeproads. "You did that on purpose."

"On the contrary, I was going to mention a few of the elves that work in the wings of the palace. You went and introduced our great and glorious lord into this discussion." Lunet situated herself in her chair, drawing her face closer to Reiss who refused to break from her fingers. "So...how do you find dear King Alistair?"

"As my boss," Reiss interrupted, "and King, and human, and I am not going into this with you!"

Her friend steepled her fingers like a megalomaniac about to release a pack of poison spitting wyverns upon her enemies. Reiss steeled herself for the worst when Lunet cracked a laugh and slapped her in the arm, "I'm just tugging on your leg. For the Maker's sake, he's a blighted King."

"Right," Reiss smiled uncertainly, bobbing her head to try and follow along with her friend's change in demeanor. "And word is he only has an interest in mages."

"Yeah, I think I heard that before. No woodland fever for you to have to shut down at least," the beautiful elf nodded sagely to the plain one. While there were always assholes in the world, Reiss managed to skip out on some of the terrible tales other elves would tell. Judging by Lunet's piercing gaze at any shem, Reiss suspected she had her fair share of horror stories.

Smiling at her, Lunet leaned back in her chair, "And it ain't like you've seen his shoulders or anything."

"Um..." Reiss' mouth answered before her brain ordered her to shut it.

Lunet slammed forward, "What um? Nugcakes, do not tell me--"

"So, what's that book you were reading?" Reiss interrupted her. "Good? I've been trying to find one to recommend to my sister, we always try to read the same one at the same time to have something to share across the miles." It took a moment, but slowly Lunet's eyes shifted down to the book Reiss kept jabbing a finger at.

"Aye, it's all right," she scooted it over to Reiss to inspect. "It's one o' them romatical historicals. Set during one of the early Inquisitions because blighted everyone's writing about the Inquisition now. I miss the old pirate serials."

"What's it about?" she'd only intended to distract Lunet, but her curiosity was caught. Those who served in the Inquisition often found themselves wondering about the ones of old and ran into a lot of chantry folk who didn't want to speak of it.

"Well, see, it's about this General of the Inquisition army. He's the hero, and while he's out hunting dangerous apostates...though I guess they weren't called that then. Anyway, he meets a girl, falls for her and..."

"She's an apostate."

"Bingo," Lunet thumbed her nose, leaving a grease print behind. "This is before he becomes a big General, told in flashback, so they meet up later to hunt demons together and rekindle that juicy romance. But there's some enemy attack, girl sacrifices herself for boy. He's heartbroken, blah blah blah, mercifully short funeral scene with no songs."

"And the book ends?" Reiss asked flipping the cover over in her hands. The book felt thick enough to smash a few rats with.

"You'd think so, but this is the third part where it turns out the girl was also involved with some long lost Duke out of the Free Marches back when it was under Imperium control. Anyway, turns out she's only mostly dead and this Duke knows where they have to go to rescue her. He makes the General team up with him to find her. Some pirates, some swordplay, I'm at the part where they fistfight because they always have to fight."

"How is it?" Reiss asked, passing the book back to her friend.

"It's trash, but entertaining trash. By the same guy who did that Swords & Shields serial, though he toned down the really exotic metaphors. Which I miss, actually."

Reiss shook her head slowly, "Sounds interesting in that mind numbing way, but Atisha'd never go for it. She's of the opinion that unless it cleanses the mind or heals the soul it's a waste of one's Maker given time."

"Sweet shitting Andraste, your sister sounds exhausting," Lunet sighed. She slipped her trashy book into her bag and patted it closer to the chair.

"Tell me about it," Reiss nodded. Over the years Atisha grew close to both Andraste and the chantry, and in a bid to be accepted she became the most holy of holies without anyone asking it of her. Still, she was her sister even if Reiss had to scrub any of her swearwords from her letters before sending them.

As Lunet swirled around her empty glass hoping to make more appear, Reiss jabbed a finger at her, "Why would you read a romance story with a man and a woman?"

"It ain't like there a lot of other options out on the market. I make due by mentally turning General Grey into a leggy redhead with freckles splattered across her chest."

Reiss laughed at her friend's pragmatism. She was going to miss this. Being with Lunet or visiting the alienage was her only chance to decompress and take a proper elven breath. Most of her life she held it in for fear of angering a human. And now she'd be holding it while surrounded by the highest people in the land.

"Maker's breath, two months or more until we can do this," Reiss groaned.

"So, what's two months? Don't go acting like you're gonna die or anything. Shit, if you don't want it, I'll take it. I could really use that 200 Sovereigns. Just got to find a blonde wig and I doubt that King will even notice..."

"Fine," Reiss stuttered, holding her hand up to her friend, "you're right. I shouldn't complain."

"Damn straight, suck it up, Rat. This ain't no Orlesian spa day. We're here to work!" For never serving in the Inquisition, Lunet did a spot on shout from the old sergeants that patrolled up and down the ranks. "Save the world, help old ladies out of trees, guide lost mabari across streets, and all that other stuff you soldiers get up to in retirement."

"At least keep a single King from getting stuck in a tree," Reiss sighed. She suspected she should return back soon. The King gave her the day, but it seemed unwise to risk overstaying her leave for a minute.

"Which with our illustrious King Alistair seems a possibility so..." Lunet reached over and patted Reiss on the hand, "good luck with that."

"Thanks ever so much for your concern," Reiss sighed. "I should probably be returning."

"It's a long walk to the palace district. Crossing over all that gold running the streets has to be hell on your knees," Lunet exasperated. "Oh, and Maker's sake, take your damn cat when you go. It's been mewling and crying at all hours since you left."

"Sylaise?" Reiss spun around to follow Lunet's finger and sure enough there was the grey tabby marching towards them from across the road. Her stomach swung freely back and forth as she paid no heed to the others walking it. Reiss didn't even have to reach down to pick up the animal as she hopped up onto her traveling trunk and sat down upon it. With her tail curling along the edge, Sylaise beamed those yellow eyes upon the two elves and dared either to order her off.

"Look at that, you've got a friend to go with you," Lunet chuckled at the bold feline. "Should make the long days and nights fly by." Staggering up to her feet, Reiss followed suit. Her friend held out her hand and clasped Reiss' in a weird handshake. "Seriously, good luck up there. All us little people down here are counting on you to not fuck it up."

And if she did, if she lost the King on her watch, what would it mean for all the elves in Denerim. In Ferelden? Perhaps thedas itself? The pressure of her people crushed down her shoulders in exchange for a few hundred Sovereigns. Maker's breath, she was doomed.

"Thanks, Lune. Not like I wasn't under enough stress already."

"Happy to help," she smiled wide and without saying another word, she pressed the first book of the series into Reiss' hand. "Try to stay true to us up there, Rat."

Running her fingers over the spine, Reiss slipped the book into her trunk, much to Sylaise's consternation. Picking the trunk up, cat and all, she smiled at Lunet, "You know I will, Rabbit."

## CHAPTER TWELVE

#### Garden Party

When a pop reverberated through the gardens Alistair cried out, "Okay, that's it. Daddy's done." Spud's impenetrable lip stuck further and further out, like a drawbridge to release the horde, but he was unmoved by her plight. He also couldn't move due to his knee seizing up. Groaning, Alistair tipped over to his side which invited a toddler to hop onto his back like a crazed deepstalker. She began to coat him in the grass she'd yanked out in tufts because of reasons that made sense in her mind.

"Spud," Alistair warned, trying to get her to stop while he gritted his teeth and stretched out his knee. A thousand curses erupted behind his eyes but he bit them all down while the renegade joint gave in to his commands. He couldn't remember exactly what caused this part of his body to fall apart, but he suspected there was something stupid he did in his twenties that was finally enacting its revenge. Aging was best left to the young.

Unaware of her father's struggles, Spud's pudgy hands beat erratically up and down his arm trying to get him to become the playful druffalo again. "I'm out, Tater Tot," he said, trying to rise to his feet. But the tyrant in short pants wasn't hearing any of that.

"No!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. A few of the nobles who just had to visit the gardens while the royals did perked up. Alistair had wanted this to be simple, a family thing, so of course Eamon used the moment to their political advantage. Nearly everyone who was certain either the Queen was about to keel over dead, was already dead for five years or more, believed the children -- as a ruse by the palace -- were secretly puppets, or were just general jerks stood around watching. He'd shrugged most of it off, wanting to for once ignore that damn crown shrinking him down year after year, but nothing in his life could ever be simple.

"Spudkins," Alistair warned. "What do we say?"

"No, I don't wanna!" she fumed, nearing stage five on the toddler breakdown scale. After this it was pounding her fists on the ground, crying giant crocodile tears, and refusing to do anything anyone asked of her. Which would go over swimmingly with so much of the Bannorn sticking their judgmental noses into it. He anticipated a swarm of "Well I nevers" from old dowagers who hadn't seen a filthy nappy since they named the damn Age.

Alistair reached over to swoop up his daughter into a hug, which she deftly dodged, the tears beginning, when a calmer voice spoke out, "Little Lady." While her father meant nothing, her mum's softer but more direct condemnation stifled those waterworks in an instant. "We behave when in public."

"Fine," Spud groaned, before flailing out her skirt and plopping onto the ground.

Cordell slipped over to the grumbling princess and hovered above her. "Shall I play with you instead?"

She jabbed her finger into a small hole in the dirt, sifting it back and forth with the full anger at her reach before turning to the man and shrugging, "Okay."

Clearly out of his element, Cordell wasn't prepared for the princess to lob a clump of dirt at him. It splattered against his not so pristine white robes before flopping onto the ground. Spud gave him the same look the advisors often did to Alistair after explaining something blisteringly simple. "You catch it." Then the three year old mimicked catching her dirt clod to the man, certain that he didn't understand the mechanics.

"Yes, of course," he gasped. "Do you not have a ball we could use or...?"

"She's always puncturing the bladders, they never last," Alistair explained.

Those startled blue eyes met his a moment, Cordell gasping with uncertainty in how to address the man. "Ah, yes, I understand."

Spud reached over and tugged on the hem of his robes, "Chase me!" Before he had time to respond, the girl ran off down the rocky path, her shoes long since abandoned. Nodding to his King, Cordell ran stiff legged after her. He was so far out of his element it was almost adorable. Spud was going to run rings around him.

Chuckling under his breath at the man of the cloth saddled with toddler duty, Alistair collapsed onto the warm bench beside the Queen. She kept a shall draped over her head to try and combat the sun, and also keep her pale face shadowed from the other onlookers searching for any chink in the royal armor. Still, she looked better every day, the healers assuring him the danger had passed. Thank the Maker for small miracles.

"How's he doing?" Alistair asked, jerking his chin at the blanketed prince snuggled in his mother's arms.

"Full and exhausted. He's been sleeping most of the day away," Beatrice commented, rocking the boy back and forth.

"Oh boy, growth spurt incoming," Alistair groaned. "I turn around and the kid'll gain another ten pounds and be walking."

She smiled politely at his complaint and then lifted the baby towards him. Without needing any suggestion, Alistair scooped him up. For a moment, her fingers trailed over Cailan's slumbering mouth, those tiny lips slightly parted. "It goes quickly, but we should have some time to enjoy the quiet moments."

Bea was right, the baby was down and out, barely twisting in his sleep as the father he tolerated shifted him in his arms to a comfortable position. "Sure, quiet moments right before he's dipping into levels of rage a berserker can't reach," Alistair tipped his head in the direction of their daughter, who was currently lecturing Cordell on something. Knowing Spud there was a good chance what she was saying only made sense in her head. Often times Alistair would nod along in utter confusion, and if she got really worked up about it, swoop in to tickle her.

"She is very certain in her opinion," Beatrice said, "That will serve her well on the throne."

He tried to not groan. That was the point of their little family farce after all, to make kids however they could to fill that seat when he was gone. Before, when an heir was just a theory or a lump under the Queen's dress Alistair didn't care. But the idea of putting all that stress and fear on his daughter's shoulders rubbed Alistair raw. He hated the idea of her suffering, in particular because of him.

"What about you?" Alistair whispered to the bundle in his arms instead. "Will you be set in your opinion?"

"Ah..." Beatrice began, about to whisk the baby away but Cailan didn't wake despite the interruption. His tiny fist thudded a few times against the course peasants before falling back to the blankets. Beatrice smiled warmly at her baby, enjoying every moment she could before he was a two year old rampaging through the gardens. It was stressful on her keeping up with the voracious appetite of a newborn, but she insisted that Marn take some time off. If it weren't for the gathered gentry, the bear of a bodyguard standing frozen beside the gate, and a continual threat of assassins on the horizon this was almost a nice day.

Folding her hands across her lap, Bea smiled, "This was a lovely idea."

"I wouldn't go that far," Alistair said. "I could kill Eamon for..."

"Now," Bea interrupted. Funny, she never did that before. Not that she didn't often object to whatever stupid thing Alistair said, she simply didn't care or didn't think it her place to raise her thoughts. "It is all well. The day is lovely and warm, the spring flowers are in bloom. In particular those sunny daffodils, and there is no reason the rest of the gentry cannot enjoy the garden with us."

Alistair dropped his voice to a whisper, "How long were you practicing that speech once you saw the lawn was overrun with these leeches?"

She snorted once and didn't respond, but for a flicker of a second Bea's eyes darted over to him and she sneered. Despite being married for, Maker's sake, was it really twelve years? He knew next to nothing about his lawfully wedded wife. She had some fascination with horses, enjoyed water colors and would do things to flowers. That was the extent of what Alistair picked up in over a decade. In all that time he'd never seen her bare her teeth at anything, the youngest daughter to a noble house raised to be above all things polite. Which was what often drove him up the wall about her. He wanted someone who'd call him on his shit to his face, not lay down and play the part of welcome mat. A few years of people sucking up to the King's royal hemline solidified that in his mind.

But this, her family, her children, seemed to be the first thing that Queen Beatrice would snarl and rip someone's throat out for. It didn't make him fall head over heels in love with her, but it was nice to see a human lurked below those nice and friendly gowns.

Without any warning, Bea pronounced in her soft and motherly voice, "It has been sometime since you took anyone to your bed." The shock of it nearly caused Alistair to drop the baby out of his arms, his eyes widening in terror as he whipped his head around.

"I, uh, what? Who did the...no, I um...Orzamaar?" His brain flared out, tossing up the first word it could manage.

For her part, the Queen only waited until the storm passed before she glanced over to him. "The fact is not a well guarded secret."

"Ah, well, that's just..." Alistair stared down at his baby boy, wishing the kid would wake up screaming to save him. Damn that growth spurt.

Bea's perfumed hand landed upon his shoulder, "It has been many years since her death."

"I know," Alistair screwed up his eyes feeling a pinch in the back of his head. Lanny's death broke something in him. No, not exactly that. The blame of her death landed squat on his head and never budged. Not until... Even then, when he should be free of it, it clung there to him like an engorged tick. She wouldn't have gone into the deeproads if not for him. She wouldn't have met up with Hawke who drug her off to the Inquisition. And, if she didn't hate him, maybe he could have talked her into returning to Ferelden and she never would have sacrificed herself at Adamant.

He'd ignored the cauldron of guilt and tried to compartmentalize it by focusing on Spud. There wasn't time for someone else in his life when a baby was around screaming at all times and on occasion giggling. Then she started walking and it was as if the fade itself ripped open in the palace. People would shriek and scream down floors in pursuit of a princess that seemed to hit the ground running. Now, well, there was another baby he could throw himself into. No reason to go dipping into those pesky emotions.

Alistair glanced over at Bea and caught concern in her eyes. How did they put it, heavy is the head who wears the crown and empty is the heart upon the throne? Kept apart from all and above them, that was the deal that came with being King. Not that Alistair was ever a part of much of anything. Born a motherless bastard child running around in a palace, with no one to care if he skinned a knee or chipped a tooth. Then a templar that hated the vows and everything that came with it. His only place was with the Wardens which lasted all of six months before... Alistair shook off the memories of Ostagaar. There used to be a bright light mixed in with all the darkness but he made certain to snuff even that out.

"Your thoughts have run away with you," Bea spoke softly.

"Ha, that's when I'm at my scariest, right? Who knows what dumb thing Alistair's about to do. Everyone lock down the crystal goblets just in case!"

His wife, a woman he exchanged at most a page and a half of dialogue with prior to Spud's arrival, shifted in her seat. "I was thinking upon our wedding."

Maker's sake, that was a nightmare and a half. They needed a Queen. Fine. Alistair didn't care at that point and would have wed a damn goat if he was ordered to. Though it might have been worth it to watch the horrified look upon the Orlesians as they had to bow to a goat in a dress. He'd only met the lady in question once before the big day, and when pressed confused her for one of her handmaidens. Truly, it was a romance out of legend. While he got through the day itself by drinking heavily and waiting for people to point him in the right direction and tell him what to say, it was the night when Alistair's meager kingly countenance collapsed under him.

It was nothing but polite smiles, giggles behind hands, and exaggerated eyebrows as the bride and groom were shoved off into a solitary room while the party itself continued on. While Bea stepped inside and sat primly upon the bed, no doubt wanting to get it over quickly, Alistair felt his stomach knotting itself into a pretty bow. Panicking, he yanked open the door to the wardrobe and dashed inside of it.

The probably terrified bride waited a moment before asking if he was all right while Alistair breathed in the aroma of stale furs coated in horse and dust. He couldn't do this. He wasn't the kind of person to do that with someone he barely knew. Add in that an entire damn country was waiting with bated breath to see if their screw up of a King could manage to seal the deal and any chance of him performing shriveled up. While hiding in the wardrobe, Alistair confessed the truth to the poor woman. She took it well, and as strange as it seems, while they were supposed to be consummating this royal marriage the two struck an arrangement to deal with their sexless marriage.

He confessed about being a Warden and the doubtful chances of there being any babies from his actions. Told her about his current interest at the time, even confessed about Lanny while wadding some random guest's scarf absently around his neck. Beatrice listened politely, on occasion adding her own thoughts on the matter of how to make their marriage livable. In the end Alistair confessed all of his short romantic life to this wifely stranger save one encounter. The only time he managed to lick a hated lamppost in winter was by screwing up his eyes and pretending it was happening to another man with another woman, any other woman than her. Blessedly, _she_ didn't speak a word after about it, leaving Alistair to try and bash away the memories. Lanny only brought it up once during their forced march across Ferelden to reach Denerim.

Her eyes glanced from Alistair over to Morrigan once before asking him, "Do you regret it?"

He told her no and nothing more. She was angry at him still, would probably be forever after the Landsmeet. At the time, he felt off about it, uncertain and unclean, but it kept her alive and that was all that mattered.

A hand ran across Alistair's shoulder, drawing him out of his navel. He shook his head and focused upon Beatrice who seemed to have more to tell him. "When the idea of marrying you was broached to me, I inquired what the man to be my husband was like. The women said that King Alistair is uncouth, impetuous, untrained, inelegant, and boorish beyond measure."

Trying to not let the facts sting, Alistair glared up at the sky and muttered, "They forgot hygiene is questionable at best."

"But..." Beatrice dragged it out, "they said that he has a good heart. Which," she gestured off to Cordell chasing after his daughter, a hint of laughter breaking through that chantry smile/frown, "is why I agreed to marry you."

"I, uh," Alistair struggled to shake away a blush burning on the back of his neck. "It was, I'd rather have reinforcements, you know."

"I understand," Beatrice smiled. "You've been more understanding than most would, and I would like you to have my assurance that I offer you the same."

He slid awkwardly in his seat, feeling an urge to run away, but with the baby prince in his arms that would probably start a panic. "Right, okay, thank you?" She thought he was refraining from rushing head first into another mistress because of her, as if that ever stopped him before.

Rousing from his slumber, Cailan cried out and in a deft swoop, Beatrice plucked him from Alistair's arms before he had time to blink. As she cuddled her baby to her chest, she glanced over at the unloveable King awkwardly banging his fingers together. A toddler sized giggle erupted from Spud as she splatted both feet into a puddle, then leapt up to do it twice more. Sighing, Alistair staggered up to his legs. While Cordell waved his blessing hands over the girl slowly transforming herself into a mud monster, the King scooped her up in his arms. Spud kicked her filthy legs back and forth in the air, at first trying to get down, then a full smile cracked her moon face and she rolled her whole body back and forth. Alistair had to grip tighter so she didn't plop out of his arms.

"What did we say about puddles?" Alistair began, but for his attempt at discipline he got a giggle and then a muddy foot that splattered right into his stomach. Groaning with fresh pain, he dropped Spud to the ground quickly, the girl rebounding in an instant as she chased over to her mother.

"That was a solid blow," Cordell whispered to the man with teeth gritted in a fake smile while the gentry watched.

Shaking it off, Alistair sighed, "At least it was to my gut this time."

Uncertain how to respond to a King talking about his jewels in public, the Brother nodded his head and then stepped over to the woman he loved. Spud stood on her muddy tippy toes while Bea let her touch the baby, after scrubbing her hand clean first. When Cordell rounded behind the Queen they looked the perfect picture of a happy family, daughter speaking nonsense to wide eyed baby while mother held onto father's hand. Too bad Alistair had to wedge himself into that mess.

Roaring from the back of his brain came an image he tried valiantly to forget of a different woman flocked by her children, her belly filled with another. His children. Theirs. A cruel trick by the Fade used to tempt him to remain behind. Abandoning that happy dream ripped another section of Alistair's soul away, just like it did with his sister and father. How many damn times was that cursed place going to take another pound of flesh from him? He adored his kids, loved them to bits and pieces even when a foot knocked the wind out of his sails, but sometimes he wished he could turn around and see the darker faces of those wisps of dreams. It wasn't Lanny that he loved, not like that anymore, but the potential squandered so many years ago.

"Daddy!" Spud squealed at the top of her lungs, shaking him from his dark thoughts.

Smiling at his daughter who was so excited she was clapping her hands and rustling her muddy skirt back and forth. "What is it, Tater tot?" Alistair asked, beckoned by her mirth.

She pointed at the baby giving up hope on getting to sleep in his mother's arms and shouted, "He winked at me!"

Alistair took a knee, digging grass stains across his pants, to scoop Spud into his arms while they both stared up at the baby blinking uncertainly at the world. "Did he now?" Alistair asked. He was waiting for that first smile, and then the laugh, followed by the first word, step, then run. They all were.

Spud reached her one filthy and one clean hand back around her father's neck to tug his face closer to her as she whispered as softly as possible, "You're the best Daddy in the world."

"I," he melted like butter on a skillet in those tiny arms, blubbering through a stew of tears while glancing up at Cordell trying politely to ignore the King's undoing. Beatrice smiled warmly, rocking her baby back and forth. Their baby.

"That's because you're the best spud in all of thedas!" Alistair rebounded with before tickling into Spud's sides. She squealed in laughter before folding inward and then running back to the daffodils.

Beatrice caught her and called out, "We don't pick the flowers." Spud could only manage a shrug but she refrained from grabbing at the stems, only skirting her fingertips above the yellow petals. She wasn't paying attention to where she was walking, all her child focus on the flowers dancing below her hands, and plowed straight into a pair of robes.

Both fathers staggered up, prepared to rescue the three year old certain to go into meltdown mode. But the robes turned and a woman's smile beamed down on Spud. "Hello there, princess. It seems you bumped into me." The words threw Spud off completely, her eyes blinking fast as she tried to stare up at the new woman. Nodding her head, the woman dropped down to a knee and looked the girl in the face. "My name's Linaya. I work with your Daddy."

Spud carefully turned back to eye up her father, confusion in those emerald orbs. He was surprised she didn't pop in her thumb, even if it was covered in mud.

"Did you know that I'm a mage?"

That got the girl's attention. "You make sparkles?" Spud gasped, her fingers wringing the air to mimic fireworks. You could cast an ancient spell forged from the birth of thedas itself and it wouldn't impress a three year old. But, light a fuse that sparkles or toss some glitter and she'll think you're the bravest, wisest hero to ever exist.

"Yes, I can," Linaya said.

"Do some!" Spud insisted.

"What do we say?" Alistair responded automatically.

Chastised, the girl drug her toes along the grass and mumbled, "Pwease."

The newest mage smiled and lifted her fingers in preparation of a spell. Alistair expected to taste that metallic twinge of the fade parting but instead she glanced over at him and paused. "Only if your father says it is allowed."

Spud whipped her judgmental head around and glared at Alistair with a threat that he better let her see sparkles or he'd never hear the end of it. He didn't much care and would rather his daughter grow used to magic instead of fearing it, but something in the way the mage's eyes hung upon him made Alistair grow uncomfortable. Shaking it off, he waved that it was okay and Spud spun back around, waiting ecstatic for a few sparkles of green and purple to drift from the mage's hands.

Folding up his arms, Alistair watched his daughter to make certain she wasn't going to grab the woman's arm and disrupt the spell. Behind him, he heard Beatrice comment, "I see we have a new arcane advisor at court."

"Only took the college a few years to settle down and kick someone out here," Alistair mumbled in response.

"Indeed." Something in that word drew his attention back to his wife. Bea was the picture of wholesome sweetness you expected to find slapped onto a jar of strawberry jam as she said, "It seems what we discussed will most likely resolve itself."

"What are you...?" Alistair began when he caught Spud reaching for the mage's fingers. "No!" Instinctively, Alistair blanketed the area in a dispel, wiping away the mage fire before it could sting his daughter. She frowned at the loss but was unharmed, the issue was in the blowback striking the mage.

Linaya staggered from the hit, crumbling to a knee. She must not have fought many templars. Maker knew Alistair was far out of practice and even then he wasn't much of one, but the woman folded inward, groaning from the wipe. Feeling terrible, Alistair reached out and caught her hand. "So sorry, I panicked and...fatherly instinct to keep my little death wish from murdering herself."

For her part, his little daredevil smiled wide, unaware of the trauma she caused. Every eye in the garden swung towards their King trying to console the mage he just accidentally attacked. Linaya struggled for a breath before gripping onto Alistair's hand. Holding tight, he helped her up, trying to repeat sorry a few more times.

After she adjusted herself, she beamed her eyes straight through to his soul and smiled. "Your Majesty, there is nothing for you to apologize for. It is my undoing, I should have anticipated the girl's interest and prepared accordingly. Please, forgive me." The woman curtsied deep, her eyes falling shut as she did.

"It's," he glanced back at Beatrice and felt a blush rising along his back from so many knowing smirks plastered upon people's faces. "Are you alright?"

"I fear I am a bit lightheaded," Linaya confessed.

"Yeah, the blast can be a bit much if you haven't trained. Food helps, or a cool place to sit. So I've been told," he grumbled to himself the last part.

The mage smiled brightly at him and smoothly rolled her arm with his until she held onto the top of his hand. "Perhaps you could guide me to somewhere inside that I may recover?"

"Uh..." Alistair glanced around hoping someone would appear that he could pawn this off onto, but by a miracle of Andraste herself, everyone was either vitally busy staring at their hands, speaking to themselves, or prodding at the ground. He was on his own. "Of course, right this way Lady...?"

She moved in step with him, putting some of her weight against his arm as they staggered towards a door. "You may call me, Linaya, your Majesty. Lady seems so formal."

"Unless your name was Lady, then it'd be Lady Lady, and that's all I'd ever call myself," Alistair babbled while leading the arcane advisor to the door.

Behind him he swore he overheard Bea, his wife and queen, leaning towards that kitchen boy Philipe and whispering, "I am in for three weeks, two days."

## CHAPTER THIRTEEN

#### Want To Have A Go?

After depositing Sylaise in the stables and making certain she was kept far away from the kennels, Reiss retired to her room to unpack. It would probably seem pathetic how few belongings she owned in her life, but it wasn't as if she ever had a permanent home to keep them in. Most of the clothing was simple, little more than tunics and breeches left over from the Inquisition. Someone thought they were too tattered and threadbare to be used and tossed them onto the scrap pile, but Reiss scooped them up in an instant. She'd been repairing them over the years, hemming and folding too long sleeves and pants to fit her.

A handful of her old farm clothes remained. The look on the face of that Inquisition soldier in camp when she first strolled in and pledged herself wafted into her mind. She'd been walking for days, mostly at night to avoid anyone's attention and with her sight focused upon the recently exhumed camp in the distance. It sat up on the edge of where someone's fancy estate gave way to nature's wrath ages ago. Reiss had nowhere else to go, almost no coin to her name, and the clothes on her back. Her only hope was to take up with the people who were fighting these bastards rampaging the land. And, of course, when she walked uncertain into the camp, it was full of nothing but humans. They could have turned her away. After answering truthfully that she had no combat experience or training, she expected them to.

Upon reaching Skyhold with the rest of the churned out recruits from the Free Marches, they asked Reiss a single question, "Why did she want to fight?" She knew the right answers "To stop this madness" "Revenge for our Divine" "Fix the hole in the sky." That was what everyone else kept cheering on about during the trip up the mountains, how they'd earn glory in their name defeating whatever ripped apart the sky. Closing her eyes, Reiss answered truthfully, "To save my brother and sister."

Shaking off the memory, Reiss unearthed the letters Lunet gave her out of her pocket. Lorace's, her brother, stank of fish, the envelope thin enough to be translucent, and was written in such a cryptic hand it was a wonder any of his reached her. Atisha's were heavy with the weight of an institution that never gave their people any hope.

_Maker's sake!_

Lorace's would be easy enough to respond to, "Hello brother, yes that is a mighty fine dagger you've purchased no doubt. Fish gutting sounds like a fine job, do try to keep it for more than a month. I'm still alive and have enclosed this amount to keep you alive as well. No, I don't think forming your own dock gang is a wise idea." It was answering Atisha's giddy news that drew a pallor to Reiss' cheeks, an ill defined terror creeping along her limbs at the very idea.

Placing the letters upon the desk for later, Reiss returned to her chest tossed onto the bed. There were a few personal objects, a comb her old friend carved out of a giant's tibia, a sewing kit inside a monogrammed bag that was her mothers, and... She was careful to wrap her fingers around the mechanical box bundled in her pitiful sampling of towels and shirts. Bigger than her hand, it was crafted out of a deep brown wood that lit up red when started.

All her Inquisition friends pooled their coppers together to get her a birthday present and out of all the wonders of Orlais they chose this box. She had no idea what it was upon first opening the bag, just excited to be given anything. Having a bed and meals on the regular were a birthday every day to Reiss. That she had a place she not only belonged but felt welcome...

Putting that bittersweet memory back on the shelf, Reiss placed the box on her vanity. Her fingers slid along the edge in the front and carefully she undid the clasp to open it up properly. A pool of light rose in the middle of the box, the red swirls curled inside what looked like a basin while soft cracks and pops echoed out of the sides. Reiss yanked out the first of the cylinders from the shelf below and with the dexterity of a watch maker, placed it into the notches across the basin. Giving it a gentle spin with her fingers, the hisses and crackles came to life and music floated out of her special box.

Tinnier than real life, the magic could only manage a few instruments, giving life to the songs from each of the cylinders inserted into it. For this one a drum, lute, and fife played a toe stomping beat. Reiss watched the lights shifting in color from blue to red rolling out of the cylinder to match the rhythm before she closed her eyes. The thump of the beat even from something so tiny rolled up through her legs. Instinctively, Reiss widened her stance. Her arms lifted up, fists folding into knuckles as she shielded her thumbs.

"Ah," Reiss cried out, punching at thin air while she moved through the first of a dozen trained motions. No one knew what to do with the scrawny elf with hands covered in calluses from the farm. They suggested working in the kitchens or the stables, but Reiss wanted to fight. Wanted to learn, properly instead of scrabbling to survive. If the Inquisitor could do it, then...

Rain pounding in waves from the sky so thick it was impossible to see beyond your nose. The ground was treacherous, churned up and muddy, already having claimed three ankles in the time since it began. Recruits kept ducking out, taking the Lieutenant's offer to bow out if the weather got too much for them. But not Reiss. Right arm, left. Shield up. Elbow in. Frozen from the southern cold, she ignored the pain in her fingers until she no longer felt them at all. One by one, each combatant vanished, cursing at the rain and skipping into the warm tavern to dry off.

After a time, no recruits were left; only Reiss and the Lieutenant stood in the rain. She wore a helmet, which siphoned the torrent off her head like gutters while Reiss sputtered through the rain, her head bare because she couldn't afford a hat. "There's no one left to spar with, Recruit," Addley spoke up, drawing Reiss from her funk.

"Aye, Ma'am," Reiss nodded, her arms lowering. As the haze passed the pain returned, her fingers and toes screaming against the cold.

"Get dried off," Addley ordered, pointing her in the direction of the tavern where the rest waited. As Reiss limped past her to find the others pressed against the window watching, Addley asked, "Incidentally, why didn't you give up?"

Reiss shrugged, "Never have before."

"So that's what's making all the noise."

Reiss' eyes snapped open, the memory of Skyhold bursting away to reveal the King standing in their shared doorway. He leaned against the frame, his arms crossed while pointing towards her music box. "Your Majesty," Reiss stuttered. She tried to reach over to shut up her box, but her feet were off balance and she banged a shin into the bed.

"I heard some music and for a brief moment feared we had bards nesting in the walls," the King laughed at himself before waving a hand. "Don't stop it on my account. Music's preferable to the wailing I hear all day."

"You met with the gentry?" Reiss asked, sliding away from her gift but keeping a wary eye on it.

He laughed hard at that, those shoulders shaking below the tight tunic. Not helping your case there, Reiss. Let it be. "Oh, Maker, you're on to me. And you..." he eyed up the music and began to tap a hand along his thigh with the beat, "You were trained by a templar." The smirk wavered a moment, something almost hurtful bobbing below his eyes.

"I..." Reiss struggled to not upset him, "I was trained by Ser Addley, who I believe was in the Kirkwall circle. How did you know that?"

The hurt vanished in an instant, his face shining brighter than the sun. "That song, we all learned to that damn song. Though we didn't have fancy magical boxes in the abbey I was trained in. They'd make all of us stand in a circle, clap our hands, and sing the cursed thing while people sparred off. It'd be stuck in my head for weeks after."

"I had no idea," Reiss started, turning to her box. She'd thought the melody exciting and rather pretty. "There are words?"

"Yeah, it's an Andrastian war chant that's all about beating the Imperium hurrah hurrah. Not a big surprise that templars would bash each other to it. Let me think, I know that damn chorus. It's on the tip of my tongue..."

"Forgive me for disturbing you," Reiss felt a blush starting up her backside and crawling for her cheeks.

The King had a finger in the air, his face tipped back as he traced forgotten lyrics before catching onto her words. "Disturbing? No, I was..." he gestured back to his room and whatever waited for him back inside, "doing nothing interesting whatsoever." Reiss waited a moment, uncertain if she should speak while the King shuffled back and forth on his feet. Awkwardness rampaged through the room, and in a breath he spat out, "There are a few old golem dolls in my possession I was cataloging for...uh, reasons."

"Oh," Reiss chuckled, "yes, I know some of those. My brother, he was always on about them. Got himself a couple second hand from the Caridin line."

"Right," he pointed at her, his voice high as if needing to gasp the words out quickly, "Ol' Cary himself. That was...a very long couple of weeks in the deeproads." Smooshing his hair up, he glanced around at Reiss' room and changed the topic again, "Can you even get a proper swing going without chopping the walls to bits in here?"

"I was...my sparring attempts are," she felt herself on edge around him aware that he was the one man in thedas that could ruin her without trying, but something in his easy manner drew her in. "Without a partner I wasn't really sparring, only working off some, uh..."

Those brown eyes watched her a moment, his smile never wavering, when he figured it out. Briefly, the King ran a finger down his own bruised knuckles and he sighed. "Ah, stuff to...yeah, I know that one. So," he banged his hands together before asking, "want to have a go?"

"Ser?" her eyebrows shot up in surprise as Reiss' head whipped to him.

A blush burned up his cheeks and he absently rocked back and forth on his feet, "I mean you and I, you know," he absently punched at the air seeming to be unable to voice any words while shrugging haphazardly.

Reiss carefully surveyed the man. He wasn't doughy like most nobles she ran into, and under that bonhomie grin stretched a taut band that seemed ready to snap if given proper cause. But... "While I appreciate the offer, I'm not certain if it's wise," Reiss responded.

"I'd rather my bodyguard be on point, and well practiced. Right," he jerked his head out to his room and Reiss accepted that there was no way she was getting out of this. Picking up her music box she trudged out after the King. He led her past the really breakable furniture into a smaller back room filled with three training dummies, swords lining the wall, and one child's bow coated in dust. After placing down her box and restarting the cylinder, Reiss tried to steady her nerves. She was going to spar with the King of Ferelden. She hadn't even taken on Lieutenant Addley, never mind the Commander, and certainly not the Inquisitor.

After scooting away some of his mess, the King stood in the center of the room. He was dressed as simply as any stablehand. The drawstring of his tunic was lopsided until nearly yanked free, the gap revealing a long line of blonde hair poking out of the neckline. "Well," he jerked his head to her and raised his fists. At least they were in the right position. Without any recourse left to her, Reiss stumbled into the sparring ring and followed suit. She tried to blanket herself for what could only prove her undoing when the King whispered, "Don't worry, I won't hold it against you when you lay me out on the floor."

With that the dread broke and Reiss saw only a man. He had reach on her, but he moved slowly, cautious and uncertain. Always waiting for someone else to make the decision. The music folded into her muscles and Reiss struck first, her fist reaching for his chest. Easily deflecting it, the King slid backwards on his feet. The smile wavered a moment as he worked quickly to reposition himself, but it dawned brighter at Reiss' renewed attacks.

"Maker's breath, you sure a templar trained you?" he huffed, blocking her attacks but barely in time.

"Yes, though I was known for often going off script," Reiss admitted.

"You'd have scrubbed ten times the pots I had to. And I once broke a Knight's nose on accident," Alistair chuckled, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Reiss paused in her swings and in a breathy voice whispered, "I've done my fair share of pot scrubbing in my time." Ignoring the burn at the base of her skull, she drove her fists quick at the man, a right uppercut he barely blocked followed by the left into his chest. Her knuckles scrapped across the solid muscle below, causing him to slide back but the man's body seemed to be armored as it rebounded from the swing. Or she'd been only sparring with the doughy guardsmen and forgot what a real warrior was like.

"Is that what sent you to the Inquisition?" Alistair asked, "Getting away from pot scrubbing, I mean."

"I..." his question threw her off, and Reiss missed one of his fists driving towards her stomach. She took some of the force and rolled with the rest of it. For a moment the King paused, his fists hanging in the air and she thought she spotted concern in those doe eyes. Shaking off the pain, Reiss rebounded to attack. "The farm I was assigned to was attacked by red templars. Most of the other hands panicked, they'd never faced an attack like that. I..." she shook off the full truth of it, knowing a King wouldn't care, "we survived, but the farm took damage. So, those of us deemed not useful were kicked off the land."

She'd stood there, coated in the bastard's glowing red blood, protecting the farm while the other shems ran around like headless chickens. It was brutal, but Reiss had known worse in her life, had stood upon the edge of the sword with more at stake than her life and the status of a barn. Despite her having little training, the templars were weak, didn't expect any resistance, and she cut them down. How was the elf who saved the day rewarded? The same as all the rest, ordered off the land with the clothes on her back. She marched for a day while the wound in her arm festered before stumbling upon water to wash it.

Reiss woke from the memory to find her fists plowing into the King's forearms with rapid succession. Pain radiated up her knuckles and she paused, slowly sliding back to whisper, "A bed in the Inquisition was preferable to nowhere else."

Blinking by the candlelight, the King lowered his hands leaving himself vulnerable. "I'm sorry," he stuttered.

Shrugging, Reiss tried to blanket away the old wound. It wasn't her place to put it upon him, nor anyone else. "I learned new skills, served, it wasn't the worst to suffer," she forced on a smile while internally she waited in dread for the next coming question. Why did she leave the Inquisition. He had to wonder. Calling it a secret only made people more curious, but Maker she couldn't confess the truth. Lunet was the only one to know in her entire precinct and Reiss all but whispered it to her from behind her hands.

"Your templar taught you well," Alistair said instead, "wide stance, high head, good form." The compliment made Reiss smile and the King broke into his own blushing grin. "Very strong and built for withstanding strong things, I mean. Uh...so, Kirkwall?"

The way the man melted into a stumbling goof threw her off. Mentally she knew he was the blighted King, but when he blushed and his lips tipped up in a lopsided grin Reiss could no longer see the crown. "It is a place, across the Waking Sea," Reiss said. "That was once brimming with Qunari." She did her best to not spit the word out.

"I'm guessing your time in the City of Chains made you not a big fan of the old horn heads."

In truth it was her time outside of Kirkwall, but he didn't need to know that. "Something of that nature," Reiss admitted tight lipped, her guard fully up.

The King's attack renewed, thudding limply against her blocks. "So...you're probably not a big fan of mages then either."

Reiss shrugged, "I feel no ill will one way or the other." She wasn't in Kirkwall when the chantry exploded, but even after news reached her it was hard to not think upon the few that had offered her a helping hand without expecting anything in return. Blocking a punch, Reiss returned it, scraping across the man's shoulder. "And I need not ask how fond you are of mages."

That threw Alistair for a moment, his hands plummeting, which would have left him wide open if she had any intentions of winning this. A thread of surprise etched along his face before he shook it off and danced his feet back and forth. As if drawing power from the static charge his socks managed off the floor, his boyish smile returned and he shrugged, "Not even here a week and you've already heard all the rumors about the terrible and evil King who lurks in the castle."

Reiss tried to not smile as she punched forward, barely any force in it. Her shoulders felt lighter, as if the stress that'd been pounding her down broke for a moment. For his part, Alistair waved his hands around seeming to have no intentions of connecting either. It was a strange dance, two combatants not in the mood to hit while also not wanting to stop. With a straight face, Reiss responded, "To be fair, I believe they said that you only consume the blood of virgins every other Tuesday. Much more civil than what occurs in Nevarra."

Cracking a wide smile, Alistair snorted out of his nose and his shield arm ran back through his hair. "As if virgins are that easy to come by. Best you can hope for is a harvest once every couple months, if that." They were speaking nonsense at each other, but Reiss couldn't shake off the silent giggles rolling around in her stomach. Perhaps that was what the strange feeling was, laughter she kept buried in order to appear professional.

"So I need not worry about rivers of blood soaking into boots? Good, it's a pain to clean out of any rivets," Reiss said.

"Tell me about it," Alistair rolled his eyes, their sparring practice fully forgotten save the two of them occasionally shifting their weight back and forth. "But, I must warn you." The jolly tone faded away to an ominous certainty. "Whatever you do, never enter into the west wing of the palace tower."

"Wh..." Reiss swallowed down the concern in her throat at the glare in his eyes, "Why not?"

Like striking a flint, his face lit up in joy and Alistair smiled, "Because there's this Maker awful statue of me in there. Eamon thought the courtyard needed one and boy did he pick the wrong artist." The King stopped his sliding feet and stepped close to Reiss to whisper in her ear, "It's naked. Nothing, not even a tasteful fig leaf. Yeah."

"Oh..." She didn't bite down on her lip, that would be improper. Nor did she stir her toe and fold into her shoulders while giggling. But Maker take it all, Reiss couldn't stop a blush rising up her cheeks. "That, uh, understood," she coughed out, trying to shake off the tiny part of her brain daring her to find this mysterious statue. It wasn't as if it was necessarily correct, he doesn't seem the type to have posed for it. And for the love of Andraste, why are you even thinking that?

"What about you?" he asked, drawing her out of her blushing bubble.

"Beg pardon?" Reiss squeaked out.

"Any big secrets weighing you down that you want to confess off your chest?" He smiled innocently, before his eyes flared and he stammered, "Not that you'd have a naked statue or other nude uh...things in existence to be noticed and I should stop talking."

Reiss' steps faded away and she knotted her fingers together. Weights upon her chest? There were too many to count. What if she failed him? Failed all the elves in the city? Where would she go then? Could she rebuild her life for a third time? What of... "My sister," slipped out of her mouth. Reiss froze up, unable to speak more through a bramble lodged in her throat.

"You have a sister?" Alistair asked.

"Aye, and a brother as well. They..." she took a steadying breath before throwing on a fake smile. "I shouldn't trouble you with this."

"I did ask," Alistair insisted, "in my typical stumbling into the throne room without any pants on kind of way." She knew he wasn't a mage, but she felt as if the man put her under some kind of spell. Charming she was used to, the pointless flattery, the eternal compliments, but this was something else. He was bowling her over with an earnestness she'd never seen before.

"Atisha, that's my sister's name, she's been in Jader for a few years now. And..." Maker's sake, Reiss. He won't care. Why are you telling him? "After the Blight she became devoted to Andraste, fervent to an annoying degree."

He snorted, "I know that one. Let me guess, she tsks her tongue at you for letting a single damn out."

"I haven't seen her in many years, but," Reiss smiled, "she would often send back my letters with big red circles and little prayers for Andraste written in the margins for my less than savory words."

Alistair whistled under his breath, "Shit, she's worse than most templars I knew. Granted, when a fireball's coming at you, the Maker's gotta allow a few good swears out."

"She's taken vows," Reiss spat out. Atisha'd been hinting at it for months, ecstatic about some Mother that took her under her wing, but Reiss never thought anything would come of it. "The first elven Sister in Jader. And I'm terrified of what..." She shook it off, don't complain to shems about other shems. They'll always draw rank. "She's my younger sister, I've spent much of my life watching out for her and it's hard to let things go."

The King opened his mouth, seeming like he was going to call her out on whatever terrified her, but he closed it softly and squeezed his eyes tight. "Jader, huh?"

"I am uncertain if the fact it's near the Ferelden border makes it better or worse," Reiss was willing to admit.

"No kidding, it..." he ruffled his hair until it nearly stood upright before yanking both hands down to stare at the bruised knuckles, "I shouldn't bore you with politics. I wish I didn't have to bore myself with them."

"Nor should I you with my familial problems," Reiss said, snapping to attention.

Alistair wrapped his hands together and said, "You heard me the first night, didn't you? It's okay, I don't blame you for not saying anything. I thought I spotted a shadow but didn't want to speak up either because then it gets awkward and we're both trying to avoid each other all day despite having to be together all day." He tipped his head in thought and swung his fists limply at his side, "That stuff, it builds up and sometimes I need to get it out. Without scaring any of my easily startled subjects."

She placed a hand against his upper arm and smiled, "I understand."

"Thought you might," Alistair whispered, his bruised fingers gripping onto the ones she put upon him. Sweet Andraste, Rat, you're touching royalty. What are you doing?

Reiss didn't know how to yank her hand away without making it more awkward, so she left it there pinned under his warm skin. "If you ever need to have someone to work it out with, I could certainly use the practice."

His sunny smile dawned and that flutter trembled up and down her stomach again. "Thanks, you too. I've been, not exactly in your shoes, but well I haven't always had a shiny crown weighing down my head. I don't mind if you have to rant about shems."

Starting, Reiss' eyes cracked open wide and she her jaw fell slack. "Did I...? I, uh...?"

Laughing, Alistair released his hold on her and folded his arms up, "My door's always open, Ser Reiss. Seeing as how I gave you the key."

"You did," she smiled, reaching into her pocket and finding the pair nested together. "I should...go to sleep." She pointed her thumb behind her as if he didn't know where the door was.

"How goes adjusting to the new shift?"

"Slow," Reiss admitted. As she picked up her music box, the song slowed down, the melody straining to become a haunted ballad. "How do you sleep, Ser?"

He paused in inspecting one of the swords along the wall and turned back to her, "With the weight of Ferelden upon me. But the bed's really soft so it balances out."

"Good evening, your Highness," Reiss bowed her head, trying to shake off a smile etched on her heart.

"And to you, knight of the realm," he answered back. "Oh, and about those mage rumors. If you're going into the pool, I'd go for more than 6 weeks." She paused in her steps and turned to find the man shrugging, his smile assured in the face of the entire castle betting upon him. "Call it a hunch."

## CHAPTER FOURTEEN

#### Thunder

Most of the King's day to day life folded into an easy routine. There'd be some time spent with his children, he was getting much better at properly parting the princess' hair, then it was hours upon hours of meetings. For the first few Reiss stood at constant attention, her eyes trying to bore through every noble that barely glanced a flicker over at her. She knew there were assassins on the horizon, but after having to sit through another droning voice speaking ad nauseum for an afternoon about the sewage problems in Denerim Reiss' attention began to drift away from her job. On occasion, she'd catch sight of the King with a quill in hand jabbing at a piece of parchment. He kept an arm in the way so no one else at the table could see, but standing behind him Reiss spotted drawings mixed in with his notes. Most were line figures of heroic characters fighting off probably dragons, and once or twice he drew the person droning on crushed below a giant cheese wheel. Stink lines seemed to be a favorite addition.

After a week and a half of this, Reiss found herself blending into a safe familiarity. Her always being on the King's heel kept her apart from the rest of the guards, but she'd find time to speak with the head cook Renata and Philipe. Apparently the King's appetite was legendary and he wasn't one to wait for servants to bring silver trays to him therefor he'd often snuck off to the kitchen. Commander Cade would glance over at her, but rarely say much. He made it evident that as far as he was concerned, this outside hired bodyguard wasn't under his jurisdiction. Reiss wasn't certain if that was a blessing or a curse. Her only backup seemed to be the King, the man she was supposed to protect.

With clouds buffeting away the warm spring sun, a chill crept through the windows and across the meeting room's floor. Alistair stood beside the head of the table, he never could sit long and would often pace during meetings that ran into hours. Before the others arrived, he took to running his finger over the snarled teeth of the various stuffed heads hanging on the wall. "When I was a boy, I used to think people would stash things inside the mouths," he said aloud to Reiss or perhaps the other servants scrambling to set up the meeting room. The Orlesian banner sat upon one place setting along with a golden goblet, which an elf was filling with red wine from a separate decanter.

"I remember they had a giant bear, well what seemed giant to me, in the Lothering tavern. In truth, it was a little black one, maybe four feet tall," Reiss said. She stood beside the door, far across the room from the King. Turning away from the muzzle of a wolf, he gave her his full attention. "I screamed for days after seeing it. Called it 'Blacktooth.' My father refused to take me anywhere near that tavern ever again."

"Blacktooth?" he smiled, "Maker, that's a great name for a pirate. Is it too late to...?"

"Yes, Sire," one of the clerks interrupted.

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"To register a boat with the Port Authority under the name Blacktooth so you may traverse the high seas. It is too late in the day and season to attempt such things," the man droned on, not bothering to raise his eyes to his King.

Alistair stuck a hand on his hip and stared at the clerk who was the first to arrive in the room, "What happened in your past to drain all the fun from you, Derek?"

He moved to speak, when the door flew open and the first of the guests to this meeting arrived. Reiss didn't recognize most of them, full faces hidden below expensive hats or above ruffs, but each gave in to her inspecting their hands and asking they leave any and all dangerous weapons outside. Most were obliging about it, having heard the news of the assassination and not wanting to cause trouble. The Orlesian ambassador gave Reiss the most trouble, refusing to part with the breast blade the bodyguard noticed in an instant.

"It is an antique of the Drakon dynasty, a gift from the Empress herself," Madam Cherie stuck out her porcelain chin, or whatever the mask was made out of.

"Ambassador," Reiss threw on the voice she used to get her brother to bathe. It worked 99.9% of the time against the nobility.

"I do not trust any of your sticky fingered..." her eyes traveled over Reiss, in particular the ears, before she faced fully upon the King, "servants. If you allow an assassin to move in your midst, then what is to stop thieves as well?"

Reiss wanted to reach over and yank the damn thing out of her cleavage herself, but the King interceded. "Give it to me, and I'll keep it safe until the meeting's over."

Her eyes danced over the man, "And I am to think you are safer hands? I'd be best tossing this priceless relic to the dogs." Despite her very Orlesian complaints, she reached inside her bust, pulled out a three inch long knife, and pressed it into the King's palm. "Do not ruminate upon where it rested," she hissed before sliding to her seat and taking a long sip of the wine.

Rolling his eyes, the King slipped the dagger safely under his belt on his back before whispering to Reiss, "How did you notice it on her?"

"Women carrying one will keep their backs straight at all times to avoid it accidentally nicking anything vital. When she reached across her to shake a hand, I noticed she froze a moment to check herself."

"Maker's breath," the King whistled as if impressed. Then he leaned even closer and in a breath asked, "Do you often inspect women's chests?"

"Only if I'm being paid," Reiss admitted.

Laughing at that, Alistair returned to his spot at the head of the table and waited for the rest to enter. A dozen more came, including the Spymaster, Commander Cade, Chancellor Eamon, and to Reiss' surprise the Hahren of the Denerim Alienage. Shinai's eyes barely paused in glaring at the multitude of humans, but for a brief moment they landed upon Reiss. She'd heard of the woman being named an Arl but the very idea seemed a farce. Reiss was certain that it had to be a title only and that they'd never let an elf attend court, much less sit in on meetings. A few grumbled at the woman's presence, but Shiani ignored it all and sat in a flourish beside Ghaleb and one of the Banns from the far south.

"So," the King slapped his hands together and then cast an eye towards the door. Silently, Reiss shut it, sealing them off from anyone else wandering past the room. "What's gone horribly wrong in Denerim now?"

A few eyes glanced over their heads, most still in that late morning haze. It was the red headed elf who sat up first, prepared to speak over top anyone, "The alienage is crammed to bursting, which I've been telling you for months. If you don't fix it soon it'll be a big problem."

"You say that as if elves clustered together in a hovel is something new," a bald man with a black beard spoke to her. He barely glanced in the Arlessa's direction, nor addressed her properly.

Shiani didn't blink, "This blighted well is." She turned up to Alistair and pointed at him, "Too many people stuck living on top of each other invites chaos."

"I thought we loosened up the work restrictions for elves," the comptroller said. She was dressed in a grey blouse festooned with ruffles. It reminded Reiss of the chickens on the farm when they were fluffed out during a cold snap.

"Jobs don't mean a thing if people are jammed five or more to a bed," Shiani spoke to the King who steepled his fingers and stared through her.

"Isn't your job to keep the peace in your lands, _Arlessa_?" the bearded man spat at Shiani, finding her title to be a laugh.

She didn't turn to the King or anyone else for support, the woman raining fire down upon the man. "Maybe I'm of the mind to let them give into their anger when my people's needs keep getting swept under the rug. You shove more elves into the alienage it'll be plague again, and riots are a certainty."

"Disease and thuggery, the two traits elves are famous for," the bearded man quipped under his breath but loud enough the two knife-ears in the room heard. Shinai growled at him, her teeth bared as if she intended to rip his throat out while Reiss couldn't shake off her glare winnowing down.

It was the Spymaster who spoke up, seeming to himself, "Elves have shown a proficiency of magic beyond human lines. Nearly one in five members of a family are known to be mages." He blinked those watery eyes a moment before focusing upon the elves turning to him. Ghaleb eeped and then burrowed into his robes, "Their dexterity ranks higher than all known species as well."

"For the Maker's sake, Perrin," the King groaned, "could you try and act civil for once in your damn life?"

"The facts are..."

"All right," Lady Cherie rose out of her chair, her fingers hovering above the table, "I've humored his Majesty long enough. I see no reason for you requiring my costly attention."

Alistair grumbled but threw his hands behind his head, "Seems a lot of the elves flocking to Denerim are coming out of Orlais. I'd thought you'd want to have some input on your citizenry."

"Please," Cherie waved her perfumed hand in the air but slowly returned to her chair, "they hardly count as citizens."

"What was that?" Shiani began, focusing her ire on the ambassador.

"Dear, just because Ferelden finds it adorable to prop up elves like stuffed dolls in the middle of their throne rooms doesn't mean that Orlais is into such a farce."

Shiani didn't reach out and punch her the way Reiss feared she would and for which she was grateful. She didn't want to have to restrain the Arlessa, and backing her up would probably get her fired. Instead, the woman leaned back in her chair and tented her fingers, "What do you call your Marquise Briala?"

"A one night stand that failed to leave in the morning," Cherie muttered under her breath.

The King banged his hand on the table, drawing every eye to him. "We could spend the entire damn day arguing over piddly little shit but it won't solve anything. Shiani, I assume you've got some ideas."

"A few," she said, and the Arlessa yanked out a scroll which caused the entire assembled group to groan. Without any waver in her voice, Shiani read aloud her ideas complete with plusses and minuses to each one that were then shored up with data. On occasion, Ghaleb would toss in a comment, most of which backed up the elf's work. She'd done her homework and then some.

Of course, the multitude of options led to more infighting. One tiny man insisted they couldn't fit it into the budget. When pressed for which of the Arlessa's ideas he claimed nothing would, rendering the entire thing moot. As the meeting went further off the rails with Perrin and Cherie bickering over the level of sewage runoff in Denerim's streets compared to Val Royeaux, Reiss' attention began to wander. The room was not that impressive for gathering together so many people important to Ferelden, middle sized with a small hearth that no one felt the need to light, it boasted only the table they clustered around and a few bookcases. The table itself bore the wear of age and what looked like a trio of dagger cuts jammed into the wood, no doubt from someone trying to dramatically mark a map.

A chill crept up Reiss' legs and she glanced at the window behind the King. Someone worked it open, despite leaving the hearth cold. Did they anticipate so many people full of hot air overheating the room? Or was it some trick by crafty advisors to force the people to come to their demands faster to escape suffering the chill? Either way, it seemed odd. Grey clouds bulged in the sky threatening to open up and drop rain across the ground. Judging by the height of the window, they'd need a ladder or hook to properly close it...

Reiss felt someone looking, and she glanced down to find the King's eyes staring right at her. As she met them, he smiled wide and shrugged at the constant bickering that amounted to politics. She began to smile back, when the pieces fell into place in her brain. Reacting, Reiss barreled towards the window and slammed her shield in place. The politics fell to a crash, everyone watching the strange bodyguard acting like a loon, when the flit of arrows cracked the air. Two embedded into her shield, causing Reiss' arm to rocket back. A third landed in the middle of the table, causing all the diplomats to scatter back as if it was a venomous snake.

"Protect the King," Cade cried out. Catching on quickly, Alistair hopped away from the window and hid behind a bookcase. Reiss pulled back her shield to inspect the arrow shafts, the feathers were both red and gold - regulation army out of Ferelden. No doubt the assassins yanked them from the armory on their way up to... She leaned out the window, mentally following the trajectory up to the top of a battlement on the east wing. Glancing quickly at the bottom, she noticed that there was only one door out from the assassin perch.

"The attack came from that tower," she shouted back at the Commander, who nodded gruffly beside her, his own shield out in anticipation of another volley. But none would come, she knew. Their assassin was running down those stairs about to make a break for freedom. And the only way out of the palace was...

Reiss didn't think. Using that elven dexterity Ghaleb mentioned, she leapt onto the windowsill and took off running down the eaves. Behind her she heard Cade shouting, "Guardsman!" at the top of his lungs, but there wasn't time to explain. If she wasn't quick, the assassin would be lost and they were back at square one.

Right on cue, thunder rattled the heavens above and fat plops of water rang against her armor. She ignored it all, full out running across the slick roof while her eyes peered through the ground floor. Two stories, a straight drop would most likely break an ankle or worse. Had to be a quicker way down. In the distance behind and across the square she heard the sound of a door opening, the assassin making his or her break. _There!_

Leaping off the palace roof, Reiss aimed for a small lean to. The wood cracked at her addition and she scrabbled to keep upright on the narrow beam but it didn't break. As she rose up, out of the corner of her eye she caught the assassin. Male. Stocky. And a hint of that same tattoo across his face. He pinwheeled his arms, gliding to a stop at the sight of a guard standing on the roof prepared to take him out. Sliding through the mud, he turned down an alley between the two towers.

"Shite!" Reiss cursed at herself, then promised to give two canticles for her sister. Shaking off the pain she knew was coming, Reiss ran full bore into thin air letting the Maker smash her down to the packed mud. It was mostly dirt still, the rain only beginning, but her heel skidded as she twisted her leg and broke into a full run. Her assailant wasn't in armor, but that wasn't going to slow her down. Using the run to knock her ankle back in place, Reiss pursued him around the bend in the tower. Her boots skidded in the wet grass as she turned, catching sight of his sun bleached clothing. Not even a cloak obscured him. The man tried to tip over a few crates to slow her down, but Reiss easily hopped around them, never slowing, never giving up.

Leading her back to the square, the assassin aimed for the gate. It was small, barely large enough for a few horses to come through. Not that getting through it would help him. Reiss had his scent and...Oh no. The sound of a multitude of people erupted from beyond the palace walls. Market time. _Shit, shit, shit._ If she didn't stop him now, he'd easily slip into the group and vanish.

There was only time to react. Yanking her arm back, Reiss aimed her sword at the gate control and hurled it with all the force she had. It wasn't elegant, but the blade skittered against the latch and the gate plummeted to the ground just in front the assassin. He froze, probably saying a prayer that he didn't get caught in the plummet of the portcullis, before turning around and remembering he was under pursuit.

The assassin made it a step to the side before Reiss pummeled her shield against his nose thrice in rapid succession. Ramming forward, she pinned the man a good foot taller than her against the wall and growled, "You're under arrest by order of the guard. The royal guard."

"Ha," he spat blood on the ground, his fingers gripping onto the shield. "That so?"

"Yes!" she screamed, adrenaline rampaging through her system.

"Have it your way, knife-ear," the assassin grabbed onto her shield and shoved it back towards her. Reiss forgot to plant her feet and stumbled back. Stupid. In berating herself the shield dropped a moment and the assassin lashed out with a dagger. She met it quickly, her reflexes saving her when her brain failed. Sparks scattered through the rain as the blade etched against metal, each one she fended off with certainty. That seemed to be slowing the assassin down, the man not used to fighting someone trained for war.

Knotting her shoulder back, Reiss plowed the bottom edge of her shield into one arm, sending the dagger skittering across the grounds beyond either of their reach. But in doing that, she left her flank open, which normally would have been covered by the man at her side. The assassin rebounded faster than expected and the blade slit across her upper arm. Some of it was knocked away by the armor, but the dagger worked through a groove and bit apart her skin. Pain roared up her arm, but she didn't stagger back, didn't curl up to whimper. That beast that she kept chained and leashed inside her leaped forward.

Instinctively, Reiss smashed her shield into the man's chin and let go. As he cried out in pain, she grabbed onto his arm with both of her hands and wrenched out the elbow until hearing a pop. "GAH!" the assassin screamed, agony no doubt circling through his bones from the one she dislocated. It dangled limply, the dagger falling from his fingers.

"Right," Reiss lifted up her fists, "you wanted to do this the hard way." This was no friendly sparring. Smashing her knuckles against the man's jaw and then cheek, he fell back to the wall.

"Knife-eared bitch!" he hissed.

She couldn't kill him, he needed to be kept alive, but there was no reason for him to know that. "Give up now and I'll let you live," Reiss taunted.

"Fuck you," he growled before dropping down and running at her with his shoulder. She tried to step away, but the slick ground turned her foot, sucking her in place. With nowhere to go, the man smashed against her chest, flattening Reiss to the ground.

Air fled from her lungs and she watched as he rose above her, that cocky glare in his eyes. Below her, Reiss felt the dagger she'd freed from him. Staggering up to a sit, she tried to grip it with her fingers while the assassin slid back and forth on his feet.

Grinning like a fat tom, the assassin yanked out another damn dagger off his never ending sheathe. "Sorry, flatfoot. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time," he taunted, raising the blade above his head.

She didn't blink, her fingers finally gripping onto the dagger. There was only one chance at this, roll over as he attacked and stab him in the arm, keep the assailant alive and yourself. Focus on that last part in particular, Rat. The assassin's arms flew down and Reiss twisted her body, her head the last to move, when a bolt embedded into the man's chest. He paused, not seeming to be in pain from the piece of wood sticking out of the gap between his ribs, but in shock. Cupping a hand around the bolt, the assassin moved, when another bolt shot through his chest. That caused him to fall to his knees, when the last shattered into his eye socket, the eye bursting from the force like a popped zit.

Reiss kicked at the mud, scurrying to turn and challenge whoever killed him. As she staggered to her knees, she watched as Commander Cade calmly restrung his crossbow and nodded at her. "Are you all right, guardsman?"

"Yes, Ser," she stuttered.

"Is he dead?" Cade asked.

Scrambling over the mud, Reiss ran her fingertips over the assassin's lips, but there was no breath. Damn it! She'd nearly had him! Broken, her head fell down and she mumbled, "Yes, Ser."

"I guess we're back at square one then," Cade groaned. "I'll get my men to inspect the body, you should return to the King. You know, the one you're supposed to guard."

Reiss staggered to her feet feeling foolish beyond measure. She wasn't hired to chase after wily assassins, especially ones that could easily take her down. "Sorry, Ser."

Cade eyed her up, the man unmoved by her self loathing, "I ain't the one you need to apologize to. And get that looked at, don't want it getting infected."

## CHAPTER FIFTEEN

#### Headache

His headache was growing exponential, the throbbing assisted by the chattering voices of people panicking after they realized they were fine but suckered onto an ample excuse to draw attention. Their illustrious Orlesian ambassador was enjoying a faint across the floor. After she folded to the ground, most Fereldens walked over her, hustling into the courtyard in pursuit of his bodyguard and the assassin. Seeing as how no one seemed to care about Cherie hitting the floor, she seemed intent to wait there until someone did. It was the strangest stalemate to have a grown woman laying upon the stones like a petulant toddler with no endgame in sight. Alistair wished he could stay and watch but there were a dozen other problems to solve.

"Ghaleb," he jerked his head to the Spymaster who kept prodding at the arrow shaft embedded into the table and watching it quiver.

Those watery grey eyes wandered over to Alistair's left ear before he slid out of the evacuated room. "Sire?"

"Tell me you know something, anything. A clue, an idea?"

Ghaleb spoke in his jagged breath, words crammed together with pauses inserted sometimes between syllables. "Perrin's wearing three pairs of smallclothes, Chancellor Eamon has taken up with a distinguished Mother without his wife's knowledge, and the Madam Ambassador is trying to slide a handkerchief out of her bodice without anyone seeing."

At that Alistair spun on his heel, catching only a shiver from Cherie's fingers as they froze before she resumed her dead faint. Growling, he whipped back to Ghaleb, "About the damn assassination attempt that just happened."

"Oh...no."

"Don't you think you should...?" he rolled his hands through the air waiting for the man to catch on when a voice called out through the antechamber.

"Milord, the assassin has been stopped," the tell tale timbre of Cade shouted from below. Alistair scurried to the railing and peered down off the landing to watch his Commander of the guards stopped upon the muddy carpets, his beefy arms thrust back. But what drew Alistair's eye was the woman that ran without thought for herself through the window and leaped off a roof in pursuit of a criminal. Her head hung low, the eyes skirting the ground, but she seemed no worse for the wear. Thank the Maker, he sighed, then tried to shake it off.

"What is the state of him?" Alistair shouted out to his Commander. "Hopefully awake enough to answer a few rather pertinent questions. His favorite color? His opinion on mixing plaids with stripes? Thoughts on this sudden trend of Orlesians wearing cheese instead of eating it? Oh, and if there's time why he and his ilk are suddenly trying to kill me."

"I," Cade paused a moment, those sunken in eyes darting over to the elven woman staggering to the side. "He is dead, Sire."

Alistair's head snapped back and a groan reverberated up through his bones. "Of blighted course he is. You know, alive would have been preferable. Unless you know a good mortalitassi that can get a few answers from a corpse we're back up that creek without a paddle or the ability to swim."

"Milord, I..." Cade began before Reiss interrupted.

"It is my fault, Ser," she said lifting her weary head and staring at him. Alistair was struck by bruises dotting her wan face and he finally noticed she was clinging tight to her arm.

"Are you alright?" he asked, stepping down the stairs to her. The pack of lost diplomats followed on his heels like homeless hamsters with nothing better to do. Only Cherie remained where she fell, her fingers drumming against the floor.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Alistair walked towards Reiss, when Cade intercepted him. "The Corporal here engaged with the assassin but he overpowered her. I had no choice but to finish him off before he killed her."

She didn't look up at him, only glowered at the floor and shifted on her feet. Absently, Alistair tugged his hair up and sighed, "Well, dead assassin is better than dead guard. You made the right decision, Cade."

"Obviously," the man didn't grin. He seemed incapable of it, but he slid back on his heels and folded his arms in that smug satisfaction way.

"Your Majesty, I just heard about..." another voice echoed through the halls, the door to the kitchens flying open as their newest mage flitted in. She looked out of breath, as if she'd been running the entirety of the palace with a towel of all things tucked into the belt of her robes. "An assassination attempt? Maker, is it true?"

Alistair shrugged, and the woman reached over to grab up his hand. While she patted it the same way one would comfort an abandoned dog, Alistair groaned, "The rate these are coming they could become a daily attraction. Come to the palace for our hourly assassination attempt on the King. First ten visitors get a free toe if it's successful."

"You survived unscathed?" she stopped petting his hand, giving Alistair the chance to tug it away. He tried to not wipe it off on his pants in the view of everyone but it felt sticky from her grip.

"I'm fine, but Ser Reiss..." he turned to his bodyguard.

"It's nothing, a scratch," she insisted.

Ignoring the mage clinging to his shoes, the Commander doing his damnedest to fill the room, and the hordes of diplomats milling about, Alistair slid over to Reiss. She kept that verdant gaze burrowing into the ground, her breath unsteady as her fingers gripped tight to try and stench the blood.

"May I?" he asked, indicating her hand. Shrugging, she let him lift it off the bent armor to reveal a gash of scarlet dribbling crimson tears to the ground. "A scratch can still be deadly when assassins are around. They're big fans of poisons and all," he whispered to her which the woman slowly nodded her head at. Then he lifted his voice, "Linaya." Maker's sake, the woman practically glowed from the fact he spoke her name. "Do you know any healing?"

"Aye, I am well versed in..."

"Good, heal her," Alistair released his soft hold on Reiss' elbow and stepped back to let the mage draw near. "Please," he tacked on. She blanched at the blood, probably too young to have been involved in a lot of the rebellion as she tried to inspect the wound.

"I will, of course, your Majesty," Linaya curtsied deeply. Alistair was about to tell her to get up and get to it but the mage rebounded quickly and a sheen of professionalism took over as she escorted Reiss to a bench. She accepted the help and didn't flinch even as the mage dug her fingers down through the armor. Alistair however did. Not all healers needed skin to skin contact to do their work, both Wynne and Lanny could slap your leg back on through your pants and then turn around to pummel darkspawn. Over the violent years, Alistair had run into a few mages that weren't as versed in the power of spirit healing and Linaya seemed to be one of them. Reiss tried to shake her off, but the mage kept pointing at the wound and insisting on something. Groaning, Reiss dropped to a bench and her fingers began to work apart the inner buckles of her armor.

"Milord," Cade spoke close to Alistair's ear, jerking him out of his thoughts and causing the King to leap an inch in the air.

"Maker's sake, a little warning. Unless you want to kill me stone dead, then sneak around like that. What is it?"

Cade didn't gesture at the woman pulling off her breastplate and groaning as it slipped to the floor but he made it obvious who he was looking at. "You've had your...whatever your point was, but this was a close one. I cannot allow you to put your life in some untested woman's hands any longer."

"Untested? She caught two of the arrows on her shield, then ran down the assassin on foot," Alistair scoffed. He knew he shouldn't sound impressed having to be kingly and all but he couldn't dampen it out of his voice. If he'd jumped out the window, he'd probably have slid on the tiles and fallen face first to the dirt.

"Exactly my point," Cade said. "She was not hired to pursue criminals, her job is to protect you. What if there had been another assassin lurking in a second tower? You were left open and vulnerable."

"I'm not a blighted baby bird, Cade. I can handle myself," Alistair snarled.

Cade's beefy eyes traveled up and down his King's form, barely able to suppress a sneer from what he probably considered a weak and fragile body. "Be that as it may, it is in my professional opinion as the Commander of the royal guards that you take Brunt as your personal bodyguard." Cade turned away and sneered at the woman trying to roll up her sleeve to expose the wound. It wasn't going well and Linaya seemed to be no help. "If you like the elf so much, assign her to your children. She seems to have a knack with little ones."

"Belittle her all you want, but if she hadn't chased down that assassin he'd have slipped out before you or any of your guards caught up to him," Alistair fumed.

"Luck isn't a high watermark in this profession, Sire," Cade spat at him.

The King rolled his eyes at that. Luck was the only reason he was still breathing a good dozen times over. If it weren't for that little kiss from the Maker upon his brow he'd have been ash on the wind at Ostagaar, any time during the Blight, Fort Drakon, Seheron, those other assassins at his palace (the horned kind), or while in the Anderfels. If luck blessed his bodyguard then he saw that as a good reason to keep her around instead of not.

"What's really got your knickers in a knot, Cade? You're being smugger than usual while there's an arrow still vibrating inside my table."

He turned to face the Commander and waited. Cade wasn't a fiddler, he didn't prod at his buckles or knock his sword about. Instead, he folded his arms tighter together and glowered over Alistair's shoulder, no doubt at the elf that seemed to jump up his craw for some reason. "She answers to no one."

"Pretty sure she answers to me. I think that's how the whole 'I'm your boss, here's money for the work' goes." Grinning at his comeback, Alistair swung around to catch the eye of the woman in question. She wasn't watching either of the men scrutinizing her as Reiss was too busy yanking the hem of her shirt up over her head.

_Oh Maker._ Alistair felt his cheeks turn bright red as he whipped back around to face the not naked woman area. In the brief second before he blinked hard, he caught a flash of skin pale as moonlight with a hint of marks up and down her stomach. Pinching into his nose, he tried to blot out the image. _Professional. Be professional._

"There? Is that exposed enough now for you to heal it?" he heard Reiss snipe at the mage, her voice crackling on the edges as she sat half naked before the assembled heads of state. Alistair wished he could toss a blanket to her or something, but in his state he'd have to walk backwards and would probably throw it onto a chandelier where it'd catch on fire.

"Your Majesty," Cade began, trying to wheedle into Alistair's light panic attack.

"Look, your complaints have been recognized and recorded, or they would be if my clerks hadn't run out the door pinwheeling their arms at the first sign of trouble. We keep things as they are. It was just getting into a routine. I don't see any reason to rock the boat once again." Alistair expected more needling from the Commander, he'd been grumping and groaning about Reiss for over a week. It got to the point Alistair was surprised he didn't wake up with a portrait of Brunt and a lock of his hair to convince the King just how perfect of a man he was.

Instead, Cade parted his hands and slid back. "As you say, Sire. It is after all your neck on the line." He scrunched up those meaty lips and smacked them once. "However..."

"Andraste's sword, here it comes," Alistair groaned to himself.

Cade barely dropped his voice down, but he glanced over at the half naked woman with only caginess in his face. "Be careful putting your trust in someone so unknown to us. There are reports of sightings of your bodyguard slipping into the stables at night."

"What? That's..." Alistair wanted to insist it was impossible, but it wasn't as if he was around her constantly. That would make using the privy even more awkward than usual. Forgetting himself, Alistair glanced over his shoulder. She'd slipped her tunic back on and was inspecting the gash to her shirt above the dried blood. What did they truly know about her? What did he? If he couldn't trust Ghaleb then there was no reason he could trust the Spymaster's information either.

"Sire?" Cade prodded again, his non smile glittering in his eyes.

"When at night?" Alistair asked. The elf's gaze darted up to him for a minute, her fingers reaching for the tossed breastplate, before her eyes skipped down to the ground. If she was a liability, he'd get to the bottom of it himself.

***

She was a fool. It was bad enough being berated by the Commander of the royal guards while standing over a dead body once again picked clean of all identification, then having to explain three times that her sword was wedged inside the gate mechanism and that's why they couldn't open it. But suffering that dithering mage's fumbling attempts to heal up her wound made Reiss wish she could climb inside of a bottle and never get out. Way to represent your people, there rat. Why not give the shems even more reasons to dismiss you?

The King said little to her. He inquired a few times if she was of sound health to continue on her feet, which, despite the mage's novice level spell casting, was the case. Reiss had known worse in her time, though she was certain there would be a scar. One more in a long line. After moving through his usual steps of the day, the man seemed colder after the attack. There was no reason to be surprised, he did have his life threatened for a second time. Perhaps he needed to shuffle deeper into himself to keep from lashing out.

Once the princess was put to bed, about the only time the King brightened for the day, he led them back to their shared room and said he intended to turn in for the night, provided no assassins were lurking under his bed. Reiss offered to check with her sword, but he declined and gave her leave. After mending her tunic, the once proud scarlet fading to a dingy red-grey, Reiss headed towards the stables. She patted her hip thrice to make certain the offering was there while twisting down the servants entrance. Despite it leading nearly right to the courtyard that opened back upon the horses, the King never took it. There were probably rules about where royalty should and shouldn't trod. If it's not gilded and carpeted, no noble foot may touch it lest the limb rot away.

Reiss chuckled to herself as she slipped through the heavy night into the barn. Okay, it wasn't really a barn. She knew those all too well, this stank of far more shit than the barn she had to sleep in. Despite the chill, the flies were on point, hissing in anger as they dove in and out of their own heaven from the piles plopping up in the horse's beds. Reiss expected to find the stablehand here, a young man who despite looking human grew up in the Alienage --  the curse of having a single elven parent. He could pass as human but didn't have much of a foundation to prop him up. Normally he'd be whistling under his drawn cap while shoveling the shit into his cart, but no one seemed to be in the closed stables. Due to the rain they probably tugged down the wooden window panes giving the place a strangely ominous feel.

"Pst," Reiss called out. Shadows flickered around the stables, horses whinnying at someone new who might be there for them, but nothing that right shade of grey darted around. "Pst pst," she tried again. "Maker's sake, you better be here!"

Slapping her hand against her thigh, Reiss peered under a few of the stable beds, but found only horse legs. "Are you in the loft?" she tried again, her finger trailing along the ceiling as she hunted for the tuft of grey. "Sylaise, come out, come out wherever you are."

Through a door past the stables rested the kennels. Reiss did her best to keep the damn cat from sneaking through it, offering up many good reasons why cats shouldn't have anything to do with dogs, but like all cats she completely ignored her. Left open a crack, Reiss pushed upon the door and cried out, "Sylaise?"

A few of the mabari opened their eyes, most down for the night. They weren't impressed with the elf skulking in their kennels but didn't think it was worth getting up for. "Maker's sake, you better not be hiding in here you stupid..." Reiss' trail of thought died off as she stepped towards the last partition. She could have sworn she caught the swish of a grey tail slipping in through the bars. "Sylaise, you're going to get ripped apart! Get out here." Reiss dropped to a knee into the scattered straw and tried to reach in for the cat when a dozen mabari stood up at attention and began to bark like mad.

Her first instinct was to reach for her sword, the elf whipping her head to the door behind her where a shadow stood. It seemed to have roused the dogs into a frenzy, each of them stomping their feet into the ground as they hopped back and forth. "Maker damn it all," the shadow cursed before turning up a lantern in his hand.

"Your Majesty?" Reiss stuttered. She yanked her hand away from her hip and tried to rise to her feet.

"Damn dogs, yes, fine, it's me. Look at that. Will you shut up? Okay, one pet," he reached through the bars to rub his hand on the mabari with a tan coat before placing down the lantern and going full in for petting the rest.

"Sire, er, Ser?" Reiss froze at the end of the kennel, "What are you doing here?"

He paused in his petting and turned a cold eye on her, "Funny, I was about to ask you the same."

"I..." There was no chance she could lie her way out of it. Throwing down her shoulders, Reiss gestured him closer. The King froze a moment, his eyes casting down over her hip where the sword rested in its sheathe. "Forgive me, I don't know if I'm allowed, but I..." He slid nearer as she dropped to her knees and reached through the bars for that damn cat. Sylaise rolled out of the straw and batted without claws at her hand before stretching high and sliding out. "I brought a cat with me to the palace."

Reiss scooped Sylaise up into her arms and she began to climb her way up the elf's shoulders. The King paused, his jaw hanging slack as he watched. "You...you have a kitty?" Even with his eyes on Reiss as if expecting her to transform into a demon, he absently reached out to scratch along Sylaise's head.

"I was feeding her at my old guardhouse, she's a stray, and when I went back she sort of stowed away in my things. I didn't want to be any trouble and thought maybe another mouser wouldn't be a problem on the grounds," Reiss admitted, her fingers fluffing up Sylaise's tail.

Those haunting yellow eyes beamed upon the human in their midst, seeming to size him up. "Sweet Maker, it's a cat. You're feeding a cat," he laughed once and threw his hand up.

"Forgive me for..."

"No, no," the King spoke over her and with both hands scooped Sylaise up to him. She meowed uncertainly before the man tucked her close the same way he would his infant son. "Hello kitty cat. Er, she probably has a name."

"I call her Sylaise," Reiss smiled, scritching along her back.

"Sylaise," Alistair grinned, "why does that sound familiar?"

"It's a uh," Reiss pivoted back and forth on her feet before answering, "An elven goddess." She expected the human to frown, but he chuckled and lifted Sylaise up high in his arms.

"Well, if anyone's going to act like a goddess it's a fat ol' alley cat." Sylaise took offense to this and in true catlike fashion twisted around in his arms to leap free land flush on the kennel. She began to mewl, her eyes fully on Reiss.

"Right, sorry," she fished out some of the crumbs from the meat pie for dinner and held them out for Sylaise. A single white paw landed on Reiss' palm while the cat chewed thoughtfully upon the morsels.

The two of them watched silently until the cat finished eating, then as she stretched her back up against the underside of an eave. Tired of the audience, Sylaise leaped down off the partition to land back into the kennel Reiss pulled her from. "I wish I could move like that," she mused to herself.

"From what I saw today you can," Alistair responded.

A burn inched along her cheeks, both from shame and...something else Reiss was doing her best to ignore. "Sire, when I abandoned you..."

"You were doing your job," he interrupted.

"No, I wasn't, which is the problem. I should have left it to the guards. I reacted instead of acted and it could have done untold damage. I understand if you do not wish to employ my services any longer."

She shored up her voice but kept her focus on Sylaise who was batting her paw at the slumbering lump in the kennel. Reiss feared that if she glanced over at the King she might break down into hysterics, pain and exhaustion in equal parts rubbing her soul raw.

His hand landed upon her shoulder and he smiled, "I have no intentions of firing you. Oh, I didn't touch your wound, did I?" he suddenly panicked, yanking his hand away as if her arm burned.

"No, you did not. It is lower and...not important," Reiss felt a smile stir in her stomach but she kept it off her lips.

"So," he sighed ruffling up his hair, "you're probably wondering what I'm doing skulking around in the kennels."

Reiss shrugged a shoulder, "Others must have spotted me visiting with Sylaise and rather than inquire of me or the stablehand, they assumed it was some clandestine meeting with spies and informed you." She glanced over at the King to find his mouth hanging slack jawed.

"How in...you figured all that out in like," he snapped his fingers unable to shake the awe from his face.

"I am an unknown," Reiss stated. She'd been expecting something of it for awhile, in particular after this second attempt. Slowly a smile lifted up her lips and she laughed at the ground, "which is why you selected me to be your bodyguard in the first place."

"That, uh..."

"An unknown chosen without any predetermination means the chances of slipping a spy in undetected is almost impossible. Clever."

Alistair scoffed at her, "You are probably the first person in all of thedas to ever call me clever."

Turning to face him, Reiss' eyes danced around his sunny face. It hid away his anger and pain, trying to coat any major slight in a patina of sugared jam but she saw its existence that first night. "Perhaps people aren't looking closely enough."

"I...um," he gasped, both hands digging through his hair, "am feeling particularly unclever right now. Forgive me for suspecting you." He dangled his hand before hers.

She accepted it, but answered, "You were within your rights given all that's happened."

"Maybe, but I don't want to become the crazy king that leaps at every shadow and can't put his trust in anyone. I'm not a fan of slippers, can barely grow a beard, and my hygiene is eh."

There was that damn earnest charm again ensnaring her faster than she could deflect it. Reiss kept pumping their hands up and down, a smile rising up her cheeks as she glanced in on her cat. Sylaise was kneading against the mabari's snout who finally lifted up his head. He leaned closer to the cat, and in a quick huff, splattered snot across the grey fur. Sylaise mewled at the slight and in response the mabari's tongue rolled out. He didn't attack the cat, didn't snap his fangs nor growl, only lapped up the snot he peppered the cat in and then shuffled back to sleep. This time, the mabari left two paws extended so Sylaise could snuggle up beside him.

"I feared that the dogs would scare her or worse, but..." Reiss sighed, "they shouldn't get on so well."

The King tipped his head as he watched the grey cat folding against the rumbling of the white mabari, both of them lulling back to the comfort of sleep, "It's funny how things in thedas are bad at doing what they're supposed to."

"I..." Reiss' eyes met his for a heartbeat, and then two more. She yearned to say something to him, but had no idea what. Patting her fingers together like blocks, Reiss sighed, "I should return to my room."

Alistair nodded at her as she moved to slip out of the kennels. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him bend over the partition to run his fingers across the slumbering pets. Reiss stepped out into the night, the cloying scent of wet grass and horse shit clinging to the crisp air. "So," he called behind her, "I was thinking I might take you up on your offer to check under the bed for assassins. You know, because you never know." He shrugged his shoulders in that charming impotence before bouncing back on his heels.

Barely suppressing a chuckle at the idea, Reiss said, "It would be my honor, Ser."

## CHAPTER SIXTEEN

#### A Nap

Screaming and smoke filled the forest air, one of those crimson feathered birds struggling to rise away from the battle. Red templar or perhaps mage fire struck it; it was impossible to tell in the chaos. Reiss yanked up on her tunic below the Inquisition armor, trying to cover her mouth against the toxic ash flittering down from the sky. The others fighting in the stream barely gave it pause, pain crying out through the wilds. Blood streaked across the ground, Reiss struggling to keep upright as she pursued an injured templar. It wasn't one of the human looking ones, this person had been transformed beyond anything approachable. The entire face was cracked and glowing like demonic glass, red shards erupting off the back. Or had been until Reiss hacked away at them, spending nearly all her energy to take it down and still it continued onward. How did the Inquisitor and his company make it look so easy?

Her prey limped down a hill, and Reiss felt herself slipping to a knee. Splashing into the creek, she was surprised by how warm the water ran, soaking into the cracks of her armor. The stream glittered scarlet, as if the land itself bled from the pain they were inflicting. Shaking her head and looking anew, Reiss could see only the murky depths of what had once been a crystal stream. After splashing herself in the face, she rose and summoned the last of her energy to pursue the templar.

At the bottom of the hill he roared back, his arms extended wide to try and pick off... "Ethan, no!" Reiss' mind cried out at the solider bracing himself behind his shield. Without thinking, Reiss leaped down the hill, her oversized boots scrabbling to find purchase in the shifted terrain as she aimed for the red templar. It was drawing back its arm, pounding red fire across Ethan's shield while the man had no opportunities to respond. Growling, Reiss swung her body forward and barreled fully into the walking crystal. Jagged edges punctured her skin, slicing sharper than any blade could across her face and hands, but Reiss ignored the blood dripping down her arms.

While the red templar scrabbled to find footing, Reiss pinned herself on top of it and drove her blade through its throat. It didn't go in instantly, and she had to work it back and forth slowly sawing the templar's head clean off. When it penetrated the neck, blood gushed out from her hole dissolving through the crystal armor. Slowly the lights in the templar's eyes drained away.

She nearly plummeted face first onto the creature in exhaustion, but a hand grabbed onto her shoulder. Rising up she first caught the look on Ethan's face. It wasn't pride at her accomplishment or even gratefulness in his face, but a calculating pout causing the acid in her stomach to boil. She yearned to leap up, to berate him, to shout all the things she'd kept bottled up for years, but the hand turned her around. An elf gripped her, an older one with black hair and startling green eyes.

"That was a near thing," she spoke in an Orlesian accent before shifting her staff to the other side and offering a hand to Reiss.

"I got lucky," Reiss answered, staggering to her feet.

"Perhaps, but it takes courage to even try," the older woman smiled.

Reiss began to slide away from the mage back to her people when a scream shattered the sky. That wasn't a poetic turn of phrase, it literally broke apart the bright blue of the forest, a shadow blotting out the sun as the power of the roar smashed hardened Inquisition soldiers to their knees. No, no, no... The archdemon, just like the one in Ferelden all those years ago, flailed its wings above the sky and dipped down through the trees.

Fire dribbled from its mouth, a deadly purple erupting through the trees while new screaming - the kind mortal and familiar - followed in its wake. The mage waved her hands, and the air tasted like iron to Reiss. Her arms felt lighter while a strange red sheen drifted across the side of her vision.

"What do we do?" It didn't matter who said it. Perhaps it was a mage, maybe an Inquisition recruit, it could have even been one of the commanders of the army. Regardless, they all in that moment had the same thought. What do we do against a dragon?

It flipped back, preparing to take another round against the forest when a volley of arrows launched from Celene's camp. The first round bounced off the black and red scales, scattering as the dragon batted its tail, but the next stuck, ripping apart those leathery wings and sending the archdemon plummeting right towards them. Tucking into a dive, the dragon rolled with its fall and landed first front legs and then back upon the ground.

She'd never been near one before. Its breath stank of rancid meat and brimstone, fire dribbling between its teeth the size of daggers. A few soldiers revived from the fall and ran at the dragon from behind but it was quick to kick them away. "Ethan?" Reiss glanced towards where he'd stood, but the man was gone into the forest, fleeing with the rest of the recruits who had no idea how to take down a dragon.

The elven mage lifted up her hands and ice flew from her fingers, embedding into the dragon's eyes. That halted its attack from behind and it glared death upon the small elf pelting its face in cold. Rising up, the archdemon lifted its neck as if preparing to give a speech. The primitive part of Reiss' brain knew what was coming before it informed the rest of her. She ran towards the mage as the dragon dropped its head down and slowly opened those deadly jaws.

Fire burst apart the air, instantly igniting the water to steam as Reiss knocked the mage over and dropped her shield right in the way.

"Grand Enchanter!" someone cried out in the distance before everything, every sound, every smell, every sense was replaced by fire. It blasted into her shield, passing both elves huddled together behind it for safety. Burning, bleeding, cutting was all she felt; pounding ash in the eyes, smoke down the throat, heat coating every inch of her skin. Darkness enveloped Reiss like a black cloak, pinning her tight to the ground until there was no escape.

Her hand clawed at the air and she snorted awake to find a bird halting its song outside the window to glare at her. _Maker's sake_. Reiss groaned to herself as she cupped her head in her hand and tried to wipe away the nightmare memories. In doing so, she heard not a bed creak below her but a chair, one she sat in to pass the time while the King...

"Awake?" came Alistair's cheery question. He sat himself at a desk in a preferred study cozier than the others; this held far more grey warden paraphernalia on the walls. A few clerks moved in and out but for most of the afternoon it was just the two of them -- one writing letters and reading them, the other bored out of her skull. She'd only meant to rest her feet for a few minutes, then her eyes.

"Ser, I'm so sorry," Reiss staggered to her legs which complained of a major cramp. Maker's sake, how long was she asleep in that damn chair?

The King waved his hand at her and turned around in his chair. It was a simple design and wouldn't look out of place at an average Denerim resident's table, but someone took the time to carve an archdemon into the back of it. Smiling at her, he whispered, "If I were in your shoes, I'd take every nap I could get."

"I..." Reiss shook her head, trying to will sense back in. She'd fallen asleep on the job. "So, were there any assassins while I was out?" she tried to chuckle while kicking herself in the head a few times.

He laughed again, his eyes sparkling before turning back to his work. "Sadly none who made their presence known, though you did miss Karelle's fluffy skirt thing catching on a lamp, knocking it over, and starting a small fire."

"You're joking," Reiss gasped.

Shrugging, he pointed at a small black burn mark upon the floor. "It wasn't too bad. I threw my mead on it and it went out no problem. Which means I need to have a talk with the kitchen staff about watering it down again. One more thing to the never ending docket!" He jabbed his finger in the air and then pretended to write out a list over his pile of papers.

"Sire, I..." Reiss staggered over towards him. She caught a few unknown names and places written in his sloppy hand. Many people relied upon rulers to hold their words in tight until they learned how to manage it free hand, but the King either never tried or didn't care. His letters all leaned drastically to the left as if the entire text was on a sinking ship. On occasion he'd insert forgotten lines or sentences in the margins and then draw arrows to indicate where it belonged. There were a lot more stick figures of people either fighting, eating, or doing something indecipherable than she suspected were in typical royal correspondence.

The King twisted around in his chair to give her his full attention as Reiss tried to beg for forgiveness. "I should not have let myself succumb to such trivial circumstances in your, um..." she lost her train of thought at the man's smile slowly lifting up each side of his lips until a deep set of dimples broke upon his cheeks.

Alistair's fingers skirted over to hers and held tight a moment, the quill he'd coated in ink drawing a black line across her skin. "Don't worry about it. I've been thinking about instituting nap time for Ferelden for awhile now. Every man, woman, and child shall be required to go down for at least an hour after the noon meal."

"Is that edict meant for you or the princess?" Reiss asked.

He let his warm fingers slip off hers as he shrugged, "Pretty sure I need the naps far more than Spud does. That kid could power a mill all by herself no water needed. A year's worth of millet ground in a day."

The princess of all of Ferelden doing manual labor would make for an interesting sight, no doubt. All the fancy dresses and velvet pants dragging through a flooded field to watch the little girl pluck up armfuls of wheat and drop it into the grinder. Sounded like the start of one of those atrocious holidays when all the noble class act like they're servants because it's fun and the elves are forced to pretend they're in charge without saying or doing anything to get their ears sliced off tomorrow.

Reiss staggered back from the King as a herald knocked open the door and entered. Letters overran out of a grey satchel knotted around his waist. Barely pausing to take a breath, he dumped a handful onto the King's desk and then wiped a forearm against his brow. Alistair waited, his eyebrow rising dangerously high with each passing second until the mail deliverer explained, "Responses for the call to the summit."

"Let me guess, they all want the fish," he chuckled, scooping up the first handful.

"Don't know nothing about fish, Sire," the herald either failed to catch the joke or chose not to.

The King waved his hand to try and tell the man he was kidding when the random letter shuffling revealed an envelope baring a blue and gold seal. He turned it over and, with his finger, ripped apart the paper where a letter opener would have popped it cleanly free. Eyes churning quickly through the words, Alistair seemed to skip up and down the small letter before tossing his head back and groaning, "Of bloody course."

"Your Majesty?" the herald asked, rising up and down on his toes to try and read over Alistair's shoulder.

"It's...not important," he began. "Take these to Karelle. She's drawing up the guest lists, and itineraries, and baths, and other things people draw for these sorts of shindigs." He waved at the pile of letters the herald scattered but kept the one he opened tight in his fist.

The letter carrier scooped all of them back into his satchel, stifling down the groan of "Why didn't you tell me to take them to the chamberlain in the first place?" When he moved to reach for the one in Alistair's fist, the King clung tight, his eyes a million miles away. Reiss had seen him frown before, even the beginnings of a growl when pushed to a limit, but a sneer twisted up his face revealing teeth clenched tight.

"Sire?" the herald tried to break him from whatever travesty had burned away the sunny disposition.

"Hm, what? Oh, right," Alistair released his death lock on the letter. Nodding his thanks, the herald slipped back into the hallway, adjusted his groaning bag, and tried to head off to find the chamberlain. From the knot along his shoulders, Reiss expected the King to bang his royal fist on the desk and curse. Quietly, she reached over to close the door the herald left open but when turning back she found the King with his fingers pressed against his lips and absently blowing into them.

She recognized that seal, a fist holding a book lit on fire, associated with the Enchanter's College. On occasion, the Inquisition would receive official missives or commendations from them after they first established themselves. There'd been a banner hung up in the Herald's Rest for months until someone drunk ripped it off, wrapped it around his naked body, and tried to leap off the roof. Luckily it was a short fall to the ground and only his pride was injured.

Uncertain if she should say something or not, Reiss fumbled with her sword, enjoying the feel of it banging against her hip. The movement seemed to revive the King from his stupor. He threw on a forced smile and scrunched his eyes up. "I think hey, we need to get some people together to talk things out. Not a big deal, talking to people I can't stand's about 97% of my day...sometimes including trips to the privy. But of course we have to make it a big todo because, I don't know, bakers of really big cakes like coin and an excuse to use those little wooden pillars between layers."

She knew that wasn't what was bothering him, but she was in no position to call him out on it. "You called for the summit."

"Yes, no. It didn't start out as that. I didn't want a proper Landsmeet because that's nothing but me sitting on my ass listening to the Bannorn bicker about whose great-great grandfather stole a chicken. It was meant to be, well, this; a few people in a room talking, getting something accomplished. Then I went and told Eamon, who let it slip to Karelle, Cade had to get involved because of all the people attending and next thing I know it's the highlight of the spring season. Everyone who's anyone is going whether they have a damn reason to be here or not."

The man's smile stretched to a rictus, his eyes bulging. He looked as if he needed something to hit or a well to scream down. Sadly, Reiss wasn't certain where the palace well sat and she suspected it would unnerve the clerks in the study if she and the King began punching each other. "This summit, its intentions are...?"

"Right, suppose you'd probably want to know having to work it and all." He scrubbed his face with his hands, vigorously trying to peel the layers of political bullshit free. "Don't know if you're aware, but after the Blight the Dalish were awarded land in the Kokari wilds."

"You awarded them the land," Reiss said. She knew. It was talked about far more than the Arlessa of the Alienage because elves thought the former actually meant something.

He pulled a hand off half his face, leaving the other side covered and shrugged, "The area was decimated by the darkspawn, it didn't seem to be anything super controversial. And they did help to save us all, after we handled their whole werewolf tree lady problem. Anyway, with lots of hard work the Dalish started turning the once broken and useless land into something, to the point elves from other kingdoms started heading down south. There isn't a town yet, but there are enough clustered permanent houses without sails that it's becoming one."

"And the local land owners are concerned..." Reiss filled on.

" _Concerned_ ," the King snorted, "That's what they say as if I know they aren't salivating at the prospect of scooping up acres of cultivated soil ready to pop out crops for 'em." He banged his hand softly against the desk, watching the ink pot tremble back and forth, "Scuffles broke out, which wouldn't have been much but people wanted to turn a nug into an archdemon. Add onto that the overcrowding in the alienage. I'd originally hoped that some of the more adventurous elves would try their hand down south. But if the Banns are going to go all..."

The King shook his head at what had to be clinging to his lips: exalted march. Andraste, their prophet, freed the elves and the chantry gave them land until deciding it was inconvenient. Now the Bannorn wanted to re-enact that bloody chapter once again. "What..." Reiss coughed, knowing she shouldn't have an opinion on this. She should remain neutral, "what is the Divine's opinion?"

Alistair laughed, "If Leliana had it her way she'd be standing with the elves before the walls aiming an arrow at the first masked idiot carrying a torch. But officially, the chantry supports peace, which is a nice way of saying 'You're on your own.'"

"I see," Reiss muttered, her eyes glaring through the floor.

At that the King chuckled, "You sound just like the Inquisitor. Oh Maker, please tell me there were 'I see' challenges to find who could do his exact same curt dismissal without making anyone feel bad."

"Ah," Reiss couldn't shake off the smile from his own infectious grin, "I am afraid not, though on occasion a few of us would..." her words trailed away as she realized she shouldn't discuss this with her boss.

"Would? Oh, the mocking," he smiled at her downturned face. "Please, making fun of your superiors behind their backs is a time honored tradition. It wouldn't be an army without that." He laughed to himself and then caught her eye. "How's your impression of me?"

"It's," that damn blush returned and Reiss whipped her head to the side to try and disguise it. She wanted to assure him that she would never be so gauche as to mock someone in power, certainly not her superiors, but even when she played the good girl to the rest of the humans braying about any gossip of the Inquisitor or advisors that caught their fancy sometimes she'd let something slip. It was easy to get tired of having to be the model example all the damn time. Smiling, she whispered, "I haven't had much time to perfect it."

"Well," Alistair closed up his ink bottle and shuffled the letters he'd been transcribing deeper into the desk. "I expect something good in time for the summit."

"I shall endeavor, your Majesty," Reiss slightly bowed while stepping back to give him the freedom to leave.

Something caused the man to pause in closing up his desk. The key waited in his palm, but he ran a finger over what looked like an old letter already yellowing with a few years of age. "Did you, in your time with the Inquisition, spend a lot of time with the mages?"

Reiss' hackles lifted instantly but she tried to smooth them down. She had no right to feel jealous of his attentions upon a mage. "Not often, no. They tended to keep us separate."

"Put a templar in charge of your army," he whispered to himself, before shaking his head, "The Grand Enchanter, Fiona. Did you ever meet her?"

That wasn't who she expected him to ask about. The Grand Enchanter was easily in her fifties to sixties, and seemed to be beyond wanting to take up as a royal consort. "No," Reiss said. She didn't think he'd much care about her trials in the Arbor Wilds. How for a brief moment the no-name elven soldier threw her shield in front of the Grand Enchanter, both facing down death, before the archdemon took to the skies and flew away. It wasn't a particularly heroic moment without someone slaying the dragon.

"Huh," the King said noncommittally, his fingers sliding around that old letter.

"What of you? Did you ever meet the Grand Enchanter?"

He blinked slowly, his shoulders hunching over, "Once..." Placing the letter back below the others, the King closed his desk and inserted the key, "that I can remember."

Before Alistair could rise out of his chair the door opened again. "Unless you want suggestions on cake flavors - chocolate for all layers, in fact skip the cake and have a giant pile of frosting - Karelle's the only one you should be talking to," he began before the dwarf hidden beneath a wide brimmed hat yanked it off.

Lace Harding grinned up at the King, "You do keep your chamberlain buried under an avalanche of work."

"Well, well, it looks as if that iron shipment is here," the King was obviously trying to bluff to anyone listening in. Reiss' eyed up the clerks but they all had the "King Silencers" in their ears, blissfully unaware.

"What, ah...yes, oh yes, lots of iron for you to get. I suppose," Harding said. She placed her hat back in place, making certain to situate it properly to obscure her face in shadows.

"Let's all head down to the room that the iron would go in," the King said. He glanced over at Reiss once and she fell in behind as Alistair led the two women across the palace in near total silence until they walked up to the meeting room that was the sight of the attack. Someone took the time to put a sawhorse in the way and marked in yellow paint "Crime Scene Under Guards." Judging by the door left wide open, people seemed to be crawling over top the sawhorse to get in there and clean up the mess.

Someone removed the arrow, leaving only a notch in the table a good half an inch deep. Reiss reached out to run her finger against it, then glanced back at the shut tight window. Stepping in, Harding waited until the King closed the door. She yanked off her hat, seeming to hate the thing, and spoke, "I'm guessing this is where the latest assassins tried to get you."

"Yes, and please, please, PLEASE tell me you have something," Alistair clasped his hands together and begged the dwarf. Reiss didn't see Harding much during her soldier days. On occasion the scout of the Inquisition would stop by established camps to refuel before being sent to another far flung section of thedas. For being the hard nosed scrabbler routing through underbrush to snipe enemies the woman seemed affable and rather kind.

She turned her own fresh face upon the King and stared up at him. "I don't know yet, but...there might be something. You mentioned in your raven letter that Ghaleb was here during the meeting. Can you tell me where he sat?"

"Uh..." Alistair gestured around the entire table. Despite someone cleaning up the arrows and spilled drink, they oddly left the chairs all where they fell.

"Here," Reiss spoke up, pointing at the chair she remembered vividly in her mind, "the Spymaster sat here."

"Right, he was across from Cherie," the King said.

"Not precisely, she was one to the right, slightly nearer your seat. Ser," Reiss tacked on before dropping her eyes down.

It wasn't the King that stared through her but Harding. "I'm guessing you were in the room when it happened."

"Aye," Reiss nodded, but it was the King who spoke up.

"In the room? Andraste's sake, she took two arrows to her shield, then ran the bastard down on foot."

The ex-scout's eyes narrowed as she surveyed up and more up the elf trying to not self consciously rub the back of her neck. "If you caught the assassin then...?"

"Dead," Reiss interrupted before the King could. "My fault. I was thrown off by him during the fight and the Commander had to neutralize him before I was injured or killed."

Every sound in the castle died from her words, as if thedas itself held a breath to let Reiss' failure ring clear across the world. Harding took a beat, then turned fully to the King, "This Commander would be...?"

"Cade, leader of the royal guards. Oh right, you probably haven't met him. Big, beefy, I call him Roasty behind his back," Alistair admitted. It was such an off the cuff remark, Reiss felt a giggle escape even through her hang dog face. That drew the King's eyes to her and Reiss could feel him staring at her face. Normally when she sensed the shemlan glare it drew up the hairs on the back of her neck, but the King's only caused the contents of her stomach to flip around.

Harding, having no time for the bodyguard attempting to punish herself or the King trying to make her feel better, paced towards the window. She gently pushed on the glass then looked up at the mechanism. "So, you say the assassin fired three bolts through this window. Two of which the bodyguard caught on her shield, and the last that missed it and jammed into the table."

"That'd be the long and short of it," Alistair said, then he winced at saying short to a dwarf.

Harding waved it all off, "The locking mechanism on this window, can either of you tall people reach the latch?"

While Reiss didn't even bother to try, the King slid next to the window and scurried up on his tiptoes. With an arm straining out of its socket, he pawed at thin air missing the latch by a good foot.

"A difficult to open window was left wide open on the day that arrows happened to slice through to kill a King," Harding reported to herself.

"You think someone did that deliberately?" Alistair turned on her.

Both women shrugged and gave an identical, "Of course." It wasn't until Harding whipped her head over that Reiss thought to blush. She hadn't meant to say that aloud. "What did you see, bodyguard?"

"Reiss," the King said.

"Who happened to be standing in just the right spot to catch two arrows with her shield drawn," Harding continued. That amiable nature split in twain revealing a revenant lurking below those freckles. Reiss knew in her marrow that if she wasn't careful that dwarf could destroy her without trying.

"Well," Reiss shook her head and glared at the floor. If she closed her eyes tight she could see it again. "I stood here," she paced back to the chair behind the Orlesian ambassador. "While the Arl of the Alienage was in an argument with..." Reiss tipped her head, struggling to bring back the voice, "Perrin. When I glanced out through the window and found it curious that someone left it open."

"Why?" Harding asked.

"Because," Reiss' eyes opened and she stared down at the dwarf, "it was raining that day."

"That's right, it was raining," Alistair snapped his fingers.

"You do realize this all happened yesterday," Harding cut back at the King.

"Funny how nearly dying again tends to knock about someone's memory," He grumbled to himself, folding his arms.

The dwarf shook her head and sighed, probably muttering about how she missed the professionalism of the heretical Inquisition, before turning to Reiss. "And that was what drew you to pull out your shield? The fact a window was open."

"I reacted," Reiss admitted, "if there'd been nothing I'd have looked a fool but no one would have been hurt. If I hadn't then..." She scrunched up her nose, something tickling in her brain. It wasn't quite right.

"You say reacted as if it's a bad thing. Soldier?" Harding asked, not about to let anything past her.

Reiss had been trained, honed to an edge by some of the best but sometimes her brain broke through the programming. Like in the arbor wilds. She shouldn't have pursued that red templar, her orders were to guard the stream upriver. In that state, when she gave into her baser instincts, her senses seemed to heighten, giving her the foresight to protect the Grand Enchanter and also the King. It saved her and sometimes also nearly damned her, a fact that Reiss tried to keep hidden away. Trained to overcome instinct and rely upon orders, ignore pain for the job, that was also true of assassins. Proper ones, the expensive kind sent after Kings were taught the same. They weren't orphans plucked off streets, given knives, and pointed in the right direction. They took their time when it came to the shot.

Shouldering past Harding, Reiss yanked off her shield and held it in the same position she had yesterday. "Scout, I mean..."

"Don't worry. Most people call me Scout Harding. Even my aunt's started. What are you thinking?" she asked, stepping closer to the elf.

Reiss' eyes darted off the two holes in her shield she needed to repair back to the King. "Sit in the chair," she ordered, indicating the head of the table.

"Okay," he shrugged, not blanching at the elf giving commands as he slid into it. "Now what?"

With her fingers, Reiss dug into the angle of the first arrow, then the second. Dropping her shield away, she trailed both down to where they were aimed for. The first would have shattered into the floor and the second nicked against the King's side into the table. "None of the arrows would have killed you," Reiss gasped.

"Well," Alistair chuckled, "it makes me feel better to know my assassins are shit at aiming."

Reiss shook her head, willing him to see what her mind pieced together, "No, that tower is near, far closer than a shot most hunters take in the woods. No foliage in the way. The wind was low. If these are trained assassins..."

"Then all of the shots should have been aiming right for the King," Harding said, leaping onto Reiss' idea.

"Center of mass first, then head," Reiss said, "only proper way to do it." She gently plucked her finger into the back of Alistair's skull before trying to follow the line of sight back to the tower.

"If you're going to make me lay down on the ground and pretend I'm dead, I better get some fake blood to use," the King said. Reiss felt a second of guilt from the way she was playing with the man's life, when he turned in his chair and smiled up at her.

"So," Harding peered out the window at the tower window, then turned back to Reiss, "two options before us. Either we're for certain not dealing with the House of Repose, or Crows, or anyone professional."

"Or," Reiss circled at the arrow hole in the table and tried to follow it back, this one on an even more erratic path than the two warning shots, "they were all supposed to miss." The elf and dwarf shared a look, both their eyes widening as the bare facts ran before them.

"Wait, wait," the King stumbled to his feet causing the chair to tip back. "Who sends assassins with orders to miss? Why not just tell them to stay at home, have a nice cup of cocoa, and take a nap? Seems a better way to spend your time."

"It..." Reiss felt the spark of an idea burning in the back of her mind but as she chased after its tail it fizzled out. "It is possible that this assassin missed."

"The King could have shifted in his seat, or the assassin anticipated a change that didn't come," Harding agreed. "Regardless, first thing I'm looking into is whoever opened that window. What's your Spymaster up to?"

"Void if I know," Alistair confessed. "He seemed spooked by the last one, babbling more than usual and rushing back to his tower."

"You still suspect him?" Harding asked.

"I think the people I don't suspect right now are you two and Cailan because he can't lift his head on his own," Alistair grumbled into his hands.

"What about your daughter?" Reiss asked. She felt an urge to run her hands over his shoulders to comfort him but, Maker's sake, that was wildly inappropriate.

The King shrugged, "If I told her she couldn't have a cupcake for dinner, she'd hire a good ten mercenaries to cut me down. Toddler vengeance is not one that is crossed lightly." He peered up from his hands, a hint of a smile coating the lips but sadness haunted through his eyes. The man seemed exhausted and broken by the needs of everyone hanging off him while death lurked through the corridors. "Harding, keep on Ghaleb and the Baronet just in case. If it's not the Crows we'll, I don't know, hold an archery contest for every assassin in Ferelden and shoot them all when they register."

Harding snatched up her hat and pinned it back in place. "I'll get right on it." She stepped towards the door and yanked it back. Sliding under the sawhorse, Harding turned back to say, "And Sire."

"Yeah?"

"You look like you could use a nap."

## CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

#### Backroom

That piquant blend of the cheapest mead short of someone rebottling piss, overlaid with top notes of cheese dropped onto a hot griddle overpowered the air. His bodyguard seemed to be drooping at it, but Alistair smiled wider as he approached the backroom of all backrooms. Past the kitchens, beyond the scrap station where they gathered leftovers to be scattered to their handful of livestock, rested what most of the month was the secondary larder, but for one glorious night was his freedom.

"Okay," Alistair banged his hands together to try and warm them before turning back to Reiss, "there are a few rules about entering here."

He watched her thin eyebrow arch, giving the elf a stern Mother possessing a ruler look. "Do not tell me, the first rule is we do not talk about this place."

"Well, you can, but I rather doubt anyone else in the castle will much care." Alistair watched the fire flicker below the door and heard a few voices cry out in joy. He didn't want to seem too antsy to escape inside, but politic matters had already caused him to miss the first hour. For her part, Reiss seemed uneasy about the idea. "No one stands on ceremony in there. Everyone leaves their business at the door and we're only going in to have fun."

"All right," she drug the words out, both eyebrows now folding in the middle.

"So, you can stay out here in the cold with the smell of pig shit in the air as the bodyguard, or head inside as Reiss. It's up to you," he smiled wide parting his hands. In his heart, he prayed she'd say yes if only to have a few minutes where they weren't standing on such unleveled ground.

"I..." her eyes shot open wide as a few male voices shouted in jubilation, before sighing, "I shall join you, your Majesty."

"Alistair," he said, waving a finger in front of her face.

She screwed her eyes up and shook her head, "You. I can deal with you."

"Good enough," Alistair grabbed onto the kerchief dangling out of the hole that used to hold a knob and yanked the wooden door open. "Please, after you."

Reiss eyed him up a minute before stepping inside. They'd overdone themselves this time, the usual table that was covered in farm bric-a-brac was cleared to leave space for a platter overflowing in cheese and shaved sections of meat. Okay, someone left the gelder in the middle but that was pretty much their inside joke now. Two men sat in a glaring death match, their hands clasped together while waiting for the first to blink. Karelle leaned closer to them, a handkerchief waving as she watched, when Philipe's eyes suddenly wandered to the side and scrunched up.

"Aye!" Karelle shouted, "Ghaleb has it."

The Spymaster smiled and released his hold on the kitchen boy before picking up his mug and taking a long sip. "Maker's ballsack," Philipe whined while rubbing across his face, "it's like staring into the sun agains' him."

Reiss stood rooted to the spot, seeming to be in total shock at what lay before her. Trying to not laugh, Alistair leaned closer and whispered, "So, what horrors were you expecting."

"Honestly? Goats in skirts, really frilly ones. And someone eating fish off a naked woman."

That caught Alistair and he gasped out, "Fish?"

Those endless summer eyes rolled back to him and she shrugged, "I've seen it before, though I do my best to forget."

Swallowing down a frog rising in his throat, Alistair called out, "Hey gang, we've got a new addition to the crew. This is Reiss, some of you know her. Karelle, of course."

"No shit," Karelle cursed, letting her normally sort of polite self trail free in the room.

"Ghaleb and Philipe," Alistair continued, not even blinking at Karelle's outburst.

"Seeing he still ain't run you off yet. That's got to net me a few coppers," Philipe cooed to Reiss who remained rooted on the spot. Alistair gently nudged into her shoulder and sliding forward, she tugged out a chair beside Ghaleb.

The Spymaster tucked his three decks of cards closer to give her room, and then reached for a plate. "Duck, only the sharp cheeses, and a raspberry jam?" he asked her, indicating the piles of food.

"How did you...?" Reiss glanced around in surprise, "Ah, yes please."

While Ghaleb loaded down her plate, Alistair grabbed up his own and began his assault upon a tower of cheese that wasn't likely to last the night. Philipe caught him and shouted out, "Oi! Leave a bit for the rest of us. Some of us are starving away here, right Karelle."

"Shove it up your scrawny ass, Philipe," Karelle bit back with, a wisp of a smile curling her lips. Philipe cracked up at that, pounding the table to emphasize how hilarious it was.

Loaded down, Alistair fell into his seat beside Karelle. Funny enough there was an empty one across from him. "We expecting someone else tonight?" It was a rotating crew from across all strata of the palace. On occasion a noble or two would try to join in, on the assumption this was some special back dealing place to get on the King's good side, but if you couldn't deal with a piss boy calling you on your shit, you were kicked out. Teagan came a few times, but he started to complain about heartburn keeping him up all night and began to demure.

"Don't tell me Sister Amay's back in town," Alistair continued, popping cheese into his mouth and chewing less than thoughtfully.

"Nah, she's off converting heathens in Highever," Philipe answered.

"What heathens exist in Highever?" Ghaleb asked. His thin fingers broke apart the three decks and began to ruffle them into one.

"The ones someone cleverly told the Sister about so she'd leave for a few months and allow our dear Philipe to win all his money back," Karelle smirked.

"Cor, ain't just me she swindled. She took Alistair for near on all his bits."

Alistair coughed and shifted in his seat, "Not quite all of them, thankfully."

"Good," a new voice smiled from the door. Lifting his head, Alistair caught that brash, bronzed smile of the Admiral of the Siren's Echo. Isabela knocked back her lush crimson pirate hat with a flick and smirked, "Because I was hoping I could put 'em to good use later."

"Well well, look at what the tide pulled in." Alistair rose from his seat and caught Isabela's salty hand, "I didn't think you were gonna make it until summer."

"Things change," she shrugged and her eyes slowly drifted over the Reiss. "Who's this new lovely one added to our table?"

"Reiss," she said, sticking her hand out to the pirate and no doubt gripping tight.

While Isabela gave her the once over that'd make Alistair blush bright, he said, "She's my bodyguard."

That drew the sly look right to him, "She's in charge of guarding you? Pretty thing, you have my utmost condolences."

Reiss' cheeks lit up from the compliment but she shook it off, "Yeah, I get that a lot."

"So," Isabela slapped her hands together, stretched one leg over the chair and dropped straight into it. It was such an impressive move even Philipe whistled under his breath. "Let's play some cards."

The first few hands were child's play, well, not literally. Anytime he played cards with Spud they wound up propping each one up on pillows to get them to sleep, tried to feed them ashes from the fireplace, and then gave them all baths after getting dirty. But Isabela went easy on her cheating, Karelle was barely paying attention, and Ghaleb was more focused on some Duke in Orlais that decided to start up a wyvern farm. Apparently it wasn't going well for the Duke.

"...Despite losing three shepherds to poison, and having one of them climb the walls to escape, he still believes he can make it work," Ghaleb finished before tossing a two of cups into the pile.

"Wall? What wall?" Karelle pushed.

"The ten foot tall ones ringing the castle he tried to confine them in."

"Shite and more shite," Philipe gasped before pouring a shot of what had to be turpentine down his throat. Even being near it caused Alistair's eyes to water. "That's bonkers, eh? Complete and utter donkey licking madness. At what point do you say 'Hey, maybe this ain't such a good idea?'"

"As he is Orlesian, I suspect it will take until one of the pet wyverns accidentally digests the Duchess' shoe. Pride can only be shattered by crimes against fashion," Ghaleb pronounced with such a dramatic flare everyone in the table burst into laughter. He blinked a moment, the eyes watching before joining in.

"Oh, Orlesians," Isabela sighed, rubbing her eyes of the salt still clinging to them. "What about you, sweetheart?"

"What? Me?" Reiss pointed at herself. She'd been quiet, letting the old friends catch up and fall into their usual patterns. Isabela seemed to make it a point to draw her out of her armored shell.

"What are your thoughts on Orlesians?"

"Well, uh, I only dealt with them on occasion in the Inquisition."

"You were with the Inquisition?" Isabela's eyebrows shot up and she turned a calculating stare over at Alistair. "Interesting. Any chance you were intimately involved with Comman--"

"No, no," Alistair waved a hand, cutting off Isabela's line of treachery which also drew the curious stare of everyone at the table who knew nothing of their adventures together. The pirate gave him a cocky look and he smiled, "Izzy, it's your draw."

She scowled at the nickname, angrily shuffling the cards in her hands before returning to her newest toy, "So, sweetheart, what's your type?"

"Type of what?" Reiss seemed to be panicking from the attention of Isabela as if she was held under an interrogation lamp. Alistair wanted to call her off, but he knew that would only incite the pirate more.

"Here," Isabela slapped a ten of swords down and turned fully to the elf. "What makes your gaatlock explode? Rotates your windmill? Tickles your taint?"

Reiss watched the pirate a moment, while Alistair watched her. He shouldn't do it he knew, but there was this moment when she'd slip from quietly observing to bitingly witty that was fascinating to see. It was as if she lit up from the inside as she assessed a situation in seconds while everyone else fumbled around. He'd caught it while with Harding and tried to not stare too agape as the two of them puzzled things out together.

"I see," Reiss opened her mouth and for a moment her eyes flickered up to Alistair's. It caused a chain reaction and his lips lifted in one of ten of his goofiest smiles, nearly causing an awe shucks to dribble from his mouth. The elf turned away, her hand absently fanning her face as she spoke with a shrug, "Um, good?"

Isabela laughed at that, "We all want them to be good in bed, otherwise what's the point? Or on the table, in the pew, standing astride the prow while facing down a storm of..." Her eyes stared through the horizon before she woke herself back up, "Details. That's the fun part. Mixing all those weird edges of ours together and for a brief moment enjoying the way they fit, or really loving the way they don't."

"Oh, that, well I..." she gurgled into an incoherent babble and pointed at the table.

"Let me take a guess," Philipe spoke up before holding both of his fingers over his eyes like a blindfold, "Tall, dark, and a handsome man who works in the kitchens?"

Karelle nudged him in the ribs and sat up, "Don't go giving the girl a fright like that. She's clearly gotta have a thing for elfy types, they all do. Lanky, and lean, and skinny, and what not."

Alistair swallowed and tugged on the constricting collar of his tunic which drew every eye to him. "Oh no, I'm staying out of this. I barely know what I'm attracted to most days," he folded into himself and found his hands endlessly fascinating to watch.

"You're easy," Isabela jabbed a finger at him. "Short, dark," she nodded at Philipe with that one, "and capable of saving the world."

"Yeah," he nodded his head, feeling like honey dribbled out of the wound from her dagger striking through his heart. That wound was eternal no matter how much time crawled on, but it wasn't always painful either. "Which is so easy to find." Alistair felt himself drifting lower into his navel. He'd tried being with women before; Lanny, others after her, Lanny again -- which was an even bigger mistake -- and they all ended badly. Maybe he wasn't cut out for it, for any of that romance stuff. Cuddling with someone in bed while reading random lines out of books to make a new story. Holding her hand before leaping off a cliff into a lake. Aching to kiss only those lips. To feel her laugh up through his arms while holding her. Everyone else seemed capable of it, but like all things in life, Alistair was the eternal screw up.

Clapping his hands to try and lift the clouds that settled across the group, the King threw on his biggest smile. "Right, that's enough going easy on the new girl. Let's get this real party started."

"I hope you've got the coin to back up that mouth," Isabela smirked, her grin shaking off the last of the awkwardness. Everyone else moved to cash in their cards, passing them to the Spymaster to shuffle.

Ghaleb accepted them all, his head hanging down, but under his breath he muttered, "Shoulders broad enough to hold the world and a heart willing to try."

Isabela was on point, she did have her little fleet to finance after all, but Alistair knew how to counter most of her moves. It didn't take long before Philipe bowed out as well as Karelle who was never in for the gambling. Alistair found his eyes darting over to the bodyguard who kept sneering at her cards. As the night wore on her hair started to creep out of its bun, a small tendril constantly flopping in her face. When she plucked up a card, and gave a quick breath to knock it up and out of the way, he had to bury his face into his hand to hide the smile. For a moment, he caught Isabela's always curious glance eyeing him up. She gestured at Reiss, who mercifully wasn't paying attention, at him, and then...proceeded to make a rude gesture which earned her a growl. Of course Isabela laughed at it, even more certain in her guess.

"Right, I'm done," Reiss folded her hand up tight and dropped them with a thud against the table. Tucking back her hair behind her ears she absently snatched up a hunk of bread and chewed it apart.

"Do you know the real trick to this game?" Isabela asked. She rarely looked down at her hand, finding it far more fun to watch everyone else stew over theirs.

"Having another deck stashed up your sleeve?" Reiss mumbled to herself before pausing. Panic crawled up her face as the table fell deathly silent, each eye turning first to the pirate queen and back to the bodyguard struggling to swallow.

Isabela folded up her cards and with care pulled a stack of cards out of her leather gauntlet wrapped across her bicep. Shrugging, she tossed it onto the table and resumed play, "If you're going to cheat, might as well go big. You know, it's funny you noticed that. I remember the last person to catch that deck of cards on me." Her smile turned from the bodyguard to Alistair whose brain took a few more seconds to follow along and he felt himself melting into a puddle.

"That was..." he screwed up his eyes and fought down the urge to run out of the room, "she's talking about the Hero." He felt like he needed to explain without going into any details for fear of all the details Isabela would go into.

"You met her?" Reiss asked so sweetly innocent Alistair wanted to tackle her from across the room to try and rescue her.

"Mm," Isabela exchanged one of her legal cards for another, "you could phrase it like that. She has a lovely birthmark, very memorable."

Reiss shook her head, "The one on her neck in all the paintings?"

"Yes, that one's good too. Are you in or not, Ali?"

Alistair shuffled up and tried to mop away the sweat beading across his forehead. This room was not always so hot, he was fairly certain. There was probably someone he should talk to about lowering the fire levels. Ignoring the glances from the rest of the party, he picked another card and tried to shake off the groan. "What about you, Ghaleb?"

"My contributions would be trite. I shall refrain from playing."

"What?" Isabela turned on the Spymaster.

"That means he's out. Looks like it's just you and me," Alistair smiled wide, trying to put his teeth to good use.

Isabela remained unimpressed. She plucked a grape off the stack and dropped it into her mouth before spitting the seed into a slop bucket behind Alistair's head. "First time for everything, I suppose. So, how about we make it interesting?"

"Interesting?" He'd expected this from her, the pirate always trying to goad people into giving up things they wanted. Normally, Alistair didn't have much to ask for but he'd been thinking of something really good. "All right. You know, I bet that hat of yours would look nice on me."

Her fingers ran along the brim that he swore got bigger since he last saw her. "You'd ruin this beauty with your misshapen head," Isabela frowned.

"Is the Pirate Queen scared?" Alistair leaned forward, both elbows digging into the table.

A cocky smile replaced her worry, and she jerked her head, "Not for a moment. You know what I want."

"Yeah, yeah, what you always do, so...let's do this."

The cards flew furiously across the table, many tells exchanged, most of them blisteringly obvious. At one point Isabela snatched up a card then howled at the sky. Of course Alistair had to one up her by grabbing a small knife and ceremoniously knighting the card. He checked with Karelle to make certain it was legal and then kept Ser Card in his front pocket the whole night. But even as their antics delighted the people slowly crawling into their mugs at the table, both combatants could taste the blood in the air. The end was drawing nigh as the last of the coin, the buttons, and what crackers they could steal before Philipe whined piled up on the table.

Alistair glared over his cards, all three of them ready to attack, "You ready to fork over that hat?"

She ran her finger up and down the brim as if caressing it before thumbing her nose at him and sticking out her tongue. "Not on your bloody life. You won't stand a chance, little King."

"Okay," he couldn't bury the smile widening upon his jaw. Isabela kept her face neutral but he knew that snake grin in her eyes. She was certain she'd won. "On the count of one, two..."

"Will someone throw down their cards!" Reiss shouted from the sidelines, then she eeped and tossed a hand over her mouth.

"As you say, pretty one," Isabella cooed before tossing her no doubt winning hand upon the table. She moved to scoop up the pile and flashed a wicked smile at him.

"I hate to break it to the hustler in our midst, but..." Alistair dropped his cards and Isabela's jaw hit the table, "she just got took. Hat please."

Snatching up his cards, Isabela glared through them, her face shifting in an internal rage, "You cheated!"

"So did you," he chuckled. "I still beat you unfair and wobbly shaped. Doesn't change the outcome. Hat."

Growling, Isabela slammed the cards back onto the table and then slapped them a few more times for good measure. She ignored his waiting hand and downed her drink before yanking a flask out of her corset and unscrewing that.

"Grumble all you want, but I'm not moving until you drop that on my head," Alistair smirked pointing at her pirate hat.

Her fingers drummed up and down on the table, a stormy sea ransacking her brow as she glared death through the wall, when it all passed in an instant. Isabela smiled wide, finished off her flask, then spun around to fully face Alistair. "Fine," her fingers didn't dart up to her head but down across her chest. _What in thedas was she doing?_

Working with a lightning fast dexterity Alistair would kill for, Isabela unlaced her corset and, completely topless, hurled it across the table at him. _Sweet Maker_. He knew his cheeks lit up bright red as his eyes tried to find the ceiling utterly fascinating with its cobwebs and missing slats. Unmoored by her own unclothing, Isabela positioned her hat tighter to her head and said to the melting King, "Wear that, oh Majesty." Turning on her heel, she marched breasts swinging out the door.

"Well that was something," Karelle quipped first.

"For Andraste's sake," Alistair groaned as he picked up the warm, white leather. "Will someone go flag her down and return this before she causes massive heart attacks in the guards?"

"I'm on it," Philipe reached over to tug it from his hands, but the King held it tight.

"Someone else," he said.

"Aye, I'll stop her," Karelle rose to her staggering height and barreled past into the night to try and stop a naked pirate wandering his castle. That could be the summation of Alistair's reign right there: it was all naked pirates and piss-poor assassins. A laugh grew in his throat and he leaned back in his chair, trying to scrub his face clean when he heard a similar one echoing from his bodyguard. He drew his hand away from an eye and caught her shaking her head as she smiled brightly, the last of that armor falling to bits.

After a time Isabela returned dressed and baring a fresh bottle she unearthed from Maker only knew where. Her only approach to drawing attention to her leaving was by knocking back her hat and smiling wildly.

"The hour draws nigh," Ghaleb spoke.

"Aye, and it's gettin' late too," Philipe answered for him, getting a slow sigh from the Spymaster.

Isabela slammed the bottle of rum on the table and jeered, "Are you a bunch of chantry sisters or what? We've got drink, enough light for a few hours, and I need to win back all that coin your nobby ass swiped from me."

She finished the last part at Alistair who parted his hands in humble triumph before patting the pot. "I suppose it's only fair."

Flopping into her seat, Isabela hooked her boot up on the table and yanked out a dagger. Everyone held a breath watching the pirate as she slowly drew the back of the knife up and down her leg trapped below the leather. "Damn thing gets itchy. Okay, let's do this. Who else is in?"

"Karelle? Ghaleb?" Alistair asked, earning a shake of their head for each.

"I'm in," Reiss answered. She tucked her plate to the side and drew closer to the table. "But what if we switch to something other than Diamondback?"

Alistair smiled at her enthusiasm, while Isabela was drawn to her, "Whatcha got in mind, sweetie?"

After five hands the pirate queen was clearly upset but the rum smothered most of her anger into general cheekiness. Philipe sat perched upon her lap after the pirate "bought" him from himself, Isabela jiggling the poor man up and down as she reached for a drink. When Reiss threw out her last card, sealing the game, the pirate blew agitated bubbles into the glass and slammed it down hard enough yellow mead cut with rum and cherry jam slopped over the edge.

"We've got ourselves a ringer here. I've never seen anyone that good at pitch."

Reiss shrugged as she reached over to gather up her small pittance and add it to the pot she'd been slowly accumulating. "I never did Wicked Grace or Diamondback much, but this was all we played in the camp."

"Camp? Oh, did you attend Lady Everly's Camp for Wayward Girls and Others Who Like to Climb Trees?" Karelle asked, rising out of her mostly drunken stupor. She kept up a small game of flipping a biscuit back and forth with Ghaleb while also enjoying the gossip around the card table.

"Ah," Reiss didn't blush, but she turtled down into her neck while blinking rapidly in the light. "Not precisely that, no, it..."

Stretching his arms wide, Alistair interrupted her with a massive yawn. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm done. Be a true miracle if I can make it up the stairs to my bed."

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's slept down here," Karelle laughed before pointing a finger at Ghaleb who'd curled up on the extra chairs beside the door. He seemed as innocent as Spud when his daughter would collapse on the rug in front of his hearth, her special blanket draped over her. And there was still a good chance that baby face was plotting to kill him. Alistair wanted to ignore all that, it was the point of the room -- yanking off the crown, burying it in the dirt for a few hours, and being himself.

Trying to not groan at himself, he stumbled to his feet and dug into his shoulders. "Maker's breath, when did this knot up?"

"Getting old sucks," Isabela responded. She shooed Philipe off her knee, the youngest of them all, before staggering to her own legs. Cracking her neck with an expert snap, she shrugged, "At least that's what all your old asses keep telling me."

Alistair watched Reiss gather up her winnings in a small purse with a golden cord. That had to be a story. He knew so little about her, but...no, it was silly. Shaking away the hazy dust, Alistair staggered off to the door.

"If'n you're feeling bad we could always get that newest mageling to fix you up a treat," Philipe chuckled from his perch on the table.

That drew Isabela's attention instantly, "There's a new arcane advisor in the palace? I'm not too late to enter into the pool yet, am I?" She ended that question at Alistair who tried to slide away from it all.

"Nah," Philipe answered for the man at the center of this demoralizing group activity. "Near everybody's already gone in though. Let me get my book to check the dates available." He ran a finger across the thing while Alistair fought down the urge to chuck it into the fire. "Yup, damn near everyone."

"Except I assume the mage and royal ass in question," Isabela chortled before taking the book out of his hands to look for herself.

"Aye, oh, and the new bodyguard," Philipe said offhandedly, gesturing at Reiss.

Her coin scooping stumbled, sending a few of the coppers rolling out the door and towards the kitchens. "I, uh...should probably get that." Without looking up, she chased after her lost coins while Alistair followed her. He managed to find a single one while Reiss scooped up the rest. When she rose to her feet, her entire face was cherry red all save the nose which stayed ice white.

"Here, I think this was the last one," Alistair said, dropping it into her hand.

"Thank you, I..." she scooped it into the purse and clipped it to her belt. A woman who saved every copper she could find was one that knew what it was to go without. So many others tried to impress him by often tossing one away, sometimes silvers or even a sovereign which often led to the King turning the carriage around to pick the damn thing up.

Struggling down a giggle, Reiss smushed back her free hair behind her ears. He felt an urge to run his hand against those broiling cheeks, but kept both pinned tight behind his back. "I'm glad you decided to come in as yourself," Alistair smiled, waffling back and forth on his feet. "It takes some getting used to, but you're welcome to come whenever you like. They hold it about once a week, we each take turns gathering food and setting up."

"Even you?" she gasped.

"I'd be a pretty terrible leader if I made someone else wipe off chairs and hide away all the piss buckets." He felt silly saying it aware what a fool it would make him in the eyes of the bannorn, Arls, and Teryns, but she smiled and her summery field eyes wafted over him. Maker's sake, why was it hot in here too? There wasn't even a hearth blazing away.

"It was fun," Reiss said. "I haven't done this since the Inquisition."

"You're welcome any time, even if I'm drowning in meetings. Just ask Philipe because the man knows damn near everything," Alistair sighed, turning back to the kitchen boy who seemed to be secretly running things from the larder. Reiss smiled up at him, her thoughts hidden behind a mask he couldn't pierce. Nodding once at him, she stepped over to Philipe when Isabela snaked her arm around Alistair and turned him towards her.

"So," she jerked her head at Reiss, "that's a pretty one to have watching your ass all day."

"Is she? I'm too busy trying to find my own ass to notice," Alistair cut back with. He'd been preparing the quip for a few weeks but no one had yet to say anything to him. It almost seemed wasted on Isabela who stampeded right over it.

"Right, and the way your eyes were trying to peel every layer of that tacky armor off her were what? An employee evaluation?"

He felt the blush starting that always happened because of Isabela. It was so specific he felt it should appear on his cheeks in a pirate ship pattern, but Alistair had his own ammo to turn back on her. "You're just mad because you lost."

"There's nothing you nor any other King, Queen, Empress, or whatever the void they have in the Free Marches can do to get this hat off my head." She leaned closer to him to whisper, "It stays on for everything." Isabela finished it up with her sly smile and her eyes traveling up and down his body.

"Right, don't need to know the specifics. Oh, wait, while I have you," that earned a snort from the pirate clinging to his arm, "metaphorically speaking, I assume you're in town because you have a new shipment. How many?"

"Twelve," she said.

"Maker's sake, twelve? The Alienage is already full to bursting. How am I going to hide twelve more ex-slaves in there without the Arls noticing?" He meant to whisper but the panic in his voice strained it to a higher, more grating pitch.

"Here I'd think your greater concern would be the Tevinter Ambassador," Isabela whispered.

"That man refuses to learn our language and during any meetings will lecture me in Tevene for twenty minutes before returning to his dragon roost. If he's aware, he couldn't give a nuggalope shit at the top of the Frostbacks." Shaking his head, Alistair pinched the top of his nose already mentally preparing himself for the work. "No, it's Shiani who's gonna have my ass nailed to a post for this."

"Well, it's a good thing you have a bodyguard now. She can stand outside and watch it all day for you," Isabela smiled before jabbing her elbow into him. "Tomorrow at noon, be there with a translator because most of them only jabber in that blood mage stuff." Without waiting for Alistair to respond, the pirate returned to the group, no doubt with a mind to plunder Philipe for the night.

This was why Alistair lived for the backroom, once he left it and stepped across its threshold the crown and its ten tonnes of problems all collapsed right back onto his head. He didn't realize he had his head buried in his hands until a hand lightly touched his elbow.

"Ser?" Reiss asked, her body close to him. He hadn't noticed how bright pink her lips were, more vibrant than a rose.

Shaking the thought away, Alistair smiled, "Bed is my next plan. Assuming I can make it."

"I'll be here to guide you, Ser," she said, following into line behind him when Reiss began to sway to the left. Instinctively, Alistair reached out to hold her up and she gripped onto his arm.  "Sorry, I..."

He laughed, "How about we help each other up to bed. I think if we try it together we just might make it."

"Or we'll collapse in the staircase and have to live inside the walls haunting people throughout the castle," Reiss answered as she leaned onto the King. Together they moved like poor participants in a three legged race towards the door.

"I'm really glad you came out," he smiled, turning his head to gaze over at her.

Her eyelids drooped, the woman looking about to pass out on her feet but she wasn't going to give up for anything. Absently, she reached over to drape her arm across Alistair's back to keep her steady. When her hand squeezed into his shoulder she smiled, "Me too."

## CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

#### Love's Treason

Reiss propped up the wall outside a closed door. She'd struggled to rise from the drunken stupor of her own making the night after that strange card game, while the King... A smile flirted with her lips at the memory of the man, his hair plastered straight up like a scared cat and every blanket upon his bed tossed over his body. He looked more like a beggar coming out of the cold wind and less the leader of a nation. With a gunk coated tongue he whisper/begged for someone to bring him the saltiest thing in the kitchens covered in bacon and then fried before sliding back to bed. When Reiss heard a thump, she panicked but found him crumpled on the floor insisting he was fine but in no shape to move either vertical or horizontal.

That was over a week ago, and while they had the Spymaster searching for the assassins on one side and Harding on the other, little changed in their day to day. One thing had, Commander Cade insisted in no arguing terms that his Highness remain ensconced behind palace walls. After acting shocked that Cade knew the word ensconced, Alistair pointed out that the last attack technically occurred when he was at the palace so it might be best if he snatched up a tent and camped somewhere in the Winding Wood. She took it as a joke, but as the days wore on the King seemed restless. He kept his harmless smile on even while snapping his fingers relentlessly and often leaping up in the middle of meetings to jog around the room. On more than one occasion, Reiss found the man she was supposed to keep safe scaling to the ceiling to see if he could 'walk across the beams.'

If the man didn't get out of the castle soon he was liable to either lose his mind or break his neck, both of which would spell a disaster for the lone bodyguard. At least she knew he was safe now.

A giggle followed by a girlish shriek echoed from behind the closed door, and she sighed. Mostly safe.

With harried feet, one of the messengers that flitted through the palace like butterflies skittered across the hall. He ran to the end, paused, then turned to look back at the elf leaning against the wall. "Ser Reiss?" he asked, slowly skirting towards her like she was a wild animal.

"Yes."

"I have a message for his Highness."

Reiss glanced to the door to her left when another round of giggles escaped below the gap, "He gave the order to not be disturbed under any circumstances during his _private_ conference."

"Oh?" the messenger scrunched up his picked clean face before a pair of white blue eyes flew open in panic. "Oh! I, normally I wouldn't wish to impede anything of a, uh, private moment with someone but, I was told this is vital."

"Very well," Reiss unfolded her arms. Far be it for her to interfere with some nob getting his nose stuck in a cream pie or whatever required the King's attention. She knocked once on the door, but it was unlikely to be heard over the sounds of fun behind it, before lifting the latch and stepping inside.

"Sire," the messenger shoved past her and froze in his boots.

Unaware of his audience, the King stood back straight while lifting a book higher to speak in a high pitched voice, "Lord Copperbottom commands all his subjects to bathe in chocolate sauce until he is happy. What's this? Prince FiddleFaddle refuses to comply. I shall have to..."

His recitation of the story paused as the man turned to catch sight of the terrified messenger and Reiss' bemused smile. The princess sat on a small table no doubt carved just for her, a stuffed frog in her lap as she tried to get it to eat a piece of bread. It wasn't so much the King playing with his daughter that caused the messenger to stumble but what the man was wearing.

While the color of the bodice matched nicely with his own natural yellow undertones, and the skirt frilled out not so far as to ram into anything but enough to accentuate his hips, the dress itself was far too small for his frame. Without the ability to properly cinch it up, the skin of his back was left exposed as the King spun back to his daughter, then to the people standing in the doorway. Though, Reiss had to give him credit, the pearls around his neck were a good choice. A cup someone, most likely the girl trying to yank the book out of his hands, perched upon his head began to slide off.

Darting forward, Reiss caught it before it shattered to the floor and handed it back to the man who bore his potential humiliation with a shrug and smile. "So, I see we have guests for our afternoon tea."

"No tea!" the princess shouted, then stuck her tongue out and bleched.

"Right, this is Lord Copperbottom's chocolate custard dance party," he smiled down at the girl he'd been humoring for the afternoon.

"Sire, I..." the messenger's eyes darted down the dress straining tight to the King's body. It was bolder than Reiss felt, as she kept her eyes focused up to the ceiling and over at a window as if to make certain it remained latched. "There is something that requires your attention."

"Yes, yes, a matter involving sewage, or roads, or roads made out of sewage," he waved each away with a toss of his royal hand, obviously wishing to remain for a few more minutes in his daughter's fantasy land.

"Your Majesty," the messenger began to absently curtsy to him before shaking his head and bowing instead, "I come at the request of Harding."

That caught the King's attention instantly. "Good news? Bad?"

"She requires your company immediately, if possible," the messenger whispered, his eyes darting out from under the scarf/cap combo knotted around his chin.

Alistair dropped his cup and book onto the table and began to tug the dress off over his head. The princess caught on that this meant the end of her fun time as well, "Da-addy?"

"Sorry, mashers," he answered while buried under enough fabric to smother someone. After wrestling himself free, the King dangled the dress over his arm, smoothed his hair in place, and then tugged the princess towards him.

She wasn't in the mood for his placating kiss on the forehead and stuffed her arms tight into her armpits. "You promised. To the end!"

"We can't always keep our word, sometimes...Hey, I know. Brunt!" the King shouted to the silent statue that stood guard with Reiss in the hallway. Ambling slowly into the room, the man ducked down to make it under the door frame and then rose up to his imposing height. Sometimes in his silent shadow Reiss felt like the tiny meadow rabbit about to be mauled by a giant bear. It didn't help that the man seemed incapable of smiling.

"Yes, Sire?" Brunt grumbled, his voice so deep the spoon in the cup rattled.

"Here," the King passed the giant bearded man the dress, "you can be Lord Copperbottom for the rest of the story." It was a testament to the man's willpower that, as he unrolled the dress and lifted the delicate lady's clothing up to his massive chest, he didn't even flinch. Alistair stood shirtless watching with a smile as his daughter leaped off the table to thrust the book at Brunt. With a single paw, the man swept it up and began to rustle through the pages all while he helplessly held onto the dress between two claws.

"Sire," Reiss kept her eyes focused on a very fascinating stone in the wall as she spoke, "you're half naked."

"Oh, right!" he blushed bright. In reaching to fluff up his hair, the movement caught the woman trained to watch for just that. _You know you shouldn't look. Certainly shouldn't notice that the man kept himself trim but Maker's sake far too built for sitting on a throne. Pay no attention to the biceps hardening as he tugs up his shirt and laces an arm though. Give no heed to the pecs as he lines up the buttons and begins to latch each one. And for the love of Andraste, do not look at the shoulders._

Hopefully unaware of his bodyguard's struggles, the King leaned into the messenger, "Where is Harding?"

"I'll take you to her," he said. The man kept alternating between the bodyguard who had his arm stuffed up a dress while a little girl scaled his leg, and the King struggling to figure out which button went in which hole.

Giving up instead of mastering dressing, Alistair nodded to the messenger but he spoke to his daughter, "Spud, be good. And you better take a nap after this."

"Okay, Daddy," she giggled, having far too much fun to ever contemplate sleeping.

The three swept away towards the door and to find Scout Harding, when Alistair turned back and caught Brunt's sunken in eyes. "Oh, and please don't stretch out the dress or the Queen'll have my hide. Thanks. Have fun you two."

"Bye!" the princess giggled. She glanced up at the giant frozen in place and instructed, "You wave."

Awkwardly, the man lifted his arm and gave a slow undulation of his fingers which caused the skirt to flap in the breeze. Alistair, with only a breath of a snicker to his lips, returned the wave before leaving the man to entertain the princess. It wasn't into one of the dozens of meeting rooms, studies, or other places set aside to hold tables and/or hunting trophies that the messenger led them to, but outside the courtyard and past the barracks. The King trailed close behind him, followed by Reiss with a hand upon her sword. Alistair was trying to keep lighthearted, joking about glitter in his hair, but he had to feel it. The winds shifted and more than rain hung in the air.

"Harding, thank the Maker," Alistair called to the dwarf standing beside a gated door nibbling on her cuticles. She waved him near and drew back her hood. The normal half smile the dwarf always wore was flat, her face shrouded to hide whatever emotions stewed below. "I feared for a minute that the messenger here was going to take me out behind the last latrine hole and then give me the option of my money or my life."

The messenger's eyes flared a moment, spinning on his heels to insist, "Sire, I swear I would never..." when Harding interrupted.

"He's joking, he does that a lot."

A rumble echoed through the pregnant clouds drawing all eyes up to it for a moment, but no rain slithered out. It seemed only a matter of time. "So...?" the King banged his hands together and shrugged.

Groaning, Harding yanked on the cell door and stepped over the bar on the bottom, "Follow me. I'll explain on the way down, and try to keep from interrupting."

"Yes, ma'am," the King saluted before turning to smile at Reiss.

The ex-scout led them down a craggy stone staircase, the foundation reeking of age and decay as silverfish scattered out of every crag. Barely waiting for the door to slam behind them, Harding began her tale, "For the past week I've been following up on a lead that put Ghaleb and our Anitvan ambassador in the same place at the same time. A few people caught the two secreting away together. It wasn't easy to learn of, by the way."

"I'll be sure to make a generous donation to the Scouts Who Are Now Merchants charity," Alistair answered back with. As they slipped down to the first landing, his smile washed away. No one moaned out of the cells lining the edges, but Reiss caught the dismal straw beds with rats for pillows that made up the royal guard dungeon. No light save the drab flicker of a few candles crested around the dank dungeon. Even their one holding cell at the guard station had a window. A chill crawled along the floor and up her spine.

Harding kept them walking past row after row, "Today was the day to strike. In particular, without you aware, it would mean the Spymaster wouldn't be either. I gathered up a handful of close allies," she said diplomatically while really meaning mercenaries, and then turned down a second staircase. The entire thing leaned to the right, causing all of them to have to drag their shoulders against the wall while stepping down it.

"What happened, Harding? I'm guessing you're not taking us down here to show off your latest pin collection."

"We stormed the place, anticipating to find others, documents detailing plans, perhaps even hints at dead drops for hired assassins." She stopped at the landing and yanked up a solitary candle left to dribble alone in a sconce. Passing it to Alistair, Harding's eyes lit up as they wandered away to the ground. "Instead, we...found them," she turned down the dungeon stuck in the void itself, "in bed."

"Oh Maker," Alistair groaned, his head flopping forward until the flame threatened to catch his hair. "It could be a ruse," he threw out.

"True, it could. I've got my people scouring through both their sets of belongings, reading papers and the like. It'll take awhile until we've got a full picture but..."

The King caught her unwillingness to speak and tried to drag it out, "But what?"

"I think you should talk to them, both of them," Harding said as she stepped to the side and pointed at a cell holding the once peculiar but proud Spymaster. The man huddled at the back of the sagging, damp and fetid cell, his hands wrapped around his naked chest as he sank further into the scratchy straw.

"Maker's sake, you didn't give them any clothes?" the King stormed.

"Cade said..."

"Sod, Cade. Get them clothes, real ones too. No burlap sacks, or hair shirts, or anything like that. We're not barbarians," he gripped onto the bars, but the Spymaster wouldn't lift his head to look over at the man he betrayed.

Harding smiled at that and shouted to one of her men, "Hey, get out the robes we found and give them to the prisoner."

"He'll need his turban too. It's special for...something," Alistair groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I can't remember why, and Ghaleb's not the best storyteller anyway. I...Andraste's flaming sword, where's the other one?" He turned on his heel, unable to look at the man who had traded cards with him only a week ago.

As Harding tugged Alistair on, Reiss paused to stare into the cell at the man who was either a secret agent for Antiva or, even worse, risked everything in his life for love. Even without knowing which was the truth, pity swelled in her heart for the broken creature covering his head with his hands. She began to slide away to follow her boss, when a whimper rattled across the stones. It barely broke above the other echoes of shoe and breath, but both hardened scout and world-weary King paused at the sound. They found Donato not in his cell, but in a smaller room off the side.

"Cade's been putting him to questions since we arrived, seemed to think it'd work better in the officer's room for whatever reason," Harding explained.

"What's Cade even got to do with this?" Alistair hissed, "I thought it was going to be between us."

"It was," Harding agreed, "until I stumbled upon instant treason and two men who knew they were goners, then I wasn't sure what to do. Dwarven apartments don't come with a lot of dungeons."

The King scrubbed a hand across his face, his second still clinging to the candle as if it was warding off the demons haunting a place this terrible. "Are you sure about that? I've known a few dwarves after all...not that I want to pry into your private life."

Harding rolled her eyes, and cracked open the door. "Sire," she said, gesturing him inside.

Donato looked not that bad all things considered. He had a blanket curled over his shoulders and someone was kind enough to lend him pants. His normally perfectly coiffed hair was slicked up at the back leaving a wave of white to wash over the black, but given the action Harding found them in that may have not had anything to do with the guards. Growling, Commander Cade turned away from the prisoner he had manacled in a chair to the King.

"You're dismissed, Cade."

"You can't be blighted serious, Milord. This here's a potential dangerous criminal. He needs interrogating, and then some," Cade jabbed a thumb at the man who looked as frail as a wren's bleached bone. Donato bore such a dignified air the few times she'd watched him flit through the halls but stripped of his titles and clothing, his skin wan and a pallor drawing down his cheeks, the man looked about to crack in half. Maker only knew what it was doing to the far less stronger Ghaleb.

Alistair placed his candle down on the table and eyed up the Commander that looked like he could hoist the King up and throw him out the door. "I am going to talk to the prisoner."

"You?" Cade snorted. "What about...?"

"Don't worry about me, I've got my bodyguard with," he glanced back to Reiss who felt Cade's judgmental eyes sizing her up before he snorted. In the damp cold of the cellar dungeon it pillared out in a fog.

"Fine, but I'll be havin' a go over him and the other bastard after your little tea ceremony, your Majesty," he cursed, shouldering past Reiss. Without waiting for the command, Cade slammed the door behind leaving Alistair and the elf alone with the broken man.

Slowly, the King began to pace back and forth while massaging his forehead. Reiss crossed her arm and kept one within close distance of the dagger in a sheathe near her chest. On occasion, Donato would glance up, his eyes brimming in the weak candle light without any tears falling.

It took a few more laps before Alistair spoke, "I honestly don't even know where to begin."

"Sire, please," Donato said. His voice gargled in his throat and Reiss noticed a speck of blood dribbling down his lips. Cracked or... If there was pain, the ambassador didn't show it. "I admit full responsibility for what occurred."

"Just for my sake, knowing how stupid I am, why don't you tell me exactly what did occur?" Alistair froze and turned a glare down at the ambassador.

The ambassador folded his hands tightly and shut his eyes. "You must think me a cad," he said and grimaced as the pain finally reached him from no doubt a fist punching his jaw. "That I seduced your younger Spymaster as lecherous old men are known to. All for some nefarious plot to eradicate you from the throne, but..."

Donato's head skimmed into his hands, the manacles jangling at the attempts. "By the honor of my Patron, and what little my own name carries, I swear to you that I have had nothing to do with the attacks upon your life." His voice was heartbreaking, the bottom lip quivering as he tried to shore up his heart with what little dignity remained for a man chained and broken at the darkest depths of the world. It could be an act, but every instinct inside Reiss told her it was genuine.

Trying to appear unmoved by his plight, Alistair pinched thumb and forefinger into the bridge of his nose. "So you claim, but what about my Spymaster?"

"Ghaleb?" Donato stuttered, the name flying from his lips.

"What's to say it wasn't his plan all along and he used you to get his hands on some Crows for a little meet and greet?" Alistair resumed his pacing, no longer looking down at the man.

"He isn't that kind of," Donato pleaded, mid-sentence switching tactics, "you know him."

"Not as well as I thought," the King volleyed with, "not as well as _you_ certainly do. For the love of Andraste, sleeping with another head of state? On the rather short list of stupid things for a Spymaster to do, that's right up there with selling all a nation's secrets for a couple magic beans. How long?" When Donato didn't lift his head, Alistair slammed his hands on the wall and repeated, "How long?!"

"Five years," Donato mumbled, his eyes slipping shut.

"Five..." Alistair staggered away to cup a hand over his mouth beyond the ambassador's sight. For a moment his eyes met Reiss' and they both shared a thought. Five years meant there would be proof found. Evidence. It also all but damned them both. A brief affair could be excused with the right amount of begging for forgiveness to the court, but this...

"It will be impossible for me, for the crown to know what influence you've had on our Spymaster or what secrets he let slip to Antiva." Alistair folded his hand into a fist and began to pound it against the other while he thought, "That's treason, you know. High treason, not even taking into account the threat of you hiring assassins to kill me."

"Please," Donato lashed his bound hands out and grabbed onto Alistair's poorly buttoned shirt. Reiss moved to unsheathe her dagger and shove the man back but the King gave her a slow shake of the head. She let the dagger remain where it belonged, but didn't relax her stance. "Your Highness, I beg of you, it is my fault. Let this fall upon my head. Please," his lips quivered and that patrician man who looked like every incorruptible scholar Reiss ever saw in the distance, cracked in half. Tears rained down his cheeks, pooling in his lap as he could only face the ground while pleading not for his life but the man he loved. "Please, do not hurt Ghaleb. He's..."

"He's a grown man, who knew what he was doing was wrong, otherwise he wouldn't have kept it secret," Alistair answered back before sliding away. Donato let him go, his hands falling limp as the King tried to glower down from on high. "The fact is that you have diplomatic immunity in this matter. While any sign of you attempting to assassinate me will wipe that away in an instant, and believe me we have probable cause to go looking for it now, you will most likely be returned to Antiva when this is over."

Donato blinked, lifting his head to stare in the weak light, "What of Ghaleb?"

It was Alistair who turned away now, unable to face the pleading face. In a broken voice he whispered, "You know what the sentence for treason is."

"Sire, no, please..." Donato tried to grab onto the King but he missed and plummeted to the ground, his blanket scattering off his shoulders. Reiss scrunched down to pick it up but before adding it back shot a glance up at her boss. He gritted his teeth and nodded, letting her preserve what little dignity the man had. Alistair returned to the door and knocked twice before shouting, "Cade, return him to his cell. I'd like to speak with our Spymaster next."

"Very well, Milord," Cade shuffled in, gripping the ambassador around his thin arms and hauling him to exhausted feet.

Alistair's hand shout out and he gripped tight to the Commander's bulging arm. "And do try to refrain from shattering his jaw in the trip there and back, please," he didn't hide a growl in his words.

"As you say," Cade returned with a sneer, but he more carefully trucked the ambassador down the long hallway.

Only shuffling followed in the wake, feet dragging against the ground as Reiss caught the King's stern face glaring through the air itself. He looked completely solid, as unmovable as a statue, when Donato's voice called out through the jail.

"Ghaleb? Maker's sake, please he can't handle that. He needs, Ghaleb...I promise, it'll be okay. I'll be here, talking to you. I'll guard you. I won't leave you."

The final vowel of that you transformed into an oof hopefully as the Commander helped him into his cell and not by punching him in the stomach. Reiss glared at the darkness of the dungeon before turning to find Alistair crumbling before her. His fingers dug tight to his cheeks, a rictus replacing what had been an easy smile. Despite everything in her brain telling her not to, Reiss reached over and cupped her palms to first one then the other of the man's hands and tugged them down. He bit onto his lower lip, watching their strange handhold before slowly nodding his head. Screwing up his eyes, the King drew forth a strength that he would need for confronting an old friend about his potential execution.

In the distance, they both heard Cade shout out, "All right, you're next."

## CHAPTER NINETEEN

#### The Trial

Someone took the time to form a crisis management team, he didn't know who because on the whole Alistair had been completely and fully useless. Harding was scattering through piles of documents and letters amassed over the years from both the Spymaster and ambassador. On occasion, Alistair would catch the dwarf streaking past as fast as should could manage and ask if there was anything new to report. All he'd get was a "not yet" echoing down the corridor. He'd convinced Cade to move both of them to proper cells and not whatever dilapidated dungeon there was under the barracks. The Commander argued, with his constant perfunctory splattering of Milord throughout, insisting that they had to keep this under their hats. But what did it matter?

Either they'd find some connection putting the Spymaster and/or ambassador as the evil mustache twirlers behind the assassins or... That was the part that kept Alistair pacing at night. Nearly four days since this mess splattered in his lap and no one had any good answers. Karelle combed through protocol on the matter, but either all previous spymasters were smart enough to keep it in their pants or they hid it well. There wasn't a precedent to fall upon beyond the big ol' t begging to be branded across Ghaleb's pyre. Maker's breath, did they even give traitors pyres or were they tossed over the walls to the vultures?

That drew a shudder to Alistair's frame and he pitched forward. "Sire?" Karelle asked.

"It's fine," he argued, "just my stomach acting up." He seemed to be cursed with an ever expanding ulcer that birthed upon first spotting Ghaleb broken in his cell. The interrogation went about as poorly as Alistair expected, the man gibbering about orange blossoms and pointing to the north.  Nothing incriminating dropped from his lips, though neither did anything to pardon him. Just orange blossoms.

"Here, your Majesty," the mage woman stepped up from the crowd gathering beside the hearth. Eamon was there, along with the chamberlain, Cade kept himself busy barking orders from across the castle as if he needed to present a facade of law at all times. And, of course, there was his bodyguard. She glanced up from her guarding of a bookcase and tried to force a smile. Poor thing had to be exhausted, no doubt hearing her roommate shuffle back and forth each night unable to sleep, but she bore it well with no complaints.

Alistair accepted the familiar white gloop from Linaya and sneered at the contents. She stood near to his chair, her fingers knotting together as she said, "You have to drink it all for it to work."

"I know." Pinching his nose he tossed his head back and let the paste slide down his throat. It tasted like bronto snot blended with egg whites that were seasoned by fireplace ash and then cooked until burned. Whipping his head back and forth at the flavor, Alistair smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in the hopes it could break up some of the cloying disgust.

After passing the bottle back to the mage, he sighed, "What exactly is that supposed to do?"

"It calms the turbid matter in the stomach which becomes enflamed during times of great stress," she explained.

He sat up higher and leaned nearer. In a not really whisper, he asked, "You can tell me the truth, it doesn't actually do shit, right? It's just really funny to watch me have to drink it every day?" Alistair expected a smile, wanted someone to wear one just for a minute or two, but the woman panicked.

"No, Sire, I swear on Andraste's sword that..."

"It's all right, child," Karelle interrupted the young woman's panic, "he's tugging on your leg." The chamberlain shot a damning look at the King and he slid back to his chair. He hadn't meant any offense.

For her part, Linaya let her lips slide upward but it didn't feel like a smile, something off about it as she turned to the King, "Of course, a jape. They say you...enjoy them from time to time."

"Jesting and jousting, that's me," Alistair groaned, feeling the first of the bubbles popping in his gut as the mixture did whatever it was brewed to do. Shifting on his seat to relieve the pinch, he asked aloud, "Any chance you know a spell to tell if someone's lying? That'd solve this problem right quick."

"I'm afraid not, My Lord. That would be..."

"Blood magic. Yeah, I know," Alistair groaned. "No, you know what would be really useful, a spell that could detect evil. Like, make people glow red or something if they're the bad guys."

The mage tapped her fingers together as if she could cobble something impossible like that together, while Karelle groaned, "Sire, I rather doubt that would work how you want. Everyone's got a little evil in them. We'd all be glowing like Satinalia at the Grand Cathedral."

"That's true," he admitted, running a nail across his ear.

"I'd be most concerned with someone who didn't light up at all," Reiss spoke up from her silent vigil. She stared out through the horizon as if lost in thought. "People who never think they're wrong are dangerous."

"That can't be true," Linaya laughed at the elf. "There are plenty of people that do good and only try to help."

Reiss didn't answer the mage, but her eyes honed in from a million miles straight to Alistair. The battled hardened elf shared a look with the politic weary king. Good and evil were a matter of perspective and sometimes the very idea flipped based upon who held the sword or crown. Sometimes the good turned away because they had no choice, or the evil would save a person after sacrificing a town. He missed the certain morality of being a warden. Darkspawn bad, kill them.

"I mean," the perhaps mid-twenties Linaya glanced around her elders and continued to make a point, "the Hero of Ferelden was a good woman."

Darkspawn bad and mindless, kill them. But what if one of them talks? What if it wants to change things? Should they all be obliterated? Alistair was dead certain that yes, they cause blight what other option was there. But Lanny, she had this thought that maybe killing all the archdemons wasn't the answer the wardens assumed it was. Maybe, finding a way to live together was. It always seemed like ramblings to him, but he climbed out of that trench a long time ago while she kept returning to the deep roads. What did they say? Over time one either saw the enemy as a monster or a friend, it was up to the person to pick the path. Or something like that. Alistair tended to skip over the philosophy assigned to him while in the templars in favor of the histories - those had more sword fights.

"Yes," he said, pinching up his nose and trying to shake off a cloak shrouding his heart, "she was a good woman."

Alistair thought that'd be the end of it, but Linaya's hand glanced across his. He watched her soft fingers roll over his gnarled ones -- the middle bulged where it failed to set properly after a break over a decade ago. "You must have cared a great deal for her," she said. The forced intimacy drew up the hairs on the back of Alistair's neck and he stumbled to his legs, which caused him to walk partially into the mage.

A snicker broke from Karelle and he caught the same damn knowing smile everyone had been wearing since the mage popped up. Frankly, he was getting sick and tired of it. Tugging his hand back to where it belonged -- dangling limply at his side -- Alistair groaned, "I'm going to go find Harding and see if there's anything new."

"Didn't you just ask a few hours ago?" Karelle said.

He wanted to snap back at her, but all the King could manage was a shrug. "Eamon's busy smoothing over the other diplomat's, and Arl's, and Teryn's feathers."

"I'm aware," Karelle sighed, "I was the one who told you."

"Right," he pinched his fingers to his forehead and danced his eyebrows up and down. Maker's breath, when was the last time he slept? It felt a fortnight ago. "So, I think I should check in on that or...something. I need to do something."

"Very well, your highness," Karelle bowed slightly to him, while the mage curtsied even deeper.

Only glancing once at both women, Alistair caught Reiss' eye and jerked his chin to guide her out into the hallway. He led her with as kingly of a gait as he could manage, with spine locked in place and shoulders tossed back down hallways that were bustling with cloudy browed servants. Not everyone cared for Ghaleb, but the spymaster was one of them, one of them all. The Chancellor was trying to keep the rumors to a minimum and information on a need to know basis but they had to wonder what put the Spymaster behind bars. Were no doubt concocting wilder and wilder stories over scrubbing pots and ovens. And somehow it all led back to the King. Did they think after 16 years he'd finally gone full tyrant and was about to start taking heads off?

Alistair stumbled and his shoulder scattered into a sconce that was mercifully not lit. The candle cracked in half, plopping to the ground with a pathetic splat. Bending over to scoop it up, he groaned to himself, "I hate this."

"Perhaps you should leave it to someone else," Reiss spoke up. She'd bent down as well, her less exhausted fingers picking the broken candle from his hands. While Alistair squatted on the ground, one hand used for ballast on the floor, she attempted to stick the bottom of the candle in the sconce and then balance the top on as if nothing happened. Unfortunately, it wasn't broken well and kept sliding off. After a few attempts, she abandoned hope, yanked off the bottom, and stuck the shorter top in place.

"I wasn't talking about the candle," Alistair said. The long nights and worry chewing through him finally took hold and the King of Ferelden flopped onto the floor. She paced around above him, her hand upon the sword, but looked down at the man scurrying to lean his head against the wall.

"I'd...assumed as such."

"It would be so much easier if Harding came running through that door with proof that one of them had hired assassins, or better yet, both without the other aware. They could have realized their misstep and laughed and laughed like the mage who traded her staff in for a shield to give the templar that traded in his sword for a staff blade. And I'm babbling, which means I'm either about to pass out or throw an epic tantrum." Alistair slipped his eyes closed and tried to take a steady breath, but his lungs ached as the boiling in his gut pressed upward. Something brushed near him without touching and he glanced over to find Reiss scooting down to sit beside him.

"Shall I fetch you some jam and crackers?" she asked, only a hint of an eyebrow lifting.

He snickered at that and sighed, "No, though...it does sound nice. I can see why Spud loves it. Comfort food."

"Whenever I'd come in with the 'growling eyebrows,'" Reiss made air quotes for that, "my mother would include a small rye cracker with my dinner. It's silly but it worked to lighten my mood. I search them out when I'm feeling low. What about you?"

Alistair watched her face, usually walled off behind her armor, melt into a sunny glow as she reminisced to her first home, her family. He didn't have any fun stories like that to tell. Not really. "There, uh, I didn't have a mother, anyone who'd cook something for me, but sometimes when I'd see the Arl. More like run past the Arl, he'd stop me up and slip me a few carrots. Which now that I say it aloud makes me sound like I grew up as a horse. Not even a liked one either, it wasn't sugar cubes or an apple. Okay, once it was an apple but Balthie swiped it before I had a chance to eat it?"

"Balthie?"

"One of the Arl's mabari; big, mean, full of himself in that way the oldest ones in the pack get. I'd sleep in the...never mind. So, rye crackers for you."

"And carrots for you," she smiled, nudging her shoulder into him.

"What am I going to do?" Alistair folded his forehead into his hands, his stomach gurgling at the indecency of him bending it in half. "Why couldn't Ghaleb have actually been some evil villain stalking around up in his distant tower plotting to take over the world? Instead, the fool had to go and fall in love."

"You believe their relationship is true?"

"Not one but both of them begged me to punish him to save the other. If that's all part of some twisted plan to get off scot-free I'm not catching it. It's stupid, dangerous, and so very, very treasonous for a spymaster to have any personal ties with another head of state. Which he knew. But that's the problem with love," Alistair groaned and he tipped his head back against the wall, "it makes us lose our damn minds."

How'd Lanny put it? He had a nasty habit of letting his brain screw over his heart. She'd been trying to be kind in her slightly kicking him when he was down way. It was fair given that he did come to her for advice while rather inebriated. Older and in theory wiser, Alistair realized that crawling to an ex's doorstep to ask why the last love affair exploded wasn't the smartest move. Either go all in or don't try at all, that was what she said, but he was the type to leap blind into the pond and then panic once he was underwater.

Banging his head against the wall, Alistair tried to use the pain to jumpstart his brain. He paused a moment and glanced over to to catch Reiss doing the same, though hers was cushioned by her blonde bun.

"Ghaleb made a mistake, no masking that, and he admitted to it, sort of." The Spymaster's confession was a mishmash of sentences and ideas as the poor man glanced up and down the walls. Alistair didn't realize how thin his wrists were until he watched Cade try to notch on the manacles tight and have to give up. "But treason? Because two people fell in love? It would be easier if he'd been playing me for a fool these past years and was planning on stealing the throne for a pack of evil ghasts."

He didn't realize how much he enjoyed the Spymaster's belabored friendship until he had to play the bad guy. Ghaleb was strange, hard to understand at the best of times, and curt without having much concern to who his manners displeased, but that was what Alistair found entertaining about him. Maker's sake, was that the only person in his life he had left that Alistair didn't have to be the King with?

"On the other hand," Alistair spoke, trying to hide away the blush his realization drew, "if Harding does find something and we're within our rights to execute Donato, that doesn't mean Antiva won't be knocking around the borders wanting some kind of retribution. They're not as nosy as Orlais but they get tetchy when you take out a diplomat, principle and all." He wanted to bury his face in his hands. No, his face in his lap. Even better, he wanted to run as far from this as possible, maybe hide in the deep roads for a few months until someone else made the decision and he could head on back with some darkspawn trophies, wild tales, and a beard to his chest.

That wasn't a possibility. No matter how much Alistair still ached to flee screaming back to civilian life, he'd burned too many of those old bridges to turn around and shit on them now. Maker, he didn't even want to think of the face Lanny would pull, assuming she didn't set his ass on fire just because. Trying to not groan, he glanced over at Reiss and caught that look in her eye - the one that seemed to be ripping apart space and piecing it together to form a new puzzle.

"What do you think about this?"

"Hm?" she startled from wherever her mind tripped off to. "I don't think it's my place to..."

"You did that before," Alistair spun away from the wall to fully face his bodyguard who wilted at the attention. "In the tavern when we met with Harding, I met with Harding, you said you didn't think it was the Crows. What makes you so certain?"

"I..." Reiss tipped her head back and shut her eyes tight, "I do not wish to bias you in any way."

"Please," Alistair grabbed onto her hand and pinned the glove between his. It wasn't until her eyes snapped open and she stared at him that he realized how awkward that was. Too late to let go now, he continued to beg, "I trust your instincts and anything, any information, ideas, half whispered rumors, a dream you only kind of remember and confused with an old serial about ducks would be useful."

Her lips twisted up a moment and she smiled to herself. "Very well. We know two things about these assassins."

"That they suck at their job and really don't like me?" Alistair threw out with a shrug. _Maker's sake, why are you still holding her hand?_ He had no idea how to let go at this point and hoped she didn't notice. How long can you stretch that out before someone finally calls the bluff? Be more than a bit awkward when one of you has to go to the privy.

Reiss sighed and smiled at his joke, a move he was far too familiar with, "One, that they have varying degrees of tattoos. Nothing easily traced to a group, but it must mean something due to their familiar look. And two, perhaps most telling, that they are all men."

"Huh," Alistair sat back at that realization and his hand tugged away from hers ending the stalemate in a whimper, "I didn't even notice that, but you're right. How did I not catch on? Or Cade?"

Reiss shrugged, "You're men. You're used to men. Both the Crows and the House of Repose employ women."

"How do you know that?" he asked, not trying to catch her up but enjoying the play across her face. As she unveiled each thought, Reiss seemed to mentally wave her hands and give a little shimmy in excitement. It was strangely entertaining.

"We had some dealing with the House of Repose in the Inquisition, a dead servant and...it doesn't add to the conversation," she said.

"What about the Crows?"

Her warm cheeks lit up red and she swayed back and forth on her haunches while staring at the fascinating cracks in the ceiling, "I, uh, may have read a few serials about them from time to time involving...other things that don't add to the conversation."

Maker's breath, she was cute. And that is not a relevant thought to be having about your bodyguard there. Shaking it off, Alistair tried to dive back to the heart of it. "Serials are known to stretch the truth from time to time. You should read the ones about me."

"I have," Reiss let slip absently when panic set in across her face and she bit down on her lip.

"Ah ha," now feeling as if his shirt and pants all constricted upon him, Alistair swallowed hard, "anyway, you're right, the Crows employ women. Very good, strong, assassiny women. So what does this mean?"

"For the immediate problem, that most likely the Spymaster did not seduce the Ambassador to gain access to the Crows. Though, it is possible that Donato used Ghaleb for information."

Alistair hated that potential twist more than any other. It would be one thing if Ghaleb was behind it, or in on it, but sending a man to his death because he fell for the old honey pot? Trying to shake off his thoughts, Alistair said, "In order to find the assassins we look at places that are known to be full of men."

"Mercenary bands tend to run down the genders," Reiss said. "I believe the Qunari also do not mix company."

"Not without a giant woman telling them to go make babies with a complete stranger," Alistair whispered to the air before cringing. He would never understand the Qun no matter how much Sten glared at him for asking.

"Which doubtfully means anything seeing as how none of the assassins had horns," Reiss answered his thoughts.

"Right, okay, just men. Check all the glee clubs, male bath houses, and that one knitting gang that meets on Wednesdays for assassins."

"I'd start with the knitters, they know their way around sharp objects," Reiss said with a deadly serious tone. It broke away the clouds that'd been crowding out Alistair's mind for the past week and he felt a smile rise not only on his face but through his gut as well.

"Sire," Harding's voice called from the floor below them, "I have news!"

"As do I," Eamon responded from across the way, both of them heading towards their downed King.

So much for that break of sunshine. The storm of despair snapped back in record time. Staggering up to his knees, Alistair heard a dangerous pop and thought of Spud. She'd been spending a lot of time in her room, they all had. Even the three year old seemed to be aware that something was wrong, though she expressed that by tossing half of her toys out the window -- all of which were recovered and then generously donated to the Alienage orphanage in the princess' name.

He began to roll to find a better purchase to rise, when Reiss' hand dropped to him. Gripping it tight, she helped haul his royal ass off the ground when both Chancellor and Scout appeared. They were struggling to catch their breath, Eamon relying on his cane while Harding no doubt canvassed most of the palace on her tiny legs.

Alistair waited a moment, watching them both not rush to give him the no doubt great news that this was all a dream. "Well," he sighed, "not all at once or anything."

"Right," Harding stepped forward to take all the potential wrath upon herself, "we've combed through nearly all of the ambassador's correspondence we could find and aside from a few notes he sent to others in the palace regarding official business everything mentioning the spymaster appears to be love letters."

He didn't groan but he wanted to as Harding thrust a half a decades worth of some secret romance into his hand. Shuffling the stack with his thumb, Alistair waited for a summation. It was what scouts were known for, that and knowing precisely where the bronto dung was. If you wanted to save your boots you always befriended a scout.

"We're still trying to make sense of Ghaleb's color coded string of words but..." Harding let her hands flop to her sides as she scowled. "If there's a connection to the assassins or anything else shady we haven't found it yet. Though I doubt a million clerics with a million years could decipher a single receipt from the Spymaster." She sneered and yanked out a small scrap of pink paper, "Like this, all it says is 'Pinecone.' What in the Maker does that mean? It's pink so I think that's unimportant in his filing system, yet the date puts this at nearly seven years ago. So why keep a note marked pinecone if it's not vital. Sire, I...I don't know if we can give you any concrete evidence."

Nodding slowly, Alistair bundled up the love letters and handed them back to Harding. She seemed as happy to receive them as he did to learn of it. If the romance had been thrown on as a cover, it should have been relatively easy to pick apart but this took time and effort. Andraste's sake, if someone sat down and wrote out a good fifty pages pretending to be in love with another for the appearance of a backstory he deserved to walk free. That's serious dedication.

"What terrible news do you have to add to this, Eamon?" Alistair asked turning to his Chancellor.

"We just received word from the Antivan guild of finance," Eamon sighed. He wrung both hands against his cane while trying to keep out of Alistair's reach. "Unless we can offer proof of the Baronet's involvement, then he must be released from prison and returned to Antiva for their form of discipline."

"Involvement?" Alistair pointed at the bulging stack of love letters, "Do they want us to send them each one back individually or an entire flock of ravens?"

"I," Eamon eyed up the pile then sighed at Alistair. "I rather doubt that's what they care about. The Antivan guilds do not like the idea of one of their own languishing in our jail cell, most likely because they know how it looks to the other nations."

"So, skip any investigation and pretend none of it ever happened? That's a brilliant plan," Alistair fumed.

"I'm getting the impression it'd have been easier if I'd shot them first, no questions asked," Harding piped up. She was sharp as flint but something pained below that steel frame. No one liked this.

"Your Majesty," Eamon interrupted, "you must make a decision and soon. I fear none of us shall find any more information to add and any delays will give greater fire to Antivans either on Donato's side or looking for an excuse to begin war."

At that Alistair threw his hands in the air and spun around, "Great, war started because an ambassador fell head over heels for a spymaster."

"Sounds Orlesian," Harding muttered.

There were no right answers here, no stab this guy win the day moves. Kill Donato and the Antivans would be furious. Free Donato and either they'd find out later that he has connections to the assassins or it will embolden the real villains to try again. Then there's Ghaleb. Maker's sake, what was he going to do with a Spymaster he couldn't trust?

"Right, okay," Alistair scrubbed at his face and felt a twinge of pain. Tugging it away he spotted blood flecking across his palm. How hard was he tugging on his broken skin? "We end this. Get everyone to court. I've got to get cleaned up and...Maker's sake, where did I leave the damn crown?"

"I shall have it fetched, Your Highness," Eamon said, bowing to his king who was also the same knock kneed child he'd on occasion give attention to.

"Everyone, it needs to be official. No off the books, no undercover, they all should know what happened. Got it?" he spoke to Harding but it was Eamon who answered with a yes. Breaking from him, Eamon limped off to get the nobility in order while Harding went to gather up all her hard work over the weeks.

It took a few hours to get everyone corralled into the throne room, a few Banns making a giant fuss about missing a log tossing contest. Cherie stood center stage in the right cordon, a small moat around her as she glared up at the man perched in the throne. Everyone knew something was bad when Alistair entered with that god awful crown perched upon his head, but when he sat in the chair a collective gasp rattled the windows. Beatrice sat beside him, her head bent as she waited patiently for her husband to start. Her attendances to court were all on her, the King rarely making any requests because he'd rather avoid it every chance he had, but for this one he wanted backup from any spot possible.

"Thank you for coming," he whispered to the Queen.

She smiled at him and said, "Of course, whatever my King commands."

"Right," he pinched between his thumb and finger trying to drum up the will to get it over with. More than Banns and other high ranking officials of Denerim filled the standing areas flanked by the open aisle. Denizens of the palace itself; the cooks, the servants, the footmen, the one guy in charge of yelling 'all's well' also stood with the nobility though someone made them head towards the back of the room. This was either going to be a disaster on the scale of a blight, a major earthquake, or - if he was lucky - a small flood. In glancing over the crowds, Alistair caught Reiss standing beside the shut doors. She nodded once and stood tall.

It was time. "Send in the prisoners," Alistair ordered from his seat. He yearned to get up and pace but that wouldn't be dignified.

The King's order filtered down a series of soldiers standing down the line, each one turning to the side to eye up the door opening. Commander Cade took up point behind both Donato and Ghaleb as they stumbled into the bright throne room together. The ambassador lifted his weary head and bore a proud glint to his brow, if he was going down he wouldn't do it on his knees. Ghaleb however blinked against the light and as his eyes took in the crowds he shrunk deep into his robes, attempting to burrow away from the masses. For a brief moment, Donato reached over and caught Ghaleb's flailing hand, trying to calm the man, before Cade pushed both of them in the back.

"Walk," he ordered. Donato didn't turn back to look at the commander. He dropped Ghaleb's hand and the pair of them staggered down the aisle past a crowd falling deathly silent. Alistair kept focused on the two walking past soldiers following their every move with hands on hilts, but for a moment he caught sight of Cherie's lips. The only part of her visible beneath that mask, she had them pursed tight while watching her fellow diplomat being shoved through the throne room in chains. _Were you in on this mess as well?_

By the time Donato and Ghaleb reached the end of the aisle, chatter erupted throughout the audience, a hundred voices asking _what was going on? What happened?_ The two lovers didn't turn back to look at the commotion. Instead, they stood side by side, waiting for their final sentence to come.

"Ambassador..." Alistair began, but his words were shoved away by the cacophony of gasps and mutterings emerging from the crowd. "Hey, will you quiet down?" he tried to lift his voice, but it dropped like a rock.

Throwing back his head and bellowing, Cade's voice smothered everything with a, "SHUT IT!"

Nary a squeaky shoe broke as the Commander's gruff order echoed through the rafters. Slowly, every eye in the room turned to the King who was focusing on the men wilting below him. "Ambassador Baronet Donato, do you know why you have been called before me today?"

"Yes, your Majesty," Donato didn't blink as he stood at attention to announce his sins, "I was discovered to be engaging in an illicit affair with your Spymaster."

"Holy shit!" a voice shouted from the back which released an avalanche of other exclamations, each one growing in crassness as it swept nearer to the throne.

Alistair lifted up his royal hand and shouted, "Hold your comments until this is over!" Either they all yearned to hear more of this juicy gossip, or Cade's command still rattled their spines as the voices died down to whispers. "And you, Spymaster Ghaleb, do you know why you are here?"

In full view of everyone, the wispy Spymaster turned fully to Donato and whimpered, "Yes."

"Do you deny these allegations?"

Donato reached over and grabbed up Ghaleb's hands, ignoring the gasps of the audience at such a bold move as he fought for his life. The pain of Ghaleb bit into the ambassador more than the potential hangman's axe. Pinning both of them tight in his own he lifted the pair and breathed across the skin. That had a calming affect on Ghaleb, his trembling shoulders slowing to treacle.

Facing the King, Donato spoke, "There is no reason for me to. You have witnesses to the crime, no doubt have ransacked my things and discovered all the letters exchanged between us over the years. But please, Sire, I swear to you on the hem of Andraste's gown that it was not done out of malfeasance or to curry favors for my home country."

The crowd began to turn against the ambassador pleading for his soul, each muttering turning into a spit as they surveyed the man who dared to defame Andraste to protect himself. Alistair glared up at them and stomped his foot on the ground. "What did I say about shutting it?" he warned them.

Most of the crowd quieted down, but one male voice sputtered out, "Well, actually, you didn't."

Maker's sake, there was always one. Scooting forward, Alistair addressed Donato, "Why? Why would you risk treason and death if not to better your standing either in Antiva or here?"

Donato smiled sadly with eyes shut tight. In a whisper that carried across every stone in the palace, he said, "Love."

That set everyone off yet again, one half of the crowd swooning from the romance angle, the other all but willing to tie the noose themselves and offering the king a shiny new axe at a great deal. "If the gathered gentry cannot hold their tongues, they shall ALL be escorted out of here," Alistair ordered, no longer in the mood to play babysitter to grown adults. "Chains are also optional if it comes to it!"

It wasn't much of a threat, he doubted they had more than at most fifty manacles across all of Denerim, but the idea of it shut people up. "You're right about a couple things, Baronet. We did go through your belongings to try and uncover any connections you may have had to the assassination attempt made during Prince Cailan's naming day." People gasped out of habit whenever assassins were mentioned. Alistair figured after the third attempt on his life the only reaction he'd get would be a mild confusion at it being brought up and a request that he move out of the way of the buffet.

Donato turned up, his eyes watering. He had to know how easily they could plant evidence, anyone with a quill and some parchment could draft up an "I'm going to kill the King" note. Without drawing it out, Alistair broke the tension, "But we found nothing."

The condemned man sagged down, his hands coming to his lips as he muttered prayers to the Maker but the crowd lost it. In their minds they already concocted a much better tale than reality and wanted someone to pay for a slight not even against them. Booing roused from the back while the bannorn hissed like snakes. He noticed the only one not making a noise was Cherie, her arms crossed as those Orlesian eyes stared through the ambassador. No doubt she was already making calculations for all the times the two of them ganged up on the King over the years.

Speaking over the crowd he could barely command on a good day, Alistair turned to the Baronet. "The Antivan guild of whoever owns your ass has interceded and demands we release you into their custody immediately. With no connection nor proof of obvious harm to me or my children I am afraid I must abided with their wishes." That went over as well as he expected, the crowd stamping and snarling like caged beasts. They wanted a sacrificial lamb and were willing to take it anywhere they could, even if the only animal around was a bewildered parrot about to beat wing.

"Baronet Donato Alfonse de Seleny you are banished from Ferelden and forbidden from ever setting foot upon its soil ever again," Alistair decreed. It wasn't any true punishment but he made it sound enough like a death sentence the crowd clapped in appreciation. Cade stepped forward and made a show of freeing the man of his manacles. Donato didn't even pause to massage his wrists before reaching over to wrap Ghaleb into his embrace. Snatching out quickly, Cade grabbed onto his arms trying to tug him away to his boat home.

"Commander," Alistair shouted, causing Cade to pause but not release his grip, "leave him until I am finished with the sentencing."

"Milord?" Cade questioned a moment, before sighing, "As you say." He glared at Alistair and then the ambassador before sliding back.

"Ghaleb of House Videnza, step forward," Alistair ordered. The spymaster lifted his head and turned not to the King, but the man clinging tight to him.

"It will be well, _Dolcetar_. I am here with you," Donato whispered to him. Due to the acoustics his heartfelt plea echoed to the awkward king trying to not blush.

"Orange blossoms," Ghaleb whispered back, his forehead brushing against Donato's cheek.

The ambassador smiled a moment, his eyes tearing up as he released his hold on Ghaleb, "Indeed." Slowly, the spymaster turned and stepped closer to Alistair.

Ignoring protocol, Alistair stood up from his throne and crossed to the man with his hands strapped to a metal bar dangling limply off those bony shoulders. He stopped a few feet away, but tried to stare into Ghaleb's eye. "We searched your information, your tower to see if there was any connection to the assassins."

"Nothing, not there. Not outside Ferelden either, within," he stuttered, struggling to get the words out.

"Forget the crowd, if you can, Ghaleb. I've known you for years and respected you." At that the spymaster glanced up and he smiled so proud. That stung back at the King who knew the pain this trial would put the man under, who wished he could go back in time to tell Harding to abandon her search before it began. "My kids, they're my life, and I need you to tell me the truth right now, did you have anything to do with the assassins that threatened them?"

Ghaleb blinked slowly, that brilliantly confusing brain processing the request and probably doing advanced maths at the same time. "No," he answered with the same sing-song voice that would ask for an egg without any yolks and then mash it all up into cut pieces of toast. Who'd sit across from Alistair during card nights and point out how people in Nevarra would place a skull on the table to tell when someone was cheating. That was perhaps the only man in Ferelden that didn't ever treat him like a king. To Ghaleb everyone had the same worth because they were people.

Nodding, Alistair slid away from his friend and caught Beatrice's face. She had perfected the 'I'm listening without giving a fart about what you're saying' face for court, but now her lips hung flat and tears brimmed in her eyes. This wasn't easy for anyone. Returning to his throne, Alistair raised his voice to deliver the sentence he stayed up all night arguing with himself over.

"Ghaleb, you have served valiantly these past seven years as Spymaster to the crown, and I would even call you my friend," he paused to glance down at the man. "However, I cannot overlook your egregious break in not just protocol but ethics as well." Alistair had practiced saying egregious in front of a mirror for ten minutes to make sure it didn't come out 'egg rageous.' "This breach requires a punishment."

It wasn't Ghaleb who whimpered but the stalwart Donato. He reached his freed hands to grip Ghaleb's shoulder and the man cupped those fingers with his own manacled ones. Alistair gave them a moment to steel their spines before speaking. "Ghaleb, Spymaster to Ferelden, for consorting with another head of state without revealing that fact, you are henceforth with etcetera and so on stripped of your titles, any claims you have made on behalf of the crown, and..." Those crystal grey eyes tipped up and stared deep into Alistair's soul as he prepared for the end. "And are banished from Ferelden," he spat out, feeling tears prickling in his eyes but walking them back.

Donato gasped, slapping a hand to his mouth as his knees began to buckle. The crowd erupted into no one was quite sure. Some were upset that no one was having their head chopped off, while those, in particular the ones towards the back, liked Ghaleb at least enough to not want him lost. It was only the man of the hour who seemed unmoved by the King's words. Ghaleb twisted his head to the side like a lost bird and waited, but Alistair needed a minute for the crowd to die down and to find his voice.

Turning to Donato, Ghaleb asked a question with his eyes and the ambassador whispered to him in antivan that he wasn't going to die. When understanding bloomed, Ghaleb moved to rush up and grab the King's hand, but Cade was quick to pin him in place. The Commander was fuming, as Alistair expected, but not about to disobey a King's order.

He needed to wrap this up quickly and Alistair spoke above the crowd, "You will be boarded onto a ship immediately with a handful of your personal possessions. We shall retain any and all research or letters you have. I suggest you spend the walk to the harbor deciding on where the boat shall take you. I hear Antiva's not so bad, if you get used to crows everywhere." With that final joke the doom of the past week collapsed into a bright rainbow and Alistair's smile lifted wide over his cheeks. He felt like he could float as Ghaleb and Donato embraced fully, both of them whispering in shock to each other while tears of joy broke from both their exhausted eyes.

"Milord," Cade interrupted the happy moment, "may I please escort our prisoners out of the throne room now?"

"Yes, Commander. Take them to the antechamber until their things are gathered, then a squadron will see both to a ship bound for Antiva this afternoon," Alistair ordered. He'd had to cough up a fancy Rivani rug to keep the damn thing waiting for him.

"As you command, your Highness," Cade groaned. He tried to tug the two apart, but they seemed to be tethered together now by an unbreakable bond, for the first time letting their relationship out into the open air. That had to be nice.

It took awhile before Alistair could officially leave the throne room, a few of the Banns taking the opportunity of the King in King-mode to bring up their grievances. He didn't remember everything he promised, but the lack of sleep and giddiness filling his veins may have caused him to say every man and woman in Ferelden would get their own nug hat.

After gathering up Reiss, Alistair shook off the rest of the gentry upon Eamon and made a b-line for the antechamber. It was foolish, but he wanted to say goodbye. When he walked through the door, Ghaleb was adjusting a pin on his turban while Donato ran a finger down a stack of shirts inside a wooden crate. Both glanced up at the door opening, no doubt expecting it to be their escort out.

"Your Majesty," Donato was the first to speak, and he bowed so deeply his head was perpendicular with the floor. "There is no gratitude I can express for what you have done."

"It's not," he tried to wave off the emotion and reached over to shake the man's hand instead. The disgraced ex-ambassador returned it, so full of gratefulness while he no doubt awaited a lot of probing questions from his guild and a questionable future. It felt wrong to be thanked for uprooting two people's lives, but Alistair smiled through it and he turned to shake Ghaleb's hand as well.

The ex-Spymaster launched himself at the King and caught him in a full hug. "Well, ah," Alistair patted against Ghaleb's bony shoulder blades and tried to ignore the awkwardness rising in his gut.

"I am sorry we shall be unable to finish our discussions on morality regarding the rise and fall of darkspawn," Ghaleb said as if that was the most important thing to worry about. He nearly lost his head and the fact the King didn't have anyone left to talk to was his concern. "And if a shark riding a dragon could win in a fight against a grizzly bear astride a giant."

"That, uh," Alistair stepped away from Ghaleb knowing his cheeks turned bright red as he tried to not glance over at the pretty woman watching this. "That's not important."

"Sire," Cade stopped chewing apart his jawbone long enough to speak up, "the cavalcade is here to escort them."

"Got it," he had more he wanted to say, to give some all inspiring speech but nothing came out. Ghaleb picked up a bag far too small to give any man a new start on life, but he slipped an arm around Donato who was struggling with his crate. Two of the guards took pity and picked it up, or wanted to get down to the harbor quickly.

"Wait, I did have one question," Alistair interrupted before the opportunity vanished forever. "What does orange blossom mean?"

Ghaleb's normally stoic cheeks lit up red and he glanced down at the ground as if he hadn't just had his personal life ripped apart by every able bodied person in the castle. Sensing his lover's reluctance, Donato spoke, "It is our code of sorts. When we first kissed it was under an orange tree in blossom."

"Awe," a voice spoke from the corner, but when Alistair traced it to his bodyguard she was looking over her shoulder to see who it must have come from and also trying to disguise a no doubt blush on her cheeks.

There wasn't time for proper goodbyes, or any really. Donato and Ghaleb vanished from the castle in a flurry of swords. To anyone watching it looked as if the two were being marched to the gallows by the level of hardware on display, but judging by the smiles stretching upon both of the lovesick prisoner's faces it appeared they had an armed escort to a picnic. Cade growled at their exit and looked about to say something to the King before shaking his head and leaving.

Alone aside from the bodyguard, Alistair sagged his ass against a small fountain, crumpling against the stone basin. He felt water splattering against his back but didn't care, in fact, it was rather cooling. "You were kind when you didn't have to be," Reiss said, skirting closer.

"Was I? Ghaleb's scary smart but he doesn't have much in the form of people skills and Donato's going back with a scar across his reputation to the land of assassins and more assassins but with fancier boots. They'll have a huge climb uphill to make it." He'd obsessed with it forever. No punishment was out of the question. The fact remained that both lied to him, to the people, threatened the security of Ferelden. People would demand blood if Alistair didn't make a show of it. So he tried for the kindest cut he could.

He felt a hand land upon his shoulder and lifted his exhausted head to stare up into Reiss' eyes. Peridot! That was the stone's name that glittered a sweeping grass green. Somehow hers were even brighter than a cut gemstone. "As long as there's a chance, it's amazing what people can manage."

"I've seen some crazy pairings in my day. Ferrier with a butcher, stablehand with a dowager, mage with...with a templar, but a spymaster and an ambassador? People are going to be gossiping about this for years." He felt a pinch around his temples, and Alistair's hands wandered up to his head to bounce up that blighted crown. Yanking it off, he placed the damn thing beside him on the fountain and gently tugged his hair back into place.

Reiss glanced out the door then turned back to him, "Love can make people do strange things. But what other ruling could you have made? It was the best decision given the circumstance and no one can argue with that."

"Wanna bet?" Alistair asked. Staggering to his feet, he lifted his hand and said, "Three, two, one."

"Sire!"

"Your Majesty!"

"I protest against your unfair treatment for this supposed spymaster. He is a traitor to the Ferelden people!"

"Will you be honoring the concords enacted by the ambassador or have you destroyed everything the man worked for?"

"Why wasn't there a hanging? We were promised a hanging?"

As the multitude of his citizens all burst in to remind Alistair that in this game there was no pleasing anyone, ever, he glanced over to Reiss. She grimaced at the multitude and then mouthed to him, 'It was good.'

Somehow, in that moment, it was enough for Alistair.

## CHAPTER TWENTY

#### Dumplings

"Here, let me look," the King reached across the table, his sleeve skirting through a boat of gravy to snatch up one of a dozen missives that arrived on the hour. Reiss tried to gesture to his mess, but he caught it and absently sucked on the stained sleeve while reading though yet another report from Harding. "She's only been acting Spymaster for two days, and I've already got enough reports from her to build a little fort," he complained. "Was she this bad in the Inquisition?"

"I cannot say, Ser," Reiss said. While the rest of the castle either breathed a sigh of relief at having the Ghaleb problem solved, or flounced off to stew about the King's decision, they were granted a nice reprieve from an ever pressing doom. Only Harding bit fully into her job, unearthing thousands of Ghaleb's old notes and often needing the King to translate some of it.

"Oh, I know this one," he turned the paper upside down and then glanced up, "anyone got a quill?"

"Yes, Sire, we regularly dine with ink bottle and feathers," someone called from the end of the table. It was hard to make out who as people kept flittering in and out, Reiss barely catching a face or voice.

Unperturbed at the sarcasm, Alistair dipped his finger in a red jam and dotted it against the first letter in each paragraph. Proud of his work, he leaned back and smiled, "There, Harding should be able to get the rest." As he rolled up the jellied scroll, another plate of dumplings were deposited in front of the man. He didn't even blink as he turned to the woman and smiled, "Renata, these are perfect."

"Aye, I'd hope so seein' as how you've eaten a horse full today," the cook snickered. She'd taken the time to toss off her apron and fluff her hair out of the cap, proud of the food that was fattening a King who never showed it.

He flashed a cheese eating grin and stuffed one of the dumplings straight into his cheeks. Gnawing upon it like a squirrel ready for winter, he shrugged, "It's nice to have an appetite back."

"Right you are, Sire," Renata smiled, her hand patting the King on the shoulder like an ornery but generally good natured boy. She limped back towards the kitchens no doubt to prep them for another dumpling run.

Alistair returned to the work he'd let pile up while he stewed about Ghaleb. On occasion Eamon would pop in and gently try to steer the man towards other matters, but after his performance with the Spymaster problem it seemed everyone was happy to give their wayward King a little more leash. Which made him even more playful than before.

"You're not eating?" the King glanced over at Reiss who stood in her place. He'd cleared a seat but someone else was quick to claim it, and she wasn't about to push her luck.

"I am good, Ser," she said, often making quick meals of whatever she could grab in the kitchens. Renata was good on her word, occasionally have small plates marked for "The King's Beleaguered BodyGuard."

"Okay," he shrugged then reached over to jam another dumpling into those stretched cheeks, "but these are really good today. Best she's ever made. Perhaps best in Denerim."

"That I rather doubt," Reiss snickered, she meant it to be to herself but those puppy brown eyes honed in on her.

"Really? Are you holding out on me here, knight?"

"It," she mentally kicked herself while trying to walk back a way out of this mess. Good job always stepping in it there, Reiss. "There's a small shop I know of in Denerim that are the best in thedas."

"Right," the King dipped his hands in a bowl of water before ringing them against his thighs and staggering up. "The gauntlet's been thrown. For my cook's honor I shall have to inspect these better dumplings."

"Ser, I..." Reiss tried to keep her voice low as she leaned towards him, "this is not a wise idea."

"Why?"

She could point out that he'd been eating the damn things all day and was liable to explode, but people seemed to take the man's bottomless appetite in stride. "Do you not have meetings to handle today?" Reiss tried instead.

"I'm King, if I want to reschedule people have to agree otherwise," he mimed chopping a head off with his hands.

"The shop I know of is, it's located in the..." Reiss tried to whisper with the flow of the dining hall so no one would hear her next word, "Alienage."

She expected him to flinch, to hem and haw about the idea of anyone with blue blood setting foot in the slums of Denerim, but the man only shrugged. "Okay."

"Okay? You, you have no problem with, this is an Alienage. A dangerous place for anyone, in particular humans never mind of noble birth. I'm not certain if it is a wise idea for you to risk your life for a few dumplings. Even if they are the best in thedas." She tried to play it off as a joke, but it belly flopped on impact.

Alistair's eyes slipped closed a moment and he breathed deep. "After the past few weeks, an excuse to get out of the castle, sit somewhere for awhile, and eat dumplings sounds perfect. Forget things for a bit."

There was no argument Reiss had against that. Truth be told, she missed walking the alienage. She'd never been this long gone since first arriving in Denerim. Surely someone was concerned for her lengthy disappearance. Even still, her job was to protect the man from harm not throw him right into it. "Are you certain?"

"Don't worry," he smiled, "I'm really good at blending in. And, I'll have my bodyguard by my side the whole time."

Reiss couldn't shake the small worry in her gut screaming that this was all going to explode in her face, but she nodded her head, "Very well. We should leave soon, Ineria's known to close up shop before the sun sets."

He beamed a smile at her and, after yanking up the pile of vellum next to his plate, raced her up the stairs to change. Reiss had a few options before her. She never wore the guard uniform when walking the alienage, and preferred to rely upon her tunics and trouser combo but that felt too unprofessional for traveling in the company of the King. Even if no one was supposed to know who he was, he would. And there was that burr in her stomach again, trying to embed itself as a warning that she was about to take the noblest noble into a nest of elves.

Taking a few calming breaths, Reiss selected the nicest not armored thing she owned - a simple grey dress with sleeves that cut off at the elbows. She wore one of her cobalt blue tunics below that uncertain if it would grow chilly or that the sight of elbow flesh might be a slight to nobility. It was hard to guess with some humans. After securing a dagger in her boot, Reiss patted her stomach. This was probably when she was supposed to look in the mirror and judge her worthiness based upon what glared back but she didn't have the time nor will to bother. She only made a quick glance at her ears, the welts on the tips an angry pink but the rough skin remained. It grew more doubtful that it'd ever fully heal away.

"How's this?" the King's voice echoed under their shared door and she opened it to find him finishing off the last tie on a crimson doublet. There was no golden embroidery, no diamonds or silk, and she noticed a small white hand print upon his trousers. He caught her staring and shrugged, "Spud found paint and...let's just say some of my ancestors are sporting brand new white mustache smudges." It was no nonsense clothing, the kind one would expect to find on any worker running up and down the streets from job to home and back again. The fit cut tight to his imposing frame but not enough to restrict his airflow. He looked gorgeous.

_What? No. Where did that thought come from?_

Not gorgeous, just that the color worked well with his boyish smile. That was what she meant in her head. Suddenly aware that Reiss had been staring at the man without saying anything she snapped out an, "It looks fine. Doubtful anyone will notice you."

For a brief moment a pang broke up his smile as if he was hoping for something else from her, but it sank back to the depths. Smiling, the King slapped his hands together and gestured to the hallway, "Shall we?"

Reiss took the lead towards the Alienage, certain that the King had never set his golden slipper anywhere near it. She was right about no one noticing the King in his outfit, no one batted an eye at the two of them stepping straight out of the gates past a dozen guards who should know them both on sight. Even she felt somewhat slighted at being so easily forgotten without shiny metal slapped across her chest. For his part, the King waved a cheery salute at them before turning wide down an alley.

"It's this way, Ser," Reiss said, trying to get his attention.

"Ah, how about we try this one instead," he answered back with a giddy smile in place. His spirits seemed to levitate off his shoulders the second they broke from the palace gates.

Reiss knew that in order to make it to the Alienage they had to return to the main thoroughfare and then cut back across the bridge. There were only two ways in and out, but who was she to question her boss. If she was lucky, he'd get them lost and she wouldn't have to deal with the problem of a dozen elves glaring daggers at a shem that could have them beheaded. "Okay," she gave in, "we'll take your path."

He flashed his teeth once before breaking into a quick walk down the alley. The King's path involved scurrying over a fence, climbing a ladder to leap over a few mercifully close buildings, climbing down a second ladder, leaping across boats clustered together on the river, before somehow arriving at the Alienage's gates.

"Maker's sake," Reiss gasped, cranking her head around to try and get her bearings from the sun. "That worked?"

Alistair shrugged, "A man should know his city, right?"

He slowed, quick to give up his lead, so they two of them could stroll in together beside. Even still, Reiss naturally walked a step or two ahead, her eyes crawling for danger. A few older elves sat upon a bench outside, one of them begging for change, the other gnawing upon a rotten piece of fruit. It was so past its prime it was impossible to tell what it was.

As they passed under the gates, Reiss began to take a deep breath when she remembered the shem beside her. This wasn't a return to home, she was at work. Remember that. The King didn't gawp at elves hustling through their streets, children chasing each other around in the muddy paths, or even comment on the long line sitting on a porch braiding each other's hair. She'd expected a constant stream of him pointing and asking for her to explain like his elven culture interpreter.

"I'm getting the impression you've been here before," Reiss said, her unease cracking a bit.

"You could say that, though it's been awhile," he said. "Hey, it's the big tree," Alistair commented on the vhenedal tree, its branches overflowing with the twists about to fan out to become leaves. "Last time I saw it was winter. Thing reminded me of a giant skeleton hand coming down to swat you to the ground."

Reiss stepped beside him and glanced ever higher up to the elfiest thing in the Alienage. She knew she should feel some connection to it, a need to protect it against all else, but in truth she thought it was a big and pretty tree and nothing more. "I thought so too," she admitted to him, her voice barely a whisper.

"When it's got that blanket around it for Satinalia, that's the sleeve of the skeleton revenant's coat. Can skeletons become revenants?"

"You know about the Satinalia quilt?" she asked, focusing fully upon the human beside her. Even she had to ask what it was about her first year in Denerim, having never been to an alienage before.

The King looked about to answer, when a voice shouted out from the slabs of wood tossed over the mud, "Well well, if it ain't the snake."

"Hello Jarth," Reiss groaned, not bothering to turn around.

"That's what snakes do, right? They gobble up all the little knife ears and toss 'em into their big prisons," Jarth scurried nearer to Reiss but always remained far from his grasp.

"Your metaphor needs work," she didn't look at him, certainly felt no need to rise to his bait. If a weasel learned how to walk upright, it'd bear a striking resemblance to Jarth and probably try to find a blood mage to alter its face because of the association.

"You walk around here like you own the place, well you don't. You ain't even one of us, not proper like. Turning on your own people for a bit of extra coin? How many other knife-ears have you knocked about to meet your quota?"

She could feel him advancing and while Reiss would normally walk away, well aware of what some elves thought of her on the city guards, she feared what the King might do. Whipping around, she grabbed onto Jarth's collar, her fingers knotting through the holes for a better grip. Yanking him down, Reiss growled in his face, "Got something to say to me, Rat? Cause I bet if I go poking into your business I'd find myself enough dirt I could cash out my pension right now."

Jarth sneered, his broken lip lifting higher to reveal bloody gums, no doubt from the dragon blood that'd been flooding the streets. When it was kept to the alienage, no one cared if the elves medicated themselves to oblivion, but once it crossed those gates suddenly mayors and commanders were calling for heads to roll. She could easily toss him into a jail cell, wait until he crashed and then through the shakes get names from him. But what would that really solve? One hook off the street, maybe two at best while five crop up to replace it. It was like trying to kill cockroaches with a bow and arrow.

"You got nothing on me, flat...foot," he smiled wide at that.

"No," Reiss released her hold and pushed him away. Noticeably wiping the filth of him off down her dress, she answered back, "you're not worth the paperwork."

Without any ammo to come back at her, Jarth skittered back to his hole. If she wasn't careful, he might try and gather up a few of his other friends to flag her down which was why she could never live in the Alienage. They were only sort of her people, when she was playing the part right. "Sorry about that, Ser," Reiss said.

"You can't make them happy all the time," he smiled at her, "believe me, I had that one hammered into me a lot over the years. Now," Alistair slapped his hands together and rubbed them in anticipation, "you promised the best dumplings in thedas."

"I did," she breathed, glad that Jarth didn't draw attention to the human beside her and that the human beside her was surprisingly understanding. Reiss found herself constantly rewriting everything she ever knew about nobility and kings in particular with him. "They're this way." She gestured to a tiny door that opened to an even tinier flat. Someone cut the room in half with a wall giving people just enough space to either stand beside the door or pull out the chairs and sit at the table, you couldn't do both.

"Cozy," the King commented, sucking in his stomach as the stockier human struggled to move through elven space.

"Ineria!" Reiss called, her voice echoing in the tiny room causing the multitude of signs to rattle upon the walls. No one knew why Ineria kept so many, but they all bore elven names dear to them. Dirthavaren was painted in green over muddy brown wood streaked with rain water while Elvhenan rested to the other side, its script with a curl to the L that required a second board hammed above it. Arlathan hung over the door so every person who left could place a finger against it. It bore no banners the way the palace dining hall did, no golden chalices nor jeweled plates but Reiss felt at home here. Even having never been raised in an alienage, only picking up a bit of the old tongue here and there from her days in the camp and in the Inquisition she sensed a power in the words, in belonging somewhere.

Realizing what she pulled the human King into, Reiss glanced over at the man. Alistair was holding a breath to try and squeeze around, but he didn't look perturbed or unsettled. He ran a finger down the sides of his stubble while inspecting the Elvhenan sign when the only other door in the place opened and Ineria rushed out.

"Da'mi!" she cried to Reiss, "You've returned. It's been so long, too long."

Ineria had her grey hair stuffed up under a towel to give her neck breathing room. She was always red faced from the fires which gave an even brighter burn to the red tattoos of the Dalish across her brow and down a cheek. Thin as a reed, Ineria looked like a fragile old woman but when someone crossed her they learned that reed bore a steel center. Whether that was from living in the woods as a Dalish or the spine necessary to pick up her roots and move to an alienage Reiss couldn't say, but given her own life she'd put her coin on the latter.

The older woman dropped a bag of flour to the floor and nimbly stepped around the table to throw her arms around Reiss. She gave into the hug when Ineria's batter spattered fingers grabbed onto her chin and twisted it around. Her eyes narrowed as she gave the woman a through checkup. "You've been using the poultice for your tips I suggested."

It wasn't a question, but Reiss nodded anyway.

"And the other to assist with your digestive problems?"

"Ah," Reiss cut off the string of highly personal and embarrassing questions about to tumble from the woman's mouth. Her eyes glanced over at the King only for a second before returning to the woman.

Never one to miss anything out of place, Ineria slowly glanced over at the human in her restaurant. Those crisp eyes traveled up and down the King who sucked his bottom lip over the top and kept staring at the ceiling. "You've brought a guest, da'len?"

"I have," Reiss said. "I told him that you have the best dumplings in all of thedas." Ineria snorted at that as if it were as certain a fact as what direction the sun rose. The shemlan for his part shrugged and in the process knocked his elbow against the sign for the elven people. At that Ineria only sighed softly to herself before turning back to Reiss.

"While I would enjoy teaching the shemlan the limits of their knowledge, I'm afraid I have no dumplings in stock." She pointed at the bag of flour and groaned, "Due to some collision out on the King's Road I only received my allotment of flour a few minutes ago."

Reiss' regret at not getting to sample Ineria's cooking melted into joy. This was the best possible outcome; no one could be upset because no one was at fault and they'd have no reason to remain in the Alienage where risk to the King or elves would increase exponentially. She threw on her best 'damn, that's a shame' look, and prepared to thank Ineria before guiding the King out.

"How long do they take to prepare?"

Ineria whipped around to eye up the human who spoke. "Hours," she said in a stringent tone. "Unless," Ineria's calculating tongue ran over her teeth. "Da'len, what if you were to assist?"

"I don't know much about cooking," Reiss admitted. She could manage scraping by, but wasn't about to invite anyone to eat anything she ever made.

"Even better," Ineria smiled, "no knowledge means an empty head I can fill with facts. Much easier to direct. Please, it's doubtful I will make it before the harbor breaks for evening and the alienage is flooded with hungry and exhausted people."

"I..." Reiss glanced over at the King and watched him shrug.

He stepped forward and spoke, "If it'll help morale, I don't see any reason to not pitch in."

"Ah," Ineria glared at him, "you intend to help as well, Sir..."

Alistair didn't miss a beat as he stepped forward and said, "Duncan." Extending his hand, Ineria awkwardly lifted it up and gave a shake.

Not even lowering her voice, she asked Reiss in elvish, "Do you trust this one, Da'len?"

The King posing as Duncan blinked slowly but didn't cut in to demand they speak proper common. Nodding, Reiss whispered, "Yes."

"Very well," Ineria glided over to Alistair and inspected him up and down, "Dun-can." She spoke the fake name slowly before shaking her head at the foolish human letters. "You will follow my every command to the letter, not talk back, and answer with a 'yes ma'am.' Is that understood?"

Reiss tried to reach over, her brain searching for all the elvish she knew to explain that Ineria was about to wake up with her head on a pike when the King smiled wide, "Got it. Wait, I mean yes, Ma'am. Sorry."

Ineria didn't hide her groan as she threw her head back to glare at the creators for cursing her so. "Since I have no other choice, Dun-can, lift up that bag of flour and follow me."

"Yes, Ma'am," Alistair saluted. Ineria didn't bother to watch as the shemlan tugged up the burlap sack and tossed it over his strapping shoulder without a thought. She yanked open the kitchen door and with her head directed the human inside.

"Follow quickly before all the heat escapes and I must proof the dough again," she chastised the man who dipped his head down and scurried into the kitchen.

Reiss was quick to follow, afraid that Ineria was about to find whatever noble button there was that would send the king from lovable goof to raging inferno. He had to have one, they all did. Wait, not lovable, not like that. She meant in the abstract sense. Of course.

Shaking off that sobering mental misstep, Reiss glanced around at a place so elusive it may as well be Arlathan itself. Kitchens for restaurants were blocked off from prying eyes to keep others from attempting to swipe family recipes or secret ingredients and none ruled over her kingdom with an iron fist the way Ineria did. A small wolf carving hung over the other door to the outside alley. Perhaps a warning to anyone daring to sneak in? It wasn't a singe great fireplace that blazed alive in the back room but three of them, each with iron grates placed atop the flames. One appeared out while the other two danced with a spray of red below until Reiss stretched up and noticed blue flame blazing below. Maker, how hot was that?

"Place it here," Ineria ordered Alistair while pointing at her crafting table. It didn't look like any typical cooking table Reiss ever knew. This one was three separate small tables locked together to form a big one with wheels on the bottom. Once the bag was in its place, Ineria flipped up one of the locks and wheeled the station towards the farthest wall, more or less trapping Alistair tight.

"This is yours, you are to sift the flour, which I hope you know how to do, and fill this bowl until I say," Ineria spoke slowly, watching the human to see if he understood.

"Yeah, I've broken up a few sacks of flour in my day, Ma'am," he caught his wandering tongue and then saluted again.

"Good," she refused to be impressed but Alistair seemed to know what he was doing, easily unknotting the top of the bag and scooping with a gentle flow into her great metal basin. If Reiss had done it, she'd have just hauled up the sack and dumped it out in one go. Even with his skill, Ineria kept an eagle eye on him until she shouted out, "Stop!"

Without thinking, Alistair dropped the flour coated cup against the table which sent a wave of the white powder rushing up into the air and spattering against his crimson doublet. Even with his less than finery coated in flour, the king cracked a wide smile. Shrugging at the mistake, he tugged up on his hair, coating that in flour as well. Reiss couldn't stop the giggles from how pasty the half pastry king looked, nor how happy he seemed to be while covered in the beginnings of baking.

Ineria turned over at Reiss and then waved her near, "Da'len, come. Do you require an apron for your dress?" She glanced over pointedly at the human she didn't offer one too.

"Ah, no, I should be okay. I'll keep myself back from the bigger messes."

"Yes, do try that," Ineria cut in before she dug a hand into the flour and made a hole.

"What's that for?" Alistair asked, his eyes sparkling as he watched the woman work.

"To make dumplings," Ineria answered while filling a cup with water and handing it to Reiss. She shooed the elf closer to the King and Reiss realized just how little space there was in this tiny kitchen. Holding the cup tight, Reiss felt her elbow brush against the King's floured chest. He tried to flatten tighter to the wall to give her room but there was none to be had.

Either used to it, or enjoying making them both uncomfortable, Ineria jammed a wooden spoon in Alistair's hands and ordered, "Da'len you slowly add the water in a continuous pour while you, Dun-can, stir. Can you handle that?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" he saluted with the spoon.

Reiss snickered and added her own, "Yes, Ma'am." She turned to her partner in crime and raised an eyebrow, "Ready?"

"I hope so," he admitted, holding the spoon at the ready inside the flour. Reiss tipped her hand down and water dribbled into the hole while the King began to stir the spoon clockwise which meant the handle and his hands were coming right for Reiss on the way back around. "Sorry, sorry," he muttered as she scrabbled up on her tiptoes to let him pass under. She couldn't stop laughing when he went again, still offering up apologies for making her stand up taller. Concentrating on his stirring as if it was the most important job in thedas, the King stuck his tongue in between his teeth and honed in on the bowl. With the last of the water soaking into the flour, Reiss yanked back her arm to let the man put his bicep flexing all into it.

It was hypnotic to watch him throw everything into making a dough for an elven woman scouring away in an Alienage. There was no reason for it, certainly to not risk the state of his clothing or the potential burn in the muscles of his arms, but nothing could break off that smile lighting up his face.

"Stop!" Ineria shouted. Alistair's hand paused but both he and Reiss regretted that he couldn't keep going. The dalish woman yanked the bowl filled with lumpy, wet flour away from the King and turned their back to them to the other table. A few interesting elvish phrases slipped from her lips as she seemed to be pulverizing the dough into shape, some of which Reiss had never learned.

The King bounced the spoon back and forth absently while watching, which caused the dough clinging to it to splatter first against the wall and then his hair. "Oh Maker, I..." he reached over to try and scrub off the wall, but mostly worked it into the wood grain. "What am I supposed to do with this?" he asked Reiss.

She shrugged, "Maybe put it back on the counter?"

"Do I, do I wipe it off first or...?" With his hand he cupped his palm against the spoon and swiped hard, transferring nearly all the remaining dough onto his own skin. Now that the spoon was clean, he felt safe to lay it back on the table beside the others.

Reiss leaned close to him and whispered, "What was your plan to clean your hand off, Duncan?"

"Uh," he inspected the globs of wet flour slowly and then with a jolly enthusiasm, patted Reiss on the shoulder streaking it down her dress. "I was going to congratulate you on a wonderful job pouring that water."

She glanced over at the mess and without pause picked a handful of flour up in her hand. "You deserve some as well," she snickered before tossing it all over his head, "for stirring so accurately." For a flicker, as the King's face blanketed in an unreadable expression, Reiss screamed at herself. Maker's breath, what did you just do?

Then the man fully cracked up, his barely clean hand digging more glop into his hair. The joy was so contagious it didn't just flit with Reiss' smile, but blotted away her clinging fears. He'd been berated, stared at, threatened, and then soiled by elves and his only reaction was a genial shrug. Her stomach flipped inside out as she leaned even closer to him, fingers reaching up to knock off a small dab of dough on his cheek.

"You," Ineria shouted, spinning back around. Reiss yanked her hand back behind her and leaned away. The dalish woman focused fully on Alistair, but she felt her eyes drift over a moment. "The dough requires rest, in the meantime we make the filling."

"There's filling?" Alistair gasped.

"Fenheedis," Ineria rolled her eyes as she wiped her hands vigorously down her apron, "of course there is filling. How else does one do dumplings? Da'len, below the counter is the pork shoulder. You, Dun-can, how are you at working the blade?"

"I'm...okay at it," he smiled, a blush baking the dough on his cheek.

"We shall see," Ineria grumped as she whipped out a chef's knife, snatched up the human's hand and pressed it safely into his palm.

While Reiss diced up cabbage and minced carrots, the King of Ferelden, hero of the Blight, and once templar slowly whacked pieces of bright pink pork flesh off the bone. Ineria would cluck her tongue while watching, shouting if he made a dice too small or too large, the difference almost imperceptible. Reiss expected him to groan at the Dalish woman's impossible demands, but he was ecstatic to be running a knife through the meat. With a great palmful he'd drop his work into Reiss' bowl and then return to it without a glance or grumble.

It surprised her how at home this noble man -- more than noble -- royal King moved through a tiny kitchen in the Alienage. There was no command that someone replace him when he stood too long in one place, he merely dipped down to try and stretch out his knees, then began to walk back in place. About the only thing to dampen his spirits was the rising heat of three bodies trapped in a small room designed for roasting.

"Maker's sake, I fear I'm going to melt into flesh goo and drip through the floorboards," he muttered under his breath while scraping every last morsel off the bone and then tossing it to an eventual stock pot.

Ineria snorted at his complaining, but Reiss agreed. "I regret wearing my tunic," she whispered to him, hoping the Dalish woman wouldn't hear. Another wave of blistering heat wafted out of the underfloor hearth as Ineria refreshed the coals. Groaning, Reiss wiped off the sweat upon her brow with her forearm and whined, "Now I regret wearing the dress."

"Ah..." the King's jaw hung slack and he continued chopping the knife up and down without any meat in the way. Reiss glanced over at it, which was enough to snap him out of his momentary lapse. "Right," he grumbled, "I'm going to hit the floor if I don't do something."

She expected him to slide out of the room, perhaps to get a breath of air outside in the back alley or the front of the house, but Alistair washed his bloody fingers off in the bowl, toweled them off, and began to unlace the front of his doublet. Oh shit! Reiss glared daggers at her bowl of cabbage, enthralled with the methodical movement of her arm swishing it around while the King stripped off his shirt. Maybe she was safe and he'd put on an undertunic and...nope, nothing. His skin glistened from the heat of the kitchen, and she stood mere inches away from that taut form glancing around to find somewhere to toss his abandoned shirt. With no available hooks, he gave up and added it to the floor where it was certain to be fully battered in flour and any dropped dough.

Unaware of the elven eyes doing their damnedest to not stare in rapture at him, Alistair returned to dicing up the last of the meat. His shoulders flexed, tugging out the lines of the blades along his back as he scraped down the pork bone. This was a test, the biggest test of Reiss' rather pathetic personal life and she was failing miserably. On the plus side, she was so frozen in ecstasy it was impossible for her to even think of reaching over and touching him.

"Da'len!" Ineria shouted, snapping her out of it. The woman made stirring motions with her arm and clucked her tongue.

"On it," Reiss waved with the spoon, sending chunks of cabbage mash splattering against the wall. The King glanced over a moment and he laughed at her mess.

After picking up the last of his job, he leaned nearer to deposit it in Reiss' bowl. With his head bent down, he whispered, "I bet I'll make a much bigger mess than you by the end of the day." Then he turned his face up and those impish eyes sparkled with such delight Reiss feared she might moan.

"I fear that is a sucker's bet," she said, having to pinch her nose up to keep focused. You've seen naked men before. It was damn near impossible to keep shirts on most of the recruits in the Inquisition while waiting in the Arbor Wilds, or on training grounds. Get over it, Rat.

That seemed to work, finally breaking Reiss free of the spell of this shemlan. She finished the last of the stirring when Ineria slapped the dough down, rattling the massive bowl and she grinned at them, "Now comes the hard, boring part."

"Yay?" Alistair quipped, sharing a questioning look with Reiss. _What did they get themselves into?_

"It is doubtful you will last through this, shemlan. Do try to keep up," Ineria said, her eyes easily traversing the half naked man without a care.

Alistair snickered and bent his head, "Yes, Ma'am."

Ineria lied. The King was enraptured with grabbing a handful of pork & cabbage mixture, dropping it into a flat ball of dough and then pinching it together like a purse. It took him a few go's to get the hang of it, Ineria all but whacking his elbow with a spoon if he added too much or too little, but once he got it, he really got it. Reiss began beside him, but she couldn't keep up, her barely scraping by cooking skills quickly giving way to exhaustion. Even the master chef staggered back, happy to let the human put his all into cooking.

Reiss found herself questioning if this wasn't all some hallucination brought on by wyvern poison or a bad wine. The King of Ferelden, shirtless and glistening with sweat, happily mixing up dumplings in a tiny elven kitchen. Even Lunet's terrible serials couldn't conjure something so mad, though, they'd probably find a way to work a horse into it.

"You're rather good at this," Reiss stated the obvious. She stood beside the propped open door begging for relief from the heat. Luckily a cool breeze washed over her, winter's final vestiges happy to provide.

The King didn't even pause as he crimped his fingers along the top and dropped the dumpling onto a bulging tray, "I suppose."

"You've done this before," Ineria insisted. She'd slid back beside Reiss, not seeming to need the cool air, but wanting to enjoy the show.

"Not really, not exactly this," he glanced over at them a moment, his fingers moving by themselves with that muscle memory every soldier knew well. Alistair smiled lopsidedly at Reiss, "I did a lot of random kitchen duty when I was growing up. You either learn it or it's rulers across the knuckles and reciting the chant of light for ten hours straight. This is far more fun."

Fun? He could be lying, perhaps trying to make her feel better for some strange reason, but she believed it. They'd been standing in one place in a leaning, claustrophobic kitchen for hours and he couldn't stop smiling. Even the nobles who really got into pretending to be servants gave up the game once digging a lavatory was involved. If he'd melted after twenty dumplings and thrown in the towel, Reiss would have been impressed. Now, she didn't know what to think.

Ineria jerked her chin at the man and whispered to Reiss in elvish, "Who is this man?"

"It's a long story, Hahren," she answered back in elvish, hopefully not too broken. Reiss had been scrabbling her own people's language together over the years.

The old woman seemed to be aware that she was missing an important piece of information, her lips pursed as she first sized up Reiss and then turned to the man dipping a thumbprint into the dough before dropping in the meat ball. "He is cute, for a shemlan."

She said it in elvish, but loud enough Alistair had to hear. Reiss watched him to see if he understood, trying to find a tell tale blush rising up his naked back but he continued to work unaware. Thank the Maker for that. As Reiss settled back to her haunched she felt Ineria staring through her. "I," she tugged on the collar of her dress to try and encourage more airflow and in common said, "I hadn't noticed."

Barely suppressing her snort at the baldfaced lie, Ineria smirked, "All right." For the love of Andraste, Reiss, you're supposed to have some damn subtlety to your actions. If Ineria's picking up on it, what would people in the castle think of some lovesick elf trailing after the King, her tongue lolling out of her mouth? She thought to the mage that seemed to consider it her duty to bed the king as much as concoct potions. That threw cold water on her libido, chilling the giddy smile in her heart. Mages, he prefers mages, which you are not. Not that it would ever be a question seeing as how he's a human and blighted King. Why are you even thinking it? Why are you letting yourself feel bad because nothing will come of it? Stop staring at his naked back that looks like it was hewed from stone by a master carver. Maker's sake, he even had abs that undulated with his laugh. Kings were not supposed to have that, she was dead certain. Not ones with earnest faces and puppy dog eyes and, flames, there you go again!

"Done!" he shouted, throwing his hands up wide and revealing a massive tray of dumplings all laid out for the pot.

"Well, young man, I am loathe to admit it, but I was wrong about you," Ineria slid forward and reached out for his hand to shake it, "Not only did you last the day, you finished far enough before the dinner hour I shall whip you up a plate to try."

Alistair's mouth slipped open wide, his smile revealing those deep dimples that gave his cheekbones a greater chiseled look -- as if the man needed any more help. Glancing over at Reiss, he shrugged once and then shook Ineria's hand proudly as if the Dalish woman was a Teryn.

"However," Ineria eyed up the remainders of his work station, "You used too much dough and left behind nearly enough filling for one and a half dumplings."

"Sorry," he muttered, then those eyes sparkled, "Ma'am."

Somehow his charm worked as much as any could on Ineria and she smiled. "Go and have a seat while I fry these up."

"Do you want any help with that?" he asked even while fishing his shirt off the ground. Right, he'd probably want to put it back on before eating. And why were you thinking it would be erotic to watch the King eat messy dumplings while shirtless? Reiss wondered if when this job was over, maybe she could get the name of Lunet's old lover and have her write a little something up.

Ineria stood up on her toes and yanked down a giant cast iron skillet without any obvious strain. "No, and any who learn my secret cooking process rarely last the night."

Gulping at the threat, the King of Ferelden nodded slowly and slid towards the door. "Understood, Ma'am." Without glancing back, he walked into the front of the house, already slipping his doublet back where it belonged.

Reiss staggered up to follow when Ineria's calculating eyes narrowed to slits and she whispered, "Very cute, for a shemlan."

## CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

#### A Taste

Ineria drew back her hand from a steaming pile of dumplings, easily eight or nine, piled upon a plate with a pot of gravy on the side. Steam erupted out of the small knife cuts Reiss had been in charge of until she bowed out, the smell heavenly beyond measure. If the Maker's side bore an odor it would probably be lilacs in spring, the forest after a gentle rain, and Ineria's fresh pork dumplings with extra gravy. At least that was what Reiss hoped for.

The King sat at the lone table, eying up the treat, a knife in one hand and fork in the other. "Well," Ineria waved her hand at him, "eat the blighted things. We must know if they are truly the best in thedas. Right, Da'len?" Ineria glanced over at Reiss who sat across from Alistair. He spent most of the cooking time trying to wipe the flour of his shirt which ended in trenches of handprints trailing down his chest.

Bristling under the scrutiny, Alistair jabbed his fork into the first dumpling. It hissed at the indignation, sending more of that tantalizing spiced meat smell into the air. Without any ceremony, the King of Ferelden jammed the entire two inch long dumpling into his mouth and began to chew. The response was instantaneous, flecks of pork and cabbage trying to escape, which he crammed back in with his mouth while talking rapidly.

"Maker's sake, it's so light and fluffy, but then the pork with lettuce stuff and bam spice city brings it all together for..." he swallowed obviously and then grinned, "Good, so good."

"Shemlan!" Ineria threw her hands up, "Fen'Harel ma ghilana," she cursed to herself before picking up the King's hand, stabbing his fork into the second dumpling and then dropping it into the gravy. "You eat together, like this. Dip-dip, see," Ineria spoke in broken sentences as if afraid the human suddenly lost the ability to understand her.

Alistair watched the thick brown sauce dribble off his dumpling before racing both towards his mouth and biting down. His eyes rolled back in his skull and he chewed the dumpling apart. "Sweet Andraste, okay," Alistair placed both his utensils down so he could bring his hands together in raucous applause. "These are beyond a doubt the best dumplings in thedas, probably even beyond."

"Of course," Ineria shrugged as if unimpressed with his comment, but Reiss watched her cheeks light up as she fluffed her greying hair. She loved it.

Stabbing at another and clogging up the gravy bowl with as much as he could, those silky brown eyes darted over to Reiss, "Aren't you going to have some too?"

"I..." Decorum said she shouldn't eat in front of the King but standing on tradition would never apply when Ineria's dumplings were involved. Snatching one of the hot pockets up in her fingers, Reiss dug the dumpling in the gravy like a shovel and then popped it into her mouth.

"So that's how it works," he smiled, giving up on the silverware and plucking up a dumpling with his fingers. While Reiss continued to chew on hers, he finished his fourth one off - the man had an appetite that would trounce most giants and they regularly ate goats whole. And yet, he didn't show that voracious eating anywhere on that toned and taut... Reiss scrunched up her nose, trying to stave off a blush at the image of the shirtless King making elven dumplings embedded into her memory.

"You've stopped eating," Ineria commented, catching on right away when Alistair slid his hands to the side.

"Well, she should have her share," he gestured at Reiss who knew she was blushing now. "Partners and all," Alistair grinned.

"Right, partners," Reiss smiled while impishly picking up one of the dumplings he was willing to forgo for her.

Ineria patted him on the shoulder and slipped back, "Foolish shemlan, I can cook you up more. Eat all you like."

Alistair's eyes glittered at the promise, but he paused and ran his gravy stained fingers through his hair. At this rate, those strawberry locks had to be coated in all the ingredients to recreate a dumpling. "All I like? Uh, how many did I make today?"

It was Reiss who spoke, "Be careful, Ineria, he may gobble the entire tray up and then chew the bone apart for marrow."

"That..." the King raised a finger as if to argue, when he smiled wide, "is probably true."

"So, you come back tomorrow and make even more. No problem," Ineria smiled wide and Reiss's eyebrows shot up fast. It took her months to gain the Dalish woman's begrudging acceptance, respect required years of her continuous patronage. And this shemlan all but had her eating out of his hand in an afternoon. Maker's sake, maybe he really was a secret mage.

Alistair scrunched up his nose, prepared to let the woman down gently that there wouldn't be any repeats, when the door to the restaurant opened and a harried redhead strolled in quickly.

"Ah, Shiani," Ineria spoke, rising up to stand and properly greet the woman.

"Ineria," Shiani's eyes traveled over first to Reiss with a curious acknowledgment and then froze at the King with gravy staining his chin.

"Hahren," Reiss greeted Shiani with a slow bow of her head.

"Corporal Reiss," the Arlessa said quickly, "strange to see you here out of uniform. And in...particular company."

Alistair finished swallowing the dumpling he jammed into his mouth to try and hide. Spinning in his seat, he stuck a hand out and said, "I'm Duncan."

"Okay," Shinai didn't even blink at the King giving her a false name. Instead, she turned back to Ineria and said, "I need a dozen order of your dumplings for a sit in."

"Stirring up trouble again, da'assan?" Ineria snickered already heading back to her kitchen.

"Someone has to," Shiani said, "and if they won't listen, you shout louder."

"Til you go hoarse," Ineria answered back. "It'll be a few minutes to fry, please wait." She didn't pause for Shiani's answer and slipped into the kitchen to resume the cooking.

For her part, the Arlessa only rubbed her hands together and waited, her stance falling slack. "Didn't think you'd be stopping by here what with the assassins around and all."

"I'm working on the theory that assassins like alienages as much as the nobility does," Alistair said.

"It seems rather convenient for you to be attacked just as we were discussing the matter of overcrowding," Shiani spun to fully face down the king who sat lower than her. "A very important matter that somehow only affects elves until we start rattling a few shemlan cages."

Alistair groaned, his head flopping back, "You really think I wanted to be perforated with holes? Seems an extreme way to get out of a meeting."

"And yet, now it's been tabled for Maker only knows how long while you and your...sea friends add even more fuel to the fire," Shiani glared at him, not about to back down to anyone. Her eyes darted over to Reiss for a second.

"Look," Alistair stumbled out of his chair and rose to face Shiani. "You want to tell those people that it's back to Tevinter with 'em because we're all out of room, be my guest. It's temporary. As in not permanent. As in I'm trying to find a blighted solution before we have to start hiding elves in closets and cellars. This is what that summit is for, we are all getting together and staying locked in that damn room until we come up with something. I don't care if it's discovering the power of levitation and sending people to colonize clouds, something."

Appearing unmoved by his plight, Shiani crossed her arms and glared, "And I'm supposed to expect shems to accomplish anything."

"Not really," he sighed, "it's why you'll be there, and some of the Dalish clan. I think even a representative of the dwarven merchant's guild is swinging by. It's turning into a potential disaster. So, show up with your meanest face and browbeat everyone. I have faith you'll pull it off."

Snickering at his summation, Shiani sneered at the politics ahead, but she acquiesced to the point. "Assuming there aren't any assassins at your little summit party."

"Oh, I'm pretty much counting on it. I was thinking we poison the salmon mousse. That ought to take 'em right down, assassins can't resist salmon mousse," Alistair smiled at himself before running a hand over his face and seeming to shake the Kingly exterior away. "How's your boy?"

The change in topic didn't even cause the Arlessa to bat an eye, "He's well. That toy you gave us is a lifesaver when he's cutting a tooth."

"Maker, that was the only damn thing that could make Spud happy when she was teething. She'd gum all up and down the legs and wooden hands, well, not the one I gave you. I think hers is on a shelf, probably coated in baby spit. But, you know..."

"In preparation for the next one," Shiani said, the fearsome Arlessa that would bow down to no one and nothing faded to a friendly parent sharing advice with another.

Alistair groaned, "Second verse louder than the first. When your son's older he should come up to the castle, have a play date with Spud and the rest." It was obvious the King meant nothing by it, but the elven women shared a quick glance. Royalty only associated with the approved, beginning at a young age. No one was going to allow the princess and future Queen of Ferelden to play with a bunch of commoners, much less elves.

"I'll think about it, your...whatever name you're posing under," Shiani said.

The awkwardness was happily broken up by Ineria returning with the Arlessa's order all wrapped up in a towel. Shiani dipped her hands under and placed it into a basket before saying, "Add it to my tab."

"Don't I always?" Ineria smirked back before the leader of the Alienage waved and left.

Alistair blinked a moment and then turned to Ineria, "Oh right, what do I owe you for the dumplings?" He dug into a purse that probably held garnets, amethysts, and pearls next to enough sovereigns to keep Ineria in flour for a year.

"Let's see, that was ten dumplings plus gravy in exchange for the two of you working the afternoon. Then again, you did leave globs of dough upon the ceiling, waste flour upon yourself and the floor, as well as excess filling. I'd call it a wash."

"You want me to wash up the mess?" Alistair asked, his eyes dancing around the room as if to try and find a mop.

"Blessed creators," Ineria cursed before telling Reiss in elvish, "He may be fine of feature but his brain is filled with bricks."

She couldn't stop laughing at the exasperated woman who tried to show kindness to a shemlan, as well as the fact Ineria missed the brick headed human's obvious joke. The King shrugged, his smile contagious as it leaped like a plague to everyone in the room. A dangerous case of laughter fever was about to follow when the door opened, depositing a good ten elves covered in the vestiges of unloading off the harbor for a day.

Alistair slapped his hands together and announced, "Welp, looks like it's work time."

***

It took a special eye to find the beauty in the Alienage. Aside from the Vhenedal tree, nearly every strip of green was drained from the brown and moldy ground. Most of the colors peeled away from old wood none could afford to replenish, but this wasn't like the camp. People didn't suffer here until they found something better, this was their home. While it wasn't official chantry recognized art, various elves would use dyed chalk to craft breathtaking murals against walls, roofs, sometimes even the ground. Sadly, they only lasted until the rains came and then it was back to creating, but it gave a magic to the art. When it was fleeting it was more special, as if it was an experience as much as a thing.

While the sun's orange and red rays bounced across the jagged horizon of Denerim, the shadows reached down along a portrait of a meadow. Where it struck, yellow popped out of the darkened colors, like fireflies springing to life. Reiss leaned forward on the edge of the roof, watching each one with a smile.

"I'm guessing you and heights get on like a house on fire," Alistair spoke up from beside her. As Ineria's restaurant filled to bursting with the line winding out the door, they took their leave and somehow wound up on a roof. It'd been the King's idea, but judging by how he kept the chair stuck in the middle he seemed to not be a fan of heights himself.

"They do not bother me," Reiss said sliding back beside the table. There'd been another plate of dumplings on it, all long since gone as they split it. Now she reached over to scoop up the tiny half glass and pour a gurgle of the thick brown liquid into it.

Alistair swirled his own full glass while staring out at the horizon of the city, his city. Maker, his entire country. Perhaps the thought struck him as well as he slung back his drink and scrunched his nose up at the kick. "What is this called again?"

"Koomtra," Reiss said. "It's fermented tree sap, blended together with mint and other herbs for medicinal qualities or to numb your throat before the alcohol burns it clean off."

"You can ferment tree sap?" Alistair gasped, his voice scratchy from the koomtra doing its work.

Reiss shrugged, "When you don't have a lot of options, you can ferment anything." Counting under her breath, Reiss drew forth the courage to tip the glass against her lips and face her own scouring. "Gah!" she shook it off, the mint biting into her. "It's a traditional alienage drink, brewed up in them all across thedas. And..." she placed her glass upside down on the table, aware that her vision was already sparkling, "I despise it."

At her admittance, the King laughed hard, "It's got a real bite to it. The kind of thing that'll take hair off your chest." Despite his agreeing with her, he took another shot, the man either enjoying the cheapest liquor available short of drinking turpentine, or wanting to play the part. It bothered her that she couldn't tell.

"When I first visited the alienage they didn't warn me about koomtra, just poured a heaping glass and all laughed their asses off when I sprayed it across the wall."

"Visited? You're not from one?"

"Uh," Reiss flinched, she hadn't meant to revel so much of her personal life to him. "No, my parents raised me and my siblings on a farm."

"Near South Reach," Alistair said. He drew his fingers across his vision as if chasing a fly but none was there.

"Yes, South Reach. They prided themselves on not being Alienage elves. On having their own land, a home, scraping and saving to be able to purchase something with barely enough acreage to support a goat much less a family. My mother would teach and provided washing services for other families in the area. I did too, until..."

Fire was the first sign. Not from some random lightning strike hitting the dry grass, no, smoke scoured the sky blackening it like a sickness. Everyone in the area ran together, so many of them buying slivers of rocky land off a Bann who didn't care that no one could survive off it. But they did, they made a home and a life, until the darkspawn came.

A hand landed on hers rattling Reiss' thoughts. She turned over to find the King leaning across the gap, his smile lost as he said, "You don't have to talk about the Blight."

"I...thank you," she tried to shake off the memories but a scream rattled in her ear that would never scrub clean. It was the beginning of the end of her world. "Because of that, I'd never visited an Alienage until I came to Denerim. It was rather awkward to be surrounded by so many elves and their world without understanding any of it. I felt like...like a human who strapped on a pair of wooden ears to try and pass."

Reiss paused in her thoughts and turned to the real shemlan. "And you come here often? Often enough the Hahren knows of it?"

"Well," he leaned back in the chair designed for a body much thinner than his. It creaked at the weight but probably wasn't going to break. "Not as often as I could, should. It was usually under Shiani's watchful eye when not an official parade of the King and his merry men through the streets to keep up someone's appearances."

"Why?" Reiss asked, then blanched at her being so bold, "I mean, I've never known anyone who didn't have to live in an alienage to willingly visit one."

"Aside from you?" he asked, a whisper of smile turning up his handsome features.

She blushed at that, and absently tugged on her hair. Freed of the heat of the restaurant, Reiss let her bun down, cascades of fine gold constantly catching between her back and the chair or wafting into her face. That was why she always kept it up.

"I suppose the cat's out of the bag," Alistair said parting his hands, "you've caught on to my well guarded secret." Reiss fidgeted as the normally nonchalant king took on an air of deadly seriousness. He scrunched forward in his chair, his shoulders tipped down in thought before turning over to her and saying, "I am complete and utter shit at being noble."

She felt more than a laugh fluttering in her stomach. Reiss patted a hand over her cheeks and they burned at his attention, brighter by the creeping chill of a spring night. "Would it be unbecoming of me to admit I was already aware?"

"Of course not, be as becoming as you like. Becoming is a preferred state of being. I often becoming when...wow, that did not go the way I meant to say it, ah," he slapped his hands together and turned that fully charming smile upon her. Reiss felt herself melting into the chair, the dark part of her brain wondering what it felt like to touch those pink lips always in a smile.

"Lunet!" she shouted, as if saying her name would summon her friend to act as a chaperone, "She, uh, she's my friend in the guards and was raised in an alienage in Highever but um, never comes to the one here. As an example of someone who avoids them because that seemed relevant." Reiss let her mouth continue to babble hoping it would cover over any stupid, libidinous thoughts haunting through her exhausted brain. This was all that koomtra's fault.

Alistair waited, watching until Reiss didn't just pause for a breath but stopped talking entirely. "Highever? How'd she wind up down here?"

"She was married off, in the alienages the marriages are arranged...and you already knew that," Reiss said. Most humans upon hearing the news gasped or started up an argument about how that was unholy. The King only nodded his head gently.

"When a lot of elves move from one part of the country to another I grow curious why."

"And you're not going to get into a long debate with me about how that's against the natural order and marriage should only be for love?" Reiss asked. She wasn't even of an alienage but she still felt the need to rush to their defense.

The King smiled wide and placed his hands behind his head while leaning back. "How do you think I wound up married? I'd spent so little time getting to know the bride before the vows I wasn't even certain which of the blushing maidens was her."

"Oh," Reiss folded in on herself. She hadn't expected that answer. "That does explain why you never, um..." Maker's sake, what are you doing? Do not ask that, do not voice it. Don't even make him aware you noticed it. Men hate that, probably.

"Never...compose dwarven love ballads? Leap tall buildings in a single bound? Eat with my toes? Actually, I wonder if I could do that." He lifted up his shoed foot and tried to inch it closer to his face.

"Why I've never been required to escort you to your lady's chamber," Reiss tried to phrase it in as banal a way as possible.

It took a moment for the King to catch on, the alcohol slowing the flow of words to his brain. "Ah, that, yes. Not many, we try to, um. The Queen and I have an arrangement. She stays in her rooms and I stay in mine."

"I should not have brought it up, it isn't my place to notice nor care, nor notice and I already said that. Sorry, it's, um..." Reiss sputtered to a halt, begging anything in her brain to bob to the surface to get her out of this mess. Why did she care about anyone who shared his bed, or didn't, or would think of it and...you're not helping now. _Shit!_ Sorry Atisha.

Alistair watched her panic with a slow smile before he coughed and said, "You didn't tell me why your friend stopped visiting the alienage."

"I didn't? Oh, that's, well, as I said she was married off. The leaders of the Alienages pick who weds who and the one in Highever didn't care about one vital fact about Lunet. She prefers women exclusively."

"That would put a damper on the wedding night," Alistair said.

"It didn't help that the man they shackled her to was a boorish oaf that Lunet wouldn't spit on if he was on fire. She lasted all of a month in the Alienage before running out and joining the Watch a few months prior to me."

The King blinked his eyes slowly and he turned fully in his chair to gaze over at Reiss. "Without any sword training she was recruited straight into the guards?"

Reiss smiled at that, "Lunet is very beautiful."

He scoffed a moment before turning back to gaze over the city. "I'm beginning to think that's a requirement for joining the City Watch."

She misinterpreted that. He must have meant some other guard he knew. He was King, kings knew the guards in their city. It was how it worked. They knew things because people were always telling them things, day in and day out. Lots of thingie things. Damn it, Reiss! Get a blighted grip.

"You know," the King mused to himself, rolling the glass back and forth before picking up the half full bottle. "I'm coming around to this koomtra?"

"Right," Reiss nodded, happy to have any change of topic. He filled another finger and a half's worth into his glass and downed it quickly, his eyes barely watering from the fumes. "They say that only true elves can enjoy koomtra's layered flavors."

Hacking erupted from Alistair's lungs and he had to cough down the resurgence of the cheap liquor before being able to sputter out an, "Oh?"

Reiss rolled her eyes, "I suspect that's code for 'only true elves are poor enough that koomtra's the one thing they can afford to drink.' Because it's so much fun to draw lines in the dirt and declare who does and doesn't..." She shook off her grumblings, trying to tamp down the shame and anger that rose whenever Reiss stumbled at being an elf. Her parents were proud to keep her from this life, insist that she try to blend into human existence while also watching herself with every move as if that was the proper way to live. Of course, she wasn't exactly running for the Alienage's next harhen either serving on the City Watch often at odds with her people and never rooming within the gated walls of the elven slum. Not even enough to be a flat ear, sometimes she felt like a shemlan hiding inside an elven skin.

"Can I ask you something?" Reiss began. Alistair placed the last of the bottle down and nodded. "Why did you agree to help make dumplings without expecting there to be any compensation, risking belittling from Ineria, and never once calling for someone else to take over?"

He watched her talk, his eyes darting across her face as if he'd never seen lips form words before. "Maker's sake, how many noble bungschooners have you had to work for?" A giggle broke through his words, the bungschooners causing a ripple effect through Reiss' lips.

After shaking off the laugh, she sighed, "Far too many, though not all were high born."

"Assholes in every rung, right?" It unnerved her at how perceptive this goofy king was. Shifting on his chair he leaned forward and pinched his fingers together, "It was fun to accomplish something, to have my hard work right there in front of me all done within an afternoon. No waiting ten years to see if some choice came to fruition, and certainly without a half dozen people running in from the sidelines shouting that I completely screwed them over and how dare I think I could make a dumpling!"

"Aside from Ineria," Reiss interrupted.

He smiled wide, "I'd much rather have one woman ordering me around than a hundred Banns after a hard choice that they refused to deal with is made flocking over so they can score some political points by arguing." Sighing, he leaned back in his chair, "I really miss being ordered around. Go here, kill this darkspawn, stop that hurlock, dodge the boulder from the ogre. Life was so much simpler when everyone wisely kept the fate of nations far from my shoulders."

"You didn't wish to be King?" she asked.

Reiss expected him to thunder that of course he did, it was his birthright or he deserved the power, but he slowly turned to her and shrugged. One eye slipped shut to match a half smile crawling up his cheeks, the man looking uncertain about everything. "It's not as if I ever had a say in who my father was, nor mother. They were happy to keep me hidden out of the throne's shadow and I was happy to stay there." He fiddled with the bottle, watching the setting sun's orange rays warp through the amber to lance upon the table as if it lit on fire. "I took the crown because...there weren't any other alternatives. Not really, none I'd trust to hold the door open for me at least."

"This is a painful topic I should not have risen, I'm sorry," Reiss raced to apologize. She heard the regret ringing through his words, every sentence seemed to carry a silent 'If I could do it all over...'

Alistair stopped rolling the bottle around and he focused fully on Reiss, a soft smile brightening his face. "No, it's all good. Not exactly something I've been hiding over the years from anyone. Get Eamon a few sour gimlets and he'll talk your ear off about how much of a failure I've been in living up to the Calenhad legacy." Picking at the table with his nail, Alistair glanced up to stare directly into her eyes as if he was daring her to call him on it. Despite having no real evidence, and the fact that they'd skipped all protocol to run off to the alienage for a day, Reiss didn't believe him. Granted, she also had no idea what made a king good or bad in the annals of history - though starting wars for some reason seemed to put one in the latter instead of the former category, assuming they won. But in this year, this decade, this age, he seemed to be trying as much as possible to help. That had to count for something.

Groaning, Reiss flopped back into her chair and threw a hand over her eyes to block the sunlight. "I'm beginning to understand why you loved making the dumplings so much."

That stomach flipping laugh echoed from beside her as Alistair sighed, "They are good dumplings. Thank you for bringing me. I'd have missed out otherwise."

"You..." she wanted to tell him he didn't need to thank her, but maybe he did. "You're welcome," Reiss smiled. "Ser, should I be returning you to the palace soon?" She worried about the dark shadows lurking through back alleys. It was doubtful bandits would care much if their blades sunk into elven or kingly hides.

He groaned the same way he would after drinking the mage's milky white potion. "I know I should, there will be a good dozen people waiting to shout at me for vanishing but...could I have a few more minutes to be Alistair?"

Reiss' eyes wandered over the man with his eyes shut tight while he seemed to breathe in the setting sun washing the alienage to a golden glow. "Of course."

## CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

#### Scaling the Summit

"I can't feel my teeth." A hand grabbed onto his, another in a sea of never ending limbs snatching it up and giving it a good pump before vanishing back into the fold. "Yes, hello to you too, whoever you are," Alistair mumbled the latter part to himself as he watched someone with a tall hat wander off. It was either someone in the chantry, a diplomat from across the waking sea, or a thief that got his hands on a long loaf of bread.

"Sire," the woman of iron commanded him to stand up straight and act even more pleasant than usual. After two hours of greeting everyone who strolled into town for the summit, it took all his control to not flop onto the ground for a nap. Though, knowing Karelle, she'd haul him up and kick his feet under him until he stood and resumed smiling calmly and shaking hands.

"My entire face is numb," he whined to her. She tutted at that, crossing off the names as they whispered them before wandering off to do whatever everyone was up to in the grand ballroom behind. Alistair's itinerary that he should have been the one to set was scattered between Karelle, Eamon, Cade for a few hours, and then back to Karelle. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being treated like the near three year old passed from instructor to instructor whose best hope would be to get her to stop stuffing dirt down her pants.

"And so glad you could make it, your irrelevance," Alistair greeted a woman who wasn't listening to him. She was too busy making certain Karelle had her name spelled correctly on the list. He leaned over to watch the chamberlain lift up the vellum coated in crossed out names. Hoping that was a sign they were about to be freed, he couldn't hide the groan as she revealed another even longer list of names below. "If I die on this spot, just prop my hand up and wait for rigor mortis to set in. I doubt anyone here will notice," he grumbled, trying to snap himself awake.

"As you say, Sire," Karelle didn't rise to his bait. She never did. Most who worked in the castle for over a year either learned to adjust to the King's particular style, or went mad and fled from his employ as soon as the tide came in. It was a wonder he wasn't trapped in the palace alone pretending the lamps and tea pots could talk from abject loneliness.

Lifting his exhausted head, Alistair glanced over the heads of the guests standing in line. He had a good view from his little dais to see down all the expanding bald spots, before landing upon Reiss running her hands over a man's midsection to check for weapons. Pausing a moment, her fingers returned to something tucked into the small of his back where she unearthed a long sausage stick. Upon realizing it wasn't about to maim the King beyond mild heartburn, an adorable blush burned across her cheeks.

The King's own goofy grin at her stumbling dredged up last night's dream, as well as a few from before, involving his bodyguard giving his own body a very thorough pat down. Maker's breath, he felt like a giddy teenager again, having to glance away quickly so the pretty girl wouldn't notice that he was staring. More than staring, if his dreams had any say in it. Not really the appropriate response there, Alistair. Okay, maybe you can look a little longer. He shifted on his toes while watching the woman snatch up a tendril of her errant blonde hair and stuff it up into her bun. There was nothing erotic about it, the woman all business but the intimate moment drew his full attention as he wondered what those fingers would feel like ruffling through his hair.

Andraste's knickers, everyone was right. It had been too long.

"Sire," one of Karelle's underlings poked his head out through the ballroom door. "They are ready to receive you in the conference room."

"Too bad, there's still a good dozen people waiting to be greeted first," Karelle interrupted, glaring at her toady. She operated a swath of vassals under her, each young, watery eyed, and prone to yipping at any loud noise.

"I understand, but the Dalish entourage is making overtures about...um, setting some shemlan on fire," he coughed out quickly.

Alistair rolled his eyes, fairly certain that was hyperbole on someone's part. "I've got this," he declared and before anyone could argue, he stomped off his little prop dais and began to grab onto waning hands. There were so many people, he didn't bother to shake and only lightly knocked palm to palm against everyone startled to find a king moving amongst them.

"Okay," the King shouted, waving his arms in the middle of the horde, "now everyone shake everyone else's hand and boom, done, all greeted. Time to get to the meeting." Maker's sake, he was actually excited about sitting in a room and being yelled at for a few hours. Glancing over at his bodyguard, he lifted a shoulder and she smiled.

Alistair swung his vision back to Karelle, who was glaring at his faux pas, in order to disguise a rising blush up his cheeks. He hadn't felt this unnerved by a pretty face since...honestly, since Lanny when he had no idea where she stood with him even after the rose. And this one was ten times harder to read, always swallowing down an idea she had for fear of stepping on fancy slippers.

Stomping away from the group of nobles realizing they got the stick on the lolly, the King nodded once at Karelle and whispered, "I imagine you've got it from here."

"I seem to have no choice," she growled back.

Not bothering to hide his chuckle, Alistair followed the under chamberlain up to the meeting room. Normally, people in the palace might offer up an occasional greeting or wave when he passed but now everyone he bumped into bowed deeply. He heard so many Majesties and Highnesses, for a moment Alistair feared they accidentally invited the royal families from all of thedas. But that was impossible, if Celene was here, she'd have brought an entire wing off the Winter Palace to drop onto the "unfurbished Ferelden castle" to stay in.

The kid dropped them off in one of the better rooms. It bore a fantastic stained glass window, a circle that played out the life of Calenhad forming the country of Ferelden in vibrant colors. When the sun was setting behind, the light would streak over the eaves of the battlements to lance the pattern onto a white and gold conference table. Though, what Alistair liked was the half of a stuffed great deer. Someone in trying to be clever put the front half of a deer galloping over a fence in a state bedroom, which meant they didn't know what to do with the back end. Of course, when their new king stumbled across it rotting in the attic, he insisted it be installed right away. A few diplomatic eyes wandered over to the deer's ass, its tail held upright as if it sensed danger or was about to spray pellets across the carpet.

"Thank you for attending," Alistair said, swooping into the room filled with a good half dozen of the more important people to the talks. He told Karelle that it was her job to keep everyone not needed busy while they actually got something accomplished. Settling into the chair placed before the stained glass window, Alistair glanced back quick to make certain there were no archers hiding behind it.

Reiss seemed to read his worry as she leaned close to whisper, "We have a few men patrolling the battlements and rooting out the towers just in case."

He turned to thank her for that, and caught a whiff of her scent. In a room clogged with thick perfumes that could smother a nug, she smelled of honeysuckle wafting over a meadow and pork dumplings. "Good to know," he said instead, coughing to cover up any growing embarrassment, "so, do we need to go through with introductions or...?"

"I demand you tell me why these savages have intervened into a most regal matter!" the Arl of Denerim was the first to pop up, waving his fist back and forth as if it could do much of anything. After Howe, anyone with sense made certain that Arling had as little power as possible -- a lot of its old duties falling to the crown for safe keeping until the new guy settled in. That was the strangest contest of arms for land he'd ever seen, no one with any true standing wanting it. In the end, the last two families wound up waving their fingers at each other and pretended to fall down, both attempting to get out of it.

"Kylan, sit your ass down," Alistair said, barely bothering to look at the man. He gave his attention instead to the dalish woman sitting primly in a chair. She gave no bones about who she was, wearing the forest green leathers and tan hides of her people against all the humans dressed in wools and silks. Clinging tight to a staff, she glared at each human daring her to leave.

"Sorry, I don't think we've met," Alistair stuck a hand over to her. "Or we did and I didn't catch it in the sea of everyone else I had to meet."

She probably glared at that too -- her eyes seemed to be in a constant state of glowering at the world, only a slit of color evident below heavy eyelids. "I am Niala, first to the Keeper."

"Ah, I'd hoped the Keeper herself would come." He'd hoped a lot of people who gave him a polite piss off would be here, one elf in particular.

"There was some trouble, and we fear if the Keeper left our lands the shemlan would use the opportunity to attempt to retake it."

"I object to you using that word within these walls!" Another Bann leapt up, this man one of the few rattling sabers near the Kokari wilds. "Shemlan is a boorish and savage word that does not belong in these proceedings."

"Believe me, shemlan," Niala bared her teeth, "I have far better ones to use for you and the rest of your kind that would threaten ours. Cowards comes to mind first."

"Sire!" the Bann snapped his head over at Alistair and whimpered as if the elf just stole away his toy and he needed an adult to get it back.

"All right! Maker's sake, let's try to avoid the name calling even if some people might deserve it. Okay?" he glanced at the Bann first who nodded slowly and sunk to his chair but kept up a glare. The elven woman didn't go down easily. She had the whitest vallaslin he'd ever seen, the tree tattoo glowing like the horns of a halla against her darker forehead. Tipping it to the side in a sort of deniable agreement, she also promised to curb her tongue for the time being.

"Well, with that pleasant greeting out of the way, let's get down to the real brass tacks," Alistair yanked up the first of a never ending stack of the problems out of the Kokari Wilds. "Item one, the attack upon the Dalish village by shemlan...sorry, human influences."

"I object!" the Bann shouted.

"Why am I not surprised?" Alistair groaned, already flopping his head forward. "And, for the love of Andraste, sit your ass down. This isn't a game of musical chairs. If you stand up again, I'm having someone put a tack on your seat."

"I..." the Bann shrunk down at that. "Yes, Sire. But, that report you have is a gross misrepresentation of what occurred. For starters, that cluster of huts they have is no village. It can barely even be labeled a campsite for how little care they give to it -- naked children wandering the woods without a care, animals decaying in the lawns out front."

"Lawns? What are lawns?" Niala asked, glancing around. An elf beside her, one who seemed to travel with her pack but without the Vallaslin whispered in her ear. She guffawed at that, "You waste precious land to impress others with grass? Shemlan truly are touched in the head."

Rather than speak a word, the Bann jabbed a finger at the First as if he could have her ejected for using the s word. He kept waving it near her while glaring at the king. "Can we please not use shemlan, or for that matter knife-ear, savage, barbarian, and for my own sake moist. Maker, I hate that word."

"But they..." the Bann began, when Shiani interrupted.

"Have far better manners than you do," she chuckled to herself. She had her own stack of items to get through, and it looked nearly as large as Alistair's which covered the past year and a half of problems. Yup, he was going to die in this seat.

"I..." the Bann turned on the other elf, when the door to the room opened and the weaseliest face to ever crawl out of a burrow it stole from a mole peeked around the corner.

"Ah, here you are, Milord," the man bowed, showing off one of the better auburn wigs.

"Bann Declan," Alistair hissed through his teeth.

"Someone appears to have failed to gather me for this meeting," he oozed into the room.

Alistair glanced over at his bodyguard. He expected her to begin the usual pat down, but she stood frozen on the spot. Her eyes bulged more than usual, her lips sunk flat and he recognized an internal scream when he saw one. "Yeah, there's a reason for that," the King said staggering to his feet. "If you haven't been checked by security, which I know you haven't because..." he pointed at the knot of jute tied around the wrists of those who'd had all their weapons checked and confiscated, "you're not welcome here. Assassins and all."

"Of course, of course, I heard about your troubles. Such a shame. Ah, but you have a guard there. She could give me the once over and then I am free to join, yes?"

Alistair wanted to pick him up and toss him down the stairs just because of that nasally voice and the way he wheedled into shit that had nothing to do with him. Looking over at Reiss, he began to suspect she had a much better reason for hating him. He tugged her close and stood up to whisper in her ear, "Are you okay to pat him down?"

"I..." She tried to not shudder; he watched it climb over her skin and instantly regretted making it an option. But then the tenacity that drove her to leap off a roof set in. "Aye, of course, Ser."

With legs stiff as a board, she stepped as close to the man as she needed and instructed him to lift up his arms. Using quick movements, Reiss tapped at his chest, watching how the coat cut in and out to spot any hidden sheafs. She looked about to stagger back and pronounce him clean, when Declan leaned close to her and whispered in her ear, "What about my thighs? Don't you want to check them for anything dangerous?"

Alistair stood up and moved across the room before Declan had a chance to grab Reiss' wrist or hand. Putting himself between the bodyguard and the walking slug that became a Bann, he patted against the man's outer and then inner thigh, slapping it hard and glaring. "Good? Yeah, I'd say that's fine. Nothing there to write home about. Shock of shocks," he glared into those beady eyes daring him to say anything.

"Now," the King slapped his hands together and began to pace back and forth. Demolished enough, Declan scurried to an extra chair at the back normally reserved for any clerks taking notes. "Let's discuss what happened on the night of Drakonis..."

***

"I'm going to curl up into a ball and roll down the stairs until I make it to a bed, or ram into a wall," the King complained, massaging the back of his neck as the various diplomats filtered out of the room. In truth, Reiss wanted to follow right behind him. While he'd spent the entire rise and set of the sun arguing across the table over every tiny detail including if soup should be eaten with lunch or not, she did her damnedest to not glare at Declan sitting awkwardly in his chair.

She was grateful that the Dalish mage acquiesced on the soup portion. Watching that weaselly toad try to balance a bowl on his lap without having it clatter across his legs or splat against his face was almost worth the rise of her bile. Almost. As the last of the diplomats vanished out the door, all of them unhappy but for various reasons, Alistair turned to Karelle and jabbed a finger at Declan. "I don't know how that little shit got wind of this meeting, but keep him away from it tomorrow."

"I will, Sire," Karelle nodded. Her eyes flared as she glared where Declan had been, "I suspect some of my own were coerced into giving the information. Tomorrow we'll put you and the others in a different room, that should solve the problem."

"Good," Alistair dug the palms of his hands into his eyes to try and rub them free. "Good..." he turned over to Reiss and sighed, "how're you holding up?"

"Me?" she pointed at herself and tried to stagger up to attention. "I'm fine, your majesty."

He snickered at that, his eyes wandering over to her hand planted on the table. "There's nothing more from you, Karelle?" The chamberlain shook her head negative, her fingers darting across the first of a week's worth of never ending arguments. "Thank the Maker, however, I've got one more stop to make. Are you up for it?"

Reiss felt Karelle watching from behind her stacks of vellum, a curious quirk to her eyebrows. Why did the King care how his hired help felt? Was she weak and couldn't perform her job? Did there need to be a reduction in pay? Shaking off any concern, Reiss found strength wafting in her marrow and locked her face into a stern glance, "Yes, Ser."

He didn't lead her to meet with the Chancellor, nor Cade, or even the Grand Cleric who was offering up prayers to any and all that requested them. It wasn't until they rounded past the statue of armor bearing a frilly pink skirt that Reiss chuckled under her breath. The King was careful to push on the door, attempting to silence any squealing as he peeked a head in on his daughter. "Andraste's sake," he sighed at the girl clinging to the side of the bed. Her tiny hand dangled over the edge while the other kept her anchored. "I don't know why she does that," he whispered to himself while gently picking up the girl's limp body and guiding her safely under the sheets.

Taking a moment to smooth down her knotted black hair, he pecked a quick kiss on her forehead and then laid a small red feather against the nightstand beside the bed. When he returned to stand beside Reiss she asked where he got it from.

"One of the diplomats brought a flock of the damn things. They're squawking away in the kitchen while the chef figures out how to cook 'em. Apparently the birds know a bunch of really good curse words and are screaming them out across the larder. It set off the Grand Cleric who 'well I nevered' for a few minutes before one escaped, flapped up to the highest beam, and mimicked her. She'd yell at it to get down, it'd repeat it. She'd swear at it in words I didn't think a good Mother of the cloth ever learned, and it'd repeat it."

Reiss chuckled silently in deference to the sleeping child. "I'm sorry I missed it."

"Me too, would have been way better than when we got onto debating proper hair length for men in a village for a half hour," he stood close to her, his head tilted down to whisper in her ear, "Anyway, Cade shot it down with his crossbow, they ate the damn thing for dinner, and Renata was good enough to swipe me one of the bright tail feathers."

"That's sweet," Reiss mused to herself.

The King shrugged, "They said it tasted like roast nug." Turning away from his slumbering daughter he spent the entire day away from, he stepped into the next room. While Reiss sometimes followed into Spud's room, often in pursuit of the King who was in turn trying to catch his daughter, she'd never crossed into the Queen's chambers beside. He didn't order her to follow, nor did he tell her to remain, and fearing she might accidentally wake the child, she trailed after.

A warm firelight licked up from the hearth, highlighting the nanny who was stuffed into a padded chair. She had a thick tome up to her eyes but tugged it down at the sound of the King skirting across the floor. "What do you think you're doing?" Marn hissed, the anger evident even through the whisper.

"I thought I'd like to see my son before I'm dragged off to the eternal void that is bureaucracy," Alistair whispered back, his voice barely breaking above the susurrus of the wind outside.

Marn rose from her chair. Despite being of a height that barely staggered above elves, she bore a gravitas that made everyone else in the room shrink before her. Reiss felt herself staggering downward and she wasn't even the focus of the nursemaid's wrath. "He's asleep," she hissed, walking around the King like a goose about to peck out an eye.

"So I'll hold him while he's sleeping," Alistair continued, inching closer to the cradle. It was smaller than Reiss expected. For some reason she pictured something nearly the size of her own bed with ornate silks and golden filagree. In truth, it was an elegant but plain wooden cradle with nary a hint of gilding and only soft bedding for the baby within. On occasion, it shifted, rocking upon its bowed legs that she realized were carved to look mabari running through the fields.

Marn glanced down at the baby, then to the King who kept inching his hands closer, "No. I only just got him down."

Groaning, Alistair's hands froze but he didn't give up, "Give me this one thing, please. It's been a long...month? Two? An entire damn season. Just let me hold the kid for a few minutes. I won't wake him up, I super duper promise on my mother's grave." He looked like a child trying to wheedle for a second biscuit up until mentioning his mother, when his face seemed to sober up instantly.

Either moved by his plight, or no longer in the mood to argue, Marn crossed her arms, "Very well, but if you wake him it's on your head to get him back down. And he's been colicky lately."

At that threat, Reiss expected the King to yank his arms back and let sleeping babies lie, but he snickered and curled the baby to him. "As if Spud wasn't a rampaging monster for a good three months," he cooed to the tiny face swaddled in a sea of azure blankets. Stars dotted it in silver, giving the illusion of a night's sky. While snuggling the baby closer to him, a calm washed the man clean. He always bore a mask over the true man below, one not made of iron but coated in glitter and bits of string that used japes to hide him. But as he smiled down at his son, his armor fell away to reveal something fragile inside - like the soft skin of cheese preserved below a wax seal.

Marn didn't say a word, but she shook her head while slipping out the door. Not paying attention to anyone else, Alistair curled up in the rocking chair beside the fire. For a few breaths he only lightly tipped the chair back and forth on his toes, eyes upon the slumbering face. "It never takes long," he sighed.

Uncertain if he spoke to her or not, Reiss shuffled on her feet. She didn't say anything out of fear of being the one to burst this rare soft moment.

Tugging down the blanket, Alistair skirted his fingers against the baby's cheek, "I've missed you, you radish. Maker, no, that's still not right. I'll come up with something good, I promise."

"Sire!" a voice shouted from behind Reiss. She was so enraptured in the cozy scene, she leaped out of her shoes and spun around about to clobber one of the servants flocking through the castle halls.

The King stared down at the baby that thankfully didn't rouse, then whisper ordered to the trembling young man, "What is it?"

"There's a problem with the guests..."

"Then get Karelle to handle it," he hissed back.

"She's busy elsewhere, and I already tried Chancellor Eamon, as well as Cade, the Head Chef, and Edgar," the poor kid's knees knocked together like a bag of acorns.

Sighing, Alistair rose out of the chair, his son clutched tight in his arms. "Good to know I rank below the apprentice blacksmith in all diplomatic matters. Sorry," he whispered to prince Cailan. Reiss expected him to slip the baby back into his cradle, but he extended his arms out to her instead.

"Ser?" she stuttered even while wrapping an arm under the warm blankets and taking the boy's weight.

"Keep him warm for me. I shouldn't be too long," he winked at her and Reiss felt her stomach plummet before it rolled around like a wet dog.

"I...should I not go with you, to..." she began to sway with the baby in her arms, instinct taking over.

Alistair paused, two fingers running across the fine hairs sparsely scattered over his son's head. Smiling at the boy, he sighed, "Don't worry, I'll do my best to not die while dealing with...what was the problem again?"

"They say there are rats in their rooms. Big ones, Sire. And something about a man with a wooden stick."

Trying to not groan, Alistair shrugged and gestured the young man to head for the door. Reiss felt any common sense in the world fleeing with him, the King pausing at the door to wave her good luck before he quietly closed it. She could hear him asking the young boy why they didn't release some of the cats to deal with the rats, but the rest of his comeback was drowned out by her throbbing heartbeat.

For his part, the prince and second in line to the throne, barely acknowledged that a filthy commoner was holding him close to her plebeian chest. Reiss was the one having a hard time with the idea. Please don't wake up, or cry, or do anything that would draw people to her. Would they give her a chance to explain, or would they see a knife-ear holding the royal infant and go right to 'she's going to use it for one of her elfy blood rituals?'

While her mind panicked, her body fell back to all those years ago when she'd have to watch her brother and sister. Atisha was a quiet baby, but Lorace was beyond a handful. He was tugging out hair and going for necklaces before he'd grasped any other motor movements. And he seemed to enjoy hearing himself screaming, often crying for the fun of it while his exhausted ten year old sister did every damn thing she could think of to get him to shut up.

A soft cry, like a squeaky wheel, broke from tiny lips. Oh Maker. Reiss began to pat his back end, rocking her arms to try and entice the rousing baby back to sleep. She focused up on the door, praying the King was going to run back inside and swoop him out of her arms. Another gasp was followed by a smacking of hungry lips and she glanced down to catch the bluest eyes blinking up at this strange woman.

Reiss knew it was coming, a cry for anyone with the proper authority to come and rescue him was liable to break in a second. There was only one trick she had left. Dipping into her rarely used singing voice, an old lullaby floated out of her lips.

"Elgara valla, da'len

Melava somnia

Mala taren aravas

Ara ma'desen melar."

Pausing, she watched the prince's wandering eyes focus up on her. It was doubtful he could see much of her at this young age, but the soothing song seemed to be working as his body relaxed against her arm. With a smile, Reiss tugged down the creeping blanket to give the prince's fist room. He was quick to wrap around her pinkie as she began the second verse.

"Iras ma ghilas, da'len

Ara ma'nedan ashir

Dirthara lothlenan'as

Bal emma mala dir..."

Prince Cailan cooed at that, the building blocks of a smile trying to tug his slack lips upward. It was enough to draw Reiss to his little face, her own anxiety blanketing down from the happy baby gurgling in her arms.

"That's a lovely song."

Reiss whipped her head up and gulped at the petite woman standing in the previously closed door. With the baby in her arms, Reiss began to bow before returning to a curtsy, "My Queen."

She'd not spoken with Beatrice before, the King rarely spending more than a few minutes near his wife aside from during meals. While people weren't ever certain what to do with their bonhomie King, everyone loved Beatrice. People said she was kind, thoughtful, always quick to send a three page thank you note for the smallest gift given. They rarely talked about her beauty which seemed to be more striking by the cozy light of the hearth instead of the candles in a ballroom. It wasn't tight corsets and voluminous skirts that the Queen thrived in but soft robes the better to catch up baby spit up and full of pockets crammed with the accruements of motherhood.

When the Queen crossed over to her, Reiss began to hold her arms out, expecting Beatrice to take her son back from the rambling bodyguard, but she only traced along his soft cheek. Cailan seemed to sense his mother however, those bright blue eyes popping open to watch her. She smiled so sweetly at her boy, it tugged on a painful memory inside Reiss' heart of her own mother.

"What was that song you were singing?"

"It's an, um, an elvish lullaby, your Majesty," Reiss sputtered out. Maker's sake, it's bad enough to be caught holding the baby but whispering in some scary foreign tongue into his ear...you'll be lucky to survive the night.

The Queen watched her son's tiny fist clasp tighter to Reiss' finger as she smiled, "I'd never heard it before."

"My mother she'd, uh," tears burned in her eyes, the grown woman come undone by the pure maternity wafting off the Queen who became mother to the whole country. Whether she wanted it or not, Beatrice wore it like a glove and while it could soothe those with happy childhoods, it kept sticking deep into Reiss' chest like a poleax.

Blinking back the tears, Reiss spat out, "She'd sing it to us often, to get us to sleep."

Beatrice turned away from her son to eye up the scattered elf coming fully undone by this. A soft hand landed upon her shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze, "You speak as if she is no longer with us."

"No," Reiss screamed at herself internally. It was years and years ago, the wound healed and stitched up by time as well as necessity. But, it was her parents... "The, uh, the blight."

"Ah," Beatrice nodded and bent her head low, "I lost my mother to an extended illness, not the Blight but a different plague." Gently tipping her head, she curled her hand around Cailan's head and he leaned into his mother's warmth, "I wish she could see her grandchildren."

"They watch from the Maker's side," Reiss muttered out.

"You are Andrastian?" Beatrice exclaimed, sounding as shocked as if a Qunari recited the chant of light.

This wasn't the time to go into the long, convoluted backstory of how Reiss suffered eternal days in the chantry of her youth, fully abandoned it as she struggled to survive in Kirkwall, and never really opened her arms back to Andraste. Instead she smiled, "My sister is actually a Sister." Maker's breath, that sounded stupid.

But the Queen only smiled politely and nodded her head, "That's good. It's nice to have something to cling to during the darkest hours."

"Yes," Reiss agreed not feeling it in her heart. She wished she could, some made it look so easy while others could embrace their non-belief with as much fervor. Falling in the middle only left her with more questions and less answers.

"We have not spoken before, Ser Reiss," Beatrice changed tactics.

"No, Ma'am, your Majesty," she stuttered, chasing to shore up her weeping heart and stuff it down behind the armor.

The Queen smiled with the softest uptick of her thin lips. It seemed she was never far from her smile, but it didn't brighten the room the way the King's did. While his was like trapping the sun inside a closet, hers was a whisper of candlelight upon a dark mantle. "I assume my King placed the prince in your arms before dashing off to handle some other small matter."

"Yes, that was what he did, your Highness." Reiss' grip shifted around as the sweat accumulated on her palms. Do not drop the baby. Maker's sake, never drop the baby.

"You spend a great deal of time with him," Beatrice said, her downturned eyes suddenly snapping with a ferocity she'd never expected.

"I..." Flames! Reiss had expected a snide comment from Philipe or Renata, anyone else that was sure to notice the love sick elf drooling over the King, but she'd never imagined that the Queen would catch on. Could Beatrice throw her in chains? Would the King try and stop her? Did he even notice? Maker's sake, please don't let him notice. "I do as I'm ordered."

Beatrice leaned in close to the elf holding her baby and said, "It is a wonder you can stand his peculiarities for as long as you do."

"He's not that...we, I've had far worse jobs, my lady." Reiss tipped her head down unable to take that calculating stare masked behind the gauze of motherhood.

"I'd imagine so," the Queen clucked her tongue. "It is not my place to meddle in these matters, but perhaps you should be made aware."

Reiss tried to not flinch as the woman somehow gained a foot over her and leaned closer. Even if she didn't banish the bodyguard from the palace, or Denerim, or Ferelden itself, this was going to be the most awkward moment of Reiss' life.

Beatrice patted her on the shoulder and said, "He possess a rather thick skull at times and requires a far stronger push than one expects."

"Beg pardon?" Reiss sputtered, feeling as if she was just tricked by a demon. She glanced up and the Queen's patient smile twitched higher.

"You'll find the proper moment, but be brash about it."

Swallowing down, Reiss's mouth fell open as she tried to find any word to make sense of what she heard. All her brain could offer up was a quiet whine through her ears, like someone was running laps around the castle while screaming. She had to fix this, convince the Queen that there was nothing, would never be anything of evidence between her and... Maker's sake, she's an elf!

"I don't...? What do you...?"

Reiss' pitiful attempts were drowned out as the door cracked open and the King appeared. He looked little worse for the wear, a bit of probable rat blood splattered across his green and tan doublet. "All fixed and I didn't have to throw anyone in the dungeon," he crowed. "Now, how's about some time with my boy."

Grateful, Reiss passed off Cailan to his father's arms. In switching over, Alistair's fingers wrapped across hers and for a brief second he held them tight. No, that was her imagination fueled by the Queen's insinuations. With her head dipping down, Reiss tried to slink into the shadows to play the part of wallpaper.

Beatrice stepped near, a kerchief already in her fingers. "Do try to keep the baby from swallowing too much blood," she sighed while wiping it off Alistair's cheek.

"Thanks," he smiled at his wife a moment before turning back to his son. "Wait until you're old enough to chase down rats with a big wooden stick. Though, knowing Spud she'll be doing that any day now."

"No doubt at her father's urging," Beatrice said back. There was a dash of venom in there but she seemed prepared to acquiesce to the inevitable.

Alistair shrugged, the man at the beck and call of his children and happier for it. He placed a quick kiss against Cailan's forehead before sighing. Glancing over at Reiss, he smiled wide, "So, what'd you two get up to while I was out?"

She watched the Queen turn to her and smile nearly as brightly as her husband, "We had an enlightening conversation. One I hope she'll take to heart."

With a blush brightening up her cheeks, across her forehead, and down her neck all Reiss could do was nod and pray for the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

## CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

#### Ghosts of Pain

Reiss had no idea if the talks were going well or not. To her it was nothing but chaos as the same ten or so people gathered together in a room to yell over top each other, punctuated by friendly dinners of the fanciest vittles Karelle could scrounge up. But then the King would give an occasional thumbs up from across the table or, as they stumbled off to their beds for a night, say that they'd actually gotten something done. All she saw was indecisive discord but maybe that was the general state for politics. While the days were long, some of the longest she could remember since being a foot soldier for the Inquisition, it felt strangely worthy. The Dalish would sometimes look over at the elven bodyguard and not quite smile. The First even struck up something of a conversation with Reiss across the dinner table about squirrels.

It also helped that Bann Declan was kept far from her, not that the man seemed to have any memory of her having worked for him, nor the way he acted. She tried to pretend none of it ever happened, that it was all an overreaction on her part in order to preserve the delusion that Reiss was strong. But having him exhale near her, with that sucking sound and his breath tinged with clove drops wafted over her sick skin, it came crashing back.

No. Reiss shook it all off. That was not a part of her life anymore, and thanks to the King's help it would never have to be. He'd been generally happy, as happy as one can get while trapped in a chair supervising grown men and women about to call each other 'booger face.' There were only a few times when a dour mood stampeded out the smile, usually whenever the College of Enchanters was invoked. The newest arcane advisor was brought in for talks as the Bann feared all that evil magic the dalish were casting on their lands.

Whenever Alistair would quiz Linaya about what if any failsafes the college had in place for mages that either didn't want to study there or were about to go all abominiationy, she didn't have much of an answer beyond promising to look into it. That'd set him off, the man all but throwing his chair back to stomp around the table. With a set jaw, he'd growl about how it'd be so much easier to have the damn answer right now if their Grand Enchanter could be bothered to reply to a letter beyond her curt dismissals.

But even that would waft away, the King shaking his head and trying to steer the conversation back to elves and who belonged where. Reiss expected to stumble into the King's bedroom and have him challenge her for some sparring to work off that excess energy, but all the man wanted was to yank off his boots and collapse into bed. He would manage to get them off about half the time before succumbing to sleep. After three days of talking around in circles, it was agreed upon that the King, a few of the others in his entourage, and the Banns would all visit this disputed land to see just what horrors did or did not exist there.

While Reiss was prepared to head out the next day after the decision was struck and shook upon, the King sighed and told her, "Sadly, we have one more fancy pants thing to get to before we can revive the real work."

There had to be a ball.

No one informed her of it, the rest of the palace in more of a tizzy to decorate and prepare for it instead of taking the time to tell the newest bodyguard. Reiss expected to be fully forgotten about to the point the other guards tried to throw the elven beggar out into the streets, but when she woke she found her armor was polished to the nth degree. She didn't even have to use her fogged up mirror to see her own haggard face staring back.

That was the extent of her getting ready for the coming dance, though she did hear a constant stream of people fussing over the King while he paced back and forth in his rooms. Reiss kept their shared door open while she honed her blade, the steel slicking down the edge. On occasion she'd look up to catch a blonde blur all but running back and forth. He had a scroll or two in his hands, double checking on some other attempt at a new agreement from the Banns or Dalish. The piles of servants managed to get a dashing velvet doublet upon him - midnight blue with buttons of silver dashed down the middle like stars. However, no one had managed to stop him in time to finish off with trousers. The inner shirt, stark white, frilled out over the tops of his thighs like a tiny skirt and Reiss did her best to not watch the man's pale and very naked legs as he made another lap.

"Sire, please stop."

"Why?" he paused, finally turning up from his work.

"You must wear pants to the ball, for...everyone's sake," the servant pleaded, the poor kid looking about to break into tears. It'd been a stressful week for all.

"I thought I already was," Alistair yanked the vellum away from his chest and glanced down at his skin on display to the world. He laughed at the mess and then quirked his head up, "Wait, how did I get my shoes on?"

"We don't know, Sire," the servant groaned, dropping to his knees to tug the polished leather off the King's feet before finally getting him into the trousers he'd been streaking past all night.

Reiss watched the servant quickly moving to dress him, too amused by the spectacle now that it was over, when she felt eyes land upon her. Glancing up she caught the King smiling at her having watched him walking around pantsless. A blush burned up her cheeks and she flipped her shield in the way because it was suddenly very necessary that she check the strap for any wear and not to cover herself from his Majesty's wickedly handsome smirk.

"Have you ever been to one of these things?" Alistair asked.

"Yes, Sire. Numerous ones."

"No kidding, Ortal, but I wasn't talking to you," the King smirked down at the servant who was trying to jam the royal foot back into the shoe.

Peering over the top of her shield, Reiss met Alistair's eye and she admitted, "No, I haven't before." The command was that only humans would be able to sneak into the Winter Palace due to anyone else either being confused for servants or dwarves being fully out of place. Reiss was serving in the Emerald Graves while the ball took place, most likely twirling with those freemen as the best of the Inquisition danced with the duchess.

"It's not so bad," Alistair said. He nodded down at Ortal who stepped back and then dashed off to find something else to add to the man's wardrobe. Stepping closer, the King stood in the doorway before Reiss' room. "There's a lot of people standing in a room that will feel hot compared to falling into an open lava pit. Small talk, larger talk, louder, violent small talk, a handful of people twirling in circles in the middle of the room. One guy who's dead certain he's the Maker's gift to the world flailing around like his back's on fire and calling it dancing."

"Why do people do this?" Reiss struggled to understand.

"Because it's tradition," he smiled, "and the food's pretty good. There's this mushroom they cram full of cheese and spices." A cravat swung up behind the King, cutting off his words. Reiss leapt up off her bed, her hands reaching behind to try and yank it off, when the servant swung a haphazard knot back around and ruffled it properly in front of the King's attire.

"There, that should be up to snuff," Ortal sighed, not so much proud of his work as abandoning it.

Reiss caught the servant's disinterested eye wander up to her with the question of what the hell she was doing in his face. Without an answer, she absently reached up and patted her bun into place when a laugh echoed from the King. He must have caught on to the play and found it hilarious. Without drawing any attention to his bodyguard about to lay the servant out flat for adding a decorative tie to him, Alistair adjusted the knot of silver until it dangled in whatever way was fashionable.

Sliding back into his room, he hunted out a mirror and made a vague pass at his hair. Someone took a long time to try and grease it down into the more popular wet look, which the King promptly obliterated as he absently lifted his hair up and back. Nodding once at the striking figure in the glass, he smiled over at Reiss. "Shall we?"

On an average day the great hall was not so impressive. The scale of it more than lived up to its name, providing enough room for a jousting tournament should someone become very drunk and delude themselves into thinking it was a good idea. But that was about all it held, room. Vast space was filled with more space, the walls decorated in banners associated with Ferelden and the Theirin bloodline, but little else.

As Reiss descended the stairs behind the King her breath caught in her throat. The entire hall glittered with thousands of candles struck upon golden chandeliers dangling off the beams. Crystals focused the light in prismatic rainbows across the dance floor where men and women twirled in erratic but precise movements to a full orchestra roped off where the gentry would stand during landsmeets. A sweet song echoed above the trill of flutes and Reiss spotted those crimson birds swooping through the chandeliers, dusting the dancers in their molting feathers. Karelle found a use for them after all.

Every corner and inch of the great hall teemed with the richest colors, the most vibrant fabrics, and the most precious jewels. Reiss felt herself flinching whenever a shoe of gold or feathered pauldron festooned in diamonds would catch the light. Positively everyone glittered from head to toe in decadence, the men -- regardless of how they'd been screaming each other raw not a day earlier -- appeared the epitome of a gentleman class in their tailored suits. It was the women that caught Reiss hardest of all. Dresses with both modest and daring necklines skirted around the floor, every woman at the peak of feminine beauty as the full skirts amplified that hourglass figure. She spotted Karelle towering over most of the people, her imposing edges softened like butter left on the stove by the frills of her skirts and the ruching along the bodice's top.

"You still back there?"

Reiss shook her head, realizing the King was speaking to her. Maker's sake, how long had he been trying to get her attention? "Ah, yes, Sire."

"Good," he snickered, "I was afraid you might have run out the window on me."

He stood at the top of the stairs alone, the far more drab bodyguard standing behind in the shadows. While Alistair appeared to be waiting for something, Reiss had no idea what she was meant to do. "Um, if I may, what precisely should I do during the ball?"

Abandoning waving at his people, Alistair turned and smiled at her, "Trail me down the stairs, I'll have to say something to get the official party started, and then try to enjoy it. Wander around, maybe attempt dancing, oh and be certain to get to the dessert table fast. That's always picked clean in five minutes flat."

"I..." she dipped her head down and felt a blush rising up her cheeks. "Thank you, Ser."

"Not a problem, Ser," he smiled back before turning around and beginning his descent to the people.

After coughing out a rambling speech about nothing in particular, the King clapped his hands to get the party started. Despite Alistair giving her his leave, Reiss haunted beside him uncertain where she should go. The various dignitaries and gentry she'd come to pat down all formed their own clusters. It reminded her of the gangs that would pop up either in the camp or when she was working in various smelting factories and the docks. People loved nothing more than to form groups just so they could have somewhere to belong against others. Exclusivity ran deep with blue blood.

Alistair shook a few hands, his arms always returning to a gentle cross, until the other side of the staircase parted to reveal the Queen descending down the stairs. A hush fell over the crowd which raced all the way back to those who couldn't even see Beatrice. While some of it may have been a deference for the Queen, Reiss was certain a lot of it had to be what Beatrice wore. The ivory bodice was tight and conical, lifting the nursing woman's breasts up high until they looked like a pair of waxing moons. The bones that normally provided the structure for the corset would be hidden away, but these were polished to an opalescence shine and left exposed to glitter by the candlelight. Her skirt flared out in a full circle and bore the Ferelden seal embroidered with golden thread continuously circling around the bottom. She looked like the very heart of the country descending down the stairs with the prince in her arms. The baby's blanket matched his mother's dress, the same embroidery evident from the scrap positioned to hang in front of her.

As Beatrice stepped down to the final stair, she reached a delicate gloved hand out to the King, who happily picked it up to help her down. With an obvious show for the people, Alistair leaned forward and plucked a whisper of a kiss against her cheek. That drew a smattering of applause from the crowd, everyone shifting their glasses around to free a hand and not be caught failing to celebrate their royal couple's marriage. The King moved to slide back from his wife, when a pink burst of energy shot out from behind Beatrice's skirt.

He laughed as the princess leaped up into the air, Alistair easily catching to swing her around. Her dress bore the kind of ruchings that made all little girls wish to be princesses, white roses stuck to the indentations. But the girl didn't seem to care for any of the fancy lace, nor the silver shoes dangling off her feet. All she wanted was her father to spin her around, which he kept doing until someone asked him to stop.

"Sire, you should begin the dancing," Arlessa Isolde told him.

"Right, got it," he nodded at her, and then placed the princess on the ground. She began to stick her lip out but he tugged her close and whispered loud enough half the ballroom had to hear, "You get the second one, Spud." Extending his hand to his wife, he said, "Ready?"

Beatrice passed the baby back to Marn, who was also dressed like a dream. Maker's sake, was someone handing out dresses to every woman in the castle while Reiss was busy bathing or something? She shifted uncomfortably in her armored boots, feeling ever more aware at how she stood out - always the sharp, rough edges in a sea of softened silks. As the King guided his wife out to the dance floor, a slower song struck up and the pair of them began to gently turn around. If it was to try and convince the gentry that the pair were madly in love, they were doing a terrible show of it. Alistair and Beatrice left enough room in between them, the princess could have easily slipped in the middle. Neither truly smiled, a painted on look of 'let's get this over with' gracing both their faces. But neither sneered nor glared at the other. They moved like two strangers that neither hated nor liked each other.

As the song continued, the royal couple twisting around the room, Reiss sunk deeper into the midst. The King gave her leave to enjoy herself, but what was there for an elf to do at such a party? She knew people, sure. For example, there by the pickle tray was Arl Teagan, the man she'd threatened with his life. Or there were all the other Banns Reiss would watch with an eagle glare to make certain their hands weren't carrying weapons. It seemed impossible to think anyone else was armed, the heavy skirts making it impossible for women to fish anything out and the men all in tight suitcoats that'd bulge in strange ways from a sheathe hidden below. Perhaps a tiny dagger might slip through, but Cade and his men were guarding the entrance.

There was nothing Reiss could add to the ball, her job being handled by everyone else. She was completely useless in the cavalcade of rich humans. While no one actively painted a target on her back, she could feel it growing exponentially as the King finished his first dance with the Queen and let her retire off the dance floor. He looked about to leave, when the princess darted around skirts to grab onto her father's legs and tug him back. That drew laughs from nearly all the gathered dignitaries, everyone clapping in joy at the little girl guiding their towering King around as if she had all the power. Granted, after what Reiss saw, she suspected the princess did bear nearly full control of the man.

Drifting deeper into the crowds, Reiss noticed this mythical dessert tray and began to head towards it. A handful of shemlan moved out of her way in deference to the uniform and not the person in it, barely anyone glanced to her face. They maintained a small island for the Dalish group, all of which stood in a locked off stance watching the proceedings with a small terror drawn across their faces. The true elves in their midst had no idea what to make of all this human celebration, but a few found comfort in a massive meringue cake they guarded. Reiss wasn't in the mood to be called a flat-ear for the night and she turned away from the dalish retinue.

Gleaming across the way, her back to the window, stood a woman baring a near on likeness to Lunet. Same black curls, in this case a cascade down her back instead of tied up in a knot, same darker coloring that set her apart from the pale Fereldens. Reiss began to laugh at the idea of a shemlan looking exactly like her friend, when the woman turned to her side revealing a pointy ear prodding through the glittering midnight hair.

"Lune?" Reiss gasped, stumbling over to her like a drunk about to have their pockets picked. The elf paused in whoever she was talking to and turned, that perfectly plucked eyebrow lifting in amusement.

"Well, well, I was wondering how long it'd take you to find me. Good job, Rat," she lifted her champagne glass in a toast and then downed it all.

As the tunnel vision of shock wore off, Reiss realized that it wasn't the typical tans and clears of the fancier liquors but something bright pink and bubbling in her glass. There was only one person in thedas who would drink that. "Maker's perforated colon, what are you doing here?" Reiss hissed, before slapping a hand over her mouth for such a blaspheme. Luckily, everyone else was too enraptured with their own celebrating or their King's antics to pay her any attention.

"I believe I am drinking whatever this concoction is and eating some cheese that smells like rotten feet after a week on the beat," she smirked, her perfect little nose curling up at the cheese square clutched in her painted fingernails.

"But...but, you're here. At the palace?" Reiss couldn't stop the stutter, her entire world thrown off its axis.

"As are you, and, Andraste's calluses is that what you're wearing?" she sighed pointing at the uniform Reiss pathetically looked down at. Lunet was dressed properly for this fancy dance, her emerald dress bearing an asymmetrical neckline which exposed one shoulder, while the other did the work of keeping her bodice from falling off her curves. It didn't have the gold and fine jewels of the rest, but the fabric was of a fine make, far finer than something Lune could afford on her salary.

Still waving at Reiss' abject failure of dressing pretty, Lunet tugged at one of the centerpieces on the table and unearthed a sprig of blue flowers. She knotted the flowers around the emblem bearing the Ferelden crest upon Reiss' upper arm. Now it looked as if the twin mabari were leaping through a field of forget-me-nots. "There," Lunet declared, "much more festive. Did you think to do anything about your hair?"

"Maker's sake, I'm working here. I don't need to, why are you here? Are the rest of the guards in the palace? Is there more help I...?"

Lunet chuckled at Reiss' ravings, "I forgot how hilarious it is when you go in full bore and half cocked. No, I'm not here as a guard. Be a right prig if I tried to arrest someone wearing this contraption. Did you know it's got metal bars jammed up through the corset bits? They said it's to flatter my form, but I think it's to keep women from being able to bend over."

Not in the mood for Lunet's thoughts on ladies fashion, Reiss crossed her arms and glared at her best friend. That earned her another laugh, one almost powerful enough to snap one of those metal bars.

"All right, all right, I'm here _with_ someone. You know as in a couple, as in she invited me because she thought it'd be all romantic," Lunet snickered and tipped her glass to her lips. Before taking a drink she whispered, "As if I need more than a 'You wanna?' invitation to go routing through her trousers."

"With? Someone here, at the palace? The only elves are the Dalish, and Shiani's family..." Reiss struggled to puzzle this out while Lunet watched with her eyebrow lifting higher and higher in hilarity. She was always doing that, giving Reiss just enough information to drive her mad.

Spinning around, Lunet placed her glass upon the table behind and then waved her fingers, "That'd be my lovely lady right there."

Reiss almost cracked her neck whipping it around so fast to catch Lace Harding who'd been in deep conversation with one of the Bann's. She nodded politely at the man before catching sight of Lunet and gently lifting the ends of her fingers to return the wave. "You!" Reiss sputtered.

"Yes, that'd be me."

"And...for the love of the Maker, you're involved with Scout Lace Harding?!"

Lunet snickered, "I rarely call her scout, unless we're trying to hunt down a pair of missing knickers. What? Don't act surprised, you know I'm helpless against freckles, in particular on redheads."

"But, she's a dwarf," Reiss couldn't understand this. Despite her staying far away from the Alienage, Lunet preferred to keep to her own in nearly all matters. She even walked halfway across Denerim to get her swords sharpened because there was an elf who did it.

"So," Lunet shrugged, "I'm not in any danger of polluting the elven bloodline regardless and anyway, it's not like she's a shem."

A dwarf, not just any dwarf but the scout for the Inquisition with Lunet. Reiss didn't realize she'd plucked a wine glass off a tray until half of it was down her throat. Nope, still not enough. She finished off the last of it and then grabbed onto her friend's shoulder, "And the fact she's our new Spymaster? Maybe you didn't hear out there in guardhouse 12 but the last one nearly got his head chopped off for messing around on the side."

Lunet rolled her eyes, "Rye, up there in her ivory tower aloft from all of us working stiffs. Of blighted course we heard. It's been the juiciest gossip since the last assassination attempt. What's he at now, five?"

"Two," she interrupted, needing to defend herself.

"Whatever," Lunet waved it away, "Your need to mother me to death is forgetting a few key ingredients. One, Lacey's only an acting Spymaster. She's just holding down the fort until they pluck some new thief of shadows out of obscurity. And two, I ain't someone with ties to foreign titles in far away lands. No one gives two cheese coppers about what some run down elf guard from a backwater alienage does."

"I..." Reiss felt her anxiety crack but not fully cede. She knew how close Ghaleb came to losing his life, and Lunet didn't have the protection the ambassador did. "I hadn't thought of that."

Lunet rolled her eyes, "Surprise surprise, the rat's running in to put out the fire before realizing it's in the bloody hearth. Don't worry yourself to death over it. It's why I'm here anyway. Lacey was upfront about us to your boss and he suggested inviting me along to the fancy party. Seemed to think it'd smooth over any concerns if they see how gentle and sweet I am." At that she grinned wide, showing off her canines before snapping them in a false bite.

"My boss?" Reiss shook her head, trying to catch up, "The King, he knew before I did? Why didn't you tell me? Oh, right, because it's so much more fun to make Rye run around solving all of Lune's little puzzles instead of giving her a straight answer."

Lunet shrugged, "That's the long and short of it."

"I hate you," Reiss grumbled, but the last of her anxiety finally faded. She was at a fancy dress party with her best friend, no requirements ahead of her, and the two of them were free to snark upon all the humans they liked. Settling in beside Lunet, Reiss gestured to Harding and asked, "How in the void did you land that? She's more than above your pay grade, you know."

That got Reiss a small shrug and a bigger smile, "Maybe. We find ways to even that one out. Step-stools help."

"That wasn't what I..."

"One day I was out on patrol and find a cart with a downed wheel blocking up the road. Lots of angry villagers waving their pitchforks and what not. Instead of yanking out the manacles and threatening to throw someone in jail, I helped this sweet dwarven woman lift up the carriage and hold it. We get to talking while her mother slaps on a replacement wheel. Seemed she just arrived in town to help settle her mother, would be around for awhile, oh and was incredibly hot and thought I was too."

"Just like that?" Reiss sighed, "How do you do it? It's so damn easy for you. Swoop in, smile, make a few cheeky remarks, and you've got Scout Lace Harding eating out of your hand."

"Hand isn't my preferred venue," Lunet quipped, earning a groan from Reiss. "I don't know. I'm me, I smile politely when I feel like, and snap back when I don't. Putting on the facade was never my strong suit, unlike you."

"Me?" Reiss curled up her nose. "What facade? I don't do that."

"That armor's the thickest in thedas," Lunet said cooly before snatching up another one of the pink drinks. There seemed to be a lot of them circling through the crowds. Apparently she wasn't the only one in Denerim who liked the strange mage brew.

Reiss watched her drink, uncertain what to say. She could argue that she had to wear the armor for her job, in both the literal and figurative sense, but Lune was right. Reiss never took it off and the few times she found a chink in it, she patched over the hole as fast as possible. Folding her arms tight, she grumbled, "I have my reasons."

"Please don't pout," Lunet groaned, "because we happen to have a room full of the fanciest food in Ferelden and I may have snuck a bag in under my skirt."

"You are aware you are talking to a royal guardswoman who answers to the King," Reiss said, her hand falling to the grip of her sword.

"So are you going to help me steal that giant cake or just planning to play lookout?" her friend giggled.

"Depends on if we can nick it before the dancing ends," Reiss said, standing on her tiptoes to try and see over the mighty hats. A cluster of the chantry gathered near the edge, effectively blocking everyone's view - which felt like a very chantry thing to do.

Her friend snickered at the idea, then she drew a very shrewd look across Reiss' visage. "Why are you suddenly of the mind to ask me for advice on the dark arts of romance? It wouldn't happen to be because someone has caught your eye? Someone in this very castle perhaps?"

"What?" Reiss gasped, "No, of course not. No. Don't be silly. No. Never, not, no."

"Uh huh, I believe you said no a dozen times there."

"Well," Reiss felt her shoes constricting against her ankles and wished she could elegantly yank both off. "That's because it's true." Right? It wasn't as if she'd sometimes let her mind wander down a fantasy road that could only end in impenetrable brambles. Which sometimes translated into dreams about a man that the bodyguard would never dare have any interest in because it was improper and against a law, probably. There were lots of stupid laws for things. Ignoring the fact the Queen all but...

She broke away from the spots of light on the dance floor Reiss had been glaring into. As they melted away, she realized it was caused by her screwing her face up so tight in trying to seem unperturbed that she looked like a raving lunatic. Lunet patted her on the arm and then gave her good friend soft slug along the chin, "Buck up, what do they say? Be yourself, say something witty, and he'll be certain to be eating out of your...wherever soon enough."

"Fenheedis, Lune," Reiss cursed to herself, falling back on the elven swears whenever more polite ears were nearby. A few turned back at the foreign tongue but none raised a fuss. Her friend only chuckled at that. Of course it was all easy for Lunet. Not only was she beautiful and shapely enough to enflame the curiosity of damn near every species that liked women, she was herself. There was no facade, no playing hard to get, no flitting about like an errant butterfly hoping the right hand would pluck her from the sky. If Lunet wanted someone she made it obvious and quick. Reiss wished she had an iota of that certainty in her veins.

Ignoring her friend's deep jealousy, Lunet tried to wave at Harding. The move drew Reiss' eyes over and she soured instantly at Bann Declan attempting to ooze into the new Spymaster's circle. Of course he'd be here, everyone was, and even if the man wasn't invited he probably bribed a guard to let him in. He stood on the outside, dancing back and forth on his shoes like a puppy needing to relieve itself. When nothing would work, the man turned to another standing beside him and began to whisper.

Reiss was about to turn her back on it all, when the crowds parted enough and she got a full look upon the man Declan spoke with. No. She stumbled back, the air rushing from her lungs at the metaphorical kick to her gut. Lunet caught her shoulders and she tried to ask if Reiss was all right, but she couldn't hear her for the pounding in her ears.

No. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

"Rye, Reiss, Rat!" Lunet shouted closer to her ears. The last broke through and Reiss whipped to her, a snarl lifting up her lips. "What in the Maker's ballsack is wrong?"

"It's him," she swallowed. Her blinking slowed as she tried to follow the man's movements. Lunet watched Reiss' line of sight and caught the same man dressed in a simpler guard uniform, far more generic than even the ones they wore in the watch. He was that dashing kind of handsome that made an instant impression but washed away quickly with time. Pretty but forgettable. At least he should be.

"Him who?" Lunet asked.

"Ethan," Reiss wanted to hiss his name, to sneer and scowl with an anger that could shatter the mountains, but she felt herself slipping away. Fading inward, she clung tight to her own arms as the years yanked back leaving her as emotionally raw as she'd been when it all went so wrong. Lunet managed the scowling, her pretty eyes glaring at him, as she tried to shield away Reiss sinking into the floor.

"Forget him. He's of no consequence, yes."

"Why is he here? He shouldn't be here," Reiss whispered to herself, wishing that logic would somehow fix the world and make it right.

"Toads tend to gather in groups," Lunet sneered. "Ah shit," she grabbed onto Reiss and tried to turn her around to face the dancers. "I think the little prick saw me."

The women held their breath but they didn't need to wait in fear long as that smooth voice called out from behind Lunet's shoulder, "Fancy meeting you here, Reiss. Never expected to see an elf in the Denerim palace."

Maker no. Go away. Just go away and don't do this.

Lunet snapped around, "More than one."

He should have burst into flames from the glare Lunet worked, but Ethan used his charms to easily slip past it unharmed. Barely even bothering to look over, he honed those sharp blue eyes on Reiss and smiled, "How are you?"

Go away! "Fine," she mumbled, glancing up anywhere but in his direction.

"It's been a few years since we last spoke," he tried to lean closer to her, but Reiss shifted back.

Not fucking long enough! "I suppose," she wished she was strong enough to spit in his face, to upend him out the door, to challenge him to a Maker damn duel. Anything but the fumbling little girl who felt herself trapped in quicksand. It was her fault, all of it.

"A little birdie told me that you're working for the guards now," Ethan stepped into Reiss' bubble. As she gasped for breath, his cologne punched into her stomach dredging up a hundred painful memories - and worst of all - a dozen happy ones. Reiss shuddered, attempting to find air that didn't smell of him, when Lunet leapt to her defense.

"Not just any guards, she's working in service to the King."

Oh no. Lunet meant well, Reiss knew it. She wanted to pound the pathetic turd down into the tiny hole he belonged in, but that was what he hoped to hear. Ethan's eyes lit up, and he flashed the entire top row of his teeth. She knew that smile, it was the one he'd beam on her when he wanted to get something from her. But never the other way around. Not even when things were good.

"What delightful news," Ethan oozed, his hand landing upon Reiss' shoulders, "because my good Bann has been trying to get a private meeting with His Majesty for some time now. I'm certain you know how busy the King is. Perhaps you could facilitate something between the two?"

For a brief moment the pilot light in her gut lit. How dare he walk into her life as if nothing happened, as if he didn't twist her mind around like a pretzel and shatter her self esteem until she had only pieces to pick up. After all that she did to scrabble together a new life, months walking the streets in sole-less shoes because she couldn't afford to replace them, her ears scrapped raw every day on the beat. And now, now that she was someone, had access to someone important, suddenly he needed her again. He wanted her. Fuck him and his grabby Bann!

Ethan's false smiled twisted up to a sneer, "You can do that, can't you, Reiss?"

His words snuffed out the fire in her belly, casting her into darkness. Those same ones he'd use to belittle and bully her into warping herself to being something to prop him up. She was never right, too tall for his tastes, too small breasted, too thick thighed, too brash, too smart, too much better than him in the field. A woman who was brave and powerful would have shouted him down, she'd find the steel in her spine and throw off the chains of her oppressor. The fact Reiss couldn't, even now, all these years later, drew her deeper into the pit.

She lifted her head, about to agree to the worst possible decision -- one certain to make the King not only hate her, but question her competency -- when a new hand landed not upon her body but Ethan's arm. It picked it off Reiss and with an extended pinkie tossed it to the side. Ethan snapped up, his snarl in place to shout down anyone that dared to touch him, when it faded in an instant, "Your Majesty."

"The one and only, in here at least," Alistair quipped from behind. Reiss wanted to turn back to look at him, but whatever she felt radiating off him - anger, disgust, curiosity - she couldn't tell. He tilted his head down and spoke to Reiss, "I was wondering if you had a chance to try the pie yet? Renata said it was going to go lightning quick, which may mean she put wraith juice in it now that I say that."

"I..." Reiss gasped, her breath staggered as she tried to shift to the competent professional mask she tried to wear.

Ethan leaped forward, all but plowing Reiss to the side, "Sire, if I may while you are here. I'd like to take a moment to discuss a few important issues with you."

Seeming entirely unimpressed with the man, Alistair slowly blinked, then returned to talking to Reiss, "And the cake's to die for. Not literally, food taster made certain of that."

"Your Majesty, please," Ethan continued to wheedle, the man barely aware he was talking over royalty.

Something in the tone finally snapped through Alistair's attempt at being nice, "Are you blind or did you ram head first into the door? I'm talking to my bodyguard at the moment. If I think you're worthy of attention I'll try and pass it along later."

Reiss knotted her fingers together, praying that was enough to send Ethan scampering away with his tail between his legs. Then she heard the scoff building in his lungs, "For what purpose? She's nothing more than a refugee knife-ear?"

She felt the King seize up behind her, a finger coming near Ethan's face, but it was Reiss who snapped. Knife-ear? Knife-ear? You think that can cut me, Ethan?! That I haven't heard ten times worse words, been watched and followed since I was a child? Had grown men threaten to fix me because I dared to exist while not human? It wasn't any of that that came out of Reiss' throat.

All she could manage was to pivot up on the tips of her toes and with hands extended scream as loud as possible in Ethan's face. No words, no witty retorts, nothing but pure primal rage in that smug, human face. The raw power of it was enough to knock him off his pedestal, real fear rippling across his cocksure features. Ecstasy flooded Reiss' veins from having finally struck back at him, when she realized every sound in the great hall died from her scream. Even the band held its beat at the mad woman shrieking her lungs off.

"Oh Maker," she groaned before taking off on a run through the hall. People were quick to leap out of the way, everyone watching the crazed elf hell bent on ruining their evening and escaping into the night. She didn't wind up where she wanted to be, which was on a boat far from Denerim, Ferelden, every damn inch of her embarrassing display. Somehow she found herself in one of the antechambers, a small one with a clock that no longer worked. It hung silently at five minutes 'til midnight, a few candles giving the flickering illusion that the minute hand danced back and forth in anticipation.

What have you done?

A third time? You blighted well went and destroyed your life a third time? How many chances do you think elves get in their lives? Certainly not as many as the Maker keeps gifting you, rabbit. Reiss felt herself sinking to the floor even as her fingers clung tight to the mantle with the dead clock. Worst of all, Ethan was back there with a no doubt confused King telling him all about how Reiss was unstable, she couldn't be trusted in the Inquisition. Or worse. Sweet Andraste, what would he say about why she left Bann Declan's service? What lie could he concoct that, of course the King would believe. He was a decorated soldier who became the head guard for a Bann and she was...she was a crazy knife ear.

"Are you okay?"

Maker, no. Reiss' stomach dropped at the King's words wafting through the air behind her. He sounded like he was approaching a feral animal about to lash out from its den. Then again, maybe that was apt after her actions.

"Forgive me for that frightful display," Reiss mumbled out. She should stand, should rise up and accept her punishment like an adult, but her legs were custard, the muscles refusing to budge from her squat.

To her surprise, the King didn't stomp his foot at her crumbling but squatted down to her level. He remained a few feet away, his mouth opening and closing as he swallowed down the words. "I spotted you looking terrified from across the room." Reiss groaned at that, she didn't wish to make it obvious, to make it his problem or anyone else's. "I don't know what happened, but if you want to talk about it, I'm here. Or, I could go get your friend. She went the other way. Maker's sake, you are fast."

He had to want to know, was most likely making up his own wild theories without her offering anything to combat them. Trying to shake off the tears in her soul, Reiss whispered, "I'm sorry."

"I'll admit, that was surprising," the King said. "Not the most shocking thing to happen at one of our parties by a long shot. Maybe in the top ten. I dunno. Where would you put having a halla leap through an open window, scatter around the dance floor, lap up alcoholic punch and then crash on the throne?"

It was stupid, but a giggle broke through her throat - the solitary laugh swaddled in pain. She wanted to give in the madness, curl up on the floor and roll around with laughter while...no, what she really wanted was for none of it to have happened. Not just her outburst, the very reason she did it, her never ever having met Ethan in the first place. "He's why I left the Inquisition," Reiss gasped, her breath jagged, the words feeling like broken glass wedged in her throat.

She expected the King to turn around and leave, or interrupt with a dozen questions, but he waited, his hands splayed out across the ground for balance. Struggling against the embargo she'd put on herself, Reiss begged herself to not let loose on the secrets in her life certain to damn her. But she couldn't stop it any longer.

"Ethan, was, is... I'd always been little more than a pair of hands before. Hands to smelt the iron, arms to cart the cargo, feet to thresh the wheat, a body in a sea of others that filled workhouses, as replaceable as any other broken cog. No one had ever looked at me before, it was always through and then..." Maker's sake, Reiss. Stop blubbering. You have no excuses for your actions. Boo hoo, you're far from the first elf to have a sad backstory, much less a refugee from the blight.

Her arm began to burn from the stretch but she ignored it, "I loved serving in the Inquisition, it was a home of sorts, but I left it because...because Ethan said we would do better serving in the watch for a Bann, together."

The King groaned, his eyes screwed up tight as he pinched the top of his nose. Reiss waited for an admonishment from him for wasting his time, but none came. There was still time to stop, to laugh it off and bury her heart back in its grave, but no, this had to come out. All of it.

"I was such an idiot, because I..." no, not the tears. Not now! They came, no matter how hard she pinched into her side. "I thought he loved me." She saw it now with hindsight blanketing the rosy glow of youthful lust. Ethan didn't care about her, he liked the idea of her, of someone on his arm to shine but never brighter than him. No, that was when he'd snap and snarl. Some of the others in the group tried to warn Reiss but she'd excused it all away. He was tired or maybe she did do something wrong and it was right of him to correct her. Foolish little rabbit trusting in the farmer's hand without noticing the other holding a hatchet.

Wiping at the tears, Reiss spoke instead of Declan, "When we arrived at the Bann's holdings I realized what a mistake I'd made. The Bann he...he is a man who thinks he can take whatever he wants, and deserves it all."

She tried to be vague because voicing any real accusations against gentry, in particular from an elf, would be disastrous. Her bringing them to the King...she couldn't imagine what they'd do with it. Most men would think that meant Declan was brutish or perhaps gruff with his people, rough yet forgivable, but Alistair gnashed his teeth together and hissed, "Did he...hurt you?"

That word, hurt, was a placeholder for a dozen more darker options; all of which the gentle King seemed unable to voice. Reiss shook her head, "No, not that. He'd reach out often with his hands, where they need not be, but..." she wanted to say it wasn't so bad. It could have been worse. But it was, in all those moments she felt paralyzed and filthier than when she washed ashore as a refugee outside Kirkwall. The cruelest cut came from Ethan, the man she followed because she thought he loved her. If she brought up any mention of the Bann's wandering hands, he'd either laugh at it or insist she was wrong, that her memories had to be false because the Bann was good to him. How dare she demean someone so great to him?

"I left because, because I was fired," she sneered. It wasn't the firing that was her greatest shame, but the fact she hadn't been strong enough to go on her own. "The Bann resented the fact I made a fuss, and Ethan...he preferred to side with the man keeping him in coin." Reiss knew it was wrong, it made her sick to her stomach to wake every day not knowing what awaited her for work. If the Bann finally felt bold enough to push further than she feared. A rash began to cover her body wherever the uniform touched her skin, as if it was trying to warn her and still she couldn't go. She feared the unknown more than the hell of her own choosing.

"I'm..." she collapsed into her lap, her arm plummeting off the mantle. It bounced against the floorboards, pain trying to echo up her arm but her mind was too numb to feel it. "I'm sorry, Sire. For not...for being..." every word crashed to an incoherent whimper.

The King gulped and dug his fingers through his hair, yanking it ever upward where it spiked from the pomade left within. "Reiss, I..." he began to surge forward, when his knee popped. Groaning, he sank to the floor and sat hard upon the stones. With one hand he tried to rub the aching joint, while gesticulating to her as if afraid she was about to fly out the window like a scared bird.

"You never have to apologize, not for that. Ever. It's...uh," he breathed deep, his eyes wandering around the room at the severity of her words. "I'd like to pull out the old drawing and quartering leather wraps for Declan right now, but that's not your fault."

"Isn't it?" she turned to face him, the tears glittering in her eyes but refusing to fall. Sometimes her stubbornness won.

"Blaming yourself," Alistair sighed, nodding his head up and down as if to a slow song, "I get that one. Know it rather well, you could say we're on a first name basis, but...I don't hold it against you. I don't think lesser of you for it, either."

Reiss scoffed, whipping her head away from him. Even Lunet asked her a few times why she didn't leave, if not after the first time Declan's hands wandered, then when Ethan disavowed her? She had no answers, her own brain screaming at her for not doing it. The guilt wore a hole in her gut down to the void itself.

The menial King, gentle and unassuming, lifted his head high and in a voice that could crack mountains thundered, "I mean it. You weren't chosen on the assumption that your personal life was perfect, which would be an odd way to pick any guards. You saved my children's lives, my sorry life twice, and...I've enjoyed getting to know you. Which was not the time to say that, sorry," he winced and pawed at his shoes, but the sincerity made Reiss snicker. It caused her few tears to drip down her cheeks, one pooling at the side of her laughing mouth. Maker's sake, she was a mess.

"I was weak," she whispered.

"We all are sometimes," he said so certainly it broke through her fog. "Flames, you've watched me break down on occasion. And, I happen to know even the great Hero of Ferelden makes mistakes. Not often mind, but there were a few."

She wanted to reach over and hug him, to curl up into the embrace of someone willing to brave the filthy cold floor for her. Instead, Reiss wiped at her tears and tried to summon up her guard facade. "I'm sorry, Ser," she said. Alistair looked about to argue, when she tacked on, "for my outburst dragging you from the party."

"That's all right, it saves on me having to dance with the Arlessa of Guerrin. Maker, the woman moves like a horse wearing armored boots five sizes too big."

Reiss giggled at the image, her heart lightening. It wasn't cleansed, not by a long shot, but she felt the invisible corset she always wore loosen a tie or two. Breathing in, she staggered to her feet. After checking her sword, she dropped her hand to the King. He gazed up at her with what appeared almost like adulation brimming in his eyes. Before a blush at the thought could take hold, he gripped to her hand and she helped him to his legs.

After patting off the invisible dust upon his breeches, Alistair turned those warm brown eyes upon her. "If you're not up to it, you don't have to go back in there. It's not much of a party anyway, and I think the only one trying to kill me in there is Isolde for accidentally breaking the foot off her ice sculpture."

Reiss swallowed at the kind offer, "Thank you, but...I'd prefer to do my job to the best of my abilities."

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but the King closed his eyes and slightly bowed his head, "As you wish, far be it for me to keep you from the sight of Teagan slipping a sconce on his head and dancing a waltz with one of the stuffed bears."

Out of all the elaborate stories the King painted, that was the one that caught Reiss. "You...you cannot be serious."

Snickering, Alistair leaned close to her ear to whisper, "He doesn't do well with wine." Reiss turned her head at that and found his face barely a breath away from hers. Sweet Andraste, her stomach did a full cartwheel as his lips lifted in a gentle smile, those eyes sparkling. How easily it would be to press forward and taste him in a kiss.

Before she did anything incredibly stupid, Lunet came skittering through the room. Her friend didn't even stop to check, just barreled through causing both elf and human to slide apart. By the time Lunet thought to turn back, she found Reiss a good few feet away from the King absently checking her sword's sheathe. "Maker's jangling coin purse, here's where you are."

"Jangling coin purse," the King mused to himself, "have to remember that one."

Lunet cast a quick eye to him and gave a wide berth before reaching over to pick up Reiss' hand. "Are you all right? Do you need to talk or go somewhere else?"

"I'm fine, don't fuss, please," Reiss tried to shake it off, doing her damnedest to be a professional. She shifted her eyes over to the King and back to Lunet hoping her friend would get the hint. Either catching on, or not in the mood to argue, Lunet staggered back, her hands lifted.

"I should probably be heading back myself before the whole castle comes looking for me," Alistair said, his eyes fully upon Reiss. "I trust I leave you in far more capable hands," he glanced a moment at Lunet before returning to his bodyguard. Adjusting the cuffs of his doublet, the King sidled to the door and turned to say, "Hope to see you soon," before walking through it.

"What in Mafarath's tiny pecker happened?" Lunet gasped.

Reiss was glad she saved that one away from the King. Wrapping her arm around her friend's, Reiss began to follow Alistair back to the great hall, "I'll tell you along the way. And please, try to refrain from killing anyone after."

"Fine, but no promises."

## CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

#### Another Taste

Only a handful of people had the gall to ask the King what happened with his bodyguard. Alistair threw on his dumbest smile and said they were playing a game of who can scream the loudest. Turns out he's terrible at it, and she won. That earned him a few "Okay, Sires" but no one was in the mood to push it. There was a lot of wine remaining to drink, cake to eat, and a dance floor to spin around on until that wine and cake returned. While he did his Kingly duty of giving the few on the list a turn or two around, Alistair found a bit of time to slip over to Declan and have a tiny chat.

The man was practically wetting his hose in excitement at the King selecting him specifically, right until Alistair jabbed a finger at that growling worm, informed the Bann that he made a threatening move to the King's bodyguard which is the same as attacking the King himself and if he was smart, he'd peddle his little feet out of the palace. Now. It took a minute for Declan to register all this, Alistair's words having to fight through piles of earwax and idiocy to reach his weasely brain, but once it did his cheeks burned bright red. He could argue that it was nothing, little more than a friendly grip onto the woman's shoulder, but Alistair had his own response to that. More or less in the summation of he was blighted king and if because of the shiny crown he decided what was and wasn't acceptable.

Luckily, Declan had enough sense to know when he was truly licked. Snarling under his breath, he stormed to the front door, barreling though a trio of dwarves that were kind enough to let the human pass. He eyed up the king once before turning all the wrath he wanted to spend on royalty upon that guard that started it all. Feeling rather proud of himself for handling that, Alistair caught Reiss' eye for a moment.

She'd taken up station towards the back of the crowds, her friend on her side as well as Harding. A familiar sheen of disinterest clung to her face, as she attempted to guard the entrance to a broom closet, but at Declan's stomping away in anger it broke a moment. He wished he could say he saw joy, or even relief, but her lips curled up in contemplation and what looked like pain. Why couldn't anything ever be easy? Happiness for a start? Seems like it should be one of those 1+1=2 kind of things, but no, the Maker had to start getting all fancy by throwing in Qunari symbols where letters stood for numbers and Alistair got a throbbing headache.

"Your Kingness," a voice coughed from beside him.

He turned to find the Dalish entourage huddling near him. They moved like a group, their backs turned to each other so they could keep a continuous eye upon the humans. It was rather fascinating to watch. "Niala, or do I call you First Niala? Does it get confusing if there's another one in your clan with the same name?"

"Niala shall suffice, Alistair," she said the name cautiously, her eyes canvassing the room as if expecting a number of shemlan blades to come after her for the slight.

For his part, Alistair shrugged, "How goes the party? Enjoying all the dancing?" He gestured to the floor hopping as people promenaded back and forth under arms to form a second bridge. While he learned most of the steps, Alistair knew there was a 65% chance he could wind up with a broken nose while attempting it.

Niala watched it all with a cold eye, same as the rest of the unimpressed Dalish. "It is...something. This is how all humans celebrate?"

"Not all," he'd prefer a warm pub, a vat of stew, a crackling fire, and a dozen people who sucked at cards. But that'd probably look bad to the gentry he swindled. "How do the Dalish kick back after a week of arguing over who should get grandpappy's best flogging stick?"

Her eyes glazed over a moment at his musings, before Niala nodded at her other silent elves. They'd barely made a peep during the talks, or at meals. He almost thought they were all mute until walking around a corner and catching two of them laughing like mad at a squirrel with a bag crammed on its head.

"We would dance by drum and fife around the fire, drink of the various fermented fruits, and in general smile more and do whatever that is less," she gestured to the men and women lightly holding each others hands up and parading around the floor like lost floats.

Alistair chuckled at that, "For what it's worth, I think I much prefer the Dalish way of celebrating."

"You are King, are you not? You have no say?"

"Well, I'm trying to keep the tyrant descriptor out of my name as much as possible. Only for pancake day and if there's one clean towel left," he sighed, wiggling a finger in his ear.

Most of his people would sigh or groan, but Niala eyed him up trying to judge if he was dead serious or not. "We have decided to turn in now. It will be a long march to the West come the morrow. Are you prepared?"

"I hope so, packed too. I think. I'll check with Karelle."

"Good, you will see what has come of the New Dales," Niala pronounced. She said the last part loud enough the other Banns in the room overheard her which earned a groan from Alistair. They spent half their time arguing over the name choice, the Dalish refusing to back down and the humans finding it repugnant for reasons they never fully explained. At this point he wanted to call it Elfy Land for Elves and Those With Pointy Ears, but that might crowd out a map.

Without bothering to ask for leave much less say goodnight, Niala swept up her party and headed to the doors. Unable to help himself, Alistair waved at their retreating backs and, to his surprise, one returned it. He did need to check in with Karelle, and found the chamberlain swooping along near the fountain. She'd exchanged those fluffy skirt things she wore for one that looked like it could knock a bronto unconscious. When light burst from the back, Alistair could see the outline of a metal sculpture hiding under her dress. He half expected to find points to gouge her enemies with, but then he realized he was staring at his chamberlain's legs and making it all awkward.

"Karelle," he called out, waving himself towards her, "I had a few questions about..."

"Maker's sake," she grabbed onto his arm and spun him out towards the dance floor, "you're so far behind schedule I don't know if we can keep up."

"Schedule? What are you...?" he blinked, trying to follow the woman's lead. It was surprising she wanted to dance with him, but crazier shit had happened that day so why not. Alistair lifted up his hands to try and tent around Karelle's, when she stepped back.

Waving a hand, she shooed someone out of the audience and a woman grabbed onto her skirts and bustled over. Karelle glared at him, "You have a good dozen and a half dances to get through. We're going to have to cut them short to make this and..." She turned to the band plucking along at a slow waltz, "Speed it up."

The flautists glanced at each other, their cheeks suckered in before the drummer beat her foot on the floor and the waltz turned into the 'get everyone the hell out the door' waltz. There was probably a special term for a faster waltz, but Alistair knew pretty much that. "What am I?" he blinked in confusion, when the woman latched onto him and Karelle gave a shove like kicking a boat off the dock.

Alistair went through seven dance partners in record time, not due to his own incompetence, but because Karelle kept snatching one up and replacing her with a new one. They were such a blur all he could ask was "Name, Rank, Favorite Frosting Flavor?" With the beat reaching the erratic heart throb of a man's chest about to burst open, Alistair gave it a 54% chance he was going to die. If not from his legs ripping off at the knee, it'd be due to another couple smashing head first into him while everyone raced to keep up. Shame the Dalish left early, they'd have found this hilarious.

"Okay okay," Karelle grabbed onto a quiet girl from out by the Hinterlands who mumbled into her hair and refused to lift her eyes. "Next!"

Used to it, Alistair froze his body in place prepared for another rotating form to fill it, when a hand grabbed onto his and yanked it lower. "Tsk, it is a wonder you Fereldens can master the privy."

"Ambassador Cherie," he smiled, feeling his cheeks tighten to a rictus.

"Come, let us get this over with quickly."

Mercifully, she kept her comments mostly to herself about his terrible posture, stance, dexterity, rhythm, and general existence. All she'd do was cluck her orlesian tongue and on occasion growl if he stepped too far beyond her reach. "If we were in Halamshiral, you'd have been cut down on the spot for crossing during the allemande."

He could shake it off, take a break from Karelle's madcap routine by downing a glass, no a bottle of wine, but Alistair had had a long couple of weeks and the ambassador finally crossed that line. "Cherie, I dare say something's crawled up your skirts and died."

"What?" she snorted, her lips curling up below the mask.

"Don't think it's escaped my notice, nor the new Spymaster's how close you were with Donato. You two always shared that genteel bridge game, right? Every thursday afternoon."

"You think you have a point?" she tightened up in his limp grip, a snarl pooling over her words.

"Well, if I were in your shoes, which would be hilarious I'll give you, I'd be rather worried that the King would see it fit to go poking into all my personal business. I mean, if say you'd known about the relationship with Ghaleb and failed to mention it, what other assassiny secrets could you be keeping?"

Her growl shook away to reveal a small laugh, "Why, my lord, you almost sound Orlesian for a moment there."

"I'll take that as the grave insult you meant it to be," Alistair joked back. They were looking, of course, but if Harding thought Ghaleb's notes were bad they had nothing on the polite facade of an Orlesian. They were a people who could write a scathing "Get Well Soon" note that managed to cut a person's self esteem to ribbons without using a single good curse word or balgor's taint.

"Sire, I get that you enjoy playing this little game of spies and secrets the way children do when bored on rainy afternoons, but I assure you neither me nor any in my service have connections to these amateur attacks upon your life."

Alistair felt his steps slowing, the song mercifully breaking so he could let the woman go. Cherie seemed to feel the same, her hand sliding back before the notes finished, other dancers spinning around them. Chuckling, he shrugged, "Then you need not have a thing to fear, madam ambassador."

"Humph," she snorted, spinning away on her heels to merge back into the dance floor.

For a long time Alistair wondered what horrible things she did that got her trapped in Ferelden. It wasn't the fact she was someone's second wife's daughter, or allying with the wrong side in the civil war. Nope, he was dead certain now Cherie was dog shite at playing their little Orlesian Game and the family got her as far away from court as they could before she got them all banished or killed. Orlesians...

He turned, hoping that he was finally done with this madness when five feet of mage slipped into his arms. "Uh, hello," Alistair started, his feet scurrying around like they were on ice to keep from stepping on any ambushing toes.

Linaya smiled with only the tops of her teeth. "Good evening, Sire," she whispered, her eyes closed to show off glitter dashed along her lashes. That was probably done on purpose unlike the time Spud threw an entire tub of the stuff at him and Alistair, in a hurry, walked through an inspection of the troops with his face glittering like the night's sky at a brothel.

"Back at you," he said, falling into formation with the mage. This dance he knew well, most of it being of the cling tight and spin around until one of you barfs variety. Mercifully, the band slowed, no doubt the flutists about to pass out from lack of air. Or so he thought, until he spun Linaya around and caught a smirk rising upon Karelle's presumptuous lips. That cheeky chamberlain, he groaned to himself, she must have had whatever damn week it was in the pool. Five? Six? He couldn't remember, though it was growing more pathetic with each passing day as people constantly tried to push the mage into his busy path. Sometimes Alistair would all but stumble out of a door to find the girl standing there bored but prepared to pursue him just to ask a few pointless questions.

It'd be one thing if Linaya was as sick of it as he was, but she seemed happy to play the ingenue to his supposed white knight. Too bad Alistair was terrible at rescuing the damsels and tended to chase after the ones causing distress. Her fingers drifted lower off his shoulder down his back, drawing Alistair from his fuming. Shaking it off, he fell into the pattern of the dance, something of the old templar training snapping back with it.

"How is the evening finding you, your grace?" she whispered but in such a way it reached over the crowd. Perhaps there was a spell that could do that... He'd have to ask Lanny about it later.

"As it usually does, only with a lot more people in fancy dress standing in my living room," Alistair groaned. He'd expected the joke to hit, but the woman practically slipped into paradoxical spasms with laughter. With her braided and curled head tossed back, she let loose with such a giggle, he began to shift back and forth anxiously on his toes afraid a demon was about to burst from her face.

Linaya must have sensed his abject horror as she paused in her forced laughter and grimaced. "I'm sorry, I've never done this before," she said, for the first time showing a bit of real emotion in his presence.

"Dancing isn't too hard provided you don't accidentally kick anyone in the nose or split your trousers wide open," Alistair smiled, twisting her around on her toes.

"Has that happened to you before?" she gasped, her skirts twirling out at the end of one of those arm extend things. It was a bit more fun than pacing about in place.

"I believe I don't have to answer that under article fifteen of 'The King Doesn't Want To." Very popular charter, all the nations are adopting it."

Linaya leaned closer, her cherry red lips parting so she could whisper, "You've been working rather hard this past week."

"Trying to, Kinging's not all ribbon cutting ceremonies and cheese shop dedications -- though Maker that'd make this job a lot nicer. What of you? Heard from the College yet?"

"I'm afraid the ravens haven't returned since I last sent them, your Highness," she leaned closer, causing Alistair's hand to slide further along her waist.

Barely noticing the mage closing the gap between them, he pinched his nose and grumbled, "Great, because I'm sure I won't be hearing all about the heathen mages in the savage lands at the control of barbaric elves for the next three weeks. It's almost like I had a reason to invite the Grand Enchanter, which she promptly ignored because...sorry, I should probably stop talking shop."

"It would help you to relax better," Linaya smiled, taking a deep breath to push up her chest. Someone worked overtime to get all that strapped into place, high and secure under her chin with enough flesh to draw nearly every man's eye to it. Even Alistair wasn't immune, the savage part of his brain gesturing down the cleavage but most of him didn't care. His mind was to busy trying to fix every damn problem that kept popping up across Ferelden. Was that what getting old was, watching your libido desiccate on the shelf because turning in early was preferable to...?

A giggle drew his attention away from the mage to Beatrice leaning close to Cordell. Someone talked him out of the chantry robes, but he couldn't get far from the crimsons of the cloth, tails dangling off the coat like the hems of his cassock. What she saw in him he'd never get, but then again Alistair didn't get what there was to Beatrice either. Sometimes there was no sense to be found in these pairings, only utter confusion that was enough to bind like glue.

"The Queen is looking well tonight," Linaya said, doing her best to get his attention back upon her for the fullness of the dance.

"I suppose, I don't know about that color though. I keep thinking of how much jelly stains will pop on ivory," Alistair chuckled to himself. Spud was carted off to bed after she got in three dances with him, someone making certain to keep the child and her dress as far from anything staining as possible. He gave it five seconds behind closed doors until she was a giant sticky goo monster.

"It is a shame," Linaya's thoughts kept puncturing through his haze. Alistair turned a confused look on her and the mage continued, "What occurred with the prince."

"Near thing, no way around it, but..."

The girl leaned tighter to him, her chest pressing into his, both of her hands circling around his back to pin him tight. Alistair could easily break away from the tiny woman, but he was frozen, blisteringly aware of nearly every damn eye in the castle watching. They were all hoping for him to finally end this damn stalemate and what better way then a romantic twirl at a ball with everyone cinched up tight in their chantry best?

Linaya raised up on her tiptoes, straining with hope that he'd bend over to meet her but Alistair was frozen. Instead, she turned her head to this side and whispered, "If she'd have perished giving Ferelden a son, you'd be free to marry whomever you wish."

Her fingers began to circle around Alistair's back, but his body locked off, every muscle tightening to stone as a rage flickering in his stomach. "What did you say?" he asked through clenched jaw.

"It's no great secret that you and the Queen bear no love for each other. It would be the most noble way for her to exit your life," Linaya explained with a wave of her tiny hand, laying out the logic with a dismissal as if she was some fifty year old dowager who'd played the game her whole life instead of a twenty something girl stumbling into this with half a wit and no plan.

Alistair didn't shove her away from him, he didn't yank her arms off or shout, he only paused, and with the full force of his body, walked backwards from her. The mage's embrace shattered apart, her hands falling off to land with a smack at her side. "You dare," he began, his finger lifting as if he was about to scold Linaya like she was an errant toddler. No, this was a grown woman who knew what consequences were.

"You threaten the life of the mother of my children, the Queen of Ferelden to my face," he growled, his voice deepening to the depths of rage.

"Sire, no, I would never," Linaya's coquette facade shattered, her eyes whipping around as if hoping one of her handlers would rush in to save her. But no one was coming. Not after this.

"Do not...!" he thundered, about to tell her not to lie. "Get out," Alistair hissed, glaring at the woman.

"My Lord?" she whimpered, tears threatening to tug off her false lashes.

Alistair lashed out and grabbed her arm, dragging her off the dance floor. She scurried her legs, struggling to keep up as he deposited her at the shocked feet of Karelle. "Get her out of my sight, now. I want her gone. Tonight."

"Sire, that isn't..." Karelle began in her patronizing voice, when Alistair whipped his face at her and glared. She swallowed back her words and shrunk into the collar of her dress.

"That's an order, from your King. Or do you not take those anymore? Because if I need to find a new chamberlain as well as Spymaster..." he had no way to end that threat, seeing as how Karelle was the one handling the job search. Alistair wasn't thinking clearly, no, he wasn't thinking at all. White hot rage erupted from his stomach, grabbed his tongue, and fully took over. What he really wanted to shout at the mage would probably turn every Bann's hair stark white, and he had to get her away before worse slipped free.

"I will..." Karelle glanced down at the whimpering thing struggling to make sense of what happened, "find a solution."

"Good," he sneered, his fists balling up. Calm down. Everyone's blighted looking at you. Take a breath or something. He shut his eyes tight, struggling to get air into his aching lungs. They burned as if he breathed in dragon fire.

"Please," the mage whimpered from behind him, "don't do this, Alistair."

That set him off. Whipping back, he spoke to Karelle, but glared down at Linaya with tears streaking down her cheeks, "Now!" As Karelle hauled the mage up to her feet, he felt every eye in the great hall turning to him, a thousand questions about to drop on his head. But he couldn't answer them, not now, not with his usual flippant no answers. This one obliterated any failsafes he had in his repertoire, leaving the unloved boy exposed to the world. With stiff joints and head held high, Alistair staggered out the door and into the moonlit courtyard. When the door slammed shut behind him, he tipped his head back and screamed incoherently to the uncaring stars.

***

Reiss watched it all from the sidelines, doing her best to not feel anything in her gut when the mage danced so close to the King it drew fears that they needed to censor it from the more conservative gentry. But when he erupted, dragging the woman across the floor without anyone knowing why, she slipped away from Lunet and followed on Alistair's heels. A few eyes glanced out into the courtyard, most seeming to be afraid their King was about to start smashing up the statues, but he'd remained frozen in place, both fists balled up as he glared at the sky. Cold winds crept along the ground like the skeletal hand of a rising revenant. She watched her breath slowly buffet out in front of her, almost hypnotized by the puff of smoke while waiting.

"You didn't have to follow me," he spoke the first words since his outburst that rattled through the dance floor. Reiss expected a dozen of the advisors to flock to the King's side but everyone seemed spooked beyond measure.

"It's my job to make certain you're all right," she said. Reiss kept her hands crossed behind her back, not moving forward.

"Your job?" he snickered, his voice ragged.

"And I wanted to, but if you wish me to leave..."

"No," he turned to face her. By the weak moonlight his face was as splotchy as a newborns, puffy red rimming his eyes as if he'd cried a thousand tears in one go. "No, please stay. I...I don't know, am I supposed to talk about it? I doubt you'd care."

"Ser, for what it's worth," Reiss slid a step or two closer to him, "you've listened to me blubber on beyond measure. I think you deserve the same courtesy."

"That..." he smiled painfully and shut his eyes, "that's fair, I guess. I...okay, here goes." He took a deep breath, "She..." Pausing, Alistair winced as if he bit into his lip, "she said that it'd have been a good thing if the Queen died in childbirth."

"Maker's sake!" Reiss cursed.

"As if that was something funny, or charming to throw around, a dead wife, dead queen...motherless," he coughed, repeating motherless a few times before finishing with, "children."

She didn't know what to say to that, having barely formed much of an opinion of the wheedling but generally harmless mage. While the woman seemed ill prepared for court life and Orlais would have chewed her to bits in a fortnight, Linaya had never given Reiss any real pause. But to think that, to say it was monstrous.

The King seemed to share in the sentiment while he kept pacing back and forth, his shoes kicking up in the air as if trying to knock the thick air away. "Dead, without anyone to...and it's just funny, right? What a great deal for her. Slot in whoever I want as if it blighted works that way and..." he slapped both his hands over his face and moaned something incoherent.

He stood like that for a few minutes, moaning into his palms and rocking back and forth at his core as if trying to find a semblance of balance. Slipping closer, Reiss paused near the man and whispered a single, "Ser?"

It took a beat before his hands fell down. There were no tears, but his eyes were ravaged by pain -- red as a drunkard's with darkness circling under them. With a calm move, Reiss scooped up his hand and patted it. "I'm sorry I don't have any carrots on me."

A brief snicker broke through the tumult burning across his face. He looked like a man shrieking into the void beneath a mask of calm. Alistair tugged his hands back and raked up his hair until it floofed beyond reach. "They're not fancy enough for party food. Rye crackers either, apparently."

"I..." she blinked in surprise at his remembering, "you did not need to remove Bann Declan from the premises for my sake."

Alistair waved his hand, "Believe me, it was a gift for me. Maybe one of the best gifts I could hope for. Every birthday I should send for Declan just to have the guards drag him away."

She smiled and laughed at the sentiment, "But, I wanted to thank you for it. For listening."

A staggered breath puffed out of his mouth, as those playful eyes sobered up while gazing into hers. "You're welcome, Ser Reiss. Happy to use my weight to do something good for once."

Standing so close, she could reach over and skim her fingers along his jaw, feel that gritty scratch of human facial hair and then... Reiss shook the idiotic thought off. She was ripped apart from Ethan and Declan, hoping to find some distraction to wash the taint away. The King's eyes darted up to the stars as a silence fell between them, not an awkward one as each prayed for the other to fill it, but a clean rinse. Suddenly he smiled up to his eyes and he tapped his fingers against his arm, "Hear that?"

"What?" Reiss began before her ears finally caught on to the music wafting through the door.

"They're playing our song," Alistair chuckled. Sure enough, it was the same one Reiss trained to in her tiny music box but now with the full body of a real orchestra instead of tiny magic. She smiled along, tapping her foot to the beat notched in her soul.

"So, uh," he ruffled up his hair and carefully extended a hand to her, "do you want to have a go?"

Reiss glanced back at the piles of gentry waiting for their King to return. None had their noses plastered to the glass, but surely someone was watching, wondering, waiting and... As she returned to the earnest face, as wholesome as a sunflower in a field, barely holding it together from the swarm of darkness creeping underneath, Reiss nodded. Alistair smiled while she tugged off her gloves and tossed them to the ground. Glancing over at the man in his finery, Reiss undid her vambraces as well, the metal clanking in the cold night as it bounded into the stones.

"Are you ready, Ser?" she asked, raising her fists up.

"As I'll ever be," he said back, quickly lashing out with a punch. Reiss blocked it, but there was a force there she hadn't felt before. He needed this, needed to fight it out of himself so he could waltz back into the grand ballroom and be his cheeky self. It was nothing for the guardswoman to risk a few bruises here and there in service of her King.

Alistair was fully on the offensive, his fists pounding slowly but with enough force if one actually hit she'd be in trouble. "Maker's blighted bloody," he cursed at first under his breath, but the anger grew with each punch, "Motherless, alone, no one to muster up a care if you've skinned a knee, or gone hungry for two days, or fallen into the pig sty and have no idea how to get the shit out of your trousers!"

It took her a moment to catch on that he wasn't referring to his children. Even if the Queen had perished they'd of course be coddled beyond measure by the aristocracy. But, she knew that feeling, a terrifying helplessness when the world beats against you and there's no one in your life you can lean on anymore. Where in your heart you know you're a child, but the world doesn't care. None ever cared, only used her for their own gain, their own bragging rights because she was easy to bend and twist into the right shape. She was so fucking eager to please, just wanting someone, anyone to Maker damn care for once.

Her fist smashed into the King's stomach, all her force behind it as another feral roar erupted in her throat. Alistair was quick to dodge back, but he had to take a lot of it. At first, Reiss dropped her hands about to apologize, but the man shook it off without a thought and returned for more. There was no pretense now, no polite fisticuffs and shifting feet in a circle - they were both fighting as if their lives depended on it, their pain driving them beyond thinking.

Alistair's attacks sped up, his right hook slicking past her jaw but she felt the pain of his knuckles ringing through her teeth. Pushing back, Reiss knew she was giving up more and more territory to the mad man, retreating to a safer distance with each swing while she tried to think, to plan. To save herself. Like striking a flint, the fire inside of her erupted. Her once methodical attacks learned and measured to the templar beat shattered apart. She leapt forward, a fist hitting air, but another striking meat. Didn't matter what, didn't matter who as long as it protected them.

_Survival.  _

Red flared in her vision, winnowing it down upon the shadow of the attacks upon her and she spun in place. Her foot knocked into his knees, a pop reverberating through the courtyard. It was enough to fell her quarry and...oh Maker, the King fell backwards to the cold ground. His head didn't bounce against the stone, but he groaned in a hiss when his back made contact.

Reiss' internal monster scampered away leaving her dumbstruck and terrified. "Sire, are you...? Maker, I'm so..."

A laugh rumbled up the man's chest as he lay prostrated across the ground. He had his hands curled in fists against his chest as if afraid she might keep attacking, but didn't seem about to rise. "I'm guessing we both needed that," Alistair raised his head up and he beamed that sugar sweet smile upon her. She should be panicking beyond measure, she'd just kicked a King to the ground, but internally Reiss melted to a blushing maiden from the way he looked at her.

"It helped, a lot," she admitted. "I...I should help you up." Maker's sake, Reiss. Focus.

Bending over, she extended her hand to the King, but she didn't anticipate him rising up off the ground. He rose so quickly, he nearly smashed his forehead into hers. Pausing a breath away, Reiss fell adrift in his brown eyes, an amber star shining behind each pupil.

Take a chance. Be brash.

Not thinking, she darted forward and caught his lips with hers. For a moment, he seemed shocked at her kiss, his mouth falling open, but with a heartbeat Alistair melted against her. Deepening the kiss, he pressed his soft lips tighter to hers. Maker's sake, he tasted of sprinkles, champagne, and an earthy clover. Reiss' skin erupted in goosepimples, her eyes shut so tight she could see stars forming behind the lids, while her stomach begged her to keep going.

Sweet Andraste!

Popping away, Reiss gasped at her impetuous, foolish move. She kissed him. A King. _For the love of the Maker, you assaulted the bloody King of Ferelden!_ What was she going to do? What did anyone do? How many people kissed the blighter King of Ferelden?! Would he toss her out the same as the mage, as Declan? Flames, how could she...?

Two hands wrapped around Reiss' back and without a care, the King tugged her back to him for a second kiss. Both of them fell to the ground, Alistair taking all the brunt, but he didn't seem to mind. His lips gently rolled across hers as if he was too scared to explore with his tongue. With one hand pressed to the frozen ground, Reiss pushed herself on top of him so she could rough her fingers against the prickling hairs upon his cheek. A moan reverberated up Alistair's throat, and as his mouth opened, she risked darting her tongue in with his.

Releasing his hold on her back, the King swept both palms up her cheeks until he could bury them into her hair. He delved into her mouth with a hunger she thought only she tasted. Even through her greaves she could feel the stirrings of his lust prodding harder with anticipation and driving her own wilder. Maker, how badly had she dreamed of this? Wanted it? Hoped? Alistair's hands shifted onto her shoulders and began to slowly drift downward.

"Daddy!"

_Holy shit!_ She'd never leaped so fast to her feet in her life, Reiss all but launching herself away from the King to trembling legs as the princess skipped across the dark courtyard to her father. Alistair sat up as all of the girl wrapped around him. "Spud," he said, somehow his voice not quivering in fear or...other things, "what are you doing down here?"

"Seeing you," she stated the fact as if it was so simple.

"You're supposed to be in bed, young lady," he pointed out the rules as if they were etched in stone.

She groaned, her tiny hand mashing into her face before she too tugged her hair up the same way Alistair would when annoyed. "I can't."

"Why?"

"You didn't read me the story!" she pouted, her hand lancing across her hip.

The King sighed and tugged his daughter off him while Reiss kept staring off into the cold night, hoping it would do something to break up the bright red blush charring her skin. Rising to his feet and groaning at the aches, he picked up his daughter's hand, "Let me guess, you ducked the queen's maids again." She shrugged as if skipping past women in charge of watching her was no big deal.

"Come here," Alistair scooped her up into his arms, the girl squealing with delight from the attention of her father. "Don't get any ideas. I am taking you straight to bed, Tater Tot."

Her bottom lip stuck straight out far enough a bird could perch upon it, but she didn't argue with him. Alistair chuckled at the girl's pouting and tousled her hair, "Right after I read from your book." That earned him a hug, chubby fingers wrapping around his neck and tugging him tight.

Reiss was frozen in place, her mind uncertain what she should do. Would he pretend nothing happened? Would they continue on as before? Or...? She turned from her gaze out at the silent and frosty gardens to catch his eye. A small glimmer shone in them and he smiled. "I have to put this little escape artist to bed. Yes, you're going to bed, there will be no cake, nor dancing no matter how much you try to wheedle it out of me. And then..." he leaned closer to Reiss, "we'll talk."

Her lips still tasting of him lifted in a smile, "Of course, Ser."

"Come on," he groaned, shifting the princess in his grip, "Don't tell me, you want to hear from the really, really big book of boring."

"Yes, pwease!" the princess shouted out for the world to hear.

Absently, Reiss picked up her abandoned gear and began to slot it into place. While she knew she should be panicking over what it meant for the future, all she wanted to do was twirl in ecstasy.

## CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

#### Camping

Unfortunately, after getting the princess to finally lay her head down and nod off, a dozen people rushed the King asking questions and insisting he return to make toasts. Alistair was so surrounded by the horde, he could only cast an occasional eye back at the woman trailing behind him, and shrug. Then he'd return to playing the genial idiot for the gentry who'd laugh uproariously. After the dance involving fire and kicking, the group of advisors, Arls, and King wound up in a drawing room, pretending to sample the notes of wines. She tried to hide a smirk when Alistair pulled out a bottle of koomtra and insisted it was an ancient blend from Tevinter.

Reiss didn't realize she'd nodded off until the King gently squeezed her shoulder, startling her awake. "This is going to take, Maker only knows how long and we've got a long day ahead. If you want to head on up to bed, I'd advise escaping now."

"Are you certain? I can stay and...?" she'd glanced around at the others all crumpling into balls at the koomtra's kick.

"We'll try talking in the morning while everyone else is sleeping this off."

She'd gotten through the long night surrounded by other shemlan by pretending none of it happened -- that she didn't roll around on the ground making out with the King -- but at the way his eyes seemed to be memorizing every line of her face, Reiss felt her heart surge. Trying to not blush she giddily drew to her feet and attempted to sleep with hope rising in her stomach.

When she woke the next morning, bright enough eyed to be able to see and nothing more, she expected to have to wait an hour or so to rouse Alistair before they could discuss the kiss. Reiss slid out of her bed, her bare feet landing upon the cold stones when the King's wrathful voice echoed through the walls.

"-- was I supposed to do, Eamon?"

The Chancellor's more controlled tone dropped lower into a growl, "Do you have any comprehension of the damage you have done with our relations to the Enchanter's College?"

"She threatened the life of the Queen. Maker's sake, I thought you'd be on my side for this one," Alistair thundered. Rising stiff legged up, Reiss cracked open her door and peered an eye out to watch the man pacing back and forth in his room. He wore the same outfit from the night before, but the buttons were all popped open, and he had a flour sack towel wrapped around his head. What did she miss?

Eamon stood beside him, rooted to his spot against the agitated King. "That's what she said, exactly? A threat upon the life of Queen Beatrice?"

"Well," Alistair's mad pacing slowed and he blinked against the man, "not in those words no, but that was the gist."

"You would condemn a woman because of how you interpreted her words?"

"There's no interpretation there. I know what she was getting at, thinking I'd have a jolly laugh at the idea of being a widower. And condemn? Not even close. Big deal, she's back to that tower up north. Oh, truly she's been tossed into the void itself with that punishment."

Eamon didn't look about to budge, both hands pushing onto his cane, "Your Majesty, don't you think you're being a bit too harsh on the girl?"

"No," Alistair twisted around. While Reiss had seen him on occasion snap at others, Eamon always received an almost bashful reverence from the man, but not this time. The King's face lit up with a simmering rage she only got a glimpse of...right before she kissed him. "I don't care if she thought it was all part of some flirty meandering on her part. She wished, imagined Spud without a mother. Whether that was malice or not, my head'll explode in hot bolts if I have to look upon anyone who'd do that."

"Sire..."

"I'll put up with a lot, Eamon. I have, over the years, done plenty of things you've all made me do," he paused and glared fully upon the old man, "Lanny for one." At that Eamon grimaced, his eyes racing towards the floor away from the King. "But I'm not budging on this. I don't care, let Fiona hate me. Maybe she'll finally get off her fancy throne and respond to a letter for once."

"What shall we do about the vacancy? There are matters that require a mage's knowledge and it seems unlikely that the College will send another after this debacle," Eamon continued on. Reiss felt a breath escape through her clenched lungs, the man seemed willing to let Linaya's banishment hold. And Maker's sake, it wasn't as if the mage was any true rival for you. He never seemed to have any interest in her. But...did he have any interest in an elven woman serving as a bodyguard?

Alistair stomped away from Eamon and glanced down his hallway. He must have caught the sliver of Reiss trying to stare through the gap as he closed his eyes, shrugged and slowly shook his head at her. They weren't going to be talking this morning either. Flipping around he picked up Eamon's conversation, "I don't care. Find a hedge witch, maybe ask one of the Dalish to pitch in. We'll find someone, or we'll manage as we did for the years as the College was figuring itself out."

The Chancellor looked as if he wanted to grab the King by his collar and drag him to the corner for punishment, but instead he sighed, "As you say, Sire. We shall somehow make it work."

A smart ass grin rose upon the King's cheeks and he whipped back, "Sorry I went and ruined the pool for everyone. I guess the castle will have to find someone else's personal life to bet on."

"I..." Eamon rose up higher, his face unreadable but a hint of a blush broke upon his cheeks, "I have no recollection of what you mean."

"Sure you don't. Andraste's sword, Philipe's gonna spit in my porridge for weeks now. Good thing I never eat it. Now, are we done or...?"

"You are to dress quickly, the Dalish entourage is already waiting for the royal caravan outside the Denerim gates."

Alistair scrubbed his face up and down with his hands, "Of blighted course they are. Right," he turned back to the peeping elf and gave a small signal between them. "Give me a few minutes to get things in hand and..." Before he could finish the sentence, three servants rushed in, all prepared to slap the King into his traveling gear as quick as possible.

Groaning, the King gave into their machinations and Reiss slipped back into her room. Later. It wasn't as if she wasn't going to be seeing him on the trip to the wilds. They could talk later.

It took half the day before Reiss realized that it was never going to happen. While she rode on a horse ahead of the King, he was continually flanked by people either checking on his status or needing to share upon their thoughts of the day. Even when they'd dismount to make camp, water their horses, or take a piss people would flag the man down and talk his ear off. Her only hope of being alone with him would be in either wandering off into the woods together -- certain to send every Bann and Dalish guardian into a tizzy -- or join him in his tent, which was also warmed by Arl Teagan and a few other important diplomats.

She'd tried to act nonchalant for the first day, while wearing a secret smile to herself whenever glancing over and catching the King's eye. By the second, the secret smile faded and doubt crept into its place. He was being kind to her by ignoring the mistake, hoping that what she'd done would vanish into the ether if they both pretended it didn't happen. They were both besides themselves with anger and sometimes the brain would become uncontrollable during combat. It was foolish of her to think there was anything more to it than working off steam for a brief heat of the moment. Certainly no chance for a King to feel anything like butterflies lifting through his gut for a forgettable elf.

After the third day of traveling, Reiss felt despair nesting in her brain, her stomach continually sour from the oily foods on the road. She tried to paper over it, pretending that it was the cold or a rock in her boot, and convince herself in general she was fine about it all. It didn't help that their trek into the Kokari Wilds kept them abreast of any proper structures and corralled into tents. She despised camping.

The dalish made quick work of establishing sites, finding kindling and capturing game for dinner often before the shemlan had time to dismount. While the Banns kept clustered together as if for warmth and protection against the dangerous elven influence, Reiss would often squat by the fire. She'd traded a few words with the dalish. The First only asked a brisk exchange, in no mood to deal with outsiders, but one of the men traveling with seemed to be warming to the elf accompanying the King.

"Did it hurt?" she asked, pointing at the blue tattoos vining across the man's forehead and down his chin.

He stopped snapping sticks to toss into the fire and turned slowly to her, "They are a covenant with our gods, a promise to forever honor what the Elvhen truly are and never forget where we came from."

"Oh," she shrank down upon herself, regretting the question.

The man gently nudged into her shoulder and snickered, "It hurt immeasurably. Took me three months to finish the design. The Keeper thought I'd wind up with only half from the way I'd squeal in pain."

"I don't think I'd have the stomach for it," Reiss admitted. She was fascinated by them, the marks of her people, but something she knew nothing about. They were beautiful, his almost exactly like the Inquisitor's, but sometimes the idea of the vallaslin shook her to the core. Her parents fear of anything too elven roared up from its depths at the strangest of times.

The man smiled wide, "I've found that women tend to have higher pain thresholds for such things."

"Comes with the territory, I suppose," Reiss sighed. As the sun slipped lower across the horizon, the shadows flitted through trees, each crack of a branch amplifying up her anxiety. The first night on the ground she hadn't slept a wink, her hand clinging raw to the grip of her dagger. By the second, she'd managed to coerce a sleeping draught from one of the dalish and fell into a dreamless slumber. Some of the potion remained, but Reiss feared that there'd be diminishing results.

She rose up to her legs and began to pace the perimeter of the campsite. Tents littered the area without any thought to incoming raids, no one had even dug a bear pitt or lined it with spikes and... Calm down, Reiss. This isn't the camp. You're not there. It's okay. She breathed slowly, taking in gulps of air.

A branch snapped behind her and Reiss whipped around, her dagger already drawn to find not grey skin rummaging through their stores, but Arl Teagen walking to the fire. He'd been all smiles, carrying a rabbit for supper, but at the elf's threat he froze and began to lift his hands.

"Maker's sake, I'm sorry, I heard...thought," Reiss sheathed her dagger instantly and tried to plead with the Arl she threatened a second time. "It was my mistake, forgive me," she blubbered and stomped out of the clearing. Behind her she heard Teagan whispering to the others, the concern growing that the elf bodyguard was going mad, but she walked away from it all. She had to or else she feared she was about to shatter to pieces. It was so long ago, the scars healed and fears shuttered, but sleeping on the ground, waking to bird song next to her head, sitting beside a bonfire for warmth all ripped the wound wide open.

Reiss collapsed onto a log. It didn't overlook anything impressive, no beautiful waterfall breaking through the clearing indigo from the night's sky, nor a glenn dotted with fireflies. It was just more black forest, hissing and creaking as it waited to ensnare another into its unforgiving grip. At least it wasn't a shoreline. The pounding of waves would draw nightmares more assuredly than any knife wielding clown ever could. Sometimes she'd awake in a start from a nightmare, feeling the sand rubbing raw against her back as her blood pounded in her veins like the surf shattering apart rocks.

"Mind if I, uh, sit down...or, stand awkwardly so the log doesn't break," the King appeared through the mist. Reiss turned to look over her shoulder at him, expecting to see a dozen aides hovering around him, but they all scattered either back to the fire or out of fear of the crazed elf.

"Go ahead," she said, scooting further to the side on the log so there'd be room. Hesitant at first, the King prodded into the wood with his fingers to make certain it didn't crack in half before gently lowering his royal backside to it.

"No fire ants rushing out to chew my flesh off, that's a plus," he smiled at the night air.

She wanted to ask if that happened before, but Reiss felt a thousand pins jabbing into her flesh. It ached to be clawed up, the detritus washed clean to heal but there was only salt water around to...no, they were near a river, a fresh one that wouldn't make her eyes sting with every blink. Silence thundered upon the pair of them, the King absently tapping a rhythm against his knee while Reiss felt herself sinking deeper into her pit.

"I hate camping."

He whipped his head over to her at that and she blanched. She meant to keep it contained inside, the words rattling against her tongue with every long night and too short day.

"It's not for everyone," the King admitted, "got a whole flock of Banns back there that just discovered the difference between poison oak and the regular kind. Shoulda set out with a lot more poultices apparently. They're all getting real nice and friendly to the dalish mages with sweet words and hopes that they can cure it." He grinned at the image of the nobility having to cozy up to the people they were working valiantly to kick off their land. It would have drawn a snicker to Reiss if she wasn't in such a dour mood. "Or..." Alistair caught on that she wasn't concerned with the poison leaves or bugs, "is there more to it?"

"I..." she swallowed hard. How much of her past did she have to keep dropping onto the poor man's head? How little of it could he possibly care for? "I spent a year upon the shores outside Kirkwall in a refugee camp."

"Oh," his voice drifted away, the King's eyes wandering out to the silent forest.

"There were so many of us displaced by the blight, nowhere to go, nothing to our name, and...and," she worried her fingers together, a nail digging into each callus, "we were nothing, no one in Kirkwall was about to let some poor elves into the city. Some fled further west to Nevarra but the ships were demanding even more coin and those of us without had to settle for..."

It was horrific for the elf that grew up in fields and countryside, with real walls and a roof, to cut down poles and knot up moth eaten tarps to form her first tent. Nearly a month passed before they had enough to make one with four sides, canvas being scrounged by the quickest and biggest of the lot. There was never silence; below the pounding of the waves washing away their foundation was a continual moaning from every lesser person mourning what they'd lost. And Reiss...

"We lived in a shanty town, if it could even be called that. Surviving on the scraps that were scrounged up across the beach -- Maker did I get good at scraping out the last of the meat on spiny crabs. Salt stung the air, the surf pounding only feet away but if we traveled any further from it then we faced the rogue Qunari who claimed the land as their own." Grey faces peering from behind gaps in the tent walls, all three children huddled together for warmth while the sticks of driftwood burnt away to ash. They watched silently upon cliffs overlooking the camp, sometimes sneaking close to peer in, and on one occasion...

"What about your parents?" Alistair's voice broke her quivering memory, the blood pooling down her arm not real, the break to her hand long healed.

Reiss tried to smile to fight back the sting in her heart, but it wouldn't take. Instead tears gurgled as she said, "When darkspawn attacked my home, they captured my mother. Were dragging her off to...I don't know." She felt the King stiffen beside her, his throat swallowing rapidly. "My father, he ran forward and stopped them but...it was too late for my mother. She, they, um," Reiss' hand rubbed hard against her nose, as if it was a cold causing her to sniffle and not the tears percolating behind, "the blade went through her shoulder and blood splattered..."

A hand gently cupped her arm and she broke from the dark forest to find Alistair's warm eyes pleading with her to stop. "You don't have to tell me, it has to hurt."

"All right," she nodded, trying to yank back the memory of her mother's final scream. The same one she'd hear echoing in her throat when Reiss faced her own death.

"What, um," his eyes wandered down to the hand still clinging to her. Alistair didn't pull it back, but he began to circle his fingers up and down across her skin. "What happened to your father?"

"Blight, from trying to save our mother. Went quick. He knew something wasn't right a day outside of our home and ordered me to take my brother and sister as far from the darkspawn as I could get. It was my job to protect them because no one else would. And then he..." Reiss groaned and tipped her head up to the stars. So far south they looked achingly familiar. She hadn't been this close to South Reach since the blight.

"I used to tell myself stories that my father picked up a sword and ran into battle, helped to defeat the darkspawn and end the blight. But, no, it's impossible. He died a ghoul, either by his own hand or someone else's."

"We fought so many," the King's lips barely moved as if he was nearly frozen solid at the sickening thought.

"You gave them peace," Reiss didn't touch him but she wanted to brush her fingers across his cheek. "For a time people helped, they took pity on the elven children, elven orphans fleeing the chaos. Kirkwall was a different story." Her words tumbled in a low growl at the memory of standing barefoot with a screaming five year old famished with hunger and sea sick in front of an uncaring and suspicious templar.

"How old were you?"

"Fourteen, but to the guards any elf above toddler stage is a danger. They already know how to steal, can bring in diseases, will add nothing to the city but chaos. Nearly all of us were banished, scrabbling up the coast to find anywhere to stay. We couldn't afford to move on, and had nowhere to return back to. It was the most soul crushing experience of my life." Hunger was her new normal, barely enough food to go around for a single meal a day. Reiss would often skip two or three in favor of her siblings, Lorace complaining the loudest, which often drew the attention of others in the camp. Every few weeks they'd have to scatter with their things, the guards from Kirkwall sent to clear out the trash for fear of a plague infecting the city. Something was always lost, broken, or stolen, leaving Reiss with constant diminishing returns with each passing day.

"It all changed when Atisha fell ill. I was so certain she was going to die and it'd be all my fault. She'd been hunting for water at a creek and nearly everyone sent there came down with the same ailment -- two of which didn't live to the next sunrise. My only hope was getting into the city. By that time the blight itself had ended and I guess Kirkwall didn't care as much about keeping Fereldens out. We snuck in through an old smugglers tunnel and found a healer willing to save my sister."

Reiss' story fell silent as she remembered the long days sitting in the fetid room, her knees upon the rotten boards while holding her sister's clammy hand. But even through the constant smell of feces in the air, they had a roof, there was a floor, no salt water bit apart their skin, no insects tried to lay eggs inside open sores, and there was a real cot. It was her first taste of hope in a year and it was the sewer for the rest of the city.

"A mage in Kirkwall was helping to heal refugees?" Alistair asked. He sounded both shocked and impressed.

"And he didn't even ask for any payment. I'd have done anything he asked to save Atisha to pay him back, but he only smiled wistfully and said 'We Fereldens need to stick together.' I can't remember his name."

"Have to be bold as a bright red cod piece to openly practice magic in Kirkwall," he whispered to himself. "Glad to know there were some good ones mixed in with the chantry exploding bad ones."

Reiss knew nothing of that, "I was long gone by then. A woman was running a sort of boarding service for refugees - in exchange for work they were guaranteed a place to sleep and food. Atisha and I took it up, doing our best to secure a place for Lorace who at six wasn't capable of much yet. Over time even he took odd jobs working for the tanner or assisting in the smelter. We were exhausted beyond measure, crawling into a cot after twelve hour days, but we were alive."

People wondered about the soldier recruit who never complained about her blisters, was always dressed in her full armor, and seemed able to stand from sun up to sun down. Some would jokingly whisper that she was a secret spirit of duty given form to whip them all into shape. But all Reiss feared was that if she didn't do everything asked of her, she'd be kicked out into the world without a bed or walls. While she was proud to serve in the Inquisition and found it more than fair, if they'd ordered her to crawl upon her belly upon a field of glass she'd do it without a second thought if only to never have to wander again.

"Why didn't you return home?"

Reiss broke away from her memories to turn to the King. He appeared ragged as if having finished running through the woods at the behest of wolves, a shudder to his breath and skin flush. At her look he continued, "To Ferelden once the blight was over. I..."

She caught on and nodded, "The ships, yes, we heard of them sent by you to recall the displaced citizens. I was," Reiss licked her lips and found herself admitting the truth, "what home was there to return to? What deed we had on the land died with my parents and even if I, not even eighteen at the time, could have laid a claim, what human would honor an elf's word? There was no protection of an alienage, only a single elf family born in a generation and dead in the same."

"I'm sorry," he murmured, not striking back at her comment on humans. He seemed as aware of the short comings of the Banns as she did.

"Also, I...I don't think I could look upon the ground again," Reiss sputtered out, tears dripping down her cheeks. "Not where my mother..."

"Ostagaar," Alistair whispered, "the battle, so many of my fellow wardens and, I understand. That I really, really get."

His fingers clung to her arm, not pulsing tight to the skin but softly worrying her muscle up and down as if he was massaging it. Reiss glanced over at them, hypnotized by the strange intimacy. She didn't want him to stop, but he seemed barely aware he was doing it, his focus beyond her and deeper into the Kokari Wilds. Little of the battles of the blight reached an elf knee deep in fish guts in the Free Marches. There was a massive celebration when the archdemon fell and everyone carried around a portrait of the Hero of Ferelden on their shoulders, offering it drinks as if she was there to share in them. Even with nothing to her name, Reiss chipped in two coppers for the woman who rescued her family.

"Are you," Alistair spoke, his voice hoarse, "are you okay to continue? It'll be a few more days of this I'm afraid."

"I will prevail," Reiss said, slotting back on her armor. For a moment those sweet eyes wandered over the profile of her face, as if he intended to challenge her on it, but he folded downward. Still, those royal fingers continued to pet her arm. Was he trying to comfort her or did it run the other way?

"When was the last time you saw your sister and brother?"

Reiss blinked, not expecting that question at all. "Um," she tried to run the calculations in her head but her stomach opened up at the great gulf in years. "Not for a long time. When I turned eighteen I was of the age to accept migrant work. With a group we'd travel the Free Marches taking work wherever it was needed, usually harvesting and the like. I had to leave Atisha and Lorace behind in Kirkwall but it meant more money I could send back to them. And..." her teeth bit into her lip trying to suck back in the tears, "we write often."

"But it's not the same," he released his comforting hold and let his hand drop to the log. The King didn't lean away from Reiss, his shadow falling across her knees from the campfire flickering behind them.

"No, it's not. I...I've bothered you for far too long, I'm certain," she pawed at her cheeks, trying to mop up the fall of tears. "And I should apologize to Arl Teagan for once again threatening him with a dagger." She was serious but she couldn't stop the snicker at the absurdity of it all.

Alistair laughed, "That's becoming a thing for you two. I'm expecting you'll start celebrating every holiday by holding the Arl hostage for a few hours. It'd spice up Wintersend for certain."

With no idea how to respond, Reiss only gulped down the last of her emotion and nodded solemnly at the man. If she squinted she could only see the crown or the boss she answered to. But when he'd crack that floppy smile and tug his hair upward, it obliterated into dust leaving butterflies in its wake. It seemed a fool's dream, beyond that, and regardless of any advice she may have received, Reiss accepted that it would never be more. Offering up her apologies again, Reiss stood and began to slide around the log.

The King remained seated, his eyes staring out into the dark forest that held untold horrors within. "I haven't forgotten," he whispered to the air. It was enough to pause Reiss, her eyes lifting. Absently reaching behind him, Alistair picked up her hand in his. Such a small move, but her heart brightened at how his fingers threaded through hers. His warmth enveloped her palm as he spoke, "And I do want to talk about the knotty bits of it all, believe me. There's a lot of various things on my mind, things that have nothing to do with the proper placement of drainage ditches. Things I'd, um, beyond imagination want to talk to you about but..."

Like a butterfly cracking out of its cocoon, hope erupted inside of her. Turning over her shoulder, she stared deep into the man's eyes. He absently swung their hands together while those dimples dug in deep from the brightest smile of them all. Maker's breath, sometimes he nearly knocked her off her feet with that. She wanted to kiss those lips, to run her tongue across them, suck his bottom lip into her mouth and do other things to his body that drew a blush to her cheeks even in the abstract. But...breaking away from his gaze, she watched the caravan circling the fire -- at least a dozen eyes occasionally glancing over at their King waiting for him to finish with his unhinged bodyguard. This wasn't the place nor the time.

"There will be time later," Reiss breathed as she squeezed his hand once before releasing it into the wild.

Alistair instantly tugged on his hair, a blush breaking upon those smiling cheeks as he gasped, "Maker's breath, I hope so."

## CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

#### Damn

On the whole, things were going well. Alistair's metric for well was that no one had threatened to flay someone alive and stretch their entrails through the trees like party decorations. That low of a bar was the only one they'd managed to cross. The dalish town or whatever they kept calling it because the wanderers didn't build cities as they kept insisting was achingly quaint. With bright pops of the primary colors dashed across eaves bearing nothing but curves and gentle slopes it was the kind of place that made one expect to find white haired grannies selling their home made quilts on every corner.

Instead, about two dozen hardened Dalish warriors watched the human caravans with wary eyes, their arms all crossed enough to let a hand drift down to a hilt. But, behind the razor sharp edge lurked the bits that made a place a home. Children rampaged often from one fire to another, the smaller ones begging the bigger ones to slow up and let them have a go at using a bow. He'd often drift off from another argument courtesy of a Bann insisting the place was fetid and must be condemned to smile at the kids playing a rousing game of "halla." Alistair wasn't certain what the rules there were, if any, but it'd remind him of the hazy afternoons when Spud would shake off her minders, drop to her knees and become their pet mabari Sprinkle Toes. He had to play the cat Sprinkle Toes was always chasing, of course.

Maker he missed that squirt. It'd only been a week and all he wanted to do was pull up stakes and head right back to her. Every night he wrote a little letter about the day's excitement even though Spud couldn't read and there'd be no one to deliver it before their return. It gave him something to do and also created the illusion the King was working extra hard.

When he wasn't missing his kids, or accidentally paying a bit of attention to the continuing arguments, he'd glance over at the woman at his side and do his damnedest to not sigh. Everyone kept the two of them continually occupied. If not crowds swarming the King, once they arrived in the hamlet the Dalish took it upon themselves to orient the elf in his employ. He wasn't certain what all was involved but after an hour's disappearance she returned with berries and twigs in her hair, her boots sloshing, and a growl on her face. After that minor hazing, the local elves folded Reiss into their groups, often speaking elvhen to her while glaring over at the shemlan trying to not lose a pint of blood to the insects. How'd he forget about those from the first time in the Kokari Wilds?

There'd been barely any chances for him to even get close or whisper in her ear a question all while he kept drifting off watching the curve of her guarded smile -- the armor slipping off courtesy of her people. When she grew exhausted from either a day of tramping back and forth across swampy waters, or dealing with swampy politicians, a crinkle formed in the bow of her upper lip. Alistair came to look for it, and in turn found himself aching to skirt his finger across it, to kiss her full on once again. Maybe try with his tongue. He still had the hang of it after all these years warming the bench. Maker but she was beautiful.

It struck him worst of all when the Keeper, her squad, the Bann and his posse all trekked up to the Dalish's hard fought dam. Water pounded against the rocks, the elven created lake full to bursting from rains that never seemed to stop, while down below the little hamlet waited serenely. It was a source of contention because the Banns thought the Dalish had no right to take a claim upon water that would wind towards theirs, while the Dalish argued uncontrolled flooding would wipe out their village. After three days or arguing over the proper shade of red, this was an easy one to give to the elves.

Proud of her accomplishment in building the first ever Dalish dam since ye olden times, the Keeper moved a few levers and pulleys to open up a lock and send a stream of water bursting over the edge. It shot out like a toddler fleeing bath time, tumbling down the rocky slope and sliding down a controlled river right to the Dalish's doorstep. A rather pretty marvel, the King was about to comment when he turned to Reiss and his breath rolled up into a knot.

With sunlight highlighting behind her and water spraying into the air, a rainbow arced from the side of her head -- the blue skirting close to her ears before all of it vanished into the ether. She was smiling, not politely to deal with people, but a true one that lit up those summery eyes as the wash of sun turned her hair even more golden and shimmery. Alistair feared he was about to collapse to his knees and give thanks to Andraste or the Maker for such a beautiful sight.

Then the Bann clapped him on the shoulder, completely shattered the moment, and they got a long lecture on how the dam worked. Apparently the Keeper, having little knowledge of foundational structures, took to inquiring with various shemlan and after gathering enough knowledge plus a hint of magic something something... He wasn't listening. He was too busy acting like that idiotic twenty year old all over again, nodding along as someone else handled all the decisions while waiting for an opportunity to grab the pretty girl's hand and tug her into the tall grass for some smooching. There was also a lot of picking grasshoppers out of unmentionable areas he remembered, but the wiggly bugs were worth it.

After five days, with nothing truly decided but lots of certain sounded words given, Alistair was ready to depart. The elves and Banns remained at a stalemate but it was one that could hold for a few years. While the land was returning to its once fertile stage it wasn't there yet, which made the Banns more susceptible to agreement. And while the Dalish were repopulating, and reproducing at numbers beyond what the wanders would dare, there was no chance they could have a true army for many years. That also made them more willing to listen to the human's side of things. He knew that it would all come to a head and it wasn't going to be a happy answer for all, but for now it was a begrudging peace.

To celebrate the last day of the shemlan invading their territory the elves decided to throw a part of their own. While there was no life size replica of Alistair carved from cheese it was a lot of fun, or would be if not for the rains sheeting off the gutters and splattering against quaint red and green porches.

"It seems your send off is not as festive as we'd have liked," Niala approached Alistair. He'd perched himself by the window, at first curious about the beautiful rosette etched into the glass, then drawn by the pounding of rain. It also kept him from having to interact with any Banns.

Placing down his mug of warmed brandywine, he turned and smiled at the elf. She'd softened since they'd reached the forests. At least there was less of that implied eye rolling wafting in his direction. "It's not so bad, rains are good for farmers and it's not as if you can control the weather," he paused and glanced out at the blackened skies. The sun trundled off to bed a few hours ago, and the moon had no chance to break through such a mob of clouds. It was as pitch black as the void itself out there.

Blinking at a thought, he turned back to the mage clinging to her staff and asked, "You can't actually control the weather, right?"

There was that implied eye roll, the woman pursing her lips as she shifted her staff to the side. "No, your Highness. Not for hours at least."

"Contained blizzards and the like," he countered, remembering a few of Lanny's particular feats in the height of summer when they thought they were about to die from heat exhaustion. Alistair frowned at that memory. This close to Ostagaar, thoughts of Lanny dug up the conflicting emotions he thought he buried years ago.

"Ah, good," Niala spoke, drawing Alistair out of his own reflection. He turned to watch Reiss step cautiously over the floor. While the dalish stood out thanks to their vibrant colors and dominant personalities her grey metal blended her into the background. It worked particularly well when she'd stand cross armed watching the others to the point a Bann nearly stepped on her boot. But when she lifted her head into the flickering torchlight, a smile broke upon her lips and Alistair couldn't see anything else in the room.

"First," she nodded at Niala, then turned to him, "Ser."

Either unaware of the rising tension or not caring, Niala sighed, "You may take over the duties of tending to him."

"Ah, what?" Reiss scrunched up her cute face and turned to the mage.

"Is that not what elves in the shemlan cities do? Care for the humans who cannot find their asses without one person each holding a cheek for them?"

"As King I get three, in case one can't handle their duty," Alistair spoke up, laughing at the idea. He glanced over and caught a look racing upon Reiss' face. While he was by far no expert on the languages of body or womanly thoughts, it didn't seem to be a happy one at the Dalish calling her to the carpet.

"Excellent for you, your Kingness," Niala bowed and waltzed off to her fellow elves -- all of whom were spinning like mad in circles and dancing with far more heart than anyone had at Denerim.

Alistair picked up his mug and took a drink, savoring the warmth dripping down his throat before it hit the stomach and bloomed across his body. After wiping off his mouth he turned and spotted Reiss standing awkwardly beside but not near him. "Ready to head home?" he began, his eyes swinging out the window to the embattled land beyond. It wasn't much, a lot of scrag brush and rocky hills surrounded by moats of dead earth, but they were making it beautiful.

"I," Reiss slipped in beside him, her own bright green eyes hunting over the land. They'd wandered across dozens of seedlings springing from the ground, but none of them were as fresh and pure as the color of her eyes. Which was another fact Alistair shouldn't have been thinking when he was supposed to be paying attention to the Dalish's attempts at irrigation.

At her silence, Alistair picked up the conversation, "I'm aching to get back. Sit in my chair for a few hours, sleep on my bed that doesn't have a rock buried under the mattress which I just bet Letali did. I've seen the way he keeps giggling when I look away."

"Perhaps he has a bit of a crush on you," Reiss whispered, her beautiful lashes fanned out as she didn't quite laugh at the idea.

That was Alistair's job. "Maker's sake, someone should have a healer inspect the man's eyesight and fast before he puts an arrow in a dark place."

She snickered at that outburst, and it drew a smile to his cheeks as well. A soft sigh broke from those tempting lips and Reiss beamed her full attention upon him. How badly he wanted to wrap his arms around her, pull her body tight to his, kiss those petal lips, and make a mess of her taut bun sending blonde hair flying everywhere. Instead, Alistair cupped both hands around his mug and shifted on his feet, hoping to distract his body with alcohol.

"I would very much like to return home," Reiss whispered. He'd expected that, given her revulsion to camping, yet it wasn't a shudder ratcheting up her spine. No, a burning desire so obvious even Alistair could catch on roared in the depths of those greens.

"Well, um," he realized his mug was empty and moved to put it down. "It doesn't escape my notice that..." Alistair turned his head back to note that the Dalish were all clustered around the hearth of the fire while the Banns flocked to proper tables. "We seem to be alone."

Her eyes shot open wide at that fact and she glanced behind him as if to make certain he wasn't lying. "So it would appear, and I'm talking like one of Lune's blighted romance novel characters." A vibrant blush erupted upon her cheeks as she continued to chastise herself under her breath, though he heard a soft rant about velvet encasing something.

"I..." Maker's sake, what the hell was he going to say? He'd thought about it, sure. _I liked that you kissed me, a whole bunch. It was nice. Wanna do it again?_ Andraste's big toe, he was thirty-seven years old and he never managed to get better than charring himself bright red at the thought of doing things without a tent. Lanny found it adorable for reasons that made him question her sanity at times, even if it paid off for him. And the others...

Alistair knew it was as much about the crown as him, maybe not in the attention paying parts of his brain, but his heart slushed that fact around often. If he wasn't King they'd have skipped right on past without giving him the time of day. After ending things with the last woman, he found himself wondering not what kept anyone from wanting him but why Lanny ever did. Seemed the height of stupidity on her end, really. He'd been happy to play the part of lustful royalty, and while of course the lamppost licking was often on his mind, he found himself missing the smaller intimate moments more. Maybe not more. 70:30. Silly handholding, brushing her hair behind her ears, giggling like mad over the dumb things they kept whispering to each other. The other women would go along with it, some seeming to find a sort of peace but it never lasted because it wasn't right. They liked the idea of being a king's mistress without taking into account the reality, and he liked it even less.

What bound his tongue wasn't the fear that Reiss was only in it for the power or attention but that she wasn't and that he would completely screw it all up in under five minutes. A whisper flowed through his veins -- which hatched after Seheron when he broke Lanny's heart again -- that Alistair would never know that true fairy tale love again. Because of his title, because he came with enough baggage to fill a chateau, no woman could ever love the man without the shiny hat.

And she was staring at him in concern because he just fell slack jawed and stupid for far too long. Alistair snatched up his mug and put it to his lips, hoping to find liquid courage inside, only to remember that the damn thing was empty. Uncertain what to do, he tipped his head back and pretended to drink, making a big show of wiping the imaginary excess off and giving an exhale of approval. Maker's sake he was a moron.

"So, that thing we need to talk about," Alistair rounded about talking without saying. She nodded her head, her eyes boring into the ground as she worried her fingers together in knots. "When you, you know..."

"Kicked you to the ground," Reiss spoke solemnly before raising her face up and a wicked grin lifting her lips.

A breath of his hesitation vanished and Alistair dug through his hair, fluffing it up higher and chuckling, "Maker, I know better than to attempt a frontal assault on you." He'd been serious but a blush burned up her cheeks and when the potential innuendo hit him he groaned, his head flopping up to the roof festooned with potted plants. "Which, that is to mean, a hem, why do pretty ladies always steal away my ability to make words good?"

With her head tipped down, he could only see a wash of the golden hair, a cupful of her cheek and one green eye quickly overflowing with an orneriness. "You think I'm pretty?" Reiss whispered to the floor.

"Is this a trick question?" Alistair felt a scoff rising in his throat. He wanted to tell her she knew she was gorgeous, like dawn's light but not when you were staggering out of bed with a hangover. The birds folding your laundry and squirrel's bringing breakfast kind of dawn. A brightness burned off her that chased away the creeping shadows and lifted them off his heart. Even aware of the dozens of eyes shifting around the small hut, Alistair picked up her hand in his. She responded to it, her gloved fingers twisting around to fold into his, as he leaned near her slightly red ear.

"I think you're beautiful," he whispered. Either it was his imagination, or a small shiver ran up and down her spine. Reiss crested her face towards his until those tempting lips were within closing distance. To keep himself steady, he focused on her eyes, chasing a daisy yellow sparkle of color within the green fields.

Lifting a shoulder, she confessed, "You're rather attractive yourself."

That did it. Leaning forward, Alistair's free hand moved to cup her cheek. She caught on, her lips pursing in anticipation as he moved achingly close to kiss her.

"Help!" echoed through the quiet stupor of the celebrants followed by the door slamming open.

Alistair snapped his head away and let his hand fall off her warm cheek, but their clasped fingers remained intertwined. An elf stood in the doorway, impossible to tell who by the dark light and shapeless armor, but Niala was quick to leap to their side.

"What's wrong?"

"It's the dam," bedraggled beyond measure, the elf looked as if he'd swam the river to get inside. Barely wiping mud off the blue tattoos across his cheek, he took in a breath and cried, "It's broken."

"Elgar'non show mercy," Niala gasped, flipping back to her people, "Everyone to the dam!" Alistair rose off his seat, absently reaching for a sword that wasn't there. The move drew the panicking First's attention, her eyes narrowing upon the king. "If we don't stop this..." she whispered.

He nodded, catching on quickly. "She said everyone," Alistair clapped his hands, jostling a few of the traveling servants to their feet. At his glare the rest of the Banns began to rise. "Go and collect the others, mobilize them..."

Niala squared her shoulders and he caught a glimmer of a protection spell, golden stars fading off her skin as it dissipated, "Many will remain in the village, sandbag the banks to keep the river at bay. The rest of us shall have to repair the dam itself."

"Understood," Alistair nodded once. He reached over to tug his cloak off the tack and had it thrust into his hands by Reiss. She'd already knotted hers on and was waiting for him to follow suit. Niala and her people were the first out, the woman directing most to the sandbag locations and doling out orders. Of course Alistair had to repeat them to his fellows because they suddenly couldn't understand the elf or something. They amounted to "Do as she told you, and don't Maker damn argue or we'll all be dead. Got it?"

Torches were impossible in the torrent of rain thundering through the skies, so Niala lit up a few crystals and tossed them to the various parties. She moved to hand one to Alistair, but chucked it at Reiss instead. The river itself crested a few houses away, but even at this distance and by the darkness, Alistair could see the waves rippling over the banks and heading towards all the dalish worked for. If they didn't pull this off it could all be done in by nature itself.

Niala directed the first of her hunters up the path to the broken dam, before slipping over to Alistair, "Sire, perhaps it is best if you remain indoors, in case of..."

"You need hands, we'll worry about the costs of cleaning the royal hems later," he tried to wrap his cloak tighter to his skin, but the wind kept yanking it behind as if trying to choke him to death. Just what he needed on top of assassins, the weather itself working to kill him.

For a moment the First shared a look with his bodyguard, before sighing in acquiescence and leading the charge up the path. What had once been a polite and relaxing walk in the woods became utter treachery. Every three steps, Alistair's foot sunk into mud, the water pooling up over top his boot and sloshing deep through the leather. Rain made the field of vision winnow down to as far as you could wave your hand, which meant everyone had to cling arm to arm to keep from losing anyone. And under it all was the ever pressing cold of the south, far more bitter even by late spring than what they got even in the mountains. It bit and hissed against exposed skin, wetted by rain, and turning it all to ice. He'd be lucky if he ever warmed up again.

Scrambling even tighter together the group finally reached the summit to find a cluster of the crystals lit up as hunters hauled up stones from a pile beside. "We lost a lot, First Niala," one shouted, her entire bottom half coated in mud. A river gushed out of the hole in the middle of the dam, rocks scattered down the incline and all of it threatening to buckle at a moment's notice. That would send nearly the entire lake down upon the village wiping out Maker only knew how many.

She nodded solemnly, "I can try and hold the water back, fill in the hole as fast as possible." Every elf picked up a stone and scurried towards the bank, ready to perform their duty. Folding her hands together once, Niala ripped apart the veil. The hairs across Alistair's body lifted from the metallic twang mixing into the air as a blue force launched out of the mage's hand to wrap around the lake. A whistle burst from his lungs at the power on display, the woman easily holding in place gallons upon gallons of angry water against the natural pull of the world. Glancing over, Alistair noticed the prickling of sweat building on her brow and amended maybe not so easily.

Niala grunted out a, "Now," and every elf scurried across the soaking wet rocks, attempting to slot back in a fresh stone to make up for the missing ones.

Alistair reached over to pick up a rock, when Reiss grabbed onto his hands. Confused, he caught her sight by the light of the crystal in her hands. "Ser," she shook her head slowly, "that is not wise for you. By any measure of the word."

"There aren't a lot of options," he pointed out. Water bulged against the magical barrier, a small fist of it trying to work its way free. Grunting, Niala drug it back with all her force. He knew mages, knew the power of ones sometimes beyond their limits. If they didn't finish this quick, it was going to break and then they were back at the beginning.

Reiss tugged herself closer to him and dropped the lighted crystal in his blisteringly cold fingers, "Please."

Grumbling, but accepting that she was probably right, he released his grip on the rock and stumbled back by Niala. He couldn't offer her any assistance, templars being trained to do the exact opposite with mages, but he could at least hold a light up near her face so she could see the work better. While he was banished to being the light keeper, Reiss snatched up a rock and followed the rest of the the dalish. She moved as certainly as she had when running across the roof -- paying no heed to the slippery footing or the slope, but Alistair found himself holding his breath silently praying she'd be okay. It'd be a long way down if one of them tripped.

Brick by brick, the elves moved quickly, far faster than seemed possible, the group not bickering or wasting time grandstanding. There was a job and if they failed, they all lost. Slowly, the hole clogged up until only a slither of water trickled through it. Reiss staggered to a halt beside the bank, her hair was matted against her head from the constant spray, the metal of her armor glinting against the haunting blue of the spell. She turned back, trying to figure out what was next when one of the elves dropped to his knees and with a handful of mud, attempted to seal in any major cracks. Not even pausing, she dug fist first into the muck and followed suit. Alistair shifted on his toes while the woman patted her hands along the cracks of a dam that could break at any seconds, her face right next to the oncoming danger. Would she even have a chance to scream before the water smothered her?

Not helping, Alistair. Think of happy dry things. Far far away from the torrential downpour of the Maker dropping a damn ocean upon them. He glanced down at Niala and found her with her eyes screwed up tight. A dribble of blood pooled down her mouth from her teeth biting into her tongue as she struggled against the pressure of nature fighting against her mana dump. _What I wouldn't give for a vial of lyrium right now.  _

Her eyes flailing open, Niala only had time to shout, "Watch out!" when her magic faltered and a bubble of water punched through the rocks, sending them scattering down the dry waterfall. Every elf scattered towards opposite sides of the banks, but their first was strong and she reenforced her own barrier, dragging the uncooperative water back to its bed.

"Please, go quickly," she whispered. There was no time for the others to mourn the loss of their work, more rocks passed hand to hand to try and refill the gap.

Feet scrabbling in the mud turned Alistair and his glowing stone away from Niala to highlight an older elf. He looked panic stricken, his eyes a deathly white by the glow of magic in the air. "First, please, you must help."

"We are trying, Belan," she hissed, her eyes screwed up tight.

The man glanced over at the piles of his brethren stumbling across each other to fix the dam, when he turned back to the woman holding everything at bay. "Not that, First. It's my son. Please!" he shrieked, clinging to her robes.

Niala's eyes shot open and Alistair flinched, whipping his head back to the lake, but the water remained in place. "Iohn? What of him?"

"The river, it's taken him. I can't...please, only screams and," he yanked Niala back and forth causing the barrier to weave. "You have to help me!"

Alistair tried to politely pick the distraught man off the woman, which earned the shemlan a wrathful glare he'd been expecting. "I can help you. Show me where your son is," he said quickly, the man nodding wildly.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he cried, to both, already scampering away down the hill.

Wiping the water out of his face, Alistair turned to follow when a voice called out in the darkness, "Alistair!" He started at hearing his name without any fancy titles before it and turned to spot Reiss glaring at him. "What are you doing?"

"Saving one person, you keep saving everyone else. I'll do my best to not die!" he shouted, trying to sound cheery.

"You damn well better not," she hollered back, accepting her fate as Reiss returned to spackling in mud before the entire thing collapsed killing them all.

The old man twisted quickly back down the hill, barely pausing while the far heavier human stumbled against the worn away path that was nothing but a muddy pit. Alistair risked a glance up at the skies, wishing that the clouds would part for a moment, only to have a fat wet raindrop plop onto his forehead and drip down into an eye. "Thanks," he groaned to himself, trying to shake off the hanging sense of doom all about this. Turning back, the dalish man shouted something in elvhen, but Alistair couldn't make it out over the rains whomping into the churned earth and the river rapids washing back and forth like a vengeful sea from the winds.

"Coming," he tried, hoping that'd suffice while suckering his boot out of the mud and half hopping towards the old man's side. "Where's your boy? Trapped in a closet or hiding under a bed?" He threw out a few theories and some of Spud's preferred 'I don't want to go to bed and I mean it' spots.

With a finger trembling like a branch in this storm, the old man extended out towards the river. He couldn't be serious. Alistair yanked up the light crystal higher, but it couldn't pierce further than a few feet against the impenetrable shadow blanketing the area. "How do you...?" he began when a scream broke above the white rushing of the waves. High pitched and gargling, it sounded like a child that was terrified beyond measure and reaching a point of exhaustion.

"Sweet Maker," Alistair ran towards the bank's edge, river water washing across his shoes as he raised up as high on his toes as he could manage. By the narrowest band of the light's spray he caught the whispered edge of a lump clinging to something in the middle of the river. The water parted around it like the single boulder in the middle of a battlefield. He held his breath until a head, almost ghostly white, swung up and screamed into the night.

"Right, okay," how the hell was he going to pull this off? He moved to dip a foot into the river, but the current yanked him off balance. Before Alistair could plummet into the flooded river and need rescuing himself, the old man's hands grabbed onto his upper arm steadying him. Turning to offer thanks, Alistair spotted a line of rope sitting beside a boat. An idea percolated in his brain and he asked the man if there was a bow around.

Belan gave him a slow scowl, but as his son shrieked again, he dashed off while Alistair knotted the rope around a tree at the edge of the river. Thank the Maker the thing was long, probably planned for an anchor. When the man returned with the bow, Alistair plucked up an arrow and began to tie a knot around it. "What are you doing?" Belan shrieked, his son's terror echoing in the father. Blessed Andraste, how he knew that feeling.

"This'll work, I think," Alistair plucked up the weighted arrow and tried to slot it into the Dalish bow. "I've never seen it done but I read about it...in a serial, written by a dwarf." Straightening his back, he locked his left elbow and slowly tugged the drawstring back. The arrow's tip slotted into place above his thumb for guidance as he realized he had no idea what to shoot at. Darkness filled the other side of the bank. He could keep shooting blindly while having to fish the damn arrow back every time, but that could take forever.

The father seemed aware of this, and plucking up a lantern he ran up to the bank and heaved it across the river with all his might. Alistair followed the arc of the light, his eyes honing in on the spark as it fought against the rain and for a brief second illuminated the bark of a tree before falling extinguished to the muddy ground. His fingers let the arrow fly, the rope weighting it terribly so the course slipped downward fast. Please be enough draw to reach the end and stick in the damn tree! Tenderly picking up the slack rope, Alistair tugged towards the other side and felt it stick tight into something.

Okay, good, that was the easy part of this. Tossing the bow back at the man, Alistair unclasped his cloak and without any ceremony waded into the river. The father began to chase after, but he whipped around, "Stay back, hold the rope in case...in case this all goes badly." _Which it probably will because it was your dumb idea._

The river pounded against his body, trying to knock his legs out from under him, but Alistair kept the rope wrapped around his fist while the other held the crystal aloft. It worked pretty well until he crossed the first barge and his body plummeted into the icy water. Flailing from the force, Alistair's feet slammed away from out under him and he snapped with the rope.

Maker's jangling coin purse! Pain seared up his shoulder but damn it all, he kept a grip to the rope. Watching the water thundering over the crystal still jammed in his hand, he accepted there was only one way to get to the kid while still being able to see. Shaking his head and trying to will away the cold biting up into his bones, Alistair opened his mouth and crammed the light crystal inside. It barely fit and tasted of a salty iron, but a beam of illumination lit up from his mouth like he was a walking light house.

Straining every muscle in his upper body, Alistair fought against the current to lash onto the rope with this second hand and slowly, painstakingly crawled to the boy. The cries began to slip down to whimpers, the child uncertain what was coming for him and the man with a crystal for a mouth unable to answer. He bobbed and weaved through the river, the depths slipping away until Alistair's feet had no hope of touching the bottom. Twisting his head, the light skirted across a log bursting out of the river and there attached to it was a small hand.

The boy was still there. Craning his head back, Alistair managed to get the light to land upon the child's eyes, his body awash in a haunted red glow as he blinked against it, but those hands didn't dare break away from his only salvation. "I'm here to rescue you," Alistair tried to say, but it came out like a strangled gargle of a goose mid yawn. The boy cowered closer to the log, more than likely terrified of the river monster come to eat his soul.

Andraste's flaming buttresses, Alistair bit off the strain burning across his arms, his shoulders screaming in rage as he fought the force of the river and tried to tug himself closer. When he butted into the log, he froze as a creaking sound erupted from the drowned wood. So close he could see the child, debris from the river splattered against his face and hair, he tried to cower into the log. Ever so gently, Alistair reached a hand towards him. The fingers lightly grazed the kid's head as he knocked a stick off, the without the grip, Alistair's body slammed into the log.

"Oh Maker," he groaned, jagged edges of driftwood digging into the back of his ribs. Tipping forward, he forgot to bite down on the crystal and their only light source plummeted out of his jaws and skipped down the river. Looking like a haunted fish it darted through and fro down the stream until striking a series of boulder and cracking in half. Alistair hissed at that and doubled his grip on the rope.

"Come on, get on my shoulders," he instructed to the kid but he was frozen in terror. "It's like a piggy back. You like that game, yes?"

"Idunno," the kid moaned, his face buried into his waterlogged salvation. Maker only knew how long he could remain clinging to it and if that thing could even survive this level of flooding.

"Here," Alistair tried to rise up onto the log, but another crack echoed from deeper into the depths. Right, not smart. Reaching out blindly, he picked up the kid's fingers and worked them to his shoulder. At first they hung there limply, but when he reached for the second, the boy dug down tight. Alistair almost yelped from the pinch, but he shouldn't discourage it. "Are you on?"

The boy didn't answer, only nodded his head hard, the chin digging into Alistair's shoulder. "Okay, hold on tight. We're going to the shore."

Gritting every part of him that could be gritted and girded, Alistair inched along the rope. The boy's hands slipped around his shoulders to do the far too familiar choke hold that his daughter perfected. It wasn't so bad until the current tugged on the much smaller body, collapsing Alistair's windpipe. He'd have to pause and tug the boy's hands away just to get in a breath before resuming. All the while, the boy whimpered beside his ear, the cry continuous.

"I fell into a river once," Alistair began to talk. The current slopped filthy water into his mouth, some of it he swallowed, others went up his nose, but he kept talking, that fatherly instinct needing to soothe the scared boy. "I was six and I thought I saw a fish."

He reached forward, prepared to grab tightly to the rope, when the section behind him finally snapped free. Oh shit! Alistair wrapped a hand behind himself around the boy while clinging knuckle white to the rope. The current whipped them back and forth, both man and child tossed into a whirlpool. Unable to see, Alistair had no idea when the water would wash into his throat or down his nose -- the blackness strangling him without reason or remorse.

Their only chance was if he kept tugging forward on the only bit of rope still attached to the tree. And if that one broke as well, he was going to join with that light crystal wherever it went in the void. He tried to tell the boy to hang on, but water gushed into his mouth. Having to trust that the dalish child was smart enough to know how to survive, Alistair let go of him.

Thank you blessed Andraste! The heavy weight clinging to him didn't wash away with the rapids. Reaching as far as he could, Alistair renewed his tug, but it was even slower going as they fought directly against the current. Beside his ear, the whimpering doubled in terror.

"That fish I saw, I wanted it to be a mermaid. Do you know what mermaids are?"

The boy buried his face in his neck, not saying a word aside from the terror whimpers. Taking that as a yes, Alistair continued his tale while inching forward, "Well, I'd never been in a river before, not even a lake or pond. Baths were pretty iffy at that age too. So..." Bubbles snorted out of his mouth as he drank more of the water. Whipping his head back and forth like a dog with a bee in its ear, the cold wrapped around his dying limbs. Its icy ache dug nails up every joint, crushing the nerve and calling for him to give in.

"Without knowing a damn thing about swimming, I leap feet first into the river," Alistair said, not about to give up. He reached a hand forward, but the grip slipped off the frozen, waterlogged rope. This sent his face plummeting into the river, sucking down enough water and fish poop he'd probably grow gills. Beside him the child howled, his own face cresting near the waves. Alistair moved to comfort him as best he could, when something tugged on the rope.

The movement threw him off, almost sending him tumbling backwards. Quickly, Alistair knotted both hands around the rope as the tugging increased. Jerky at first, it grew into a smooth, slow motion tugging him closer to the shoreline. A lantern beat against the darkness, illuminating four or five shadows clustered beside the tree. They were saved!

He felt a laugh growing in his belly that grew legs when his feet hit the sandbar. Standing up, Alistair kept one hand on the rope for balance and used the other to pin the boy to his back. With all the dexterity of a drunkard after last call, Alistair stumbled to the shoreline. Hands plucked the boy off his back, kisses being peppered across the kid's filthy face, as Alistair tumbled to the muddy ground. That finally knocked the laugh free, a jolly one echoing from him to the others gathered around, the ones that grabbed onto the rope and pulled them both to safety.

Lifting his head, he caught the smiling but also worried face of Reiss. She extended a hand to him, but he groaned, uncertain if his muscles would cooperate. Instead of tugging him upward, she cupped his shoulder and leaned closer, "What did I tell you about not dying?"

"It's all good," Alistair glanced over his shoulder to watch the boy hoisted up in his ecstatic and teary father's arms. A few other aunts and uncles or however the dalish did it flocked around, trying to inspect him for damage. "It was worth it."

Turning back around, he watched a tender moment rise through her pretty face, Reiss following the happy family reunion. Aware that squatting in the rain wasn't going to do much for his health, Alistair staggered to his feet. She was quick to snap away from the elves to help heave him up. Even with the audience, Alistair let his hand slip behind her back to guide himself upward and whispered, "Besides, I had you to rescue me."

"Sire," Niala shouted, rushing towards the man exhausted and beaten but also triumphant beyond measure. "What you have done for us is..."

"Forget it, gah," Alistair reached between his vest and found a stick jammed against his skin, "Please tell me you got the dam fixed."

"Yes, thankfully. It should hold until the rains stop and we can properly reenforce it. This could have been a greater tragedy if you weren't here," the First was a mess, a few blood vessels having popped against her cheeks leaving them looking like speckled red paint. But she wore a smile too, aware of how close it all came.

"That's how alliances work, or so I'm told," Alistair groaned, taking stock of how many new bruises he was going to find in the morning.

"Are you hurt?" Reiss slid closer under his arm. He hadn't thought to move it off her, at first grateful for the balance and now for her warmth. Both of them looked like drowned rats, but a heat radiated off her that drew Alistair to want to wrap both his arms around her tiny body and never let go.

"I've been better," he answered truthfully, "been worse too, come to think of it."

"Come, we should get you inside and dried off before you catch your death," Niala interrupted. She didn't cast a curious glance at the king and bodyguard clinging together, only gestured to the house they all ran out of what felt five hours ago.

"Don't be silly, takes more than a little swim to kill me. I never get sick," Alistair grinned. Accepting his fate, he released his hold on Reiss and began to follow after the First and her exhausted clan. Out of the darkness, a pair of hands wrapped around his leg, sticking him in place.

"Iohn!" a voice chastised, "let the King alone!"

But Alistair was so used to a child suddenly latching onto him, he didn't even blink as he turned to face the boy. "Was there something you wanted?" he asked.

Iohn rubbed his face into Alistair's knee before glancing up and beaming a pair of golden eyes upon him, "What happened to you in the river, with the mermaid?"

"Oh that, I..." Alistair knotted up his soaking wet hair, wringing it out against the kid on accident. "It was a story I told to keep him, occupy the kid from, you know. Uh..." Bending down, Alistair tugged the boy closer to whisper in his ear. "Just between you and me, I leaped into the river, with my legs tucked up, and quickly learned it was only a foot deep. But I did learn to swim after that."

Laughing quickly at the story, the boy released his hold on Alistair's leg to quickly wrap once around his neck and hug him tight. Before he thought to return it, Iohn dashed off to join his kin but a warmth spread up through Alistair's heart as well as an ache. He missed his children terribly. "Right," Alistair staggered up and smiled first at Reiss and then Niala, "what I need is a change of clothes, a big blanket, and all the alcohol you can warm up tonight."

## CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

#### Never-Sick

It began as a sniffle two days travel outside of Denerim. The king shook it off as the chill of the south trailing him until waking one morning on the cold ground to a cough that wouldn't cease. While Alistair kept laughing it away with assurances that he never got sick, the Arl and a few other advisors sent to keep tabs on him shared a concerned look. People were quick to fetch the in denial King honeyed elfroot tea, which he drank but with a small glare, as well as more and more blankets when he kept complaining about the cold. It drew greater concern as the sun beat almost as warm as summer's day down upon their weary bones, but he tried to snuggle deeper into a cloak while perched upon his horse.

Reiss tried to voice her thoughts, doubt nibbling in her brain, but Alistair would shake it away before stuffing a kerchief up his nose in an attempt to quell the tide of mucus. When they stood far enough outside of Denerim they could spy the city's gates in the distance, Alistair paused his horse, said "I think you may be right," and plummeted to the ground.

Pandemonium struck, every able hand racing to their fallen King's side. Mercifully, no hooves trampled him, but hands passed over his forehead and mouthes kept insisting that he was burning up with fever. Out of her depth, Reiss stood dumbstruck while Teagen took charge. Emptying out the caravan loaded down with gifts and traveling goods, he set up a small bed for the King to rest in.

"Get this to the castle as fast as possible," he ordered the driver.

"Yes, Sir," the woman nodded and began to scoot over to let him up onto the seat.

"No, I..." those piercing blue eyes caught Reiss as she waited uselessly in the sea of junk. A moan rattled out of the back of the wagon, people at first trying to pile blankets onto the unconscious man before abandoning ship and yanking them all off to douse his enflamed skin in a wet rag.

"Travel with him to the castle," Teagan spoke softly beside her.

Reiss startled from the sight to find her fingers flexing against each other. "My Lord?" she asked.

"I have to send a message to someone, and pray she responds quickly," he glared out through the city waiting in the distance, "You, sit beside the King. Everyone else out!" he lifted a hand to his mouth and shouted. A few servant heads popped out, full of questions, "It needs to be as light as possible."

"There isn't anything I know about medicine," Reiss admitted, a terror lodging in her throat even as she scrambled up the back step and slid in beside him.

"All you have to do is keep him safe," Teagan ordered before raising his voice to a shout, "Get going!"

The wagon jerked below Reiss' feet and she shifted while watching the Arl leap up into his saddle and urge his horse into a full gallop. Both of them streaked past the wagon that was amping up in speed to try and get their king comfortable as fast as possible. Turning to the man that'd braved a frozen river to save an elven child, a pain jabbed behind her eyes from the sight. His skin was ashen, dark circles forming under his eyes while red spots burst upon the cheeks and forehead. Dropping to a knee, Reiss scooped up one of his hands and almost started at how his skin burned against hers.

A moan broke from the king's throat, his eyes screwed up tight as if he couldn't face the pain of being alive. Scurrying forward on her knees, Reiss tenderly brushed her fingers against his forehead. It burned twice as bad as his hand, almost causing her to yank her cold hands back in pain but a soft sigh punctuated the moan as Alistair faded back. "Shh," she whispered, beyond useless. A sword couldn't fight an illness, and all she could do was stop bleeding. Bleating whimpers dribbled out of Alistair's mouth and despair nested in her gut.

"It'll be okay," she lied to him, trying to dab at his sweaty forehead with the wet cloth. How did she know? She was no healer. A dark thought twisted her tongue and Reiss breathed it aloud, "You'll do anything to get out of having to talk about my kissing you." She meant it as a laugh while the ground trembled below the ailing man but the joviality didn't reach her heart. What if they weren't fast enough? What if the king died right here next to her?

"Please go faster!" Reiss screamed in the politest commanding tone she had. Whether the driver heard her or was already planning it, the carriage sped up, skittering around corners. Through the back she watched Denerim's gates come into view and vanish as quickly, shops whipping past, houses, as they began to give way to the proper palace district. By the time the royal carriage careened through the gates, they barely had time to blow any horns as it pulled up to the front door.

She heard the driver screaming that, "The King is ill!" and a dozen heads all rushed from the front of the carriage to reach fingers in, each one attempting to gather up Alistair's limp body. Reiss didn't realize that she wrapped her fingers tight through his until they tried to take him away.

He didn't die, for which she said the prayer to Andraste Atisha taught her. Healers scurried in and out of the royal bedroom, often bearing bottles of various stenches and colors. Towels and bedding were constantly changing, while the King's condition remained obstinately static. His breath rattled in his lungs like he was trying to breathe through soup, and the fever across his body refused to break after two, three, and finally four days. The only constant was the distraught bodyguard standing outside the bedroom door making a vague attempt at checking everyone being ushered in and out, and Arl Teagan.

Whatever his secret mission was, he ran back into the castle and never left the King's side except for once. Reiss assumed he'd taken a leave to get cleaned up, the snowy whiskers on his cheeks prodding out at a rapid pace, but when pressing a servant they claimed the Arl of Redcliffe excused himself to the memorial in the center square. While a strange choice, Reiss shook it off, her own heart struggling to make sense of this pain.

He looked bad, so bad. Even Atisha having to sleep beside the ocean waves in rocky sand while falling to a pox never looked so near death as the King did. Swaddled in the finest garments, his head propped up on a pillow, everyone worked to make him as comfortable as possible but there was nothing to be done about the grey skin, ghastly hacking, or the red pooling at the sides of his eyes and upon his forehead. Sometimes, when he'd been still and no one else was in the room, Reiss would pad over to his bed and hold her fingers near his nose. She held her own breath until she felt his brush against her skin.

The Queen came once before being ushered out by people concerned she might contract whatever did the King in. Worst of all was the princess, she knew her father was in his room, that tons of others were allowed to go and see him, but everyone kept dragging her back. Once, Reiss caught the curious girl trying to sneak in inside a laundry basket. Gave the washerwoman a terrible fright, but all the princess could do was wail about seeing her father while the adults locked her away.

After four days of nothing changing, Cade came into the bedroom to visit with the Arl Teagan.

"No change?" he asked in his meaty voice.

"None yet," Teagan admitted.

"This wouldn't be a problem if his high and mighty hadn't sent our only college trained mage out the door a fortnight ago," Cade groaned. He never let on to any pains, but the crow's feet beside the man's eyes deepened like wagon ruts.

Teagan turned away from the sick bed and in the whisper voice that came to fill Reiss' life said, "There's no point in dwelling on what has occurred. We are better off focusing on what will help."

"Right," Cade shifted on his foot and rocked back and forth, "unless you got one o' the Maker's miracles stashed away in yer hose I don't see anything fixing this." For a brief moment the Commander paused, his eyebrows curling up to wait, as if he truly expected the Arl to have some magical elixir. When Teagan sighed and shook his head, Cade nodded, "What I thought. If you need me," he turned over to his King and sighed, "When you need me, I'll be down in the barracks trying to keep my men from revolting."

"As you say," Teagan didn't bother to give him leave, his focus on Alistair before his eyes would dart to a pulsing red bottle on the shelf.

Cade stepped at the closed bedroom door and whispered at Reiss, "Corporal." She tried to not groan at his insistence that she wasn't a true knight mostly because she feared that Cade was right. "Walk with me," the Commander instructed.

"Very well," she staggered to her exhausted legs and trailed after the man past the flock of servants trying to mix up a dozen potions they kept funneling down the unresponsive King's throat. Cade barely gave them a glance, Reiss trailing behind and fighting to keep awake. She thought she hadn't slept while they traveled, sitting in the dim room listening to what could be the final breath of a man, her every moment was like a waking nightmare. If someone told her this was really the fade, she couldn't muster the energy to seem surprised.

Coming to a stop at the staircase, Cade turned back to her, "Corporal, you were hired for one job, weren't you?"

"Yes, Ser," she muttered, wondering if this wasn't some cruel test she failed by following instructions to leave the King's side.

"Protect the King, keep his ass alive. And yet he's waffling closer to death than anything the assassins ever managed."

Through the fog blanketing her mind, a sharp anger pierced Reiss to the core. "Commander?" she sneered, "are you implying that I could have protected him from an illness?" Or that she wouldn't try if it were at all possible.

Cade rubbed a fist under his jaw in thought, "Seems to me, the King got it in his pointy head to go wading through some filthy knife-ear river. It's no wonder he's got every damn disease known to man swimming in his body after that."

"That..." Reiss wanted to defend the Dalish from this boorish man who'd never even seen them, seen what they accomplished, but he wasn't finished.

Taking advantage of his inches on her, Cade loomed down at the elf -- a woman quickly realizing how tiny she was to the massive meat muscle crammed into armor that was the Commander. "If he dies, people will be wanting someone to pin the blame on. They'll be distraught, panicking, braying for blood and so on." He grabbed tight to her shoulder, pinning her in place as a bitter breath washed over her face, "And I'm half a mind to give them what they want."

"You cannot prove anything..." she began before the man continued talking over her.

"There's nothing to prove, arguments and theories don't mean shit against the simple fact you're the royal bodyguard and if the King dies on your watch," Cade released his grip on her, pain searing in the wake of his hand, and he drew a finger across his throat. Reiss tried to not gulp at the obvious threat, but she felt her eyes watering as a voice screamed in her soul. You knew, you blighted well knew this was going to happen!

Chuckling, Cade turned away from her to return down the stairs. A pack of servants dashed out of the King's room, carting a basket down the stairs for the launders. While the Commander was his attempt at a smile for them, he shifted over to let both past. Over his shoulder in a friendly voice he said to Reiss, "Welcome to the big leagues, newbie."

Drawing the N out long enough, she knew what he really meant to say. Having finished what he wanted, the Commander huffed down the stairs, his imposing form fading into the darkness of the case while Reiss tried to not scream and beat her impotent fists against the wall. What was she supposed to do? Stop the King from risking his life. Then what? Either the dam wouldn't have been put in place and the entire village could have been lost or the child might have died. Both scenarios happened to be something a knob of royal shemlan wouldn't give a shit about.

You've really done it now, rat. And she'd had such hopes to...

Shuffling on her feet, she felt her heavy head about to snap at the neck while returning to the King's bedside. No, Reiss pinched into her nose. It wasn't just a King struggling to survive, but a man, a silly-sweet man that dusted himself with flour and kissed with an honesty she didn't think possible. If he died, the crown would crush her beneath it. And maybe, she'd feel wretched enough Reiss would let them.

Barely aware of the Arl standing in the room staring out the window, Reiss ran her fingers down the sheets tucked up to Alistair's chin. Rifling below them, she plucked up his hand and bent close to his ear. "You promised me you weren't going to die. Remember? Please...please don't. For," for so many reasons beyond her, beyond her neck stretching across a stump, beyond her heart turning to ash in her chest. He was a hope for people that thought there was nothing left and she'd finally begun to see that.

Curling the back of her fingers along the curve of his fevered cheek she whispered, "Please come back."

***

Jaws snapped against the air, not the fanged kind attached to wolves or demons. No, these jaws were attached to something grey, fluffy, and twenty feet tall. Alistair felt his legs slowing to treacle as he turned back to face down the massive squirrel army descending upon him. Rather than scurry on four legs, then all waddled back and forth on the back two, a loaf of bread clutched in their tiny arms - which they waved back and forth like a bludgeon.

"What in the Maker's sake is going on?" he gasped, trying to clear the sweat from his forehead. All that did was smear blueberry jelly across his skin, which began to bubble over in the insipid heat of this place causing him to smell like a pie.

A blur of green burst out of a swamp behind him, and an easily ten foot tall frog hopped before Alistair. "Do not concern yourself with them, your Majesty. I shall handle these scallywags!" His voice rumbled in the bulging air sac of his throat, until the talking frog finished the sentence with a massive ribbit. "Excuse me," he apologized before turning around, unsheathing his sword and waving it manically at the encroaching squirrels. "For liberty and the breakfast queen!" he shouted before hopping into the fray.

"Okay then, I've gone fully mad. Good to know," Alistair stumbled backwards until his shoe plummeted into a river. It'd been calm before, a cottony pink, but as he watched the water lifted up high into the air as if someone snatched it up and then dropped it. Rapids rushed fast, threatening to drag him down the banks and into Maker only knew where. He began to slide back from the threat, when he heard the pitiful death knell of a talking frog being beset upon by squirrels. Through the tufts of fluffy tails and gnashing white teeth all Alistair could see was a gentle wave of the silver sword before it too collapsed under the rodent weight.

Without the frog to fight them off, all the squirrels turned to their last prey, red lights flashing in their eyes. He had no choice. Whipping around Alistair ran full bore into the river and leaped into a cannonball. The water didn't splash but oozed like melted cheese and as he felt himself suckering down into it the smell hit him -- exactly like that fondue Cherie insisted they all had to try. Heat burst along Alistair's body, the cheese trying to burn his exposed skin as he trudged through it to the other side. Behind him, the squirrel army paused, either afraid of cheese, or waiting for the human to roast himself alive for them.

Hot! So very hot! Sweat gushed off his forehead, down his back, and out of more unmentionable areas. Midway through the cheese, the bottom suddenly dropped off. Alistair felt himself falling downward when a rope launched from the far shore and circled around his midsection. Glancing up he caught his savior, blonde hair knotted back into a bun, a stern set to that broken nose.

"Reiss!" he shouted, trying to jump up and down in the cheese. "Reiss!" The heat suffocated his throat, flattening it into the cheese and strangling his words. He tried to cough it out, hoping the woman would tug faster before his innards were broiled alive. "Reiss," the world began to melt like paint in the rain. Darkness raced to fill in the gaps, dabbing away the bright yellow sky and furry trees until only a crushing and impenetrable depth remained.

"Gah," Alistair stuttered, his hand lifting up off a bed. In a rush his brain told him that he'd been dreaming which should have been obvious seeing as how squirrel armies are not a thing. Yet. His skin burned as if the cheese really did touch it, and it felt like the frog leaped down his throat and squatted there for protection.

Slowly, he lifted up an eyelid, fairly certain he'd find a ceiling above him and not the thrashing jaws of a squirrel. But a shadow lurked directly before him -- black as the hand of death come to render his soul from his body. In terror, his body tried to swallow but that enflamed the already ransacked throat. Screwing up both eyes, Alistair risked facing this impenetrable demon head on. As he opened his eyes fully, light landed upon a curl down the back, a curve of her soft cheek, and that scar bisecting down it nearly faded to nothing.

"Lanny?" Alistair gasped, blinking against what had to be another illusion about to vanish into smoke.

But she leaned closer, her deep eyes searching up and down his face as that smile -- the one he'd never forget no matter how hard he hit his head -- filled her cheeks. "I'm guessing that fever didn't damage your memory too bad," she said. There were a few quills jammed in her hair, just like how she'd wear it when they were on a down time from saving the world.

"How are you...where am...?" Alistair turned away from the surprise woman to take in the very familiar bed posts, paintings on the wall, and collection of dolls upon a high shelf. He was in his bedroom, safe, with Lanny. "What's going on?" he rasped out before gagging upon the pain.

Barely slitting open the veil, Lanny waved her fingers causing a blue glow to sparkle off them. The cooling sensation was instantaneous, as if someone dumped a pound of peppermint down his throat. "Thank you," Alistair gasped.

Lanny smiled sweetly at him and nodded. She slid closer to his prostrated form upon what had to be his bed. Alistair tried to sit up to greet her, but she laid the back of her fingers against his forehead. It wasn't a tender move, but he felt the pain in his body lessen at the minor physical contact.

"Hm, fever's still present but it's gone down," Lanny said to herself. Taking her hand off, she suddenly bent down and placed her head against his chest.

"Ah," Alistair stuttered, feeling an urge to cup her pile of spirals spilling off him and down the bed, but his hands lay exhausted against the sheets.

"Damn," she sighed at herself and began to undo the first two buttons on his pajamas. That had to amp up Alistair's fever tenfold, the beautiful woman tugging apart his clothing to lay her cheek against his skin. Maybe this was still a dream.

"Can you take in a deep breath for me?" Lanny ordered.

"Maybe," Alistair struggled, trying to keep his voice normal while staring up at the ceiling. He remembered that vision of Lanny's head nestled tight to his chest and what was usually entangled with it. That was not the reaction his body needed right now. Sucking in air, he puffed up his cheeks and slowly let it out.

"Okay," Lanny sat up and inched away from the bed. "There's some obvious congestion in your lungs but nowhere near as bad as before. Maker, you do not want to know how much fluid I got out of your lungs."

"Probably not," Alistair blinked, trying to piece together what the hell happened to cause Lanny to appear in his bedroom. Was it a gift from the Satinalia trickster and also over six months early?

"Heart rate's a bit erratic," she continued to list off his symptoms with a detached tone before turning back to him and smiling, "but I think I can guess why."

"Ah ha," Alistair knew he was blushing now, his skin burning bright against the white sheets, "yeah, that uh, I'm sorry. Why are you here?"

After jotting a few things down on a scroll she pinned to the wall -- Maker, somethings never changed -- she shuffled back to him by the bed. "A few more questions first to see if you broiled your brains or not. What's your name?"

"Mister Tibbles!" Alistair exclaimed, the name landing on his tongue from the ether. He focused on Lanny who looked gobsmacked, her lips hanging wide open. "The frog trying to defend me in my dream, it was Mister Tibbles -- Spud's favorite toy. He looked good in that army uniform."

"Okay," Lanny's eyes kept glancing over to piles of half empty bottles along a side table. He didn't remember the table being there, and certainly not the glass paraphernalia. "Try this again, what's your name, not the frog's."

"The Reluctant King Alistair the First, Maker willing."

That drew a smile, "And what year is it."

"9:47 Dragon, which is proving to be one of the shittiest ages on record."

Lanny tipped her head in agreement but didn't respond. "Well, you remember me, your own name, your daughter, and her toy, I doubt there was any significant memory loss."

Alistair willed his hand to lift up off the bed, pain seared through the joints and he gritted his teeth but damn it he was going to try. He felt Lanny watching the move, her fingers poised to wipe away the pain with the magic, but she waited until he asked. "If that's all done, can you tell me why you're here?"

"Sorry," she blushed, a hint of that stammering mage he met nearly seventeen years ago popping up. Grabbing onto her cane propped by the desk, Lanny got it under her as she limped out of his bedroom door. Alistair tried to sit up to watch but his body was of no mood to obey. Through the silent castle, he heard Lanny's beautiful voice say, "He's awake."

That set off a lightning storm inside the castle, one that struck a hive of hornets as a thousand voices suddenly erupted into chattering and feet slapping up and down the stones. Maker's sake, what was going on? Alistair redoubled his efforts to sit up, when Lanny returned. She'd tugged a hood over her head, rendering most of her striking features down to shadow while sliding to the side. Beside her dashed Teagan. There was a nervous tic to his jaw, but it lightened immeasurably as his eyes fell upon Alistair sitting up in bed and blinking.

"Sire!" he cried, all but falling to his knees in reverence.

"I get the feeling I missed a lot," Alistair said.

"No, wait, stop," a voice hissed out of the darkness of his other rooms. It had no chance to stop the blue blur flying under Teagan's legs and hopping up onto the bed.

Alistair groaned as thirty pounds of child smashed into his tender chest, but the pain faded away as he managed to wrap an arm around Spud. "Daddy, daddy, daddy," she repeated, clinging tight and burying her face in his bedshirt.

"I'm here, Tater tot," he whispered, tears springing to his eyes from the unfettered relief wafting off his daughter. The others kept it in check for his sake, but Spud was too young to have that trained into her. Her "Daddy's" continued, each one stampeding into the next as if she didn't need a breath.

"And so are you," he smiled, the tug of his daughter's body renewing the purpose in his own.

"Sire, I'm so sorry," Marn appeared, her eyes wide as she gazed down at him.

Dread filled Alistair's lungs. If Marn was apologizing to him, how blighted near death was he?

"Come along, child. Your father needs rest," Marn tried to tug Spud out of his hands but neither the girl nor father wanted to give up. It grew into a bit of a tug of war, the reunion wishing to last while Marn had her duty to perform for the sake of appearances and what not.

It wasn't until Lanny spoke up from her corner, "It would be best to keep any compromised children away for fear of passing the fever on."

Her voice drew the attention of Marn who glanced back at the tiny mage doing her best to blend in with the wall. No one was supposed to know of her existence, she was risking so much by setting foot in Denerim never mind the palace. Accepting that she was right, Alistair let his hands fall off Spud. She raised her head, and tears streaked down those rosy cheeks. "Daddy?"

"I'll be here, I promise, but Daddy needs rest so he can get better and we can play together. Okay?"

"I don't..." she tried to argue, but Marn scooped up her hand and pulled the girl away from him. A chill knocked against his body where his daughter held him and Alistair tried to not shiver.

"I'll see you again soon, Spuddy. And, there should be some toys for you in the gear and stuff we brought back." That last bit brightened her eyes instantly, the girl craning her head back to stare the bottomless question at Marn.

"Yes, fine, we'll go and find some. Thank you ever so much, your Majesty," the nanny bowed deep in sarcasm which made Alistair feel much better. Everything was back to normal.

His eyes darted to the dark woman shuffling over the bottles and inspecting her papers.

Almost normal.

"Sire," Teagan stepped forward before his eyes trailed out the door. Alistair tried to lean forward to follow and he caught the right side of his bodyguard doing her best to be present without interfering. He raised his hand and tried to give a small wave to her. It must have been enough as a whisper of a smile lifted up her pretty lips.

"How are you healing?" Teagan interrupted, doing his best to not watch the small display between King and Guardswoman, though Alistair caught Lanny's curious eyes inspecting it.

"Feels like my body was crushed by a broodmother hug," Alistair groaned.

"I, uh," Teagan glanced back at the other grey warden in the room and she rolled her eyes, "take it that's a bad thing."

Lanny limped towards Teagan and spoke up for Alistair, "His fever remains but the dangerous heat has broken. There's some residual mucus in the lungs and there will be pain in the joints for most likely a few more days but..." she smiled brightly at him, "I think the worst has passed."

"He will live," Teagan sighed in relief.

"Yes, assuming you do exactly as I say," Lanny tacked on, glaring down at her most obstinate patient.

"I always do, you know that," Alistair tossed out. He was good at following her orders on the battlefield, a bit less so when it came to matters of poultices and when to change bandages. It got so bad in the woods, she left him to Wynne for a good month. Aware of his stubbornness when it came to medicating himself, Lanny crossed her arms and glared.

"Well, I should let our healer here continue to mend you to health. Your Highness," Teagan bowed.

"Did, uh," Alistair interrupted, "did anyone else get sick?" His eyes darted out the door to the woman listening in, hoping she was safe from this.

"Only you, Sire."

"Thank the Maker for small miracles," Alistair said back. He wanted to speak to Reiss, to make certain that nothing bad befallen her but with Teagan and...Andraste's fiery underpants, how was Lanny here?

Good to his word, Teagan swept up out the door but not before grabbing Lanny's hand and shaking it warmly. After the doors closed and she waited a beat for the feet to die away, Lanny tugged off her hood and tried to reanimate her smooshed curls. When she was satisfied with the bounce, Lanny smiled down at him, "How are you really feeling?"

"Like five broodmothers sat on me," Alistair confessed.

"I'd assumed as such," she sighed and crossed the floor to him. "May I?" Lanny asked while gesturing to his bed. Alistair nodded and she sat perched upon the edge. With her eyes shut tight, he could see the signs of wear building below her sockets, her normally dewy skin matte.

"No offense, but you look exhausted," Alistair said, focusing on her cracked lips.

The coca butter beauties split into a smile and she turned back at him, "No offense, but you should see yourself. You look near death."

"Was I? I...how are you here? What happened?"

"Teagan," Lanny said her fingers gripping onto the edge of the bed. "When you collapsed he sent for me with the sending crystal. Which you've got in the memorial?"

"People tended to look at me weird when I'd be talking to thin air. I figured no one would look twice if I started conversing with a dead woman, as confusing as that sounds."

Lanny tipped her head at either his ingenuity or idiocy. It was hard to say. "I'm exhausted because I traveled by horseback for four days across country, then ran up to your room, and spent the next day tending to you. Sleep's barely been an option." She groaned, her overwrought fingers digging into hangdog shoulders. Guilt tried to find purchase in Alistair's gut, but it rumbled in wrath at the hollowness knotting through him. When did he last eat?

"What-" His sentence scattered into coughing, Alistair barely able to get a fist up which splattered with yellow and green mucus.

With a slow eye, Lanny gazed over it, "No blood, that's a good sign."

"There was blood?" Alistair tried to not shriek but his voice lifted high into the rafters. "Maker's sake, are you certain I'm not dead right now?"

Her cool fingers skirted across his forehead, drawing down his faux panic as she smiled, "Fairly certain and I know a thing or two about being dead."

"Is it safe for you to be here, in the palace with so many people watching?" Alistair waved his hands around the room as if the only other pair of eyes weren't in her beautiful face. "How'd you even manage to sneak in here?"

"Teagan. Though I am aware of a few ways to get past the guards there wasn't much time to waste by gathering up ten lost seals," Lanny said. She let her hand fall off her shoulders and stared at both resting in her lap. The woman looked as if she wanted to stretch out beside him in the bed and take a nap. Scrunching up his nose, Alistair tried to shake that idea away even if it sounded nice and soothing. There was less a down and dirty appeal to cuddling beside her, more being near another's body that was happy to put up with him.

Unaware of his thoughts, Lanny staggered to her feet, causing the bed to lift as she picked up her cane. Must be a new one, again. This was even less subtle than the last one, oak for a base with silver runes carved into the wood, but what made it stand out as an obvious mage's staff was the blue crystal radiating energy at the top. Maybe the little mage was getting tired of hiding. Her fingers ran across the bottles piled upon the table and she groaned, "I found nearly every tincture and tonic known to man brewed up and left here."

"What was wrong with me?" Alistair asked, getting a slow eyeful from the woman who knew him best, "I mean what was I ill with, listing everything I screw up on will take us ages."

She looked about to pounce on the opportunity but sagged, "You're right. I learned little from Teagan, but it was enough to formalize a few theories -- when I wasn't driving horses to near death to get across Ferelden. It was easily the fastest I've ever traveled from the Hinterlands to Denerim."

"What about before the battle?" Alistair shifted, his mind traveling back all those years to both of them so young and even more terrified that the fate of the world was resting upon their knife blade.

"Aye, because there wasn't an army behind me. Anyway," Lanny waved away his reminiscing, "it wasn't until I saw you nearly comatose that I knew it was Rock Bite Fever."

"Do I want to know why they call it rock bite fever?"

She scrunched up her flat nose and shook her tuft of curls, "No, you do not. Your pedestrian alchemists managed to keep the symptoms at bay, as well as alter your humors on the hour and..." lifting up a small bottle overflowing with a pink potion she snickered, "keep you from falling pregnant."

"Thank the Maker," Alistair wiped at his sweaty forehead, "that's a load off my mind to never have to worry about losing my figure."

"I was rather surprised to find no mage healer present at your bedside..." Lanny began, that coy look skirting over his face. Grumbling, Alistair turned away, his eyes tracing the ceiling as he waited for the insinuations everyone had, but nothing came. Instead, she turned his desk chair to face the bed and flopped down into it, "And that's the whole story of how I came to be here."

She shifted her legs out from under her traveling robes, the garment more patches than original cloth at this point. While the woman was eternally etched into Alistair's mind, to most other people her attire would cause eyes to pass over here. Even still... "Is it safe for you to be here."

"Teagan's been running interference, warning me when anyone from the past is nearing so I can," she lifted up her hood and pretended to shroud herself. "And in general, no one asked many questions of the small woman appearing to rescue their King's health. Seems they went through damn near every alchemist in Denerim. Do you not have any other mages in attendance?"

"There's one," Alistair struggled to sit up, wanting to give Lanny his full attention, "no skill at healing, sells enchantments."

"Enchantment?" she smiled, her white teeth glistening below those dark rich lips.

"Enchantment!" he cried back before doubling over in pain clawing across his throat, "Oh, yep, not back to health, not by a long shot."

Once again a sip of that healing magic that so easily trailed her slipped through the fade and into Alistair's ailing body. He'd had mages over the years cast all manner of spells at him, some useful, most harmful -- depending on who he pissed off that day, sometimes both, but Lanny's always bore something special. It felt as if a butterfly glanced upon the back of his hand and the scent of meadow flowers wafted on the breeze whenever she healed him.

"Thanks," he gasped, talking over the pain.

"It's what I'm here for," she smiled, crossing her legs and revealing a pair of thick, wooly trousers below the muddy blue robes.

Alone together in his bedroom, Alistair in little more than an unbuttoned shirt and he hoped trousers -- at least knickers anyway -- with the always beautiful Lanny Amell, and she was smiling at him. A dread plopped into his stomach and his eyes darted to the door. "So, where's your lesser half? Off stomping around in the barracks giving orders to soldiers or perhaps he found a few mages to hassle?"

Lanny groaned, her head tipping back to stare at the ceiling. "He's back at home."

"Oh?" Alistair sat up higher at that bit of good news. His chances of being pummeled simply for breathing decreased dramatically.

"Things were busy at the refuge, more than busy," she scrubbed her face, the retired woman unable to let go of helping people. Suddenly, she pulled them off and a warm, ecstatic smile took hold, "Did you know I've helped to deliver five babies this year?"

"I didn't realize templars were so fertile," Alistair shifted, uncertain why this was exciting for her.

"They're not templars, not all of them. The locals are looking to us, turning to the abbey as a place of succor and healing. It's nice...refreshing to be wanted to help with good instead of--"

"Solving all your problems with a sword," Alistair interrupted, understanding why this tickled Lanny. She'd left her command and arling, so much power at her disposal, all to try and help heal a few forgettable villagers out in the woods. It was so damn adorable, thinking of it made Alistair smile in jealousy. He wished he could abandon all his duties and join her in it, but then he'd be back to risking having his teeth knocked in.

"There wasn't time for us to find someone to take over lead of the abbey in our absence, so I left my husband behind," there was an imperceptible emphasis on the husband part as if she had to remind him.

"And he let you go, just like that? Not even insisting you take the dog?" While Alistair and the templar got on about as well as poison ivy and bare shins, they shared a few things in common. Blonde hair and brown eyes not withstanding perhaps the greatest was a constant worry about Lanny doing something to get herself killed. Maker's sake, she already did that once and it took the pair of them teaming up together and breaking the fade to get her back.

"Honor's getting on in years, I don't know if she'd have kept up with the pace, and I'd rather she stay back and guard him," her fingers tugged at a chain around her neck until they could grace against the coin she always wore. Well, always since saying a bunch of silly words in front of a chantry sister.

"Was this a quick pop in and make sure the King doesn't die or will you be, you know -- just for curiosity's sake -- be staying a bit longer? We might have some cake left over from a fancy party." He tried to play it off as light but the dread in his stomach warped his airy words to something dire. Alistair didn't want to her to leave. She was his carrots, a comforting hand that he didn't realize he needed until it was gone. Which pretty much summed up their entire relationship in a nutshell.

Lanny placed her weary head in her hands and sighed, "I'll remain for a few days more, to make certain you're on the path of health but I can't stay any longer. I'm needed back at home."

"By all the sick templars," Alistair sighed, accepting that in her life he wasn't the most pressing issue.

Scratching her cheek she smiled, "Them too. You should get some rest. I should as well, come to think of it."

Yawing, Alistair moved to stretch his arms, when he thought of something, "Where are you sleeping?"

"Teagan was going to work some magic to get a cot brought up here. That room you filled with training dummies isn't the worst place to sleep. I can pretend we're camping in the dwarven fighting arena all over again."

"No fancy suite for the woman who saved the King's life?" Alistair snickered even as he leaned back onto the pillows. She was right, as usual, exhaustion tried to wrap its cloying grip around him and drag him into a warm slumber.

"I'd rather not risk traveling too far from you, in case someone recognizes me," Lanny whispered, and he heard that familiar trill of dread warping her vowels as that normally dormant Free Marcher accent flared awake.

She'd risked a lot to come to his side, bandits on the road, weather, lack of sleep, and the potential for people realizing the Hero of Ferelden wasn't really dead and ruining her perfect life. Guilt erupted in Alistair's brain at that thought and he blinked against a burning in his eyes. "Lanny," he began. She stirred from her seat and hobbled nearer to him upon the bed, "thank you for saving my life, healing me, being here." He didn't deserve that, barely deserved her friendship, and whatever love they once had was beyond redemption.

Her fingers playfully smoothed up his matted, bed mashed hair, and she smiled, "I always come for you, Ali." That drew a slow blink from Alistair and the beginnings of a smirk. In an instant the cozy image of Lanny shattered and the icy frost mage below burst free, "Don't you dare say it."

"What?" he tried to play the innocent, parting his limp hands in a perfect who me? "It's nice to hear that from you is all. Though I don't remember your coming being a constant before."

"Maker's breath," she groaned, scrunching up her face as if she bit into a lemon, "I'm glad he stayed behind because I refuse to set broken bones. Get some blighted rest before I grab that pillow and smother you myself."

Chuckling at her banter that was quick to slip to a smile even as the exasperated and exhausted woman returned to her chair, Alistair leaned back on his pillow and let sleep carry him off to Mr. Tibbles and the great squirrel war.

## CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

#### Healing

Bright green wings flapped across the sky, a butterfly darting down to a flower before being abruptly attacked by a three year old dead certain she was some kind of sea monster. Alistair couldn't get which one out of her, Spud far too excited to form proper words, but it must be a terrifying creature as she kept lashing her hands together to make a tail and cackling.

"Should it bother me how good she is at that?" he asked, while trying to shuffle more of his weight off the woman holding him up.

Lanny didn't even blink at Spud's over exuberance at being mustache twirling evil. "Better to get it out now and not let it fester," she chuckled. Their shared arm gripped tight to her cane as Lanny hobbled around the garden seeming to be requiring the King's assistance. In truth, he was the one relying upon her to keep upright. They hadn't gone far, only skirted around some of the fancier flowerbeds and stopped on the path to watch the sea monster eyeing up a fresh dirt patch.

Every few feet, someone with enough fancy titles to their names to sink a ship would wander past, tip a hat -- or a pretend one if none was available -- to the King, then scurry on back for the next contestant. At first Alistair humored it, but after the tenth or twelfth "Just checking to see if you're really alive" he was growing more agitated.

"Maker take Eamon and his constant politicking. I can barely get out of bed and already I'm supposed to wave politely and make small talk."

"Actually," Lanny started up again, dragging him with her. While his body groaned and popped with each movement, the sun beating down upon his aching bones was Maker sent. "It was my idea."

"Yours?" Alistair stuttered. She'd been a constant throughout the past few days, a fact that made his knowing she'd be gone soon ache even more. While Alistair dozed in bed, or attempted to read something at first important and then frivolous, he'd glance over to find Lanny sitting primly at the desk, elbow bent, and scratching away at vellum with a quill.

Turning under him, she smiled politely, "Don't act so shocked I can play the game. I was Arlessa of Amaranthine for nearly ten years. It was like walking in a pit of vipers and having to shake their tails every morning. Whenever word would reach the Banns that I'd been in the deep, flocks would show up at the Vigil. Throwing on a false smile and leaping out of bed regardless of injury I'd parade before them to prove that the Arling was safe. Maker do I not miss those days."

She groaned under her breath at the memory, pinching into her nose as if the very idea drew forth a headache. "Also, I needed to get out of your bedroom and feel the sun on my skin again before I snapped."

"Ha, now that I can agree with," Alistair chuckled. Even he began to grow restless trapped under silk sheets and wishing to be anywhere else. On occasion he tried to talk Reiss into bringing him a bow so he could practice aiming. That got an eyebrow arch from Lanny and a 'I don't think that's wise, Ser' from Reiss. Glancing over the once hedge maze that began more as a hedge labyrinth and then, after Alistair got drunkly lost in it, a waist high spattering of shrubbery, he spotted Reiss. She stood awkwardly beside one of the tasteful statues of a man carrying around water. Her eyes would wander over to him for a brief beat before canvasing the rest of the nobility.

A burning sensation flicked at the back of his ear and he knew it was his brain reminding him that they hadn't talked about rolling around on the ground and trading tongues yet. After this much time would it even be possible? He feared he might die of awkwardness if he tried.

"Auntie!" Spud suddenly flipped on her muddied knees and bum rushed straight to Lanny.

"Ah, yes," she took the muck like a champion, but Spud's enthusiasm almost sent her and Alistair toppling over.

"Spudkins, you have to be gentle with your auntie, remember?"

She nodded her head vigorously before latching both arms around Lanny's battled legs and hugging tight. Instead of flinching, Lanny tried to hug back and began to pick at a stand of leaves stuck in his daughter's eternally filthy hair. Alistair released his grip, taking all his weight back onto joints that as the healer predicted, burned like someone dropped hot coals against each one.

"Maker's fiery crotch," he groaned to himself, when bright and always curious emerald eyes danced over to her father. Ah shit, he was in for it now.

"Do you need help?" Lanny whispered to him, sliding closer and gripped a hand around his back.

"No, I've got it. Gonna have to figure out walking on my own soon enough. And you," he turned back to the woman who could barely hobble up a flight of stairs, "how are you able to keep going and prop me up?"

Those deep brown eyes stared into his when a flare of blue washed across them. Chuckling at his reaction, Lanny whispered, "You never were a good templar."

"You can say that again," he sighed. "Spud, you play with your auntie. Daddy's got to sit."

That drew her attention away from her favoritest aunt and she turned her world renowned pout upon him. Unable to bend to meet her, Alistair tugged out a leaf and in a loud whisper told her, "Lanny can do the sparkles." Spud's eyes lit up and she turned her gaping maw back to the mage that was trying to not scowl at the girl's enthusiasm. "Big ones too, big enough to light up the sky and change the world."

"Auntie, auntie," Spud tugged on Lanny's sleeves, begging to see the sparkles while Alistair shrugged and moved towards the bench. In sight of all the gentry coming to make certain the line was still secure, he tipped his head back to face the sweet sun and groaned. A rawness remained in his throat, often following a long hacking session as he tried to free up more of that fluid Lanny kept on about. But what really got him was when all that mucus moved up to squat on his brain, lightening up his nose until it felt like it was going to float away while his mind languished in headache hell.

At the moment all he felt was a slight constricting in his ribs, and a flaring pain against his butt cheeks from the stone bench flattening them. It could have been far worse. "Are you all right, Ser?" a voice broke barely over the bird song flitting through the garden.

He cracked an eye, getting a beam of sunlight and had to hold a hand over his forehead to watch Reiss standing hesitantly behind the bench. Shuffling to sit up properly, Alistair smiled at her and weakly patted the seat beside him. "Please, join me," it wasn't anything romantic by any means, not that he had much at his disposal at the moment, but the beautiful lady's lips lifted and she stepped around the bench to sit beside him.

Saying nothing, Reiss' hands gripped onto her thighs, the fingernails trying to dig into the leather section between all the metal bits. While a tiny part of his brain knew he shouldn't, Alistair couldn't stop staring at her. The hardness, the sharp edges, the armor filling out and reenforcing her form didn't detract from whatever kept tacking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Not below or hidden but mixed into the gruff and ready to leap off a roof parts was the softest smile. It'd begin slowly each time, her vibrant eyes glancing around to make certain it was all right, before blossoming into a full flower by the proper light. Alistair found himself wanting to figure out every trigger that could get it to go, even if it meant making a colossal fool out of himself just to catch a glimpse of that rare sight.

"Sire." Her voice snapped him out of his hazy daydream and Alistair blinked like mad, trying to focus on her with a Kingly gaze and not the lust addled man trapped inside. Reiss released the death grip on her thighs to worry her fingers together in thought. "I should apologize."

"For what now?"

Those bright green eyes landed upon him and he had to bite down an urge to cup her cheek. She looked about to break, whether into tears or screams he couldn't tell. All he wanted was to try and provide a modicum of comfort and pray she wasn't mad at him for screwing something up. "Your illness," she explained, swallowing deep and letting her sight travel across the garden, "I should have stopped you from racing to the rescue."

"And if you had, the dam would have burst and I'd probably be dead anyway. Maybe. I forget how dams work exactly." He'd hoped that would draw a chuckle from her, but she glared down at her knotted fingers and whispered to them.

"You don't know that."

Forgetting decorum and anything else that would get tongues flapping, Alistair reached over and scooped her hand into his. She had the thinnest fingers he'd ever seen, tinier even than Lanny's, with a small callus knotted upon each pad. Absently, he ran his thumb over them all while saying, "It's not as if you could know that I'd get sick or that every alchemist in the castle is a blighted moron apparently." That was courtesy of Lanny cursing up a storm as she went over their masses of bottles and getting very jabby with some of her vellum. She was a woman with very certain opinions on things that one didn't cross and survive. That was a fact he didn't miss so much about her. Good luck to the templar with that one.

Reiss closed her eyes and breathed deep. Slowly she rotated her fingers in his. Alistair expected her to yank her hand away, but instead hers threaded with his and locked into place. "It's my job to protect you from harm."

"Assassins, your job is to protect me from assassins. Water's not an assassin, I hope. Let's not give any blood mages ideas. And whatever bad vapors I inhaled or drank that liquified my insides wasn't an assassin either." This felt foolish, as far as he knew she'd done all she could to save him. He was the one to charge head first into a black and frozen river without any plan beyond 'try not to drown. It'd be bad.'

"You don't have to keep apologizing to me for you not knowing and planning for every eventuality fate throws at us. It's not like you're the Maker," he chortled before the idea struck hold and his voice dropped, "You're not the Maker, are you?"

"No," Reiss laughed once, her lips lifting in a guarded smile. "I..." her striking eyes rose to his and she said, "I will try to keep it in mind." The thought roared back into his brain from its cage.

Kiss her.

It'd been there skulking in the shadows for what felt like weeks now, but every time he wanted to press his advantage the timing was beyond awkward. Here, in a garden, with dozens of people doing their best to politely listen in was probably slightly better than making out in the throne room during a landsmeet. Still, the voice persisted. Kiss her. Run your fingers through her golden hair. Bump noses and giggle at it. Cup her long ears while mashing your foreheads together. Be with her.

"I should be the one saying sorry," Alistair spoke, trying to shift away his damn invasive libido. "Standing around all day watching me sleep has to be the height of boredom for a guard."

The left side of Reiss' mouth lifted and she shrugged, "It's not the worst, but it can get rather dull."

"Tell me about it, and you're not stuck rooming with a mage that's spouting off alchemical theories about how the correct velocity applied to an acid will create some kind of mucus discharge, blah blah, something with gold."

"Gold?"

"It's always gold in alchemy," he nodded sagely and began to stroke his chin in thought, which drew a snort from Reiss.

"I'm afraid I know little to nothing about potions, or healing, or any of that," she grimaced, her fingers tightening around his. "If I was better taught, trained in how to..."

"I heard you," Alistair whispered. She whipped her head over to him so fast that errant tendril of blonde hair dipped down across her eye. Forgetting where he was and who he was, Alistair drew a finger against her runaway hair and tucked it back. A blush burned up Reiss' cheeks and she mouthed a silent 'thank you' under her breath. "In the cart up to Denerim. Wasn't a hundred percent certain it wasn't a trick of the fade at the time, and there were a lot more pink rabbits hopping around the castle than I remember, but..."

Alistair shifted in his seat and leaned closer to her.

_Kiss her._

Shut up, little head. This is important too. "I was glad you were there with me."

"It..." Reiss' blush amplified tenfold, her forehead and chin breaking out in the adorable fever as she kept retucking her hair back behind her ears, "I didn't know what to, it seemed to at the time, I...I tried."

"And it helped," he whispered, his skin aching to touch hers, to watch her summery eyes slip shut in anticipation as he kissed those pink lips. But Alistair jammed another hook into his errant libido and dragged it back into the cage. Not now. Maybe. Maybe later. If she was up for it. If he was _up_ for it.

He glanced out at the garden and watched Marn approaching Lanny. Cailan was coddled in her arms, the boy getting his own daily dose of sun while the nursemaid kept her good eye on Spud. His daughter, tired of watching sparkles, was back to digging for something in the mud. Somedays he wondered if the Maker didn't get the souls mixed up and Spud got a mabari's by mistake.

"For what it's worth," Reiss whispered, dragging him away from his children, "I haven't forgotten either."

Alistair swallowed hard at that; a literal awe shucks rampaged out of his broiled throat and plopped onto the ground with as much dignity as Oghren anywhere at anytime. He felt the fever return to his exhausted body, lighting up the cheeks in particular as he reached up to fluff his hair and try to not melt into the stone bench. A voice shouted at the edge of the garden, and Alistair whipped back in time to watch Marn clapping her hands at Spud. The princess ignored the order which drew out the wrathful Nanny inside. Barely glancing over, she dumped Cailan into Lanny's arms, scooped Spud up by the middle and began to drag the digging mudball out of the ground.

Spud was in full on tantrum, twisting and screaming that she didn't want something. It was impossible to make out through the tears. Alistair knew he should get up and deal with it, but Marn only shot a quick 'I've got this' look at him before dragging her away from the assembly patrons of the garden to dump her into a no doubt wrathful bath followed by a timeout. Or perhaps vice versa, depending on Marn's mood.

Blinking as if an archdemon just flew overhead, Lanny stood shocked with a baby in her arms. For delivering so many, she didn't seem certain what to do, vaguely rocking back and forth on her hips and holding Cailan as if he was a bag of melons. When her eyes landed on Alistair, she began to limp towards him. Reiss didn't even say anything, only released their grip and staggered to her feet.

"My lady," she said in deference to Lanny before drifting back into the garden. Alistair watched her a moment before a cooing baby was thrust into his face.

"Who's this then?" he cuddled to the for once happy Cailan chewing away on his blanket.

"Are they supposed to do that?" Lanny asked as she collapsed onto a bench beside him.

"I dunno," Alistair admitted, "but if it stops the crying I'll let him do whatever he wants as long as it only maims a few people."

Her uncertainty washed away as the father resumed caring for his child, Alistair happily dangling a finger before Cailan's face and watching those bright blue eyes try to follow it. He always wore a deadly serious face as if trying to dissect the world around him. Spud had it for a few months, but the second she got smiling down, it almost never returned. This one, Alistair suspected, was a lot more like his father -- the other one.

Glancing away from the baby trying to nom his finger off with soggy gums, Alistair watched Lanny. She'd abandoned her hood a few minutes into their garden walk. While no one had walked up to her and demanded "Are you the Hero of Ferelden?" she kept her trademark birthmark hidden behind a high collar just in case. Every time he remembered the Warden Commander daring to step a foot into the Palace she always seemed perturbed, wrinkle lines hoeing across her forehead and a small dance to her step as if she wanted to skitter far away. He used to assume it was him, but even Teagan commented on it once and she'd aways loved that man.

But now, her face was at peace. Haggard from the trials of her life, he spotted even more previously unknown wrinkles digging into her cheeks and by the sides of her eyes. Even after everything she faced including being trapped in the fade, she still looked a good five years younger than him, perhaps more. Either it was her natural gifted looks, those striking cheekbones she did her best to ignore, or the smile that seemed to always flit through her face.

"You're happy," he commented, the thought striking him fast.

"Hm?" Lanny turned away from the garden, her eyebrow lifting as she waited for him to continue.

Alistair shifted in his seat, feeling like his belt was constricting tighter as he confessed, "You know I'm loathe to admit this, but, marriage seems to suit you." A bright smile broke across her lips and Alistair turned away, "Mind you, you would have been better off choosing anyone else as a husband. Perhaps a malifecarum, or a golem."

At that Lanny rolled her eyes and sighed. "Why is it so hard for you two to get on?"

"He did hit me," Alistair offered up limply.

"Yes, and as I understand it, you then hit him."

"Well sure, and then after I..." he paused in the memory to watch Lanny's eyes honing in on him. Quickly retracting his words, Alistair shrewdly eyed her up, "And he never told you the full of it, did he?"

"Damn," she folded up a fist and playfully pounded it into her hand, "I don't know why this is the secret you're both taking to your pyre."

Alistair didn't respond but he had a funny feeling it was because the templar felt embarrassed by it, and he considered it one of the lower points in his life. Not just for rising to the bait, or for letting his fists do the talking, but also because he damn nearly lost and that was just inexcusable. It felt another lifetime ago, before Spud and Cailan, when he was going through the motions of life and drop kicked his heart into a locked chest and refused to crack it open.

He felt Lanny eyeing him up from the side as if she was thinking the same thing. "So, is there a good reason there's no longer an arcane advisor in the castle?"

Alistair felt a growl reverberating in his gut, but for the sake of his ailing throat he tamped it down with the rest of the bile, "I know what you're thinking and it's not because of some lover's spat."

She blinked slowly and crossed her arms, "I wasn't presuming anything."

"Right, fine," he began to rock back and forth in his seat, not for the baby in his arms but because he wanted to run far from the conversation every time it popped up. "Because I don't have damn near every person in the castle glaring at me for ruining their betting pool about when the King would bed the mage."

A coldness wafted across Lanny at that. She turned out to the garden so he couldn't watch her smile snap away. From the corner of her mouth, she said, "That particular quirk of yours isn't one I'm a fan of."

In some teeny tiny cognizant part of Alistair's brain he knew why he tended to pursue women in robes, and that reason was sitting beside him trying to not lapse back into their not-so-dormant arguments. Before, he'd waved it away as familiarity, the heart wanting what it wanted, and also being somewhat scared that his attempts at being physical with a non-mage would somehow crash and burn. It went from trying to recreate the glory years to a debilitating crutch and what finally shattered it all was Lanny's death.

"I don't, I mean," he stuttered wanting to prove that he wasn't some knuckle dragger fresh out of a swamp. "It's not as if I order them special from the circle, and now college. Shit, I asked her where she was during the Blight, figuring maybe we ran into each other during rescuing the tower, you know."

Lanny didn't turn to him but she nodded slowly. "Where were you during the Blight?" was practically a Ferelden ice breaker.

"You know what she told me? She was with her parents as they fled north to Nevarra because the girl was eight years old at the time," he tried to not gasp at the enormity of the thought. It took Lanny a moment before she turned to him with her own surprise.

"Eight, playing in mud while wearing pig tails as we're off saving the world from a bunch of sword waving darkspawn and a pickled looking archdemon. It's..." he shuddered at the concept. Sure, the girl, woman, was an adult and capable of making her own choices but Maker's sake that was weird. "She didn't have much of a concept of the Blight beyond being sad about leaving her friends behind," he groaned.

"Is that why you kicked her out of your court?" Lanny asked.

"No," Alistair shook his head, "I'm petty, but I'm not that bad. She threatened the Queen, joked about how it'd be so much easier if she'd died in childbirth and I...fine, I snapped, and yelled, and maybe drug her across the floor like she was a spoiled child but..." Maker's sake, every time he had to retell it, it sounded worse and worse. It was just a joke, he could see it upon every face when he tried to excuse himself. You've heard worse and pretended to laugh at them. Let it go.

Lanny didn't stampede or race to defend her fellow mage. That part was the least surprising of all, she never seemed to have much love for any of the arcane advisors assigned to Ferelden, for obvious reasons. "Ali," she turned to him and those deep eyes searched through his cowering face, "was this really about Beatrice or is there something else bothering you?"

At first he couldn't respond, so Alistair tucked the baby closer to his face and let the grabby fingers try to yank out his hair. "Get all the grey," he encouraged, his lips skirting near that petal soft forehead as Cailan attempted to obey his father.

"Ali," Lanny sighed, not about to give this up. She knew, by the void, she was the one who put all the pieces together and told him. That was one of the hardest letters Alistair ever received from her. He'd been expecting little more than her typical day to day life establishing the abbey, maybe more requests for any documents from King Marric's time with the Wardens as she hunted for a blight cure and then...

"I don't know why I keep trying," Alistair groaned. "It's not like she's had, oh, 37 or so years to come forward and admit the truth. But, Maker damn it all, I keep thinking I'll find some magic reason to draw her to Denerim, to meet her face to face and then..."

A warm hand scooped under Cailan's blanket to cup his fingers clinging tight to his son. His son who wasn't technically his son. "Is this what you want?" Lanny whispered.

"What I want? What I want is a good pair of galoshes that don't flood in a puddle, or a cheese wheel that never runs out, or...or," watching the boy that he'd never abandon for anything, a fire stirred in Alistair's belly. "Is it so much to ask that she own up to her choices, to be the parent for once and-and at least tell me in her words. Give me a reason why she found it so easy to abandon her child like it, he, I was a basket of old fish?"

He was behaving like a baby, whining and wanting to kick something until it fell over into dust, but Lanny didn't snap at him. Slowly folding her arms tight, she rocked back and forth while holding herself for a few minutes. Alistair knew that move, she wanted to say something that was weighing on her soul but had to find the courage.

It took a few more flutters of the green moths circling the flowers before her voice cracked, "What about Kieran?"

"What?" Alistair snapped up at that.

"What if Kieran were to appear at the Palace on this day wishing to see you, wanting to hear why you abandoned him? Why he never got to meet his father?"

"This has nothing to do with, that was all Morrigan's doing, her choice, and..." the growl and bile he'd kept tamped down erupted, spilling across the woman sitting beside him. "It was your choice in the first place. Your blighted idea, I only..."

Lanny winced at that and slowly rocked in place, "But he doesn't know that. You can't blame the child for things beyond his control."

"I..." Alistair folded deeper on himself, feeling the gas burning in his gut, "I don't know what I'd do. I hadn't thought about it before and, Maker's sake, why are you suddenly on her side about this?"

"Believe me, Ali, I've never been on the Grand Enchanter's side for anything," Lanny swallowed deep and closed her eyes. "I'm worried about you and how it's eating you up inside."

"So, help me find a way to get her to come clean. You know lots of tricksy moves, and if not you, our dear Divine practically pops out three clever plans before breakfast."

Lanny smoothed her forehead with her fingers, massaging the wrinkles that snapped back into place. "Are you certain this is an angle you wish to pursue? What if you don't like the answer?" He scrunched his face up at that, certain that he'd never like the answer but wanting it regardless -- which she was well aware of. Groaning, Lanny stared directly at him, "Before the blight, I used to imagine scenarios for why my parents were no longer in contact with me. I wanted to believe that they still loved me but were being held back by nefarious forces or were embroiled in rather fanciful problems."

She drew her fingers under the handle of her cane and clung tight, "It was a happy bubble I maintained until I went and broke it." He was there, despite the two of them being on the outs-ish at the time. Lanny begged him to travel with her to the Free Marches as she rekindled with her family.

"When I learned the truth, that even saving the world from a blight didn't endear me to them, that I was nothing more than a stranger to my blood relatives I...I didn't bear it well. It has been thirty seven years, perhaps maintaining the fantasy is best for both of you."

"Lanny," he nudged a shoulder into her, trying to knock away the pain circling her once smiling face. Maker take him, he wished the damn templar was here to give her a hug or something.

"I am fine," she forced a smile, "it's been many years. I'm more concerned about you."

"Come on, you know nothing gets to me," Alistair tried to laugh it off, "Got that one emotion tapped down, haven't bruised anything in awhile, and my gas is under control, so..." He slapped on a smile but it only got a slow glower from Lanny. Moving to slot her arms across her chest, she intended to drag the confessing bits out of him but Alistair wasn't in the mood. His muscles ached like the Qunari army walked over him, the lungs burned if he thought of breathing, and enough of the tinctures of chicken soup and broiled octopus liver Lanny kept forcing down his throat gurgled in his enraged stomach. Adding the whole confronting his personal question of parentage and what it meant to him on top of that was going to lead one very large and kingly tantrum.

Seeming to sense his stubbornness, she unfolded her arms and gently tapped his elbow, "You know you can talk to me if you need to."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved it away with a carefree hand, "if I ever get drunk into a blubbering stupor I'll pick up the crystal." Alistair tried to laugh it off, but he caught those always compassionate eyes watering up as she gazed over at him that he felt himself folding. Slowly he nodded. He couldn't muster up the courage to admit that he would probably need her beyond her magical healing skills, but she read the acceptance in his head bob.

In his arms, Cailan finished testing out the blanket with his mouth and began to stare up at the sky. "What are you looking at?" Alistair asked the baby in his high pitched talking to things that were probably already smarter than him voice, "That's a lot of blue. Haven't seen it since Drakonis."

"A lot of rain in the east, I take it?" Lanny asked.

"There was talk of a lake forming in the area outside the Pearl. People wanted to try and drain it, but I thought it might attract some business."

"Skinny dipping plus?" she smiled, that old orneriness flaring up. It was a wonder that studious and dangerously smart mage that stumbled into the warden camp ever cast more than a glance over him. In truth, at the time Alistair doubted they'd have much of anything in common but whenever she'd pull out her sharp and witty tongue he'd melt into a puddle. It also helped that thanks to all her magic the woman had a set of nimble fingers that could tie and untie a knot one handed.

While rocking Cailan back and forth in his arms, Lanny leaned over. She didn't touch the baby, but she kept staring deep into his eyes as if trying to read his thoughts. "Here," Alistair interrupted. Before she had time to object, he plopped the boy into her arms.

"Wha...?" She stuttered, racing to cup his head. Cailan bore the change in scenery as unexciting, a yawn scrunching up those tubby cheeks. He'd gone from scrawny newborn to chubby rolls so fast, Alistair was surprised Marn could still walk around.

The happy father leaned over to tug the blanket flap out of the baby's face and smiled, "If you're going to have so many of these around, you might as well get used to holding one."

"I...there are mothers for that sort of thing," she sounded frazzled, the mighty Hero of Ferelden trying to swallow down panic at holding a tiny baby.

"Fathers too," Alistair sighed, before catching her eye and whispering, "and second fathers."

She looked about to ask something at that, but walked it back. With her usual gentle touch, Lanny inched her face closer to the baby and watched him. Enraptured as that tiny fist rose off the bed with a stretch, his gums smacked together and a bit of drool skirting down the cheeks, as sleep wrapped around him. "Do you ever wonder what they dream of in the Fade?"

"If it's anything like mine, constant terror in the most adorable form possible. I think I've had to suffer too many of Spud's cutesy books." There was one that involved mice drinking tea where absolutely nothing happened for thirty pages. The worst part, without an obvious ending, his daughter tended to assume their was more, and even Alistair took to flipping the book over as if the true story was hidden behind.

The panic of the uninitiated began to wear off and Lanny eased back against the bench. Her arms kept a slow rocking for Cailan but he seemed rather happy. After a moment of watching, her eyes darted up to Alistair and a far too dangerous voice innocently asked, "By the way, who's Reiss?"

"What?" Alistair started, "What do you mean, who's Reiss? I, uh..." He began to fidget in his seat, trying to not glance over at the woman in question haunting through the garden like a lost soul.

"You mentioned her name in your sleep, would often shout it across the room," Lanny coyly smiled up at him.

"Oh that," Alistair batted at the air and dug a hand into his hair, "She's my bodyguard. You know, the new one. Makes sense that I'd be calling for her, as I was dreaming about, uh, bad things happening."

For a beat, Lanny watched him, her face betraying nothing as she stared in anticipation of Alistair breaking down. But he had a good grip on his hair and intended to tug it up in case anything tried to slip out of his mouth. Accepting defeat, she turned down to the baby and he sighed, releasing his death hold.

"Alistair, how long have I known you?"

"Uh, too long," he admitted.

"And you don't think in all that time traveling together, sharing campsites, tents, sometimes beds, that I don't know the difference between your 'Ah, oh no!' dreams and 'Ah oh, do it again!' ones?"

Shit! Shittingshitshitontoastshit!

His cheeks ignited like the hot embers in a dwarf's lava pit and he tried to swallow while guilty eyes skirted around the garden. Rifling through his memory, he tried to remember exactly which dreams he had about Reiss and if he'd shouted anything incriminating. Was there anything to be incriminating about? Maker's sake, why was this so damn hard?

"So," Lanny continued, continuing to stretch out the rope for him, "let's try it again. Who's Reiss?"

"She is my bodyguard," he admitted, facing her down with the truth.

"Who..."

"Fine, fine, you and your shrewd, devious brain caught me. I have an attraction to her. In some capacity. That may involve occasional dreams and will you stop grinning at me like that!"

He paused at that and glanced around the garden to find a few curious eyes glancing over at the shouting King. Lifting up his hand, he cried out at the top of his lungs, "Sure is a lovely day today, isn't it?!"

Lanny couldn't hide the giggles shaking her body as she shook her head back and forth. "Anything else about her you'd like to share? While I'm trapped here with a baby. No rush now."

"She," Alistair felt weird. He knew Lanny knew about all the other women in his life, but they never ever talked about it. Sometimes to the point she'd pointedly ignore one in the room if the woman in question was being rather handsy at the time. But, that was before Lanny went and said those fancy words before a chantry sister. Before he finally accepted that whatever they'd had would never happen again. Maybe it could work.

"She's my bodyguard," he began again which got a slow glare from the woman. "Who is from Ferelden and served in the Inquisition no less. So your templar might know her."

"And you're okay with that?" Lanny asked.

"Amazingly, I think she's the only woman in thedas who didn't have a crush on him," Alistair grumbled to himself. After he returned from the Anderfells, he took a little poll of the women in his inner circle and by the tenth stopped asking before he ground his teeth so hard he broke something.

Lanny looked about to argue before she groaned and tipped her head back at the cloudless sky. "A lot of them tend to assume they know what he's really like. I imagine if they had to deal with one of his 'I'm going to fix this problem even if I have to head butt it to death' moods, they'd change their opinion rather quickly."

He felt an urge to keep listening to all of the templar's faults, in particular with long descriptions and hand movements, but Alistair let the moment waft away. Lanny was happy, sometimes deliriously so in her letters and who was he to try and wedge that apart. "Reiss is...she's not like many people I know. Tough as nails," Alistair stared at the chipped and broken ends of his fingers, "tougher than nails. Cute in that terrifying woman-who-might-break-your-nose next door kind of way. And..." he began to slide back and forth, a thought that'd been building at the back of his head bubbling up.

"She notices things, fast. I'd never seen anything like it before how she'll take like small things wrong and figure out that someone's about to shoot a few arrows at me."

"An intuitioner," Lanny said sagely.

"A what? I don't think that's a word."

That got him a slow pursing of the lips as if she wasn't ten times more pedantic in such matters. "There are certain people who seem to have a far more heightened sense of intuition. It's almost as if they know things before they're about to happen. You said she was in the Inquisition, in what capacity?"

"A soldier," Alistair knew that much. She didn't talk a lot about those days, but sometimes she'd let slip rather entertaining missions while tramping up and down through woods and swamps.

"Hm," Lanny twisted her lips to the side in thought, "someone must have missed her obvious skills. Soldiers are best when they follow orders, but that's almost an antithesis to an intuitioner."

"No matter how many times you repeat it, it's still not going to be a word," Alistair jibbed back. "Wait, how do you know all this army marching stuff anyway?"

That got him a snort as she shut her eyes tight, "Do you have any idea how many strategy and war books I've had to overhear in the past few years? At least at this point there's woodworking in the mix. And now I fear he'll devise some kind of wood golem army."

"I'd actually give good coin to see the templar try," Alistair said, imagining him strutting up and down across a pile of cut trees shouting them to fall into formation.

"This Reiss woman," Lanny broke him from his imagination flight of fancy, "I assume she's not a mage."

"No, at least not to my knowledge. We're around each other enough I'd like to think I'd notice some magic."

Lanny eyed him up slowly before lifting her hand and drawing forth a small green glow. "As you say, so, not a mage and working for you. That's quite a change, Ali."

"And she's an elf," he said as if describing her hair color but a cloud drew across Lanny's brow.

"An elf? You, you've got an elf guarding you, the King, and then you bloody went and fell for her?"

"Yeah, what's the problem?" his eyes darted around, trying to find someone to come to his rescue.

"Maker's blighted sake, Alistair," she dropped her head towards her lap before remembering it was full of baby. "Think for a moment about what it would mean to the outside world. If..." whatever she was going to tell him that was so bloody obvious faded away. "Does she know your obvious attraction?"

"Kinda," Alistair plucked at his broken nails.

"What does 'kinda' mean? You didn't stand near her and break out into a spasm of giggles, did you?"

"No! I'm a bit better than that," he shook his head, trying to summon a dram of dignity out of his quickly emptying sack. "We kissed."

"You kissed?" she sounded incredulous, as if he couldn't manage something so simple on his own.

"Well, she kissed me and then I kissed her back."

"Then what happened?"

Alistair paused, his hand hanging in the air, "Ah, that's the knotted up tricky part. Mid-rolling around on the ground-- " That caused Lanny to roll her eyes. "--We were interrupted by Spud leaping out of bushes onto me."

"How romantic," she snorted.

"No kidding, and after that it was off to the Dalish to stand around with a bunch of nobles and elves to talk about nobly elf shit, then the flood, then I nearly tried to die, you appeared to save me, and now we're here. There wasn't really any time to talk about the after kiss part."

Lanny began to laugh silently, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hold Cailan sort of still, "Sweet Andraste, you do make things difficult. Though, I'm not one to go pointing the finger."

"At least there hasn't been any bringing back from the dead, taking down undead pirates while facing off against an ancient creature made out of old pastries," Alistair nodded sagely, happy to turn the finger back on her.

She laughed at his summation of her life, shifted the baby in her waning arms which roused him from his sleep, and spoke sweetly, "And in all that time you never once found an opportunity to talk to her about it? To move forward or see if you're on the same page?"

"Like I said, gentry everywhere, then mucus, and you," he gestured wildly at the woman unperturbed to have the blame placed on her head, "you've been around near constantly."

"Ali," he knew that sigh to his name. It meant she was about to drop a ten ton chest filled with common sense onto his head. Gritting his teeth, he braced himself for the oncoming onslaught. "If you wanted to you could make the time. You're the King, order people to leave you alone for a few hours and get out of your hair. How do you not already do that?"

"Usually I have to command people to stay around me instead of scattering away," he moped, wanting to feel sorry for himself. A pitiful existence was Alistair's safety blanket.

"You're scared, aren't you?"

"Who, me?" he gasped, a litany of the various monsters he'd faced head on filtering through his head. There were quite a few, even some Lanny had nothing to do with, but they all evaporated at the gentle concern in her eyes. "Yeah, all right, I'm a tiny bit scared. What if, you know...?"

"She doesn't like you back?" Lanny tried to stifle her laugh at the absurdity but she was always shit at a wicked grace face.

"I dunno," Alistair folded deeper into himself, wishing he could burrow into the earth and rest there. He was the sick one, after all. People should at least be nice to him while he recovered from a death plague, or wait to insist he man up until he could walk by himself.

"Maker's blasted bologna," he spat at himself, hands massaging up and down his face, "I'm behaving like a spoiled snot too scared to clean up the shattered vase, like a cad that can't be bothered to stick around for breakfast, like a..."

"Like a man with a pretty bad crush, who's worried about ruining it," Lanny interrupted. She nudged into him with her shoulder and turned her attention back to the baby in her arms. His baby, two kids plus a wife, oh and an entire country shoving its nose wherever it feels like it. Sweet Andraste, how could he hope for anyone to put up with that much of a mess?

Alistair tousled with the black hair across his son's forehead, "What am I going to do? What if it's too late? I mean, it went from awkward, to super awkward, to we might both burst into flames from the unending awkwardness filling the room."

"If she cares for you as much as you do her, she'll fight through the awkwardness. It's on you to do the same."

If there was one thing he figured out about that pretty elf, she was a fighter, a survivor of more than he could ever imagine. Maybe, maybe there'd be a chance to move this beyond one blushing kiss. Chuckling, he glanced over at his oldest friend, "When did you get so damn smart about all this?"

"Oh, I wouldn't call it wisdom so much as stumbling, painful experience. I had to turn a lot of men into frogs before I found the faith to risk my heart."

"Don't you mean kiss a lot of frogs?" Alistair asked.

Those ornery but compassionate eyes flared at him and he tasted the bite of the veil ripping to shreds. "No," Lanny threatened in her booming Hero voice before fading it all away with a whisper. Something in the fade slicing into their world stirred Cailan and a cry began in that tiny throat. Tears tumbled off of those still ocean eyes while Lanny tried to soothe him by awkwardly rocking the baby back and forth.

"Here," Alistair reached over, already using his greatest father trick at his disposal. With one hand upon Cailan's back, he cupped the squealing mouth against his shirt, letting the warmth of his body connect with the angry baby. It took a few more sways and "Oh come on, it's not that bad" before the cries quieted down. The whole time he felt Lanny watching from the side, her calculating expression on. She wore that whenever brewing up potions or was about to rain fire down upon a horde of darkspawn. Seeing as how no bottles or hurlocks were in the area, Alistair was fairly certain it was aimed at him.

"What is it?"

"You, so easily calming a crying baby, I'm trying to think of that twenty year old I met in the Kokari Wilds attempting it and it's beyond me."

He shrugged, uncertain what to say. There was a learning curve with Spud, but he kept stepping up to the line and trying no matter how often her tiny foot managed to take out his jangling coin purse. "It's not so hard once you figure it out. Like finding the weak point between a shriek's ribs and jabbing up through the heart."

"I'm glad that you're happy, with your children," she smiled brightly and he felt the conviction of her words. Struggling to find any way to respond to the woman who'd been a constant in his life, even when she was out of it, Lanny took over for him. "Figure out your bodyguard issue and maybe you can fill out the rest of your life too."

"It's that simple?" he asked sarcastically while secretly wishing it was. All the missteps and failures, the broken hearts, and empty nights somehow solidifying together to finally give him a peace he never thought possible.

Lanny glanced out at the garden falling still as the sun finally dipped below Fort Drakon, rendering most of the palace in shadows. It wasn't the creeping chill of night but a gentle waft into a slumber before the new day. With a soft smile, she whispered, "You won't know until you try."

## CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

#### And You Two...?

Reiss tried to not stare at the woman that'd been by the King's side for nearly a week, the woman that appeared as if by a gift of the Maker to save him and save her in the process. The woman that she knew was dead.

Alistair was quick to rebound once the mysterious mage healed and tended to him. Some of it was magic, but the way they interacted Reiss sensed that her mere presence was affecting him perhaps better than any salve could. She rarely left his side, Reiss often waking to find her already up and trying to quietly shuffle around the room without waking the snoring disaster still in bed.

For the moment, the King was all but hogtied to his throne and forced to give court. He began with a terrible flow of mucus gushing out of his nose, which the woman said could be stopped up for a few hours with a potion but he waved it away. If he was going to have to sit in front of people and listen to their complaints for hours on end, they'd have to suffer his ooey gooey body. At first Reiss stood at the back of the room, doing her best to not fall asleep. They seemed to have saved the dullest of issues for the King's first day back. At the moment two people were arguing over which was owed back taxes for a cart sold at a slightly higher mark up than what it should have been due to the current legal standing of things that drew her eyelids ever lower. Afraid that she'd pass out on her feet and smash chin first to the stone floor, Reiss wandered out the door and spotted the mage sitting quietly at a clerk's desk.

No one else was around, most wandering eyes skipping past her as if she was part of the furniture, but Reiss felt her mouth dry every time she spotted the woman. They couldn't have less in common if they actively tried. With dark spirals and an even more beautiful shade of rich brown skin, the mage was the elegant shadow to Reiss' lanky candlestick. She was shockingly short too, barely skirting above the King's chest with the ample kind of curves that would have had Lunet saying something smart in seconds. Perhaps most debilitating of all was her mind. She was always reading, the books stacked high with titles Reiss couldn't make heads nor tails of. If she tried to read one, it'd probably shriek at her non-understanding and slap shut or burn her to ash or something.

She was everything Reiss wasn't and while that jabbed a thorn into her ego knowing who she was and what she truly meant to the King, it wasn't what drew her tongue to a stand still every time. The jealousy was dead as dust in favor of a far stronger emotion.

The mage stopped whatever she was writing and glanced up, a smile on her face as she stared through the distance -- no doubt searching for the right words to concoct some magical potion that would save an entire village. Reiss shifted on her feet and the woman's wholesome eyes fell right to her. Oh Maker! She tried to slide back, aware of the blush rising, when a gloved hand gently beckoned her over.

"Um, uh," she wished she had a sword or halberd to absently work her fingers over while trying to not stare down at the seated woman, "was there something you required?"

"We've seen each other often, but haven't officially met. I'm Lana," she extended her hand and the memory snapped back into Reiss' mind. Instead of sitting the mage stood above the cowering elf, the girl reeking of burnt flesh and blood as darkspawn screamed their last breath around them. There wasn't time for names then, no one barely looked over, but the hand was offered the same.

"I," she grabbed onto Lana's fingers and shook them limply, "I, of course, My Lady," Reiss stumbled out.

"You're Reiss, I hope."

"Yes, Ma'am, that's me. I...you hope?" she shook her head, trying to not blush herself to death.

"It's a long story," Lana smiled before glancing back to the chambers where the King worked, "and one he damn well better listen to me about. Ali...the King told me a bit about you."

"He did?" Merciful Andraste, what could this woman possibly know or care about her?

"Said that you're intuitive, notice things others don't and put pieces together. It's a rare skill, one that many would give their right elbow to possess."

"I..." Reiss tried to chase after a series of quick thoughts. The King spoke of her to the woman that...? Wait, was he thinking of her still? Noticing things special about her? Oh, it was about her guarding skills and not if he found her attractive or wanted her. But, no one had ever said that about her before? It was the quickest rise and fall of hopes she'd ever felt in a brief ten second span leaving her uncertain if she should be happy or kicking herself.

Lana inched closer in her chair and whispered, "While I made mention of it to Arl Teagan, I think you should be given awares as well."

'Given awares?' Reiss hadn't heard that turn of phrase since she left the Free Marches. Trying to not snicker at the colloquialism brought from her past, she nodded for the Hero mage to continue.

"I can't prove it, but Ali shouldn't have been taken down as bad as he was by that sickness. It was not good, but he's generally healthy and there are other mitigating circumstances that keep fevers like that at bay," she mumbled the latter part to herself while a finger drifted around a ring on her finger.

"You," Reiss felt the awkward giddiness fall away as the fullness of her words hit, "you suspect he was poisoned?"

She tipped her head back and forth and sighed, "Whoever did it was good to leave no trace. Magic can only do so much, but I've kept all the bottles the various alchemists were putting to his lips. Maybe you can find something in them. They're in a box in his fighting room marked 'daggers.' No one notices a box of iron daggers."

"Does the..." Reiss tried to swallow down her shame. It was her job to protect the King, to keep the assassins at bay and while she'd tried her best to inspect all the bottles and unguents so much was beyond her. "Does the King know?"

"I told him," she said, then rolled her eyes, "but he obfuscated the fact in his typical oh look, a pretty butterfly way. Somedays I wonder how that man managed to make it to the age of seven much less thirty-seven." Her tone faded as those certain eyes haunted over Reiss' face, no doubt trying to work up to blaming the person who nearly got the King killed, again. Maker's sake, why was she so bad at this?

"It may have not occurred on purpose," Lana said, her ink stained fingers skirting through the air. "Those alchemists were a pack of gibbering imbeciles. One of them gave him the medicinal draught to cure lick-toe fever."

"That's, um..."

"Which only affects druffalo," she finished to herself before snorting. "There's a good chance someone snuck in two innocuous bottles that on their own have no ill effects but when combined together disaster. Which again, may have been fully on accident. Maker, if I had any of those people working for me they'd be reading through Lady Windelow's treatise on the proper distillation every five minutes they're awake."

"I see," Reiss tried to break through the woman's mutterings to herself. "So, you are saying there either is or isn't an assassin that snuck into the King's sickbed and may or may not have accidentally-purposefully poisoned him?"

"Pretty much, which is why I'm leaving it in your hands. And Teagan's. Alistair's would be the quickest to drop the entire box and shatter it on the ground," she chuckled at the idea as if finding it endearing.

"I will take it under consideration, my Lady," Reiss bowed her head. No one was blaming her, and it seemed as if the only people who knew about the potential poisoning were the Arl and Alistair. Maybe she was safe.

Lana smiled with a far off look, her eyes cutting through the throne room door as if she could watch him inside. Perhaps she could, Reiss knew little of a mage's true power. And she must have...

"My Lady," tumbled out of Reiss' throat before she could stop it. Focusing on the elf, Lana waited patiently, her fingers folding up delicately as if she was posing for a portrait. "I..." she couldn't look at her and the elf's eyes screwed to the ground, "I have in fact met you once before."

"Oh?" it was the most emotionless 'Oh' Reiss had ever heard. There was no surprise, no condescension, no anger, just a flat syllable devoid of any hints of the person behind it.

"You, um," she swallowed and shifted on her feet, "you saved me, and my brother, and sister from an attack. Darkspawn swarmed over our caravan and if you hadn't been there, if you hadn't stepped in..." Reiss lifted her head, aware of the tears brimming in her eyes, "we'd all have perished. I...I never had the chance to thank you at the time and--"

She didn't reach out, didn't grab her hands or say that the blubbering elf was welcome. Turning back to the desk, Lana gathered up her writings quickly, closed it, and snatched up her cane. Staggering to her feet, Reiss fell back, crushed and confused. For a moment, the woman's eye canvassed up and down her, before she said in that same empty voice, "Walk with me."

Not waiting for Reiss to catch up, the tiny mage hobbled out towards the open foyer of the palace. She said nothing to the woman trying to solemnly march behind her while Reiss kept wondering what in Andraste's name had she done now. Out the door, Lana kept up her slow but methodical pace -- her cane whacking into the stone with every second foot. A few of the guard's posted at the door glanced over at her when the cane struck but none stared. None of them cared. Did they not know who this was? Didn't anyone?

Grabbing onto a railing, Lana helped herself down the stairs until she stopped next to a statue of a mabari and sat upon its pedestal. Reiss hovered near, uncertain what to do, until Lana gestured to the other side of the statue. Folding her legs, she felt fear mixed with adulation and joy while sitting beside the greatest hero thedas had known in generations.

"The Hero of Ferelden is dead," Lana said with such conviction, Reiss felt herself shaking her head at what had to be a lie. Not dead, that was impossible, she was sitting right there beside her. The woman rolled her cane slowly in her hands watching the crystal bounce the sunbeams across the bricks. "She sacrificed herself into the fade and didn't come back."

"That's what we were told," Reiss said uncertainly, "but..."

Her hands froze and she snatched the cane up off the ground, "Would the mighty Hero of Ferelden need this to get around? People used to say she could level a mountain with a shout, and to be reduced to that. It's unheard of, unseemly."

"I don't..."

She tapped her cane against the ground, savoring the rhythm of a song that she began to hum under her breath. Reiss didn't recognize the words, but Lana seemed to be lost in it, as if she found a strange strength and comfort in the melancholy melody. A handful of the gentry in their less than finest wandered past glancing down at the strange woman taking a rest upon the statue and singing under her breath. Reiss saw the beginnings of a sneer as if the woman was some vagrant, until they spotted her sitting beside -- more accurately they saw the royal guard uniform and quickly slipped away.

"They don't even see you," she stuttered, at a loss for all of this. "You're here, alive and it's as if..."

"As if the Hero of Ferelden is dead, while a small, dark skinned mage is sitting outside on the steps of the Denerim palace," Lana filled in for her. "I cannot deny your memory, a lot of things happened during the blight. Many people had to fight, had to flee, had to endure to survive. And perhaps, during that complicated time, a woman who looks a lot like me, who may have been the Hero of Ferelden, assisted you."

Reiss pinched the bridge of her nose, always rubbing a finger over the permanent bump, while trying to find some sense in any of this. "Are you saying that you're not her, not the Hero of Ferelden?"

"I am only remarking that the Hero of Ferelden is dead while I...I am lucky enough to be very much alive," she smiled up at the sky, her eyes watching a flock of birds heading south for nesting.

If Reiss was wrong then she'd admit it, but if-if she was her and she'd survived the fade, somehow escaped it, then why wasn't all of Ferelden celebrating the return of their Hero? Why wasn't she a staple at court, or working hard to... A slow realization dawned in Reiss' mind as she glanced over at the woman who flitted in and out of the path of nobility without any of them glancing at her. She was in hiding, perhaps for some greater reason than even Reiss knew. There'd been talk that the Inquisitor and the Divine weren't just working together to be peace keepers, but had some other far greater threat they planned to combat. It all made sense, she was a secret weapon that none would see coming.

Tipping her head, Reiss whispered to the air, "My Lady, your secret is safe with me."

"What secret?" she smiled wide at that, a mysterious charm overpowering her face. That faded to a striking sincerity as she leaned up to the taller elf, "For what it's worth, anyone would be glad to take the time to rescue you and your family."

Warmth bloomed through Reiss' stomach at that. She'd received a few medals in the Inquisition -- small things at the ambassador's behest, which the Commander mostly ignored -- a few grumbling thanks when she pulled people out of the fires on the farm, but this was the greatest compliment she'd ever received. She mattered, even if it was only for a moment to the woman that gave them all a chance.

"I'm going to be leaving tomorrow," Lana said, shaking Reiss from her thoughts. "I haven't told Ali yet, because I'm anticipating a lot of begging, but...someone else is waiting for me and I need to get back home." Uncertain what to say, Reiss sat back, the statue's front paw scraping over the top of her head.

Lana turned to her, "I gave him a ring with an enchantment. I'm total shite at them, but it should at least protect him from one stab in the back. Which is hopefully enough for his old training to kick in."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because he's the worst at remembering to wear jewelry, and I bet a daily reminder from you will keep the damn thing on his finger where it will do the most good. Assuming he doesn't accidentally eat it."

Reiss scrunched up her face and shook her head, "Why would he listen to me on such matters?"

At that a slow smile lifted up her lip and she chuckled to herself, "Call it a hunch."

Oh Maker, she knew. Why did she know? Did someone tell her? Did the King? No, why would he do that? She was a mage, maybe she could sense it, hear Reiss' heartbeat thumping erratically whenever she stood near him or...cast a detect kissing spell. Why didn't Reiss pay more attention to mage capabilities?

"I, um, the King and I are not, we're not, never have, uh..."

Now a full laugh reverberated up her stomach as she curled her fingers through her thick hair to cup her face. Everyone knew about the Hero and King of Ferelden, talked about the star crossed romance in twitterpated tones while sighing dramatically and fanning themselves. It was steamy, illicit, and heartbreaking. While Reiss could have chopped a lot of the rumors up to storytellers trying to make coin, as she watched the two of them interact the love was blisteringly obvious. What are you going to do, Rabbit if you stepped in the middle of their long term affair?

"Alistair is someone I know rather well," Lana said, "too well, some would probably say."

"Are you two...?" she spat out, then tried to bite her tongue in anticipation of whatever soul crushing answer would come.

"Maker's sake," Lana began to laugh uproariously, "no. No, no, no, we're friends and it took us awhile to come to the realization that that's what we're best as. Some rather loud screaming matches I'd add."

"You don't love him?"

That drew a cloud across the woman's brow and she folded her fingertips to her mouth in thought, "I...I suppose I wouldn't say that either. He's been so much of my life, the good and ill, someone I count on and in turn will move thedas itself for. We are, in a way, the first family we ever made for ourselves. I am guessing you've heard the rumors about a certain Warden Commander and Bastard Prince?"

Reiss didn't nod, but she glanced away guilty and that was enough.

"We never quite worked right. I didn't want to believe it at the time but with hindsight and," her eyes drifted towards the west and she smiled so serenely she looked like the fabled princess waiting for her love to whisk her away, "and a happiness I didn't think possible, I've come to realize it."

Reiss swallowed and grumbled to herself, "Is this when you tell me that he's a hard man to love?"

"Oh no," she shook her head, those tight curls bouncing in the wind, "the exact opposite. Alistair may be the easiest man in Ferelden to love, even all of thedas. He's achingly sweet, kind, thoughtful to a fault, willing to give of himself without expecting anything in return and when he loves it's as if there's no one else in the world but you."

At the you, Reiss' cheeks flushed in embarrassment. She'd hung upon the woman's every word, both ecstatic to hear his traits voiced, while also knowing them in her heart.

"And that rather athletic and toned body doesn't hurt matters too much either," Lana snickered, verbally elbowing Reiss in the ribs. That amplified the blush across her forehead and down her throat. Maker's sake, this woman saved a nation and she had, she was...should heroes even talk about sex?

The laughter faded and Lana stared at the empty horizon, "No, the problem is that in order to love Alistair you will have to fight tooth and nail to cling to it. Every day, with the tenacity of a purloined dragon." She sighed at herself and lifted a shoulder, "I wasn't tenacious enough, I gave in to the title, the gentry tugging him away, and his own sense of duty. If you intend to carry on, to pursue him, then I want you to go in prepared to fight like the warrior you are. Find a way to make it work."

"Why?" Reiss' voice cracked and she coughed to continued, "why do you care?"

"Because I have hope you'll make him happy. Also it would make my life a hundred times easier if he'd find someone to share his life and bed with," she whispered that last sentence more to herself but that drew Reiss' curiosity even more. Wouldn't she rather keep the King's affections for herself instead of having to share them? And there she went assuming he even had any for his bodyguard. Reiss absently patted her stomach, which was flipping over from every hope she'd swallowed down it since the kiss.

"I don't know what to say," Reiss whispered the truth. She meant to the second woman in his life trying to push the two of them together, but Lana took it differently.

"If he listens to my damn advice, he'll do the talking. There may be a mention of lampposts, that's normal and doesn't mean he's suffering from a brain aneurysm."

Taking a deep breath, Lana scooted back to join Reiss right against the statue. She was short her toes dangled off the edge, unable to touch the ground. "Should anything happen to him, more assassins, poisoning, or he gets his head stuck in a honey pot, here's where I'm located," she passed over a small sheet of ripped vellum with the general directions to an abbey in the Hinterlands. "Arl Teagan knows how to best get in contact fast but he's not always here. You are."

"You trust me with this?" Reiss gasped. She'd all but revealed the hiding woman for the world to see without meaning to and now she was gifting her how to track her down.

"I do," she smiled, before tacking on, "and I trust that Ali knows how important my privacy is." There was the threat Reiss expected, nothing so overt as a dead horse's head with the morning coffee, but she knew the King's heart and that if anyone tried to hurt her it'd be trouble from him. And he had an army.

"I would never, ever..." Reiss wanted to insist that she couldn't possibly hurt the woman that saved her, that picked her up and kept her going when her home and parents lay in ruins, but it fumbled into a slow shake of her head as she stared down at the woman's handwriting. It was beautiful, of course.

"I know," she patted Reiss on the shoulder and slid off the statue. Getting her bearings upon her cane, she glanced up at Reiss and nodded, "Keep an eye on him. He can get into some dangerous situations and often needs a cool head to guide him."

"I'm uncertain if that's me," she said, aware of the monster lurking deep in the pit of her soul and how untamed it was.

She expected Lana, the Hero of Ferelden, defeater of the blight, and savior of little elven girls with nowhere else to turn to rescind her offer and snatch up the paper she gave Reiss. Instead she drew a finger across her chin in thought and smiled, "You might be even better matched than I thought. Come on, we best get back to watch him stomp out of court and declare everyone gets a free pony."

"I..." Reiss tumbled to her feet and tried to wipe off her filthy armor with as much grace as one expected from an elf. Glancing up, she followed after the mage already climbing the stairs. Reaching her level, she said, "Last time it was a tamed nug."

That got a laugh, "Leliana must have been ecstatic at the boom in business."

Reiss glanced over at the guards still not giving the time of day to the women climbing the steps of power, but she felt a smile blooming in her stomach as she walked side by side with the Hero of Ferelden.

## CHAPTER THIRTY

#### We'll Always Have The Kennels

"Didn't expect to find your armored butt dusting up my chairs this late into the morning," Renata chuckled. She stepped confidently across the stone floors, only the occasional knock of her wooden leg striking through the shoe breaking up her gait. Even the uneven and seemingly booby trapped floor covered in crates of produce didn't slow the cook down much.

Reiss slid her breakfast away and tried to smile, while the cook eyed up what was left and asked, "Not a fan of the eggs?"

"I fear they've gone off," Reiss admitted, trying to dig into her neck muscles. In truth, despite the sun having been up for a few hours, she was awake for even longer. The day began with a goodbye the King seemed to try to stretch out for as long as possible, followed by him dismissing her for the day because "I'm going to be trapped in a tiny room having every single problem in Ferelden shouted at me and for your own sake run, run as far as you can."

She could have headed out to the alienage, to find Lunet, to walk around outside the palace walls for awhile and try to get her lost bearings back, but instead Reiss threw her all into the bottles the Hero of Ferelden left for her. All of which she had no idea what to do with. The Inquisition never thought her of the right mind to learn about poisons, saving all that talk for their rogues and spies, and anywhere else Reiss served was going to try to keep a knife-ear as far from possible from something they could easily slip into a hated overseer's mug.

By dawn's light, she flagged down one of the accursed alchemists and asked if he could name off what was in each bottle. Barely glancing at them, the man shrugged and admitted that a few colors could be guessed at but in truth he had no way of knowing as each person's equipment would create differing levels of opacity and discoloration. She suspected that he was acting indifferent to her because of the ears, but also got the sense that Lady Amell was accurate and all the alchemists in Denerim couldn't find their assess in the middle of an ass storm.

Before setting out, the Hero was kind enough to organize the bottles based upon her idea of what was in each, but there were a good seven that she had no guess to bearing a chalk question mark. While Reiss couldn't easily slop seven bottles around on her person without people wondering, she had a different idea and took small samples upon a piece of vellum. Seven shades of wet tan to slightly-yellow wet dried upon the parchment but offered her no better ideas of what she was looking for.

By the time she threw in the towel, her stomach was famished, and the official breaking of the fast was long over. Luckily, Reiss knew how to sneak into the kitchens and gather her own food.

At her displeasure of the eggs, Renata yanked up the plate and gave a good whiff. "Whew, rather pungent," she said, causing Reiss to nod along. She hadn't even managed to get a forkful to her mouth before letting the entire mess clatter back to the plate. "Wait," the cook paused and drew the eggs deeper to her nose. "Maker take that little shit, the produce ain't gone over, Philipe's gettin' fancy and done tossed that fetid Orlesian cheese into the mix."

"You can tell?" Reiss was shocked. All she got was a sulphuric smell -- like the ripe end of a demon -- that pounded out all of her other senses until she got fresh air.

"Oh, aye, it's a subtle note under the...gah, horror. A nuttiness most miss unless they know what they're looking for," Renata smiled at her. Yanking the plate up, she scraped the eggs not into a slop bucket, but the very fire itself to send them back to the void from whence they came.

"I couldn't smell anything like that," Reiss said.

That earned her a proud shrug from the woman, "Got me a good nose. 'Bout the only reason anyone would put up with a gimpy cook shuffling back and forth in their kitchens. Helps me to notice when stuff's going to turn foul before it does. Almost none ever get sick on ol' Renata's cooking!" She tapped her wooden leg with the ol' shave and a haircut routine and returned to plucking up the recently received cargo to put to use for the castle's supper.

Reiss watched a moment uncertain if she should offer to help or not, when an idea struck her. "Renata?" The cook paused in tucking a bag of potatoes into the barrel to glance over. "Do you know anything about poisons?"

"Oh, yeah, 'course. Before this job I was working in a chateau, how I met Philipe. Long story. There was this fancy Orlesian wine drinker, what do they call 'em? Somnambulists? He's strutting around cock of the walk saying 'well this blend has top notes of lemon berry and nug curd while this red's clearly squeezed from grapes frozen during the winter of our Lady's Descent.' Blah blah blah, everyone's all real impressed the way only Orlesians can be.

"He passes around the glass so all of us can get a nose full, which means we're supposed to plug our ears and breathe it in like morons. Orlesians. And what do I smell mixed into that fancy, two hundred sovereign bottle? Rat poison, clear as day."

"Maker's breath, did you tell them?"

"Course. Not that they'd listen. The whole hoity-toity crowd split the bottle of rat poison and wound up coating the walls in vomit 'ours later. Served 'em right." She chuckled at the memory of suffering snobs, then turned to the bodyguard, "Why ya asking?"

"I was wondering," Reiss shifted to tug out her parchment, "if you could maybe smell any poison in these?"

"It's paper," Renata explained as if Reiss wasn't fully aware. "Fine," she willingly drug each scrap under her nose taking deep whiffs. "Mostly getting that mage potion they use, not sure what it is but there's that earthy like mushroom smell."

"Unexpected," Reiss said without saying the full of it. She couldn't make any true accusations seeing as how she had no proof and also no jurisdiction to go dragging alchemists in. If this went nowhere, at least she could turn the bottles over to Harding and let her deal with the mess while Reiss tried to not grow bored standing beside a door.

"Sorry dear," Renata pulled the parchment away from her nose and shrugged, "I ain't getting nothing out of it."

"Thank you for trying," Reiss said. She reached over to take the parchment away when the cook's eyes lit up.

"Wait a moment!" Renata sniffed madly at one spot on the left, then another on the far right. Her eyes screwed up tight as she took in a deeper breath and smacked her tongue. An idea struck and the cook folded the parchment in half so both of the stains could reach. "Now that one I know! It's blood bane, nasty stuff, strong odor unless you mask it."

"Say under a mage's earthy base potion," Reiss yanked out a piece of chalk and quickly circled both of the stains. So, it was an accident of combining the two after all. Or, two alchemists were in on it? Two plants? "You're certain that's what it is?"

"As much as a woman can be in this world. Used to use it to keep bears off the land. The ones who knew the smell stayed away."

"And the ones that didn't?" Reiss asked.

Renata brought both of her fists together and in a quick movement snapped something invisible in half. Maker's sake! Even if it was an accident someone should be brought in on negligent charges and kept far from their distillation equipment before there's an epidemic. Tucking the paper safely into her pocket, Reiss nodded again at the chef, "Thank you again, for helping."

"Always glad to, dearie," Renata smiled at her before her head whipped up and she shouted through the door, "Oi! You burrowing pillock! Get yer useless pantaloons in here!"

Philipe's shaggy brown head slid in with half of his body while he clung to the doorframe, "Me? What'd I do? Nothing, you can't pin nothing on me."

"I know you got into the private cheese reserves and wasted it on perfectly good eggs. If we have any nobles get sick..." Renata threatened, her finger drifting near his nose.

"Ain't no one gonna get sick, it's fancy stuff. Good for 'em, right?"

"Maker's blighted chair," she rolled her eyes at the mischief in the slightly ornery undercook. "Get back out there and muck up the tables."

"Already did," Philipe saluted as he perched upon a barrel. His wild eyes darted from his boss down to Reiss. "Nice to see you, ma'am. Did you both hear about that special healer they brought in? The one what saved the King's life?" He didn't wait for them to answer to dive right in to his news, "She's already left without so much as a medal pinning ceremony. I'd thought for sure rescuing royalty deserved a knighting or somefing like that."

Reiss glanced away at the thought of how she dubiously earned her title, while Renata banged a fist on the table, "Are you thick in the chowder? Don't you know who that was?"

That drew Reiss' out of her regret in an instant. In all the time the Hero was here, she kept glancing over at people wondering if and when someone would spot her, would slot it into place and give the woman that save the world the due she deserved. But none ever did, most of the servants even making a bare minimum for the person who was the reason they had a job much less a life.

Philipe shrugged, "A little brown mageling."

"Andraste's udders, she's the Commander's wife," Renata sighed.

"Cade's? I thought his wife was tall, and a ginger, and mute," Philipe stuttered, glancing around as if lost.

"Not that one, the Commander of the Inquisition."

Reiss blinked in surprise at that. While the King made occasional jokes and what seemed to be snide comments about a templar in Lady Amell's life she assumed it referred to her abbey and not _the_ Commander, the one who passed down orders from on high. She never saw him much beyond the occasional furrowed brow and stomping boots when he'd dart in and out of barracks for inspections.

Sighing like a school girl who spotted her crush in the distance, Renata sat upon the bench beside the table and clasped her hands, "If I had that waiting back at home, I wouldn't waste my time on some stupid medal ceremony. Shit, I'd have skipped the time it took to saddle the horse."

"Maker's sake," Philipe rolled his eyes and jabbed a thumb at Reiss to add, "Women."

"You're just saying that 'cause you've never seen the man in person," Renata fanned her face with her hands. Reiss suspected she did it as much to annoy Philipe as to emphasize her point. "Tall enough to sweep you off your feet, with that brooding, growling face that gets all the right parts throbbing."

"Ugh," Philipe stuck his tongue out at the description which he bore no resemblance too. "Are all of you this bad?" he asked Reiss. "Don't tell me you've got the tingles for some old, ancient, crusty, geriatric army leader."

"I..." Reiss felt a blush rising up her cheeks that had nothing to do with the Commander. She'd never gone in much for the stoic type, often finding their tendency to stay quiet unnerving. What drew the embarrassment from her was the thought of how unlike the King that sounded, and how she far preferred his light hearted take on the world.

"You ain't gonna win this one, Philipe," Renata argued to him. "Every lady in thedas has their own copy of that sketch of the Commander stashed away somewhere."

"Sketch?" Reiss asked. She'd seen various portraits of the Inquisitor, a few of the advisors, and many artists adored painting Skyhold but never this fabled sketch of Commander Cullen.

"Oh yes, eyes blazing with that amber glare, shirtless save that furry coat he wore, sweat dripping down the good bits while gripping onto a sword and just a sliver of that scarred lip lifted up. Is it a sneer of anger, or is there lust under there? Who knows."

"All right, fine," Philipe leaped up off the barrel, "I'm done. I'm gone. You win!" he shouted, bowing deep at her in indignation. "Sexy sneering, sweaty, bah!" he took it not well while storming out.

"I should go as well," Reiss said, "oh but, do you mind if I snatch up a few bites of that pork?"

"Take whatever you want," Renata smiled while Reiss loaded up for Sylaise. She'd been unable to attend to the cat for weeks and was going to need a proper sized bribe. "And I'll be sure to get you a copy of the sketch later."

"Ah," Reiss tried to not panic at the thought of her in possession of something so perverse that happened to be of the Hero of Ferelden's husband. Pretty much no one she wanted to impress would be happy for it. "Thank you?" she stuttered out while sliding out of the kitchen.

Outside of the stables she stumbled into the half elf who all but ran the thing. The real horsemaster was often drifting about, making deals and doing other things that required her to be as far from the animals and their shit as possible. Apparently she was some kind of genius when it came to breeding schemes and pricing horses but despised everything else that came with them. Whoever thought to promote her to the position either had a great sense of humor or despised the woman. Reiss wasn't certain which as she never technically met her.

It was Jaylen who was her only connection. A few other servants on occasion were called in to deal with an overabundance of noble horse shit during the summit and if anyone really high up stopped by, but with the palace clearing of it all only he greeted her.

"Good morning," Reiss called, stopping outside the barn proper to wave at him.

He patted the whither of a tan horse, which flicked her tail in annoyance and butted her nose into him for such impudence, but the man didn't mind. That smile that never seemed to dim lifted higher as he waved to her. "Is it morning still? Thought for certain we slipped to afternoon," Jaylen glanced up at the sun and stared at it as if it would grace him with the time.

"Can I head in to visit with Sylaise?" Reiss asked, trying to draw him away.

"Oh sure, sure. Got it mostly mucked, your cat's probably nosing around with the dogs again. She seems to love swiping their food when they're not looking."

"Is she going hungry?" Reiss startled, feeling a nerve pinch in her stomach at the fear. It'd be all her fault in that case.

"Nah, nah, she's a good mouser. Way better than the fat tom what's lazing about in the sun," he pointed at a striped orange cat stretched as far as his body could to soak in all the heat. Reiss absently tugged at the metal she in retrospect didn't need to dress in. Summer was quick on the horizon and it was looking to be a bad one.

Jaylen snickered at the lazy cat and tipped his hat back to give his full attention to the woman standing in the shade, "I think she likes the challenge of stepping up to the big dogs and taking something they want. Just to see if she can."

"A true elf then," Reiss said. She meant it to be to herself, but Jaylen paused in his raking of the trampled grounds. Cursing at herself, the shame died as the man's shoulders began to pivot with a laugh building to bursting inside.

A few giggles escaped before he shook his smiling face and shrugged, "My mam would say the same." Reiss had no idea which in his lineage was which, though she'd often heard that human father to elf mother was more accepted. Any human woman that took up with an elf was considered desecrated and unholy, with a few other assumptions that she chased weak men because she was in denial about her true passions.

Not that the thought would do her any good, she chastised herself. The 'more accepted' was minuscule at best. They'd run you out of town compared to hang you from the branches of the vhendal tree. And yet, Jaylen never wavered from his smile, was kind to any who crossed his path and seemed most at home with the horses. Maybe because he didn't fit in anywhere else.

"If you head in, could you close up the door behind you?" he interrupted Reiss' musings. "Ol' Corwoofeus has been undoing the lock on his kennel and sneaking out."

"Corwoofeus?" Reiss sneered.

"Three guesses who named that one," Jaylen chuckled, holding up his entire hand just in case she needed more.

"I don't need any, and I shall," she smiled and dipped into the empty barn. With all the horses outside, Jaylen kept the windows closed causing an impenetrable heat to buildup inside the wooden structure. Absently, Reiss shrugged inside her armor quickly heating up fast and transferring it to her body below.

No horses waited inside, all of them roaming through the fenced in meadow the palace maintained. It was ten times the green that the Alienage had, a fact Reiss tried to not think about. "Sylaise?" she called out, even knowing that her cat was most likely rooming in the kennels. Was it possible for cats to have death wishes because that seemed to be Sylaise, always sticking her nose and paw in places it didn't belong without a care for any warnings.

Clopping over the wooden boards, Reiss stood in the doorway to the kennels where a few of the dogs slumbered for the afternoon in a pile. Jaylen must have moved the slots so they could mix between and have more room while the rest were probably out on a hunt or trailing their favorite human. It was a constant flux of which dog was where, on occasion leading her to find three or four crouching under a table in the kitchens waiting for scraps to fall.

"Sylaise?" Reiss called, trying to peer through the lumbering shadows to find her damn cat hiding amongst the lingering grey. A soft mewling broke above her and she spotted the kitty traipsing through the straw and hayloft above all their heads. "Maker's sake, cat, what are you doing up there?"

For her part, Sylaise lazily dipped her tail back and forth off the hang while reclining upon her side. Those yellow eyes watched Reiss as she shook her head and tried to find a way up to her cat. There was a ladder on the other end, but...

"All right, I'm done!" Reiss cried to herself as she felt a line of sweat drip off her shoulders and straight down the middle of her back. With one eye on the cat in no mood to move, she undid all the internal buckles upon her breast plate -- tossing it to the ground -- followed by the gauntlets, the greaves and finally the armored boots. Dressed in the simple crimson under tunic and half calf breeches, she savored the wind ruffling her billowy clothes as a breeze broke from the slots above.

Her naked toes dug deep into the kennel floor, Reiss trying to eye up any surprise dog turds, but Jaylen was great about scrubbing it down from top to bottom. After kicking her pile of metal to the side, she stomped towards the ladder on the far side of the room while keeping an eye on her cat. "If you won't come down to greet me, then I'm going to come to you," she tried to make it sound like a threat but it sounded more as if Reiss was subjugating herself to the kitty. So powerful Reiss, truly it's a wonder people don't bow down from your glory.

That thought drew a snicker to her exhausted brain. Her nights grew easier knowing the King was going to survive, but the thought of him fluttered in her heart and she had no idea what to do with it. Was it a good thing? A bad? Should she ignore the advice of, Maker's breath, the Queen and Hero of Ferelden in favor of doing what Reiss did best? Blend back into the shadows and embrace loneliness. It'd kept her alive so far.

She made it almost to the top of the ladder, when a scratching sound echoed from one of the kennels below. A grey furred mabari with white stripes across its back rose from its nap and began to bat at the door. Hope he's not expecting food because Reiss knew better than to mess with the official war dog's diet, which was also better than what most elves ate. Sometimes that included herself when it'd been a long day.

Reiss returned to climbing up to her cat, when the dog stopped pawing at the door and seemed to be licking at the lock. _What in the...? Oh no!_ She glanced over at the door she stupidly left wide open. Reiss tried to scurry down the ladder, but the mabari was quick on his way to escaping with the use of both brawn and brains.

"Corwoofeus!" she shouted in her commanding voice. It was enough to pause the escape artist and he swung that bull nose back to watch her with dangerously intelligent eyes. "Don't you dare. You stay put!"

The dog watched the elf frozen on the ladder uncertain if her dropping down would scare him or not. For a beat she felt herself being sized up the same way the old foreman would pick out who would work on the machines that day. A snort of snot burst from the mabari's nose and without a care it bashed its shoulder into the door and knocked the latch up with its tongue. The cage swung wide open and proud as you please he strutted free.

"Corwoofeus!" Reiss shouted, her limbs scattering as she tried to scrabble down the ladder as fast as possible. A splinter bit into her foot but she ignored the pain, her brain panicking at the escapee that was all her fault. "Get back here this instant!" It never worked on her brother, why would it work on a dog?

Strutting proud, the mabari launched into a run out the open door to freedom when a pair of legs stepped in the way. "Hey there!" Reiss could only see the shadow leeching across the floor as hands grabbed onto the errant dog and began to scratch it stupid.

"I'm so sorry, Jaylen," she finished climbing off the ladder and turned to face up to her mistake, "I forgot to close the door and..."

It wasn't the stablehand that stood there but the King. He took a knee and had both arms locked around the mabari slobbering in his face. They weren't wrestling or fighting for dominance, the man clearly losing that battle as he hugged tight to the dog before snatching onto the royal collar and trying to tug him back into the kennel.

"Ser, I..." the blush amplified as she glanced over at her armor cast off without any care. Karelle would probably succumb to the vapors if she saw how ill Reiss treated it.

Not noticing, or caring, Alistair shooed the dog back inside the kennel proper and shut the door. "Now, get back inside, you know how it goes," he chuckled at the face begging for his master's love and affection. Maker's sake, Reiss felt her cheeks burning at the thought that she looked the same.

After closing the dog's pen proper, he grabbed a bundle of wire and wound it between the door and the wall. "This one's learned how to get out and has apparently sired quite a few litters on the side. Not just with mabari either. We're going to have some dangerously smart lap dogs in a few months." He chuckled at the dog plopping onto his hindquarters with that 'it wasn't me' look upon his drooling face.

"You, uh, are you here for the dogs?" Reiss froze in her steps as the golden light pinging through the slots in the kennel laced upon his brow. It highlighted the rare streak of red mixed in with all that gold as he smiled upon her.

"No, not exactly I...came to find you," he glanced up at her with the end of the sentence, a strange guilt hanging in the words.

"Oh, of course, do you require me back in uniform?" she tried to be professional even while her heart hoped he'd tell her no. But then what? What would she say to him? What would her answer be? Maker's breath, would there even be a question?

"It's uh," his eyes danced down her body swaddled in cheap fabric before a blush rampaged up those pale cheeks. "It's nice to see you out of uniform."

"Ah," now it was her turn to melt into a puddle, her hand digging into her shoulder as she found the sunspots on the ceiling fascinating. After steadying herself a moment she glanced over at him. While he wasn't going to make any Orlesian's jealous, the King usually dressed respectably with vests and the occasional elbow knot to fluff up shoulders. But while on the mend he seemed to prefer the comfort of simple tunics, this one a striking cobalt blue that somehow drew out the playful umber in his eyes. It was far finer than Reiss' with no doubt real sliver buttons, but the lack of frippery made her feel more at ease.

"I came here to check on my cat," she stated the fact while pointing at Sylaise who hadn't moved an inch during the commotion.

Alistair followed her gesture and smiled, "Seems she's doing well. Got that cat 'I'm above you all' image down pat."

"Perhaps, but..." Reiss shifted on her bare toes feeling idiotic even as she finished her thought, "I would like to check on her. Maker certain her fur is in shape and she's eating properly."

He smiled warmly at that instead of pointing out how Sylaise was a blighted alley cat that was surviving just fine until she came along. "Don't let me stop you."

Reiss nodded and shaking off her blush, climbed up the ladder into the loft. He followed behind, a hand gripping onto the end as if to steady it, while she felt his eyes wandering across her flat backside. Struggling to not apologize for it, Reiss had to drop to a knee against the low ceiling. "Come here, kitty," she cooed to Sylaise who gave her one look but that was it.

"I have treats," Reiss said, thrusting out a handful of the shredded roast she borrowed from Renata.

For a brief second Sylaise lifted her head at that before flopping it back down. "I get it, you're mad at me for vanishing for so long. It's..." Reiss tried to not glance down at her boss who'd been the reason for her disappearance, "it's my fault. But I promise I can make up for it." Slowly, Reiss scooted a few steps forward upon her knees.

That got the cat's attention as she lifted to her own nimble feet and watched the curious elf coming for her. "Sylaise, you stay put," Reiss threatened. "Here, food, you like that," she tried again, thrusting her hand out for the tiny fangs to bite down on. But Sylaise was in the mood to punish her. Spinning around, the cat began to scamper a few steps away from the advancing elf, but paused from truly leaving to glare at her with an ultimatum: What will you do now?

"Ser, could you?" she tried to gesture to the lone ladder but it rested behind her. What use could he be?

"Want me to flank the cat?" he laughed, sliding under the overhang. Sounds of rummaging and rearranging furniture burst from below and Reiss tried to peer over, but she caught Sylaise watching her.

"Don't even think of jumping down," she ordered.

"Got it," Alistair called as he unearthed a ladder that hooked upon the other edge of the loft. It dangled precariously but he gave it no mind, quickly scurrying up to plop upon the loft. "Here kitty, kitty, kitty..." he called while sliding nearer to the very curious Sylaise.

Reiss renewed her efforts, waving her food offering hand out and trying, "Pus, here pus pus, tasty tasty meat. The best."

With her tail lifted, Sylaise glanced first at the elf to her left, then the human on her right. Reiss was close enough she could almost reach out and fluff up the fur. Just a little bit further to grab her and... Not caring about her concern, the cat hopped off the ledge so suddenly Reiss' heart dropped to her stomach. Gripping onto the edge, her meat rained upon the dogs below as she peered down at the unimpressed yellow eyes perched upon the narrow sill of the kennel wall.

Maker's sake, it's a cat, Reiss. They can handle a jump that short. She hung her head off the edge, trying to suck in common sense when a warm hand smoothed over her back. It drew forth such a cocoon of comfort, Reiss didn't respond, only lay there wishing it would never stop.

"You okay?"

"Yes," she pinched the bridge of her nose and sat up, Alistair's fingers falling away from her. "I...I am being foolish. Which is not anything new."

"I bet I can out fool you," he said, sitting back upon his haunches. The ceiling was so close, his head skimmed dangerously near the beams but his eyes were only upon her.

"That may be an unwise bet to take," Reiss said. "I once adopted a small turtle in the harbor when I was supposed to be gutting fish. Kept it with me in a box on the docks, fed it slips of greens I found, and one day it fell into the water. Which I then leaped into, to save a turtle, that can swim."

"There was this fancy pants, I mean we're talking gilded knickers kind of fancy pants gala up in the north somewhere. Maybe Cumberland. Not important," he waved his hands through the air as the story grew more animated. "I'm greeting, smiling, nodding, waving, all that kingly stuff, and the Grand Cleric approaches me. Not a huge deal, I've dealt with the one back at home plenty of times but this woman... You ever wonder what it'd look like if you gave a horse a lemon? That'd be her face, so gaunt and pinched it was as if someone literally sucked all the joy from her. I bend down to bow and be a good benedicting Andrastian when the most obnoxious gas parts through my back half."

"Maker's sake!" she giggled, her hand trying to hide away the smile at his misfortune.

"That's what I shouted, as well as a few quick ramblings about how the bean and bean dinners for the past few days may have been overkill on my digestion bits. But the best part, the coup de tart as it were, standing directly behind me the whole time was the Lord Chancellor of Tantervale. Who, turns out, is an even stricter Andrastian than the damn Grand Cleric."

"Oh no," Reiss mused, her fingers reaching out in empathy to curl over his arm.

 "They had me reciting the chant of light while balancing a book on my head for days."

She couldn't stop squeezing against the taut muscle seeming to flex below her hand while sighing, "Truly? They forced a King to do it?"

"I dared to demean the Maker's Bride with my bodily functions. I'm lucky they didn't make me strip naked and crawl through a fire ant nest or something." He laughed at the very idea, fingers that looked as if they ached to troll his hair flexing at the side. Maker's breath, she shouldn't be touching him, thinking of holding him, wanting to... Reiss felt the blush beginning up her gut as it always did when she'd stumble across a bawdy joke or dirty book. With any heavily involved and descriptive romantic type scene in a book, she'd lay it upon the bed at arm's lengthy, prepared to drop a pillow over it if it grew too overwhelming. Lunet, of course, found the image hilarious and kept waiting to see if Reiss could finish reading the blighted thing.

And now her bare toes curled up as her eyes traveled down Alistair's sunny and handsome face, across the broad shoulders she feared would be her undoing, until noticing that either due to the stance or the lack of a longer tunic, his trousers appeared to be tighter than usual. The tug highlighted the bulge she should not be staring intently at. Oh Maker.

Blushing as if she was under her own fever, Reiss glanced down at Sylaise, who'd swished her tail a few times and moved deeper to curl on top of one of the pooches. Calm down. Deep breaths. Don't pass out. You'd probably tumble off the edge and break your nose for a second time. At the rate she was going her face would be unrecognizable by the age of forty.

"Am I, uh, keeping you from your duties?"

"I'm keeping me far far from them," he snickered.

Reiss didn't glance back, but she kept clinging to that arm, savoring the swell of the muscle as he rolled his fingers back and forth over the floor. "I mean whatever you came here to do. Tend to the dogs or...play with them."

"Ah," from the side of her eyes, she watched his head hang down as he struggled for a thought, "actually, I came to find you. To talk, which I should have done days, no -- weeks ago."

"I've also been needing to talk to you," she fumbled into her pocket searching for the scrap of paper to prove that he'd been poisoned. Whether on accident or not, it was a disgrace upon her either way. Reiss scurried away from the edge, her hand falling off him, as she sat upon her knees and unfolded it.

"What's, uh? Is this one of those pirate black spot things?" he half laughed while staring at the water stains trembling in her fingers.

"I have reason to believe that one or more of the alchemists assigned to you, people that passed me, may have been trying to poison you," she swallowed down a guilty lump and tried to hand the paper over. It thudded into Alistair's suddenly crossed arms, crumpling up at the edge. "Ser, it's..."

"Not important," he said, "well, okay, give your findings to Harding and she'll get on it, but..." reaching forward, his palm cupped against her cheek. How easily it wrapped around her, warmth enticing her to lean into it, "I...Maker's breath, you'd think this would get easier with time. Everyone else is so blasted good at it but me? I'm nothing but all thumbs and left feet. Sorry. Uh. Ahem, I have a passing, more than a passing interest in you. I find myself caring about you, a lot. And, I've been wondering, stewing about, jotting your name down a few hundred times while pretending to listen to Eamon's droning if... Well, uh, do you like me too?"

Her eyes darted down to the parchment crumpled in her fist holding the proof she could have gotten him killed if not for the Lady Amell, and he didn't care. No, he was asking in an endearing way if she could feel anything for him as if it wasn't obvious to any and all. Reiss stuttered, struggling to think of something poetic and romantic, or at least coherent, but as she lost herself in his pleading eyes all she could manage was an, "Uh huh," her head nodding his hand up and down.

A smile broke across that handsome jawline, his dimple indenting deep to the core from the force and Reiss felt all common sense in her brain vanish into smoke. Dashing forward, she wrapped both hands back through his soft strawberry hair and tugged those sunny lips to hers. Alistair was quick to follow her lead, his hand planted firmly on her cheek as she plied him with every burning kiss that'd been floating through her imagination. Moaning at her incessant lips, needing and begging for him, he opened his mouth to let her tongue find his. While their mouths attempted their own idea of sparring, his hand lifted up from her cheek to gently cup her ear. Slowly, his fingers scaled the heights, almost tickling the tender flesh. When he was about to reach the tip, still covered in scar tissue, he paused.

Reiss froze, a million fears running through her mind. Did he just realize she was an elf? That this would be unheard of? Unseemly? Unwarranted? Or was it the realization that she was a bundle of scar tissue molded and healed into what managed to be a person before him.

Unaware of her mental torment, even as his lips slipped to her cheek, both of Alistair's hands reached behind her head to tousle through the bun. With a quick yank, he dislodged the dagger she kept pinned tight in there. It was enough to destroy the scaffolding and her hair collapsed across her shoulders, the waves easily blending in with the straw scattered beside them. His eyes shut, he softly combed his fingers through her hair, following it from the roots all the way to the tip, before returning again.

Reiss felt she should say something, maybe explain her choice in hair styles, but her tongue fell slack and the entirety of her body hummed just from the gentle tug of a man's fingers combing her hair. Blessed Andraste! Diving towards him, Reiss kissed with a ferocity building up through her loins. The force caught Alistair off guard and he tumbled backwards, landing with a pained chuckle at the woman attempting to devour him. She paused a moment, her hands spread out upon the ground from taking the fall, before quickly shifting her weight to splay out on top of him and returning for a kiss.

Not just any kiss, her lips darted down his chiseled jawline, savoring the scratch of the stubble against them as she worked her way up to his round ears. Nibbling the lobe gently against her teeth, Alistair moaned when her hot breath shot out through her nose -- amplifying the bulge she felt against her stomach, begging to be loosed from his trousers.

"Maker's sake, don't stop," his voice rumbled from deep in his chest, dropping like a rock down a well. While Reiss worked upward, nipping and cresting her teeth upon the outer ear, his hands climbed up to circle her waist. At first over her baggy tunic, he found the edge of the hem and let those smoldering fingers rake across her bare skin.

"Sweet Andraste," she groaned, lifting her head away so she didn't scream in his ear. Below her thighs pinning tight to his abdomen, she felt Alistair laugh at her reaction. One hand rose up from under her shirt to lay against her cheek and guide her lips back to his.

Invigorated by the invitation, Reiss yearned to tug off the shirt clinging to his body, to dart her nails across the skin, fluff up that knot of chest hair and see if it was as soft as it looked. And, most important of all, to grip onto his naked shoulders, savoring every tug of muscle and tendon below while he... A low humming began in the back of her throat at the idea, at the thought of any and all of it.

It must have thrown him off, as Alistair opened an eye to watch her trying to not collapse and explode at the same time. "Are you okay?"

"Mhm," she nodded vigorously, trying to bite down on the humming. "It's, that noise is something I do when I'm...uh, enjoying myself," she was terrified that he'd laugh at her or find it disturbing enough to kick her off.

"That's good to know," an ecstatic smile filled his gorgeous face, "a goal to strive for."

Reiss couldn't shake the blush at him finding out, him knowing her weird quirk, and him...liking it? Wanting it? It was both embarrassing beyond measure and exhilarating. Would it kill her emotions to make sense just for once?

"Do you..." placing her weight onto one hand, she carefully trailed her fingers down his shirt fallen flat enough she could spot the taut silhouette of his body below, "do you wish to continue?"

"Here?" he started, lifting his head off the ground no doubt to check for any bystanders, but all that hounded them for once were sleeping mabari. Reiss' regret returned immediately, tendrils snapping around her body like the linens for the undead. How dare she try to bed the King of Ferelden in a creaking and straw encrusted kennel. She began to slide away when Alistair grabbed both his hands around her cheeks and declared, "Maker's sake, yes!"

Having shouted his ecstatic consent loud enough a few dogs stirred in their sleep, he tugged Reiss down to resume the kissing. A pain knotted in her wrist from pushing against the wooden slats of the rickety floor while Alistair's hands embarked upon their climb up her midsection. He circled tantalizingly around her ribs, growing ever closer to her breasts but never quite reaching high enough. Suddenly, he reined in his kisses to focus his vision upon her chest -- in particular the top as his fingers worked to unknot the first button.

This was really happening. Right here, right now and not part of a dream. Probably. Hopefully. Maker, Reiss groaned to herself as those strong fingers worked apart one button and moved to the next, if this is a dream let it last to the end. By the third, Alistair stumbled, the edges of the shirt slipping away from his cautious grip when Reiss adjusted her knees.

"Forget it, I'm terrible at buttons anyway," he mused to himself while grabbing onto the collar of her tunic and tugging it upward. As Reiss slid out of the the shirt, she felt a warm summer breeze drift across her exposed shoulders and upper back, while Alistair's heady gaze darted across all her skin.

Welp, time for the moment of truth as it were. Rising up away from him, Reiss balanced upon her knees, straddling even closer to his hips. With both hands she grabbed onto the tighter undershirt and, closing her eyes, yanked it off in one quick go. Fully shirtless before the King of Ferelden, she feared to take a peek for what she'd find. It was impossible for her to not know that in the game of voluptuousness Reiss had at best half an apple to bring to the party. When they first sprouted the boys in the village would call them Forgets because they were so small as to be forgettable. In general, children aren't all that creative with their cruelty.

Trying to not tremble while so exposed, she opened one eye as a warm hand caressed the skin on her stomach. His eyes widened almost beyond the face, the knot in his throat bobbing as he glanced up and down her nakedness. "They're, uh..." she wanted to explain as if she had any control over it, or apologize as if she should, but he cut her off.

"Beautiful," he smiled. One set of fingers skirted under one breast, kneading the firm flesh and slowly bouncing the bit of it up. The minor movement drew a moan from the man when he grabbed onto the other. As if he was cupping a fragile trophy, Alistair's hands both outflanked her smaller bust size. Maker's blessing, Reiss shifted in ecstasy upon him, lost in the gentle swirl of his warm hands upon her as well as the rising dick prodding up below her.

A giggle erupted in Alistair's throat but not the cruel kind she came to expect from the other men who'd gotten this close. It was overflowing with an unbridled joy. When his thumbs brushed against her nipples, Reiss almost tumbled forward from the jolt though her body. She wanted him to never stop, to tease them, to kiss them, to tempt her with those powerful fingers forever.

No, she stared down at the man still fully dressed, what she wanted was to see him naked, to touch and feel all of him. Even as Alistair continued to caress up and down her breasts, she latched onto the edge of his tunic and began to shove it upward. It froze at his arms, revealing those abs she'd spied from below her embarrassed hand that first night. Reiss paused in trying to get him naked to reach towards them, as if she was trying to pet a powerful animal. The first hill trembled when she touched it, rolling down with a suppressed laugh at a tickle, when her fingers spilled over to the middle of his body. A thin line of blonde hair ran right down below the belly button, calling out for her fingers to follow it.

Biting into her lip to shore up confidence, she fluffed the hair up -- set in the knowledge it was even softer than she imagined. Slowly, Reiss dipped lower down that small trail, her finger sliding under the waistband until it landed for a moment upon the base of his dick. Alistair swallowed deep, his hands falling off her chest as a pair of almost bashful eyes tried to look and not look into hers.

"You uh, you want to? All with me, and...okay! I mean, good, good, and..."

Her finger paused as she struggled to find a proper response. Was she supposed to say something? Something sexy? Maker no, she was so bad at it. Nodding haphazardly, her hair slipped down over her eyes. That drew Alistair out of his small panic, the final good echoing through the summer air as his fingers drew up the errant hairs to return them back behind her ear. "You are so pretty," he murmured, his hand cupping her cheek, "beautiful, gorgeous, other words I can't think of right now."

A certainty bloomed through her veins unlike anything she'd felt before. She'd wanted him before and now she felt she could trust him. Turning her lips to his hand, she pressed a kiss to the palm and whispered, "I need you."

It wasn't much, but Alistair's eyes lit up and he shuffled below her. Nodding with a great grin, he glanced down at the scrap of skin she exposed. "Might as well get rid of all this then." Even while below her, he yanked his shirt off without a second thought and tossed it towards the straw creeping in the wind.

Blessed creators, she whimpered under her breath while honing in on those shoulders. She was wrong that first night, they weren't perfect, they were a god's set. Chiseled the only way a man created from the clay of the earth could be, she watched the ends bulge as he picked at his hair and gripped onto her waist. Reiss wanted to scream, and squeal, and maybe pass out if she forgot to breathe. By all that she'd ever swore upon, she feared she might die if she touched them.

A soft thrum of his throat drew her to his eyes and she caught the last thing she ever expected in those soft brown eyes - doubt. Not at what they were doing but if she'd approve of what she saw. How can he be self conscious? Look at him, he's...

Reaching out tenderly, she traced her fingers starting at his clavicle and working outward, dipping into the delectable divot she yearned to bathe with her tongue and then out. "They're perfect," Reiss gasped, surprised to find she could talk at all.

That got a smile from the man as he tugged her down on top of him. She barely had time to register it, a squeal eking out of her throat before her hands were trapped between their bare chests. Alistair curled his fingers against her cheek, traced down her sides following the outer edge of her ribs, dipping into the waist, and landing upon her trousers. Kissing her with all the focus he could, he began to tug upon her waist band, probably trying to find a button. Luckily, the tie must have come loose as they expanded off her hips.

Scooping downward, his hands shoved her pants off enough to expose her ass -- which his palms were caressing and gently squeezing. Each playful pinch drew a rush of excitement through her insides, Reiss feeling the throb between her legs that she yearned to be stroked. Biting down upon his lip, she tugged it into her mouth which caused him to pinch harder. It should hurt, why didn't it hurt?

When she released her hold, so did Alistair, his fingers unearthing the waistband of her pants from between their bodies and doing his best to kick them off. Reiss helped, shaking the cursed things away until she lay fully naked upon the King of Ferelden. Did he have any idea how aroused she was? He must have had some inkling as his fingers skirted up the back of her thigh, the tips dipping down. How easily they could grace her lips, but he kept pulling up at the last second to curl under her ass instead.

"Good?" he asked, an eyebrow lifting as if he didn't already know.

"Yes, but..." she shuddered at the thought she was about to voice. Staring deep into his eyes she whispered, "I want more."

"Me too," he smiled. Pushing her hips upward, Reiss gladly obeyed so his hands could knead her inner thigh. Maker, it was both relaxing and infuriating as her body begged for him to touch her lips, to rub against her clitoris, to delve deep.

Glancing up at her, he smiled so sweetly she returned to him for a kiss. While her lips pressed against his, his first two fingers circled against her lower ones. Slowly at first, uncertain in their caress, she hoped he knew about the best button at the top, when the back of his thumb rolled against her clitoris.

"Holy Andraste," Reiss gasped, her head colliding so quickly against his chest in shocking ecstasy Alistair began to chuckle.

"I do think I found the magic key," he said as his fingers brushed her nub with a pressure that teased but didn't overwhelm. Reiss felt the back of her head falling numb, her shoulders burning while the rest of her body lit itself anew. He was so gentle, those gorgeous eyes watching her face as she panted next to him.

Sweat glistened upon her chest, following the fire burning from her thighs and up her back. She felt as if one touch could combust the air from how he stroked her, tenderly dipping in an inch to swirl her wetness across his canvas. That was it, she was a masterpiece hiding in the marble waiting for the right hand to come along and discover her. And now that hand caused her throat to begin to hum like a bee hive.

That caught Alistair's attention, the sound making him smile wide as he whispered, "Did the magic key open up the extraordinary box?"

Maker's sake, it was stupid, but so adorable and she'd probably say worse if her entire throat wasn't too busy buzzing with the unending pleasure. She could hover there above him, letting him push her further and further along the journey, but that wasn't fair to him. Gasping in a deep breath, Reiss tried to ply her hair back as she sat up. Alistair retracted his hand, but almost regretfully, while she searched her brain for anything to say.

Something. Be an ingenue. Or seductive. Or...stare down at him as if you've never seen another man before. That's fine too.

While her brain stomped off, abandoning any hope, her fingers drew down the front of his trousers. Alistair groaned, tipping his head back as she curled her hand around the dick straining to be freed and join in the fun. Aware that she should feel silly, Reiss unhooked the buttons along his fly but kept the edges of the fabric held together trapping him tight against his stomach. He watched her with a curious quirk but didn't race to stop her.

Shaking off the blush rising up her shins, Reiss hopped up to her feet, yanked apart his pants and tugged them down to his knees. "Ta da!" she cried as if performing her own trick. The laugh thundered through Alistair's core, causing his dick to sway back and forth in a hypnotic fashion. Maker's sake, it was so enticing, Reiss stumbled to her knees and with an achingly slow reach she circled two fingers around the base. That drew a deep growl from Alistair's throat as her fingers drew ever upward to lightly squeeze against the head.

"Frosted Maker's Sword!" he shouted incoherently, acting as if he hadn't been touched by another in almost as long as Reiss hadn't. A blush bloomed below his chest, turning the almost white hair a beautiful strawberry. Sliding forward on a knee, Reiss kept one hand sliding up and down his dick hardening beneath her fingers, while her lips trailed across that fine hair.

Alistair laughed and squirmed at both at first, until her lips pressed against his nipple. Gasping, his adorable eyes shut tight while her tongue flicked it awake bringing obvious pleasure across his entire body. A quick breath began to pant out of his mouth, and Reiss almost paused for fear that she may be undoing his work to get healthy. "Don't stop," he spat out between alternating groans and shoveling breaths into his mouth.

This next part Reiss knew, it was all any of her few dalliances favored. Lifting herself up, she guided his cock right next to her lower lips. Making certain it was in place, Reiss thrusted her legs down, sending the first couple of inches of him barreling through her. Sweet Andraste, the length pushed so far beyond what she anticipated, her insides felt the same vibrating thrill she only expected from outside. Alistair's hand lifted to cup her breasts as she began to bounce upon him, savoring every deep thrust she could manage and ending it with a slow swirl of her hips.

The last part caused him to toss his head back against the floor, groaning up through his balls every time she managed it. A warmth reverberated up through her core, knocking bits of her awake she'd thought were long dead but that explosion remained illusive. Her only hope was from that "magical key" that kept obstinately brushing against his body but sliding away before it could enjoy the contact. Putting her own wants aside, Reiss was happy to watch the man squirming below her, his fingers thrumming a beat against her breasts. Whether it was his way to match her rhythm or keep him lasting longer, she couldn't tell. But judging by the perspiration dotting along his forehead, she suspected it wouldn't be much longer.

Wanting to make it as best as possible, if only for the memory, Reiss reached behind herself to cup his balls. Slowly she rotated them, the fine hair tickling the palm of her skin while Alistair moaned incoherent sentences.

Suddenly his eyes flew open and in a quick move he grabbed onto Reiss' hips and yanked her upward. His hard dick slipped out, red with a rage at losing its warm partner. "What? I...?" she gasped, trying to understand what went wrong.

He released a hand off of her in order to wipe the sweat from his eyes, "Sorry, you're...wow, but there's something I've been burning to do for a long time."

Uncertain, Reiss gave into the man tugging her forward. She walked upon her knees, waiting for his hands to release her, but they didn't give up until she hovered right above his face. Even with her tiny breasts, she couldn't see anything of him but a poof of the blonde hair below. What was he doing?

Alistair's hands grabbed tight to her hips, tugging himself closer to her and she down to him. Reiss feared he was trying to smother himself, when...

"Sweet fucking Maker!" she screamed when his tongue slicked across her clitoris. An erratic rhythm at first, it lapped her lips before returning right back to the main event -- seeming to try any pattern he could think of. Reiss gasped, her hands splaying out on the floor to keep her upright as she came fully undone while he... He was?

She'd read about it, that kind of thing in books, but had never fully understood it. No man ever thought she was worth the effort and she convinced herself it couldn't be that good. Blessed Andraste how wrong she'd been. The humming increased tenfold when he found the perfect tongue flicker followed by a gentle kiss. It was silly, and sweet, but it was also driving her body beyond any measure she'd through possible.

Wanting it. Needing it. Enraptured with everything he was doing, Reiss began to thrust again, moving with his tempting tongue. It began as a flutter in the back of her throat, then spots bursting behind her eyes as her entire body began to tremble. So close, she hung suspended upon the edge of the knife, begging and pleading. "Don't stop," she cried, willing her legs to not cramp up. Always dutiful, Alistair obeyed, his fingers curling around her ass while his tongue splayed her in twain.

The orgasm walloped her soul, barely bothering to finish off the already depleted body. This one lit every nerve in her body aflame. She didn't realize she was crying out for joy until his hands brushed against her stomach. Tugging himself out from under her, Reiss stared down at a genuine sparkle in his eyes, a song on his lips. She felt as if she should give him a medal, two medals, a parade.

"That's never, I..." Another shudder rapped against her muscles, causing her body to tighten as she hummed even louder to try and shake it off.

"Good," he snickered. Wiggling out below her, Alistair's eyes gained a deadly focus. She doubted she could speak her name if pressed, but had enough focus to watch the man stagger up to his knees. With his dick harder than steel, his hungry eyes stared up and down her body. Before Reiss could think of anything to answer with, he cupped her shoulders and guided her down onto her back.

She couldn't stop kissing him, tangling with the tongue that...that worked miracles beyond her ken. Alistair's hands drew downward from her cheek, cupped a breast and slowly he massaged into her thigh. Following it to the knee and calf, when he reached her ankle, he suddenly yanked it up to curl back behind his waist.

That was all Reiss needed as she followed with the other. Lining up the prize winning shot, she thrusted onto him, drawing his dick deep into her still shaking core. Alistair groaned as he hovered above her, a smile permanently stuck to his face. With a deep concentration he began to thrust faster. Harder. Reiss answered in kind, wanting to feel all of him as far as he could reach.

Lost in the pleasure, she grabbed onto his shoulders, digging her fingers deep into the flesh that triggered a thousand fantasies. Feeling them flexing beneath her while he balanced his weight upon his hands, she screamed a giddy laugh, having the best damn time she could ever remember. A moment of embarrassment and concern flipped her smile over, but Alistair grunted next to her ear, "Don't stop."

Laughing in joy, she kissed him, tugging those lips to hers as the final thrust pushed him into the warm abyss. His shoulders trembled below her fingers, his mouth breaking from hers so he could gasp at his own orgasm coursing out of him and into her. "Maker's blighted, I...Oh, I think I'm seeing spots," he chuckled. "That was, and you, and what you with me and I..."

Reiss grabbed onto his face and pulled it down to her, peppering him in even more kisses as he struggled to tell her how much he enjoyed it. A breath from hers, he whispered, "It's been a long time since anyone's made me feel like that, made me want to...do all that."

"Me too," she admitted. The tiny part of her brain that wasn't obliterated in pleasure clucked that it couldn't have been that long for him, he had a three month old. Reiss tried to smother it down while her fingers danced back and forth over those strapping shoulders.

"I'm getting the impression you like those," he said, turning his head to watch her hands.

"Shoulders have always been my, uh, undoing as it were," her proud blush paused and she focused fully on him, "What about you?"

She expected the obvious answers, a full breast, a round ass, plump lips -- all things she didn't have. Alistair curled a finger with her errant hairs and sighed, "I like a woman that's fun, and...I have to say I never looked much at legs, but these," he drew his fingers back to circle her thighs and strain for the calves still wrapped around him, "are divine."

"No, they're just, the bits I walk around on," Reiss tried to wave away the compliment while blushing up a storm.

"And I damn near walked into a wall when you were wearing only that clinging under armor one day," he laughed at himself. She missed that, missed a lot of things it seemed, the elf so certain that a human like him wouldn't look twice at her. And now...

"Alistair," Reiss whispered, needing to tell him something, but a great smile bloomed upon his face at that. "What?" she asked, thrown by it.

"I like hearing my name in your voice." He was still inside her, his cheeks rusted from the exertion and glistening, but none of that seemed to matter as Alistair began to bend over to kiss her.

At that moment, a grey shadow bound across the floor barely stirring a scrap of straw as it leaped high into the air and landed four paws upon Alistair's back. "Sylaise!" Reiss shrieked, trying to wave the cat off, but she was having none of it.

Padding around gently, the cat kneaded her paws against his flesh before unceremoniously curling up for a nap on the King's naked back. He strained to see what was happening over his shoulder, but couldn't quite reach. "Is there a cat sleeping on me?"

"I'm afraid so," Reiss admitted. She began to slide forward to try and wiggle out from underneath him. "I can shoo her off and..."

Alistair caught her lips in a deep kiss, pushing her head down to the floor as his body followed. Reiss' exhausted legs tumbled off him, as the man stretched out over her like a living blanket. The warmth wrapped around her while he lay his tousled hair flecked with straw upon her chest. As the man lay there listening to her heartbeat and only partially crushing her, she tried to fit through his hair to pull out the straw. That was enough to draw Sylaise's attention. Upset at her treat being given to the dogs, the cat padded up to Reiss, collapsed both paws around Alistair's neck as if she expected a piggy back ride, and then mewled helplessly.

While Reiss scratched her cat's head and gently massaged the man trying to bury a smile against her skin she felt a warm bliss for the first time in her life.

## CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

#### Afterglow

Wow.

Wow.

That's enough, time to be serious and focus.

Okay, maybe a few more wows worked into the mix for good measure, then liberally sprinkled with 'Yes!'

Alistair felt like he was flying a good twenty or so feet through the air and all without an ogre having kicked him off a cliff. Against his naked body pretend slumbered Reiss, her hair fanned out over his body like a golden blanket. It'd been so long since he had a woman curled up on him, her breaths matching his, her soft and so damn tempting body warming him to a cheek breaking smile. That leg of hers was straddled around his, her knee on occasion bouncing close to his satisfied bits, but he didn't worry. She seemed to be as drained as he felt -- ecstatic enough for his soul to climb mountains while the body lay at the summit and gave a hearty thumbs up.

The cat grew tired of trying to stay on top the warm but always twitching human and headed off for that perfect sunbeam elsewhere in the kennels. Alistair slid off Reiss, prepared to let her gather her clothes and probably pretend none of it ever happened, but she wrapped her arms around him and curled up in the crook of his arm. With one hand draped down her back, his other free fingers kept darting close to her face. He couldn't see much above his eyes aside from the holes in the kennel's roof that needed patching, but he could feel her breath wafting against his skin and that drew a satisfying smile to his guts.

He hadn't anticipated that reaction when he came to talk to her. Alistair gave it odds that either she'd admit there was a crush and it should go no further, deny it and say for the sake of her job it'd be best if he ignore it, or he'd blush himself bad enough to cause spontaneous human combustion and accidentally immolate the kennel in the process. What really happened was beyond his wildest dreams.

"Mm," she murmured, never really asleep, but not quite in the waking world either. Alistair was shocked he was bright eyed awake after all that. Maybe he was too busy doing an internal dance to let rest wash over him.

"Are you still with me?" he asked while glancing down at a crown of blonde hair.

"I believe so, but I fear it will require a scouting party to find all of my displaced clothes."

"Like looking for a pair of knickers in a haystack," he chuckled glancing over at the straw pile they'd mostly stayed out of and for good reason.

Reiss seemed to have the same idea as she lifted her head and stared over at it, "I'm surprised you didn't want to, uh..." He curled his fingers over her cheek to feel the blush, while well aware he had one to match, "in the straw."

"Dear Maker, no. That stuff's as itchy as a chantry sister's cassock. I think I'd rather have sex on an actual stack of needles," Alistair laughed before pausing and shuddering at the thought. "Actually, that might be a tossup."

"You've slept in straw?" At that she pushed up on her hand to beam those always watching green eyes into his. She didn't buy it for a second.

"I did as a child, not so much now unless something's gone horribly wrong."

She blinked at that and glanced downward, "Oh, when you were the..."

"Forgotten bastard son of the King? Yeah, good, good times. All the food I could swipe, free days to roam the countryside falling into every mud puddle, and a warm bed of straw next to a war dog growling in his sleep. The perfect childhood," he chuckled, hiding away any pain behind the veneer of laughter. It was what was, and Alistair didn't have the means to alter it. There seemed little point in dwelling upon it now.

"I'd feared you were going to tell me that sometimes you trade places with a peasant who bears your exact likeness so you can know what it's like to be a commoner for a day," Reiss said while nuzzling against his chest. She couldn't stop rubbing her hand haphazardly against his shoulder, as if she was trying to measure it for a coat.

"That ruse doesn't work so well when you've got a dozen armed guards following around the 'common everyday peasant who's new in town and not the King nope, nope. Don't be silly.'"

"I think the point is to leave all the trappings behind," Reiss sighed.

"No one told the Prince of Starkhaven that. Right twat he was, barely into adulthood and dead certain he was the Maker's gift to everything. There was one point when he sat down to explain Andraste to me and he called her husband Mouthrat."

That drew the sexiest snort from Reiss, "Did you correct him?"

"Of course not, that would be unseemly, telling a Prince he's mistaken. Also it was damn hilarious watching every Andrastian in the chantry groan as he kept droning on and on about Mouthrat. I wish I could have somehow captured that speech to laugh at for weeks later."

Chuckling at the idea, Reiss unearthed her body stuck tight to his and climbed to kiss him with her tempting lips. Maker's sake, he never ever wanted to stop doing that. To press against her slightly pursed lips, to taste her. Did determination, endurance, and the dawn's crisp light have a flavor? If so, that was her, with the occasional scent of thick armor polish wafting under it. Smelling it roused up his blood from its crypt, while kissing her swaddled his soul down for a perfect nap. The one where no one needs you, the sun's hidden behind the curtains, and someone left a glass of water near the bed in case you get thirsty.

Sweet Andraste, he just compared a beautiful woman to a nap. Was it any wonder he'd been single for so many years?

Slipping away, Reiss placed her hand upon his skin and beamed her summery eyes onto him. "What now?"

"Clothing is probably smart, don't want to give the poor stablehand a heart attack at seeing his King in the altogether," his eyes danced around her face waiting for a groan or patented eye roll the same way everyone suffered him, but she nestled tight to his chest and molded her head against him.

After a rise and fall, with Alistair trying to comb her hair back and forth, she sighed, "Better make certain we check to see whose is whose before getting dressed. I doubt you'll fit in my tunic, or knickers."

"That, uh..." the very idea of her knickers, the tiny scrap of fabric that covered her tempting anatomy he was gifted the opportunity to lavish attention on shut off Alistair's brain. He'd had something rather witty for him regarding women's clothing but it poofed like smoke on the wind. Snuggling Reiss tighter to him, he wanted this moment to last forever. The warm summer breeze wafting over his exposed skin while clinging to this beautiful and sharp woman who got him was one of the best days he could remember in a long time.

"Thank you," she said, not bothering to glance up.

"For what?" He shifted uncomfortably at that. She was always thanking him for innocuous things, or asking for forgiveness. If Reiss wanted to thank him for his performance, he owed her her own castle with a chocolate waterfall and a pony made out of sugar.

"For not ripping open my shirt and breaking off the buttons," she smiled, her fingers drawing across the scrawny chest hair he never managed to cultivate beyond a few weed patches.

"Oh that," Alistair smiled wider while scooping both arms to hold her in a hug, "I know how much of a pain it is sewing buttons back on."

"Finding them again is my greater concern," she grumbled, reminding Alistair that she'd seen hard times where a solitary button's replacement may represent a missed meal.

"I admit, I'm not the best at doing the...what do they call it, buckle ripping?"

Reiss giggled against his skin, her wet lips pressing tighter to him as she gasped for air. "Yes, exactly, ripping those buckles off someone in one go."

"Must take forever when trying to seduce someone from Tevinter. I think over half their clothing is buckles. If you took one off, the entire square foot of fabric would collapse. Loud as sin when they're trying to eat too."

They weren't talking about what they had to, what they skipped over before he and she did things that would make the Chantry hurl the Chant of Light as his head. Alistair didn't want to ruin it, and he knew if he let his brain take hold it would. That damn thing was always dredging up duty and his proper place while he wanted to wallow for a few minutes longer in bliss.

Sighing, he whispered under his breath, "I am never going to hear the end of it from Lanny."

That caught Reiss' attention, her head lifting right up as she tried to search his face. Alistair was too focused on the ceiling, but he heard a taut thread in her voice as she asked, "Oh? How so?"

"She was so damn certain that if I just bit down on the stick and talked to you things would work out. I admit I didn't think they'd work out quite that well..." he twisted in the burn rising again through his stomach. Maker's sake, thirty seven years old and he couldn't stop blushing at the idea of sex.

"Was it," Reiss lifted fully off of him and began to work her fingers around in a knot, "I mean, I don't try to appear too forward and..."

Sitting up quickly, Alistair pulled her tight, his hands easily wrapping around her back. She didn't fight the hug, but he could feel a frown puckering along her brow pressed to his skin. "That was far from forward. I'd been the one working backwards and sometimes to the side, and...sorry, it's probably weird to learn that the Hero of Ferelden cares about whatever between us."

"You know," Reiss gasped in his arms.

"She told me you figured it out, said that she trusted you to honor her secret. But, knowing Lanny she also probably knows that no one's likely to believe a random guard about the Hero suddenly springing to life."

"They may not even believe you after so many years." Her enticing breath ruffled his chest hair while Alistair's eyes couldn't stop darting down her sculpted shoulders to savor the curve of her breast's side. They were so adorable, like two perky puppy heads... No, that would be even worse than the nap idea. Drop that one off a cliff right now.

Sliding his hands off the back of her neck and up to her cheek, he tipped her head to him hoping. Reiss caught on quick and answered with a kiss, soft and sweet like a spring wine, which quieted Alistair's soul. He didn't realize how turbulent it'd been as of late, banging its fists against the cage and trying to drive him mad, until her touch calmed it down.

Dropping his fingers against the small of her back, Alistair mashed his forehead against hers and whispered, "Lanny also mentioned that you asked her if she still loved me."

"I..." Reiss swallowed deep, a blush burning up her cheeks as she struggled to find the right words. "I did, if that was unbecoming I-- "

Alistair was quick to interrupt her by kissing the tip of her nose, "No, it's perceptive of you but I'm coming to expect that from a woman who anticipates arrow shots. I'm guessing you want to ask me the same. Or we could talk about breakfast pastries. If it's not at least glazed I don't see the point. Might as well just eat a rock and call it good." He paused in his babble to try and break apart the awkwardness while Reiss fell dangerously silent. And he thought he could survive asking her about their future without leaping out the window? Which, given the fact they're all closed in the kennel wouldn't get him very far.

"Are you, I mean, I get it. She's...amazing, wonderful, legendary."

"Also beautiful, pedantic as all get out, will organize your library if you forget to lock it and hide the key, and can store more food in her pockets than a chipmunk with a satchel. Lanny's a lot of things, many of which others don't see, but she's not perfect. And to answer the question I raised, I'm not in love with her. I...think I'll always carry her in my heart. We've been through too much shit to give up on each other, but the other stuff is gone. Washed away and the like."

"And she's married," Reiss said. Alistair managed to fight down the flinch at that. It didn't bother him, not in the abstract sense as it made her happy, it was just the other half of that contractual arrangement that ground his guts to dust. Stupid templars.

"Though," Reiss' hands slipped off his neck and landed in her naked nap. Matching her, Alistair tugged his away but had no idea what to do with them. After tugging on his hair he let both land with a thud upon his thighs. "You're married too," she pronounced, her eyes darting over his.

"Yeah," he sighed, his head falling down. Glaring at the stones of Ferelden, the damn country that never wanted him happy, Alistair nodded, "I am. If that's an issue for you, I'm afraid..."

She didn't shout out no, nor pat him on the head once with an ill thought out yes. Reiss rocked back and forth on her toned haunches before she sighed, "I'm not sure. I have to think about it."

"This is probably when I'm supposed to say that my wife and I have an _understanding_ , but I believe that's rule two in the cheater's guidebook."

"What's rule one?"

"Never bet on a white horse."

His nonsense got a small snicker from Reiss. Her eyes stayed focused in the immeasurable distance hovering between them, but her hands lifted off her lap to caress first his knees, then slide down to massage into the thighs. Screwing his sight up, Alistair stared at the ceiling and did his best to think about the time Eamon forced all the old codgers to visit a hot spring. That should keep him from springing up at her touch sliding ever higher along his leg.

"We should talk about this," she whispered, breaking their long, awkward stalemate.

"Yeah, I guess we should. Do you want to get dressed before or...?" he gestured to where he was 76% certain he left his pants. Though they could be hers. He was going to have to get better at that after so many years of only having to deal with robes.

"No, it..." she reached forward to embrace him and snuggled tight to his chest. "This doesn't bother me."

"But something does," he whispered, his breath scattering her hair. It was so fine, like golden thread used to stitch up doll clothes.

"I don't know," she admitted again, the edges of her nose puckering. "Maybe I feel like I should be more bothered by it than I am. You're a human, I'm an elf. You're married, I'm not."

"You're a royal guard and I'm some dumb idiot they let sit on the big chair."

"It's a lot to take in at once," she sighed. Her words sounded as if she was trying to talk herself into running, but her body kept pressed tight to his skin. Maker, if Alistair had to do the adult thing and send her away for her sake he'd either crack in half or fail miserably at it.

"For what little it's worth, I like you, a lot. Enough to have the Hero of Ferelden prod me about it constantly during her visit." At her confused look he elaborated, "Apparently I talk in my sleep. And there were dreams of a...uh, hey, what's the cat up to?"

Laughing against him, Reiss smoothed up his hair while staring ever higher, "For what it's worth, I like you too."

Such a simple thing he was made well aware of when the pants went flying, but the admittance drew a bright smile to Alistair's face and a warmth through his old bones. The knee creaked a bit, but it always did that. Holding her cheek, he tugged her for a deep kiss. He savored the tug of her lips almost but not quite pinching against his bottom one. That move threw off all control he had on his lower bit parts, the poky one rising from its happy stupor.

"I like you," he whispered as the kiss ended.

"As you already mentioned," Reiss smiled.

Alistair's brain tripped away at her golden face. Not just her hair, but her entire face, her being seemed to glow as if she was some secret answer that'd been hiding in plain sight. Sweet Andraste, he was in deeper than he realized.

"Time," shot out of Alistair's fumbling lips. "Take all the time you need to decide, to figure out if you want, or don't want, or however it would work."

"You're certain you don't want an answer right this minute?"

He shrugged, "I fear if I force you now, it'd be a no. And if I give you long enough to think it all through it'd also be a no. Lot of no's on the horizon either way and maybe it's best if I try hope for a bit. See if it fits me or..."

Her palm cupping under his jaw and lifting his head to her cut off his babble tap. "I wouldn't bet on a no just yet. Anything's possible."

"Right," he smiled, doing his damnedest to act like the carefree, unconcerned ladies man he was supposed to be. But all his gut did was churn in anticipation, his body begging to roam all across hers and his heart thumping a new, happy beat.

"We should get dressed then, and return to the stuff I..." Alistair glanced up at the ceiling as if he could see the sun.

"What is it?" Reiss asked.

"Oh Maker, I left Eamon on the illusion I was taking a trip to the ol' bushes for a leak and that had to be a good few hours ago." She snorted so adorably at that, some of Alistair's regret vanished but not quite all.

"He's probably combing through every inch of the castle searching to make certain the King didn't pass out with his trousers down around his ankles."

Laughing, Alistair snatched up his mentioned trousers and began to wiggle into them. "Face first into the shit hole, sounds about right. They're probably drawing lots to see who'd have to clean me up first."

Reiss was both more methodical and faster to dress. She took the time to make certain her shirt wasn't inside out, while Alistair threw his on, yanked it off to invert it, realized it was now inside out, and repeated the process. He wasn't certain if it was better to blame it on his naturally idiotic mind or the beautiful woman with her fingers delicately knotting back together her buttons. Forgetting the plan, he abandoned the ties to his shirt and reached over to grasp her fingers.

Those eyes he wanted to drown in turned over in surprise, but she glided upon her knees to him for one last kiss. He meant it to be a simple goodbye, but Reiss' lips parted to let her tongue knock around with his. Slowly losing all sense of himself, Alistair followed in turn, dipping in and out of her as he had before. It felt more than good, it was right, so stupidly right he wondered why it took him so damn long to try. Trailing up her earlobe, he cupped the points of her ears, gently rocking his thumb against the edge. Reiss reached under the back of his billowing tunic to run her nails against his skin. Even cut short, the sensation invigorated every nerve in his body. He didn't want it to end, not for anything. Forget Eamon, or the council, or eating, sleeping, breathing. This was it.

Reiss mmmed, her lips sliding down as her eyes opened with a coy look in them. "Tonight. I'll have an answer for you tonight after we return to our rooms."

"Okay," Alistair nodded, fully aware that he was on full salute in his trousers and uncertain how to smoothly tuck it into his waistband while the beautiful lady watched. "We'll uh, tonight. Got it. Writing it down in my mind."

Snickering, she released her hold on him and began to craw to the ladder. "You best go find the Arl fast before there's a proper manhunt through Denerim. After I slot back on my armor I shall join you, Ser."

He watched it fall back into place, that wall she kept up to protect herself, to protect him from himself, to protect the world from catching on. Whatever reason, at the moment he hated it because Alistair feared it may never come back down again. Barely bothering to work down the ladder, Alistair bobbed his head at her, tied the drawstring of his tunic and said, "I'll see you inside, Ser Reiss."

Eamon was less than pleased when Alistair staggered back inside. On the plus side, there wasn't any serious man hunt on to find the wayward King and drag him screaming back, but he did get a serious meeting of those bushy white brows as the Chancellor wafted back and forth on his feet.

"Nice of you to return to your work, your Majesty," he grumbled. A fresh stack of problems only the King could deal with waited on the desk. Alistair had three of them stashed across the castle. He liked the idea that he could do work in different rooms and also that he could send the things he really didn't care about to the dark room with the walls painted like dried blood after an unfortunate party. If Eamon caught on, he gave little to no hints about it.

"I assume you found the lavatory acceptable, seeing as how you had an hour or more to inspect it," he continued. The man had been in a pickled state for the entire day, probably still angry at Alistair for sending the mage away.

Squatting back at his desk, Alistair yanked up a quill and smiled, "It was only an hour?"

"Do you require more healing? I believe there are excess potions left..."

"No!" he shouted over Eamon's cruel/kind look. Whatever Lanny kept shoveling down his throat dried out his gums and caused a balloon of gas to squat in his stomach and never leave. It may have saved his life, but at the time Alistair wondered if it was worth it. "I'm here, up, talking, no being dead or near dying. And we've got work to do. I've got work to do."

"As you say, your Highness." Eamon shuffled off a dozen or so pieces of parchment in order to reveal one Alistair'd been ignoring for awhile.

_On the Matter of the Inquisition and Its Involvement in the Avaar Issue._

Everyone loved the Inquisition when it was stopping a crazy man who thought ripping open the fade would be good for a lark, but the infatuation faded over time to become that person who sleeps in your bed but whose voice draws nails across your brain. Tying them to a new bridegroom seemed the answer with the chantry, and it'd been working, right up until that Inquisitor began regrowing his little army with Avaar warriors. It didn't help Alistair's case that he knew the why, sort of, but no one else could. Convincing a bleating flock of Bannorn that the giants of the mountains weren't going to march upon their lands under the banner of the Inquisition nor Chantry wasn't going so well.

Maybe if he sent a note to the Inquisitor asking him to hold off on scooping up every damn giant man and woman he could out of the Frostbacks. Leave a few behind to startle the Banns during Satinalia parties. Tapping the quill against the paper, and leaving behind flecks of ink, Alistair turned to ask Eamon what he should do when the door opened and Reiss stepped valiantly in.

She'd returned her hair to its tight bun, but those always floating tendrils haunted the edges of her face. Pausing to bow her head to the Chancellor, she turned to the man trapped behind the desk and ever so softly smiled. Maker's sake, the dreadful anticipation rose up in his gut. How was he supposed to keep playing the part of idiotic but generally helpful King while waiting on pins and more pointy bits to find out her answer? Focus seemed impossible while his skin still smelled of her and his legs slightly trembled at the memory and hope of getting another chance to go again. Please.

Alistair drew the quill into his mouth and began to chew on the end in contemplation. He kept his eyes upon the parchment scattered across the desk, but his mind kept replaying the past hour and however long he was gone. It wasn't just the sex, okay, the sex was a lot of it, but having her naked and wholesome form in his arms cracked a peek into the locked chest he hurled his heart into. It didn't knock it fully open, that was up to her, but it'd be so nice to let himself fall again, to trust himself to love again. Plus, there was the sex. That was top notch, applause all around, please do it again.

So many years since he caressed a hip, kneaded a butt cheek, and kissed lips panting for more. The thought that it could all be ripped away kept him hanging upon that cliff's edge waiting for either a helping hand or a good kick to finish the job.

"Sire," Eamon spoke.

Alistair ignored it, his teeth nibbling up and down the quill's shaft while he stewed about his personal life.

"Sire," Eamon tried again, finally causing him to look up, "you're consuming the inked end."

"Wha..." Alistair yanked back the quill and dabbed a finger against his lip. Black oozed across it, more of it no doubt spilling out of his mouth after he chewed right through the quill tip. He grabbed onto the fancy and important parchments, trying to use them to mop up the mess, when Eamon passed over one of his monogramed kerchiefs.

Dabbing like mad, he glanced over at Reiss in the corner. She stood stock still, her eyes gazing out at the horizon as all good guards did, but there upon her lips was an intoxicating smile he yearned to kiss. Good thing for her Eamon was there, or she'd be covered in ink as well.

"Right, okay," Alistair wadded up the kerchief and tossed it to the edge of the desk. "Let's get to work."

"That's what I've been trying to get you to do for the past hour," Eamon groaned, jabbing his finger at the piles while the only true focus of Alistair's attention waited outside of arm's reach.

In the end, he managed to buckle down and answer two and a half letters. One was to Lanny, making sure to report on his symptoms in excruciating detail as she kept begging. He wondered if she was really trying to compile research on a new potion or if she just got a good laugh at it. At least he knew she was safe on the trip back home, taking it easier and with Teagan there to protect her. Well, Teagan to offer to protect her while Lanny no doubt froze every bandit and dangerous wolf in a mile wide radius. It was the thought that mattered.

After work, it was time for the evening meal. Alistair was normally a fast eater, the kitchen staff plopping all the courses down in front of the King while some of the more enlightened in the castle savored the Orlesian approach to moderation. But this time he flew through the meal, jamming various meats together into a wad and stuffing it into his mouth. Beatrice even glanced over from her cocoon of handmaidens and Cordell to remind the King to swallow lest he choke. He tried to slow down, but out of the edge of his eye he caught a flicker of blonde hair and his heart raced again, driving his limbs to jam all the food he could reach into his mouth in one go.

There was one stop he couldn't speed through and that was reading to Spud. Mercifully she'd moved on from the mage tomes, but someone slipped the most insipid story about what would happen if someone gave a nug a coat. It should be a short tale, nug gets coat, nug is warm, happy days forever, but somehow by a mad writer's undiluted fear of charity it spiraled into a cacophony of problems that ended in a dragon demanding the blood of the first born. Dark for a children's story, but of course his first born loved it, often demanding that he read it four or five times. Tonight was no different. With grass braided into her hair because she'd been out in the meadow watching the horses, Spud curled up with her Mr. Tibbles and demanded a sixth encore.

"Spuddy, please," Alistair groaned, "Daddy's tired."

"I'm not!" she shouted, leaping onto her feet and jumping up and down on the sinking mattress.

"Yes, yes," a headache swarmed in the back of his brain, "I get it, you are toddler -- queen of eternal energy, but I am exhausted -- jester of laying down quietly. You already know how this book ends."

"Nu uh," she lied through her teeth, "again!"

"Maker's sake, where's Marn?" Normally, he'd shoo the looming nanny away but right now he'd give anything to have her rush in and kick him out the door.

"I," Spud began when a great yawn broke up her sentence. Her tiny fist tried to hide it, but Alistair saw that his little ball of energy was about to crash. "Dunno," she sagged, her body collapsing to its knees against the bed.

"Get back under the covers," he ordered.

"Mkay," she nodded, quickly fading despite her admonishments. Alistair helped to tuck her in tight, focusing on jamming the edge of the blankets under the mattress to lock her in, when Spud's pudgy fingers tugged on his hair. "Can't go til you sing me the song."

"Spud," he whined, well aware that the door to his daughter's bedroom was open and the woman he was trying to impress waited outside. Hearing him sing would do the exact opposite. "Tomorrow," he tried to promise, standing up to plant a kiss on her forehead.

Pudgy hands grabbed onto both of his cheeks, smooshing them inward. "No, now!"

"Fine," he mumbled through the squished mouth and lifted his head away from her hands. Spud clapped those evil hands and Alistair wondered just how she'd use her twisted machinations that could get him to sing while as Queen. She may give Orlais a run for its Royals.

Coughing in his throat, Alistair tried to bide for time, watching to see if his daughter's eyelids would slip closed and he could sneak out, but no such luck. She was wide awake and waiting for the song. Maker help me, Alistair prayed absently. He was so far removed from being a singer it was pathetic. Rutting pigs in heat bore a more operatic tone to him.

"Little girl, asleep in the clouds

Little girl, dreaming of light

Chasing through the thunder

And sliding across the dark

Little girl, feel no fright

Daddy's here, don't you cry

Daddy's here, setting it right

Hold you close when monster's prowl

Fend them off without a word

Daddy's here to kiss you goodnight"

As the barely passable melody slipped from his lips, Alistair shook it off and spoke quickly, "There, song sung, good enough." He began to rise away from her bed, when she grabbed onto his hand and pointed at her forehead. "All right," he conceded, placing another kiss onto her forehead and against her fingers. That got a small giggle from his daughter who was fighting sleep with everything she had at her disposal.

"Now go to bed!" he ordered.

"Okay," she admitted defeat, having used up all her tricks. Alistair stepped away to lick his fingers and douse the lamp when Spud's quiet voice pierced the heavier shadows, "I love you, Daddy."

All his exasperation vanished in a puff of smoke at the earnest confession from his daughter twisting over to fall asleep. "I love you too, tatter tot," he whispered to the air before finally closing the door and letting her slumber. Outside he spotted Reiss standing patiently against the wall. "Please tell me you didn't hear that."

"I didn't hear it," she lied so badly Alistair felt a blush ratcheting up his cheeks. Sweet Andraste, it was a wonder anyone had ever slept with him. He had the seduction skills of a walrus. Trying to distract from the embarrassment knotting up his enflamed and overstuffed stomach, Alistair pointed around, "Where's Brunt? Shouldn't he be here guarding the kids?" The silent but gruff bodyguard became such a staple, Alistair kinda stopped noticing him just beyond the playrooms he'd find his children in, always looming. The man had looming down to a science.

Reiss glanced around and shrugged, "I believe he's with Cailan at the moment."

"You can never trust babies," Alistair said, "they play all innocent and barely capable of motor control and then blam, suddenly they're plotting a coup to overthrow the entire government in favor of the Biscuit Party."

Chuckling, Reiss fell in behind him as he began to march towards the stairs. All he had left on his docket was... "So," he spoke without turning around to face her, "I'm done for the day and was planning on going to my room." Alistair twisted his fingers into knots wishing he had one of those little puzzles to keep them occupied. As the silence loomed, he spun around to spit out, "I mean, just saying that you are free to spend the rest of the night doing whatever you wanted or needed to do without my interference in, uh..."

A smile rose across her beautiful cheek and she nodded imperceptibly, "I believe I would like to retire as well. It's been a surprisingly vigorous day." At that she smirked, causing Alistair to blush full on as he rocked back and forth on his tip toes.

"That it, yes, it was, um, what you said." Aware he was babbling like an idiot, Alistair spun on his toes and began to walk towards his side of palace. "Heading to the bedroom," he whispered to himself for fear that his panicking brain might steer him into an open pit by mistake. By the time they arrived he feared he was about to slide down the stairs in a cascade of the flop sweat pouring off him while she seemed cool and collected.

"Do, should I...?" he pointed at his room, the door surprisingly closed. Normally everyone and their pet mabari wandered in and out with him only having some say in when they should scatter.

A warm smile lifted on her cheeks and she said, "I should deposit this down at the armory." Her fingers ran across the breastplate Alistair was rather lucky he didn't have to try to get off her. Nodding dimly at the sense it made, he wanted to ask another question but nothing would land upon his tongue beyond a "duh..." Mercifully, he managed to keep that locked away. Reiss shifted a bit closer to him to add, "When I return we can talk."

"Right," he bobbed his head like a fishing bird, all but giving himself whiplash while she smiled under her hand and turned towards the stairs. Midway down the secret servants entrance he wasn't supposed to know about Alistair called out, "You mean talk now, right? No waiting a few weeks while dalish and banns and mucus keep clogging it up."

He couldn't hear her response but she waved a hand while disappearing down the unadorned staircase. Nodding a few more times, Alistair found his hands limply bashing together as if he joined up with a band and someone foolishly gave him cymbals. Focus, he shouted at himself while stumbling into his room.

How long did it take a person to disarm? With him it depended on if he got help or not, some of those buckles were kept in the most unreachable spots. Half the time he just left them flapping free during battle, they weren't really support straps anyway, more decoration. And Lanny had a habit of finding the strangest pieces of armor for him to wear, not that he'd ever object no matter how beaten up, pointy, or designed for a dwarf it was. Looking up, Alistair caught her phylactery pulsing its normal heartbeat. With only the hearth and no candles lit, it cast his entire bedroom in a haunting red glow which should probably keep him awake but became a comfort. As long as that thing beamed a continuous red light against the back of his eyes she was alive.

And probably home by now, he thought while letting his fingers skirt near the glass but not touch it. One couldn't read the thoughts of the mage attached to it, and it wasn't as if he'd suddenly see through her eyes, but it felt weird to keep that close of tabs on her. Knowing she was alive was usually enough.

Picking over a quiver of arrows left scattered across his desk and...what seemed to be a molding loaf of bread with mincemeat smeared over it, Alistair unearthed various letters and memos he wanted to keep close. There were Lanny's letters, all of them locked in his strong box so no one would see them. He worried at first that servants might try to swipe them, but they seemed uninterested. Probably because there were no naughty parts in it.

Only one of hers he left out, the last one she sent him before she "died." A letter from Vigil's Keep assuring Alistair that she'd meet him by the Waking Sea for whatever secret trip he had planned in Antiva. It all went right to shit after that, most of it his doing, but Alistair didn't want to wallow in his failure. Below the letter sat a folder he'd swiped from Ghaleb's stack to keep for himself.

"Reiss Sayer, First Lieutenant Inquisition, Guardswoman second class in Denerim's eleventh district." The title gave away nothing to whatever rested inside. It was stupid, but Alistair hadn't had the heart to open it up and look. She was his bodyguard, someone he entrusted his life with and the wise, kingly thing to do would be to gather all the information on her he could. He wasn't certain if it was a fear that there'd be something in there he didn't like, or the greater concern that she'd hate him for having read it.

Returning it back to the pile, Alistair did his best to not tear his hair out when he heard the sound of a door opening followed by a louder close. She was back in her room. What should he do? Oh Maker, he hadn't done a damn thing but sit around wallowing. Should he, uh...change? Or would that be odd? She'd probably notice...

He paused, remembering her spotting the archer before anyone else did. No, she'd certainly notice. And would that seem too eager for a yes? If it was a no then he'd seem even stupider for having tried. But, he didn't want to walk in their empty handed. Glancing around his room he could only spot a few books, more work, a handful of iron daggers (Maker's sake, no one could get rid of those damn things). All things that screamed romance as much as a kick to the shins.

Doing his best to not yank his hair clean out by the roots, Alistair danced out into the hall. It was a creepy place, made all the more disturbing by the old furniture lurking like monsters down the path. Most of it was stuff that belonged to his predecessors aka things he wasn't allowed to be rid of but had no idea what to do with. Dancing back and forth on his feet, the squeak of his heels no doubt reverberating through the shut door between them, Alistair did his damnedest to both man up and face what was to come, as well as cower back into a corner.

No, no, forget the stupid brain laying out in excruciating detail every reason she had to say no. Alistair took a sturdy step forward when out of the corner of his eye he caught a small bouquet. How long did he have that vase? And who kept refilling it? Ignoring the roses, he was drawn by a daisy bright as a sunbeam reflecting off a cloudless lake. Plucking it from a mob of baby's breath, he smiled as he got a better look. A bright green echoed from the middle of the flower almost the exact same color as her eyes.

Trying to take it as a sign, Alistair gripped tight to his abysmal offering and stepped beside their shared door.

It's gonna be a no.

_You don't know that.  _

It's always a no.

_Not always.  _

Those women wanted the crown.

_What about...?  _

That turned into a no because of you.

His stomach rumbled like thunder cracking across the mountains, and Alistair swallowed. Willing his vision to focus, he lifted up his hand and gently knocked on the door. Time to learn the answer.

To appear not too eager, he glanced down at the flower, running a finger over the fragile petals as the door cracked open. He expected to have her stand back and speak to him across the threshold. Shoring up the last drops of his courage, Alistair glanced up into those summery eyes when her hands grabbed onto his shirt and tugged him into her room.

## CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

#### An Answer

She didn't want to move, lost in the rise and fall of his chest in the middle of slumber, but Reiss' arm fell asleep and the pins and needles were threatening to turn into serious nerve damage. Shifting slowly, she unearthed her naked arm out from underneath his very naked body. Again. He passed out almost immediately after she'd...uh, why was it so hard for her to even think the word? Sex, it was sex. Glorious, wonderful, she didn't know it could feel that good sex.

Alistair didn't wake, but he turned a bit on his side. Her bed wasn't built on the assumption that two people would share it and he seemed to gravitate to sleeping on his back, forcing Reiss to slot in beside him. If it were any other man she'd probably be furious at being kept awake in such a manner but after the way he strung her body tight and coaxed a symphony out of it, she was willing to deal with straddling the edge. With her freed hand curling up to hold her shoulder because it couldn't fit anywhere else, she clung tight to his chest for both balance and because she didn't want to let go.

Maker was he surprised when she yanked him into her room for a kiss. Even Reiss was shocked at how easily she could pull the human that had both height and weight on her. He stumbled for awhile, his hands extended out as if afraid to touch anything. When she broke away a moment he blinked his eyes furiously and asked the air, "Is that a yes?"

She'd barely uttered her response before they fell back into it: the kissing, the moaning, the...rutting around like druffalo in heat. With the men before, Reiss humored sex. It was okay, sometimes she'd begin ecstatic for it but wane as the act went on. For awhile she convinced herself that people just put on a good talk about how wonderful and soul affirming it was. Overcompensation, she'd smile and nod even when Lunet went on. But now... Running her fingers over the chest hair she smiled. Now she got it.

At the kennel, naked and heady with the fruits of their passion she'd feared she was in a fog, afraid that any answer given in that state would be tainted. And she did weigh it carefully. He was married -- to a woman that all but suggested Reiss seduce him. He had children -- whom he adored to pieces. Those weren't her problem, it was the King bit, mixed in with the boss parts. Which she probably should have voiced instead of tugging him into her parted legs like a famished sailor.

Opening the door and finding him standing there staring down at a flower he kept impishly twirling with his fingers, a blush wrapped around his cheeks and one hand clinging to the top of the doorframe for life, she couldn't help herself. He looked so achingly adorable, the recently discovered lustful part of Reiss needed him. Still, she should probably wake him and have that talk they kept putting off and ignoring. Maybe. In a few minutes.

He looked so serene while traveling through the fade. Reiss batted at the hair waning over his forehead and smooshed it back up with the rest. Gone was the small tic hidden behind his ever present smile. Even relaxed, he seemed to be smiling, but a true one, no furrowed lines running up the middle of his forehead or a clenched jaw. She loved seeing it.

"Are you watching me sleep?" he asked without opening an eye.

"Who, me?"

"I hope so," those always effervescent eyes popped open and he smiled at her, "unless you invited the entire castle to come in and watch."

Reiss shook her head and felt the blush returning, "No, nope, it's just I. Me? Which is right?"

"Void if I know. Sometimes I get called a we and then I am completely lost," Alistair's sleeping hand lifted so Reiss could scoot under it and lay her head upon him. More than his warmth enveloped her. A musk all of his own, woodsy while also fruity and mixed with a twang of sweat and sex wafted across her nose. She smiled at it and buried her nose against his skin, breathing it in.

As his arm dropped behind her, he began to rub circles over her upper back, taking the time to dig in if he found a knot. A deep one caused Reiss to gasp and Alistair paused before she ordered him to keep going, it was working. "So," he began, his eyes dancing in hers, "twice in one day. I feel like I should declare some kind of holiday for being capable of that again."

Reiss smiled at that, while her stomach opened up in dread, "What would you call it?"

"Oh, it'd be the Feast of some old Chantry Cleric that selected the color of their robes, as they all are, but people'd celebrate it by, uh, you know."

"Yes, I know," she tried to smile but her pit was widening, sucking down her lungs and aiming to snatch up her brain. Reiss tried to focus on the flower he brought her. So silly, she didn't need anything so superfluous. But she took the time to fill her drinking cup with water from the cold basin to keep it alive as long as possible before climbing into bed with the snoring man. How did some women keep them? There was something about pressing between books or hanging them upside down? She hadn't collected flowers since she was a child, a young child. All her previous picking in the wild was done for herbs which rarely looked pretty.

"Is something wrong?" Alistair's voice floated in her ear, but she kept staring at the flower. Why couldn't it be that simple, a boy giving a girl a token of his affection? Why did there have to be so much complicated layered on top?

Screwing up her eyes, Reiss glanced over at him and opened the can of worms she'd been dreading. "What comes next?"

"Uh," Alistair lifted up his head so his eyes darted around the room in confusion, "hopefully sleep. I don't know about you but I'm old and still healing."

"I mean...what is expected of me?"

"Oh," he groaned, his head flopping back hard against the pillow. He pinched his face shut tight before glancing over to the woman staring a hole through his chest. Warm fingers glanced across her cheek before he palmed it. "Reiss, nothing's expected of you. Not because of..." he vaguely gestured down his naked body.

"But I'd be, I mean, there are..." she couldn't bring herself to say the word even if that was what she was. Nothing sanctioned was ever possible which left her with only one title. She leaned back, trying to wrap her arms around herself in comfort.

Trying to follow, Alistair sat up in the bed and turned to her. He reached over to embrace her, but she couldn't look up. "Ferelden doesn't do official mistresses the way Orlais does. No title, no fancy apartments, no standing in court while wearing idiotic attire that leaves you half naked."

She nodded, glad to hear that, but couldn't lift her eyes.

"Is that..." he dropped his hands and twisted his legs around to sit square on the bed. "Is that a problem for you? Because..."

"No," she shook her head.

"You don't sound convincing," he admitted in a broken voice. The hurt drew her to him in an instant, his head hung low as his fingernails picked at a callus on the side of his foot.

"It's not that, I..." she needed to find the damn words. Swallowing a breath, she closed her eyes to explain, "I don't want to be the King's mistress." Opening them slowly, she graced her fingers against his shoulder to finish, "I want to be yours."

That got a breathy laugh and Alistair whipped his head up fast, a smile rising, "That's good to know, though you nearly gave me a heart attack phrasing it that way."

"Sorry," she grimaced, "I'm not good at speeches. Big ones, and the like. I used to have a stutter when I was little and I'd spend what felt hours thinking of the right thing to say that my mouth wouldn't mess up. Tends to cause sentences to get all jumbled up."

"I didn't know that," he exclaimed, his fingers dancing through her fallen hair.

"Why would you? I grew out of it. It was never debilitating, only slightly annoying and..." Reiss reached over to grab the hand combing through her hair and cup it in hers. "In the Inquisition we'd often have to deal with the gentry's bedfellows."

"What? Why?" Alistair started.

"It would curry favor at times, or because they were in charge of a chateau or palace the templars were...not the point. They..." Reiss remembered the handful they'd had to rescue, often primped beyond imagination, corsets sucking in so tight to break ribs and makeup inches thick upon their faces. With the Orlesians that was true of both genders. While the official members of the households wore masks, the bedwarmers were left without, which they made up for with spectacle. But what struck her was how on point they always were, gushing endlessly about their patron as if waiting for them to swoop in and save them like an old tale. It was pathetic and strange.

Slotting away the memory, she stared at Alistair, "I don't want to be like them. I want to serve, to not be pampered, to not be treated any differently than..."

He tugged her close to his chest, Reiss giving in as she found a comfort against his skin rising and falling with every breath. "I can't promise that people won't find out. Gossip's pretty much what this place runs on, but...I'm not about to fire you just to keep you chained up to my bed. Which sounds like a horrific thing now that I say it aloud."

A laugh gurgled in her throat, "In certain circumstances being chained to your bed would be tempting...provided I had access to the key."

"That, uh," his mouth fell slack as he took in her words. When they fully hit, he smiled his goofy grin and nodded madly, "Yes, good, uh, but I have no intentions of running you out of a job. There's still assassins and you've been a damn fine bodyguard so far."

A bodyguard who let him get poisoned, who failed to secure him before she pursued an assassin, who couldn't stop watching his hands and wishing they'd canvas every curve of her body. It was a strange definition of fine. "And what about after the assassins are caught? Shall that be the finality of everything between us?"

"Funny enough, well not ha ha funny, more 'isn't that interesting' funny, I was thinking long before this started that I'd offer you a job in the royal guards. Better pay than what they gave you out on city watch."

She smiled at the idea, but a warning trickled in her gut. Was that really what she wanted?

Alistair tipped his head closer to hers, the edge of those taut cheekbones grazing hers as he whispered, "And it'd keep you close to me." Diving in, he plucked a kiss from her lips, just the tip of his tongue swirling across hers before darting back. Barely a breath away he sighed, "I could kiss you all day."

The trepidation failed to take hold at the earnestness in his tone and the very naked shoulders her hands kept glancing across as she reached over the hold him. She was being silly, it would be a good job, great advancement to a position she'd never thought possible. The first elf serving in the royal guards and...all she had to do was sleep with the King.

Shaking off the urge to whip herself for such immorality, Reiss wrapped her arms around Alistair and tugged him down to lay beside her. The bed groaned at the excess weight, not used to two people having to share it. For a moment his eyes darted up to the wall, then back down at the foot of the bed as if he could see the structural integrity of it. Shrugging with a smile at the lack of a collapse, he stretched his arm out to allow Reiss to slide in beside him. She couldn't stop fluffing up the nearly white hair sprouting down his chest. It was thicker than she first thought, the color blending in with his skin, but there was a strange gash in the forest as if someone shaved a single line straight down across his pec. Reiss darted her finger up and down the fallow skin, entranced by the emptiness surrounded on all sides by hair.

After a moment, Alistair began to chuckle. She didn't think much of it, he was always laughing, when a snort reverberated out his nose and he grabbed onto her wrist. "Sorry," he fought off a few more giggles, "tickles."

"Is that so?" she glanced up to his eyes and began to flex her fingers still in his grasp.

"Oh no," his eyes widened into faux shock at her limp threat. "You shall not ambush me again, Ser knight." Rotating quickly, his hand shot out from under him to run each finger madly up and down her side. Reiss collapsed, trying to fight it off but it was too late, he had her. "Not when I can tickle you first!"

Giving in, Reiss let a hundred of her giggles escape, all of them cascading into a giant snort that echoed loud enough to strike against her broken nose. "Stop!" she cried, holding her hands out in surrender. "Please stop."

Alistair dutifully pulled his hands off her, but she was quick to grab them and place one against her not as ticklish hip and the other tucked in between her minor cleavage. It was silly, about the same as getting into a tickle fight with the King of Ferelden, but Reiss impishly looked up at him to watch Alistair absently bite his lip as he lightly flexed his hand to cup the inside of her breast.

"How easily you undo me, Alistair," Reiss sighed, flipping his hair up and down with her fingers while lost in his eyes.

That caused him to narrow his focus to her face. "Me? What do I have that can do the undoing? Some fleshy bits down there that are prone to having minds of their own and seem to enjoy jamming down the wrong pants leg while on rides?" He all but yelled the last part at his crotch, as if it would feel any shame.

"I like...those parts," Reiss couldn't bring herself to say any of the euphemisms afraid she'd blush so hard she'd burn a hole through the mattress. "As well as your chest, your so taut stomach and..." Her hand paused in trailing up him to curl against the scruff on his cheek, "that smile. Damn near disarmed the first time we met."

That got her an even better one, his dimple deepening to the point she wanted to delve into it with her tongue, but that would require rising and her body was beyond tired now. "That's nothing, hardly counts compared to what you. I mean, I doubt I need to tell you," he lifted his hand off her hip to wave it through the air in a dismissal before returning it. The other remained firmly entrenched between her breasts where it seemed happiest.

"Perhaps," Reiss shifted, the sense of unworthiness she never got far from returning in greater measure. "Perhaps it would be nice to...uh, no, you don't have to. Not if you don't want to. It's silly and-- "

His lips darted forwards to cut off her babbling sentence, the sweetness soothing the ache burrowing through her gut. "You're so you," he purred. Reiss blinked slowly, uncertain if that was a good thing or not. "I'm not helping, uh, pretty, really pretty. With the eyes of the green fields of early summer, when all the fireflies are zipping through it lighting it up and you can smell the heat of the sun across your skin."

Even as his metaphor slipped away, she knew a blush was rising at the fact he even remembered her eye color. She'd never had anyone compare it to anything before, much less a summer meadow. "The nose is off putting," she said, tapping the top that bulged to the right. It'd gone down since the break but would never go away now.

"Nonsense, it's character. And," Alistair scooted closer to her on the bed to whisper in her ear, "when you smile, the side with the break gets these adorable little wrinkles while the other stays smooth."

"Really?" she gasped.

"Yup, which I may have noticed during a few meetings when people thought I was paying attention to something other than my stunning bodyguard."

She wanted to marinate in his compliments, let each one wash over her while she let her seedling self esteem grow but it was the bodyguard part that reminded her. "We, I would like to keep our work outside purely professional."

"Okay?"

"For the sake of people, I don't want everyone suspecting I receive special attention," she grimaced, aware that she'd tossed a bucket of water on the simmering coals of romance.

Alistair nodded slowly, "So, no kissing before dinner?"

"No," she shook her head.

"No making out beside that ugly statue of Mafarath?"

Reiss buried her face into his chest and mumbled another, "No."

"No screwing on the throne when no one's looking?"

Her face burned at the thought and she could stop from laughing out a, "Maker, no."

"Fair enough," Alistair smiled before planting a kiss into her hair. He began to sift through the strands again as if searching for hidden gold.

"Out there, I will only refer to you as Ser," Reiss had been working on that idea since the kennels.

"But in here?" he asked, hope resounding in his voice.

She met those warm eyes and smiled, "Alistair."

"I love the way you say it," he kissed her on the lips. "Every," another kiss, "time." She giggled at his ferocity, never wanting it to end.

"At least we have three rooms to explore to ourselves," she shrugged, trying to slip back on the coy minx.

 Alistair laughed at the idea, then frowned, "Ah, while the sitting room and fighting one would be doable, it'd probably be best if we keep the bedding parts to yours."

"Why?"

"Servants are always changing my sheets and they like to...inspect it for, uh," he glanced up at the ceiling, his throat bobbing, "stains. Apparently it gives them all a good laugh. Or it's how Philipe knows when to award a winner in his stupid pool. I don't know, but I doubt they'd look too closely at yours."

Reiss nodded glumly at the idea. She wasn't sharing her bed with a sweet and startlingly handsome random man. As much as she wanted to pretend, he was the King and there would always be people butting into his life, swarming around them both and making it a challenge. Settling into his arms, the Hero's words returned to her. Was that what she meant about fighting? Accepting that it wouldn't ever be normal, but he might be worth the sacrifice of never being seen in public, or holding hands outside the bedroom.

There was a good chance this wouldn't work. She'd be foolish to hope for anything more than a brief fling all things considered, but curled up in his warm arms and slowly shifting to a safe sleep by his protective embrace Reiss dared to dream a little.

## CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

#### A Big Break

The days were long, but the nights even longer as Reiss found herself studying every curve of Alistair's body. He had a strange mole on the top of his right buttock. When she informed him of it, he spun around fully naked to try and get a glimpse, while asking if the damn thing was a crown or other portent sign of his birthright. Reiss wasn't 100% certain what it looked like, it kind of reminded her of a bear with a credenza crashed on its head.

She also learned more about herself in their exploring. In particular, she found she far preferred to be below, all of his best bits striking the perfect chord against hers with each thrust. Ethan had considered it a rudimentary and worthless position, preferring her on top doing all the work. Alistair clapped his hands in joy and dove straight in, ecstatic to be doing anything with her. Her first time taking him into her mouth, he began to giggle in total excitement before a never ending moan replaced the laughs. It continued so quickly, he began to sway and nearly passed out from lack of air. Reiss wasn't certain if that was the kind of thing she should be proud or ashamed of.

Every night, after she'd stored away her armor, he'd knock upon her door and present her with a new flower. After eight days she had a bright bouquet of no two alike flowers blooming in her water cup. Whenever she was getting dressed she'd glance over at the spray of green, yellow, blue, and purple petals all competing for space and remember each moment that came after. The dark part of her that silently counted down the days until this stopped pointed out that the flowers would begin to die and all she'd have to stare at were dried out stems. Then how would she feel when the luster wore off and none would replace the desiccated ones?

But Reiss shook most of the dour ones off, a dangerous skip in her step as she finished knotting her hair around the sheath and inserting the dagger. The King had another of his Chancellor meetings, and he entrusted her to meet with Spymaster Harding. After revealing her findings on the poison, Alistair suggested Reiss be the one to keep working close with Harding on it. They seemed to be the only two in the entire palace taking it seriously.

She found Harding not in the old Spymaster's tower -- she cursed out the steps in four languages after scaling it to comb Ghaleb's records and refused to return -- but down by the salon. It was colloquially called the blue room because whoever put it in fashioned nothing but bright blue windows against the eastern wall. When the sun was high, it cast a crisp azure glow to everything in the room. To amplify it, all the stones and furniture were white. Coincidentally, when the sun was blocked by clouds, a dark and morose color over took the room -- rendering it down to a depressed mess. That was what Reiss walked into, greys merging into every corner while Harding sat upon a table that on a good day glittered like sapphires. Today it looked as if it grew so morose it intended to throw itself into a lumberjack's axe.

Reiss barely stepped into teh room before Harding tossed down her paperwork, "Glad you're here. I've got some interesting developments."

"So the King informed me of," Reiss said. She stood at full attention above the dwarf, her arms behind her back.

Harding eyed her up and down before snickering, "At ease there recruit, we're not about to be set upon by a horde of red templars."

"Maker's sake, I hope not," Reiss breathed while sagging down.

Harding laughed at that and unearthed a yellow sheet. Seemed she kept some of Ghaleb's coding system after all. "I looked into the two alchemical reagents you caught on to. Confirmed that combined they made a nasty poison. Oh," she paused at running a finger down it and smiled, "it's not that I didn't believe you, just having to be thorough to have something to toss into the tall ones face as we raid their home and go searching for any ingredients to brew poisons."

"Of course," Reiss nodded. She didn't realize she'd looked perturbed by Harding's checking her work, but she tried to shake off the foolishness at being caught thinking it.

"The first alchemist we had a very long discussion with insisted that he had no idea the potion he brewed up to present to the King could be altered into a poison."

"What was it supposed to be then?" Reiss asked, trying to peer overtop Harding's shoulder and read ahead.

"A drink designed to open a man's airways, or so our shaking chemist claimed. It seemed he'd overdosed on an herb rarely added which was part of our in question poison. However, it was hard to prove as after talking to the man for a few minutes it became difficult to disrepute his alibi."

"How so?" There'd been enough potion left in the bottles mercifully not fully finished off to at least threaten the man and see if he'd panic.

"Well," Harding passed over the yellow paper and then began to dig back through her desk. "Claims of stupidity and not realizing what he was doing, while likely to send him to the gibbet if the King had died, are not also proof of a vast conspiracy."

"You think he did it on accident," Reiss summarized for herself, even while her eyes circled down the paper to see 'Accident?' written, followed by 'Maybe. Probably. Moron.'

"I can't prove he didn't. While trying to scratch his nose, he forgot to lift up both manacled hands and accidentally smacked himself across the face with the chain. My bigger question is who let someone that clearly addled anywhere near the sick and dying. He's too stupid to even handle peddling snake oil as he'd be the first to try it."

"Maker's sake," Reiss dug a gloved hand against her forehead, trying to exorcise an oncoming headache. She thought she had something, a way to tie the assassins back to someone in the palace. An inside job? While the old Spymaster turned out to be an entire different color of herring, this seemed to be the proof they needed. And the alchemist was a moron the entire time who accidentally stumbled into nearly killing the King.

"So it was all for nothing. Wonderful. What about the other alchemist with the second potion? Don't tell me, this one claimed that on accident he mixed up the King's potion with a secret hair tonic."

Harding unearthed a file with a seal overtop. Breaking off the secret eye, she smiled wide, "Don't know, because when we went to confront her, she was found dead in her living room."

"What?!" Reiss tried to not stagger back.

The dwarf's only hint at this turn in the bend was a gleam in her eyes, she was enjoying the twist in the tale. "Two knife wounds took her down. In the back, so probably not suicide and if it was an accident the Maker truly despised that woman." Harding passed over this classified report and Reiss clutched it tighter to her eyes realizing she was being let in on something very important.

"We went digging through her things, most of it picked clean of course, the body was a good day or more dead. Seemed the killer probably knocked her off while we were dealing with the first alchemist, who's been warned but took the news without any concern as he headed home."

"Another dead end?" Reiss groaned.

"Not quite," Harding shifted on her feet and struggled to rise up on her toes. Her eyes barely skimmed above the paper in Reiss' hands as the dwarf pointed at a scrap of parchment. Ripped down the middle, there was nothing to it aside from a series of three lines etched in ink and all sloping at an angle downward to the left.

"I may be new to Denerim, but I know a gang symbol when I see one. Cheap, crude, but you get the point. This was why I called you, hoped you might have some idea who it belongs to."

Reiss twisted it around, trying to remember. It struck a soft chord but nothing was rising out of the background. "I'm afraid not. Have you tried asking anyone else?"

Harding settled back to her feet and puffed out her cheeks in thought, "Can't. Murder of a suspect before we have a chance to interrogate her looks bad, really suspicious like. I may be new to this spying stuff but doesn't that all sound a bit..."

"Like an inside job, like someone in the guards or the spy network tipped them off," Reiss answered.

"Exactly, and the King did insist we keep this as much between the two of us as possible. He's put a lot of faith in you."

"And you," Reiss said, doing her damnedest to fight off a blush rising to her cheeks. No, other people can't already know. They'd been so careful.

"This is our only lead, short of setting the King up as bait and hoping someone's dumb enough to take it," Harding shrugged.

"I'd prefer not, those plans always have a thousand ways to go pear," Reiss groaned. She kept twisting the symbol back and forth hoping that it'd make some sense to her. It washed up and down like...Shit, that was it! Like a wave. This wasn't the only half, there was always a match because they were...

"Your face just lit up like the Grand Cathedral for Wintersend. I'm guessing you've got an idea," Harding chuckled, her eyes canvasing Reiss.

"Ah, yes, sort of, but I have to confer with someone. She knows a lot more about them than I do," Reiss admitted.

"Is that wise? Is this someone we can trust?"

Reiss shrugged, "Well, you're sleeping with her so..."

"Oh, well, uh," Harding's freckles burned like a beacon against her cheeks at the insinuation of Lunet. She snatched up a few piles of papers and waved them in front of her face until getting ahold of herself. "Yes, you've known her for sometime and it seems doubtful that she'd have any connection to assassins in the palace."

"A random elven guard in the city watch," Reiss said, as if she hadn't been the same plucked from relative obscurity to guard the King and with special emphasis on his body. "Besides, if I found out she was working for a gang of assassins, Lune knows I'd throttle her myself," she smiled to herself. "Mind if I...?"

"No, please, take it. I've got a few copies already," Harding said, officially allowing Reiss to pocket the piece of evidence. "Should I inquire of Sweetness, er, Lunet, Corporal Lunet," Harding coughed and shook her face around like mad as if that could stampede over the private pet name sneaking in.

"I can handle it," Reiss tried to not smile at the sweet discomfort. "Lune's more likely to remember when I'm around."

"She's certainly going to be able to focus on work more easily," Harding mused to herself, while cupping a hand against the back of her neck.

"That..." Reiss began before uncertain how to tell the Spymaster it was why she suggested it in the first place. Her friend was a good guard, but it didn't take much to distract her off the beat. Especially if freckles were involved. "Can you tell the King where I've gone?"

"Sure, I've got a meeting with him and the council after this. Ah, pebbles!" Harding cutely cursed while staring at the magic clock, "If I wait any longer it'll have to be during lunch. Sorry!" She began to scoop all the files she could into her arms and raced out the door.

Reiss didn't even have a chance to ask why lunch perturbed her so, Harding scampering as fast as she could. Waving a hand in the air she shouted, "Good luck." It seemed unlikely Reiss would need it, she was going to spend to a day talking with her friend while the dwarf had to explain to a round table of humans why one of the suspects was found dead. Reiss had the far easier assignment.

***

Lunet propped up a wall beside one of the viaducts down to the underside of the city. Below sewage and the occasional bit of water sloshed through, the elf barely noticing as this was part of her typical beat. She didn't glance up at the pair of men trying to step closer to her, a whistle beginning, when Reiss drew up fast on her horse. Scattering from hooves sparking against the streets, the men only caught a glance of the royal steed and uniform. They didn't have time to see it was another elf wearing it as they hightailed it far from whatever mischief they had planned.

"What are you doing here?" Lunet called, sounding both surprised and exasperated that Reiss was bothering her at work.

Dismounting, Reiss grabbed onto her horses reigns and tugged it with her towards the woman slowly breaking from the wall. "You're welcome, by the way."

"What? That lot?" she jerked her thumb towards the retreating shadows. "I see those dung licking jackareses once a week. Thinks it's fucking hilarious to whistle at the lone elf on duty and sometimes throw shit. Literal shit."

"Since when?" Reiss staggered in her tracks, having never heard this before.

"Since always. You know what complaining gets us, or should I say, gets me, what with you being gifted a fancy fairy godmother that granted you the shiny new ballgown and a coach to the palace."

A burn started at the back of Reiss' neck at how quickly Lunet turned her problems back on her. "Way I remember it you were in the ballgown, I was in full plate armor."

Lunet only shrugged haphazardly at that. "Bet it fits better than this," she said before lifting up her elbow and slowly rotating the squeaking gauntlet overtop her forearm." Locking it back into place, she focused on Reiss, "Whatcha doing here anyway? I ain't off the job for another half the day."

"I didn't come to catch up, Lune. I'm on the job too."

She staggered up to glance behind Reiss into the fog crawling across the ground, "Don't seem to have your charge toddling along behind you."

"For the Maker's sake, I'm not his babysitter," Reiss groaned, a raw anger rising from how quickly Lunet dismissed Alistair.

"You sure about that? How many times has he asked you to carry his things?"

"Never," Reiss said, silencing Lunet's mocking tone in an instant. Her friend's eyes narrowed at that, no doubt already calculating how many airs Reiss had gained in her time away. "Look," she struggled into the pack across her waist, feeling like a heel for reacting so, "it's about the assassins, okay. This is kinda the whole reason I got hired."

"A'right," Lunet shrugged, "It's important palace stuff. Whatcha need a random city guard for?"

"Did Harding happen to mention the lead we've been running with the alchemists?"

That got her a long eye roll and Lunet shaking her head, "We never talk business, when I can see her. She's been squirreled away up in that palace for days. I couldn't even talk her into coming down for the nug races. So no, no idea what makes these alchemists special."

"It..." Reiss realized that wasn't the important part and maybe there was a reason Harding kept things from her bed partner. "It doesn't matter, but while searching through their things, they came across this symbol," she dangled the scrap of paper before Lunet and leaned back.

Lune picked it up and, like Reiss before, began to rock it like the waves. "Oh, this, I remember this."

"Thought it looked familiar," Reiss said.

"Aye, those blighters had it tattooed across every damn random inch of skin they could think of. We were pulling 'em in for days. Stupidest damn name too. Zea dogs. Seemed someone told them the z made it sound more badass but they were all too stupid to figure out which z to replace."

Lunet stopped reminiscing and glanced up at Reiss, "What's the assassins got to do with the old Zea dogs? We ran most of them out of Denerim ages ago."

"Apparently not all," Reiss pointed at the symbol again.

"Could be coincidence, or your alche was part of them. Though seems weird for a bunch of second string pirates who couldn't stand the waves would attract a potion brewer. Rum brewer certainly, but not a frilled potion maker. Maker, how many nearly boiling over stills did we have to confiscate? I stank of yeast, honey, and vomit for weeks."

"I was there with two of the other assassins, took them down," Reiss said, "They both had tattoos that almost but didn't quite match that symbol."

"Three lines but in different..." Lunet waved her hand up and down like the sea.

"Exactly, I didn't think of the connection until Harding found the paper."

"My little squish pie's on the case?" Lunet mused, giving Reiss her second sugar induced coma of the day.

Shaking it off, and also tucking it away to tell Alistair later, Reiss turned to her friend, "Do you remember anything about where the...Zea dogs met?"

"Most of it was broken up, other gangs moved in," Lunet kept shaking her head back and forth, "I don't even see why they'd up and take to wanting to murder a King. Doesn't seem like their..."

"What?" Reiss leaped upon her silence. "What is it?"

Snapping her armored finger, Lunet thrusted the scrap of paper back into Reiss' hand. "I think I know exactly where they're hiding. It's a bit of a walk, unless..." She gestured up at the royal horse that impetuously stamped its hoof. "Mind if I borrow your ride?"

"All right," Reiss tucked the scrap safely into her satchel and climbed into the saddle. Offering a hand to Lunet, the smaller elf struggled up behind her, her arms locking around Reiss' stomach. "But I'm driving."

Lunet wasn't the best at giving directions, being a true tried and born city dweller, she didn't know streets so much as landmarks -- often relying upon landmarks that no longer existed but once had. It took her reaching forward to grab the reins and turn the horse under Reiss, but they finally made it out of the city and further north along the coastline. Luckily, the rains had slackened but the grey fog remained, casting a deathly pallor over the normally verdant ground. The clinging humidity was goaded along with the summer heat, causing Reiss to sweat in places she thought it was impossible. Of course, Lunet never sweated, she only glistened.

"There!" she shouted, jabbing her finger through the air as if pointing at some important statue.

"What there?" Reiss shouted back even as she tugged the horse down to a trot and guided his towards nothing.

"Get off the blighted horse and I'll show you," Lunet groaned. She didn't even wait for Reiss to stop before sliding off and stomping towards nothing. The seas pounded against the cliffs, stirred up from weather shifting across them, and looking the same dingy grey. A few gulls shrieked against the fog, but even those specks of white vanished into the clouds.

Tugging the horse to a stop, Reiss dismounted herself, trying to act dignified but knowing she looked like an idiot. Her time spent riding was always short with her doing her best to hang on until they got wherever they were going and she could get far from the saddle. Crunching through the wild grass and weeds clinging to the cliff's edge, she glanced down at the bone crushing drop to the water. There was no sign of boats skirting near the coast, no sign of anything but the white foam washing back and forth into the rocks below.

"Why are we here?" Reiss asked to thin air. A grunting noise caused her to flip around and she caught Lunet half inside the earth itself. It took a second for the fogs to clear and Reiss to recognize her friend was clinging to a trap door that'd been hidden under the ground with summer's fresh grass growing upon it.

"Told you it was here. This was one of the blighter's smuggling caves. We shut 'em all down and buried most in rock, but this one was too close to the shore. Woulda caused an, uh..." Lunet tapped her thumb, smudging it with fresh dirt, "something bad. Are you coming or not?"

"Sorry," Reiss dashed to her friend's side and peered down the dark hole. A rickety ladder clung to the side but she couldn't see anything down below. "Is it safe?"

"It's a gang's smuggling cave, I'm certain they made sure to put in every safety precaution they could think of," Lunet rolled her eyes skyward and groaned.

Luckily, Reiss had an answer for the darkness. Reaching into her satchel she unearthed one of the crystals the Dalish had. Giving it a good shake, a bright green light hissed from the middle. She held it over the edge and found the descent wasn't as steep as she feared.

"Oi, where'd you get that nifty thing from?" Lunet asked, she began to reach a finger out to touch it, when the trap door shifted lower.

"From the elves, the Dalish elves we helped to..." Reiss shook it off. "I'll go first."

"Bloody do something before I throw my back out," Lunet groaned.

With one hand holding tight to the green crystal, Reiss scurried down the ladder. Her foot touched bottom and she was about to tell Lunet, when a loud whoomph reverberated from above, scattering dust down upon her.

Sputtering to get most of the dirt out of her tongue and off her face, Reiss shouted, "You coulda damn well warned me!"

"Hey, fancy pants royal guard, I'm gonna drop the door," Lunet snickered, her fingers working her quickly down the ladder.

Reiss didn't bother rising to the bait as she began to inch along the cavern. It wasn't wide by any means, but thankfully she wasn't claustrophobic. Most humans would probably fit one at a time at best down here. She felt Lunet bump into her back and tell her to get on with it.

The walls were carved quickly and cheaply, most like by magical explosives one could find on the black market. Dangerous but effective. Reiss began to slide quicker down the hole, her eyes following the green light, when something smacked in her left hip. A loud ding echoed in the cavern from her hilt smashing against a lump of rock jutting right into the path where it hung.

"Maker damn it!" she cursed, trying to feel it to see if there was any damage. Luckily, she didn't hit it head on and was moving slow enough it'd probably buff out.

"Are you certain I shouldn't be the one leading? For starters, my head wouldn't be drowning out all the light," Lunet shouted from behind. She sounded a bit panicky and Reiss restarted walking.

"You wouldn't have brought a light to begin with if you were in charge," Reiss said, trying to distract her friend from the walls.

"Psh, if I was in charge we'd be knees up in a tavern," Lunet grumbled. Reiss could feel her hands skimming both sides of the walls, feeling for anymore lurching surprises but none came. Stepping quickly, Reiss felt a blast of air waft over her face and the sound of water dripping into rippling pools. Space radiated off her and lifting up her lighted arm she could see the proof around her. It wasn't a grand ballroom sized space, but one could easily stack an entire ship's worth of cargo down here and still have space to run an illegal gambling operation.

"Sweet Andraste," Reiss whistled, staggering into the middle of the cavern. Jagged edges of the ceiling reached downward to try and take a bit out of any who passed under, while a small river of water dribbled through the middle. She noticed someone took the time to leave planks of wood overtop sections of it to keep from having to stumble into it.

"Here," Lunet jerked her head. By the eerie green light, she took on an otherworldly glow, her best friend appearing like one of those evil spirits lurking in a forest. The not spirit and probably not evil woman pointed at a wall.

Staggering up a few creaking boards that made a set of stairs, Reiss drew the light across the flattest part of the cavern to reveal three lines undulating like waves. There were four sections, each broken up to represent the various tattoos scattered across the gang. Right there in the middle was the one found inside the dead alchemist's home. She had her answer, it was the Zea dogs. The next challenge was finding wherever they scattered to. "You're right," Reiss nodded while glancing up and down the wall. "I'll be certain to tell Harding about this, to shore up our findings and..."

"Rye, try not to freak out or anything," Lunet whispered through the cave.

Reiss spun away from the wall to find her friend crouching next to a dusty table. "What?" her voice followed Lunet's command and softened.

Without answering, Lunet lifted up a half empty bottle and shook it.

"So, it was an old smuggler's cavern. There's bound to be some contraband left behind," Reiss groaned stepping closer to her friend.

Lunet rolled her eyes and picked up something else to the light, "With a mug still holding some of the poured..." she took a sniff and winced, "paint thinner in it?"

"Flames!" Reiss whipped the crystal around, noticing on dusty barrel's she'd ignored stacks of cards, books left open, and a stack of kindling to light the fire. Where was it? She had to check for ashes...

"Uh," Lunet called from the corner.

Reiss dashed off towards a pile of what she suspected were ashes and stuck her finger in. They were ice cold. "What is it?"

Lunet kicked a box, from which echoed the sound of knives clattering against each other like a jammed cutlery drawer. "They're armed to the teeth."

"We need to leave, now!" Reiss shouted. "Put everything back where you found it."

"It's disgusting down here, I doubt anyone will notice," Lunet whined before sighing, "Fine fine. Clearly no one's here, so I don't get why it's..."

Reiss ignored her as she tried to memorize the size and layout of the cavern. It'd be hard to attack, but sieging with smoke bombs would get them out fast. The trick would be waiting until they were all there. "Come on!" she shouted, already at the cavern's entrance and waiting for Lunet to catch up. Making certain to avoid the jabby rock on her right side this time, Reiss reached the ladder and scurried up. She had to hand down the crystal to push open the trap door before emerging into the same grey day.

Breathing in the dank sea air, Reiss gave out a gasp and a sigh. No one was watching them. She didn't spy any glasses glinting in the distance, but would they in this dark? Perhaps they got lucky and the fog hid their delving. "Come on, come on," she kept on, waving Lunet to follow her as fast as possible. Reiss ran off to grab the horse's reins, not bothering to mount. They had to move fast.

"What are you doing?" Reiss hissed as her friend hovered near the door.

"Making certain to disguise the entrance again with the sod, you idiot," she whispered back. Returning to her work, Reiss knew she was cursing under her breath at her stupidity, but she couldn't make out Lunet's best work under the pounding of the surf. After tapping it with her boot, Lunet chased after her friend and with both holding tight to the horse's reins they walked as fast as they could without appearing in a hurry towards the city.

More of that dreaded sweat dripped down Reiss' shoulder blades and directly towards her butt. She began to regret wearing her full armor on this trip, or potentially any if the summer sun was going to keep up like this. Trying to wipe as much off as she could by inelegantly reaching between her backplate and skin, Reiss paused to glare into Lunet's chuckling eyes.

"What? It's hot," she explained feeling strangely self conscious from the other elf walking beside her.

"Uh huh," Lunet nodded. They both tugged upon the horse's reins, who snorted on occasion but enjoyed the slow amble down the packed dirt road. No one else seemed to be out and about today, probably wisely all camped inside thanks to the heat. "You're smiling."

"Am not," Reiss snapped back at, fairly certain she wasn't. Even then, she ran her fingers up against her lips to find them flat. Caught in her lie, Lunet gave a hearty bellow that belonged in a tavern and not from the tiny elf. Growling at her, Reiss tugged harder on the reins, pulling horse out of its stupor into a slower trot.

"I know that smile," Lunet continued, "starry eyed, sighing under your breath, practically skipping in your steps."

"Here it comes," Reiss said, trying to shore away her emotions that seemed to be leaking free of her armor.

Jabbing an elbow into the crook between armor and elf, Lunet snickered, "You're shagging, and I'd guess on the regular from the little strut in your walk."

"That, how can?" Reiss gasped, glancing around at the grasses without a care for her private business. "It's not what..."

Lunet, of course, trampled over Reiss trying to disarm the situation without lying. "Is it that tall, dusky elf who works in the secretary pool?"

"What?" Reiss stumbled back to her question and shook her head, "no."

"The thatcher's apprentice? I heard he's got eyes like a stormy kaleidoscope."

"Stormy kaleidoscope? What does that even...? No, not him."

"Okay," Lunet had no intentions of giving this up, "the more rotund one that hooks rugs. Sometimes he's seen near the palace repairing things royalty break."

"Maker's sake, do you know every damn elf in the palace?" Reiss gasped. She'd rarely seen any of them aside from an occasional flit of a pointed ear in her passing.

Shrugging Lunet smiled, "When you were sentenced to your imprisonment behind the castle walls I thought I'd do a little digging. I'm starting to run low though, not many male elves serving up there. Unless..." She paused in scratching her chin to glare at her friend, "You better not be chasing after the ladies without coming to me first."

"No, Lune, it's a man."

"So there is someone honing your sheathe," she grinned, the sly fox proud of its hard won chicken.

"Damn you," Reiss somewhat fake cursed, waving her finger at her friend. But even under the anger at being found out so quickly, she felt excited. She'd been wanting to tell someone about how good it all was. Maybe not any details on the sex bits, but the way he'd fold his body around hers, how he kept pecking kisses against the silliest of places on her, and that for being King he gave damn good foot and calf massages. But she swore herself to secrecy and Alistair, she wasn't about to go breaking it now.

"You're never going to figure it out," Reiss said, zipping her lip and tossing away the key.

"Oh, you forget just how tenacious I am. There's another male elf that works for the grocer, red hair, kinda scraggly but..."

"Nope," Reiss shook her head, savoring each swing of it.

"Maker's taint," Lunet groaned, raking off her helmet to comb her hair up off her forehead. The white of the tape upon her ears glared by the bright sunlight. "I'm running low on options. I think there's a dwarf that serves as part of the merchant's guild to supply the castle with flatware..."

"It's not a dwarf," Reiss chuckled, bouncing back and forth on her feet now. She was acting like the child with a great secret that no one could guess.

"Shame, there are certain...advantages to the height differential," Lunet sighed, her eyes wandering off to the horizon. Denerim waited on the edge, the parapets of the city walls glancing over the top of the hills. "Can you give me a hint?"

"No, that's not fair."

"Ha, you're hardly being fair either," Lunet simmered, no longer happy to be the one with something held over her.

"I already told you," Reiss hummed, "you're never ever gonna guess it."

"This shouldn't be so hard, I mean," Lunet paused in her steps and began to laugh, each breath snorting out of her perfect nose, "it's not like you're sleeping with the King or anything like that."

Reiss' skidded in the ground, her boot missing a divot and nearly causing her to face plant. She kept her focus downward, not able to meet the suddenly piercing gaze of Lunet.

"No, no, no, Rat. Do not tell me you are fucking the King of Ferelden."

"Lune..." Reiss began, trying to wave it all away in a syllable but Lunet shrieked.

"Maker's sake, you fucking are! Of course, how did I miss it? He was sure quick as shit to give chase after your little screaming match in the ballroom. And then you two spent all that time outside _'talking.'_ "

"It isn't..." Reiss glared, her feet coming to a standstill while Lunet kept sweeping back and forth across the road, "we weren't even anything then. He was being kind."

"But you are now. You're something with-with _him_! With the King of Ferelden. For fuck's sake, he's a shem!"

"And you're with a dwarf!" Reiss shouted back, her legs beginning to tremble.

"Last I checked the dwarves didn't chase us all from our homes, round us up into the shitholes they call alienages, and on occasion murder half of us as something to do for Satinalia. Shems, remember. For the ballsack on the Maker, you've already been down this road before!"

"He's nothing like Ethan!" Reiss felt her voice crack, the anger filling her marrow like hot lead. She was frozen in spot, but feeling more and more invulnerable with each verbal attack.

"How do you know that? How do you know all shems ain't the same? Cause they are. You didn't grow up near 'em, don't know," Lunet jabbed a finger in the air as if she kept making a salient point instead of letting her internal hatred show.

"I grew up with nothing but humans, I know the depths they can reach. You're not imparting some great ancient elven wisdom upon me," Reiss hissed, lashing forward to get into Lunet's face.

"Really? Cause you're always the one going on about how we should be _nice_ and _understanding_ as they butcher us in the streets," Lunet mocked, curtseying with her words.

"I never..."

"Or what? Do you think you're like Orlais' official whore? Get just good enough in bed and maybe you can steer the man to fight for elven rights. Because that's so how it works, Rat."

Dread and pain rolled up Reiss' gut, her face flinching as her once best friend all but called her a whore. That wasn't it at all. "You don't understand, you won't even listen," she tried, attempting to steer Lunet back to some understanding.

"I know he's married. How's that gonna work out in your little love story?"

"You're married!" Reiss threw back at her.

"Right, to a pig fucking arsehole that I never gave two craps about. I don't see that shitallope ever. How are you gonna deal with sitting down to breakfast with his wife glaring right across from you? Or has he already convinced you that he'll ditch the Queen for the knife-ear that's already sucking him off?"

Her fists squeezed together, the knuckles popping out of her flesh. Both screamed at Reiss to let them smack Lunet across her pretty and perfect nose, but instead she shook them at the air and screamed, "Stop it! Stop doing this! Why are you doing this?!"

"Because I'm trying to get through that thick, always certain she's right skull how royally fucked up this is," Lunet reached over to try and tap into Reiss' head in an almost playful manner but she jumped back. A fist swung near Lunet, which she was quick enough to dodge. "Is that how it's gonna be then?"

"You're the one being unreasonable. You won't even listen," Reiss gasped.

"What's there to say? You're screwing a married human who also pays you. Is that why your salary's so high? He expected some extra work put in after dark?"

"Fuck you!" Reiss screamed, her face bright red and spittle flying from her mouth. Cracking, she shouted the curse a few more times, not caring what Andraste or the Maker or anyone else thought. Not even Lunet's opinion mattered. "You don't understand! You won't even listen! You just want to stick me into your play house to dance about like a puppet to your whims!"

"Is that what you think?" Lunet slid away from her and glanced up at the sky. "Shit, you're more gone than I thought."

"You don't know him."

"Maybe not, but I know shems. He's gonna chew you up and spit you out when he's tired, or bored, or something better comes along. It's how they work, how they all do." Lunet shook her head madly before squaring her shoulders. Jamming on her helmet, she began to walk down the road towards Denerim. Reiss watched her, a sneer stretching her face to the breaking point while Lunet continued her set march back to the same guardhouse they used to share. Why didn't she understand? Why couldn't she just be happy for her for once? He was different, Reiss knew it in her gut.

A good thirty feet away, Lunet turned to Reiss clinging tight to her horses reins to shout, "We're not people to them, we're little trinkets they collect on their shelves. You're gonna learn it the hard way, Rat."

Cursing under her breath, Reiss mounted onto the horse, yanking so hard on the bridle he whinnied in anger. Barely noticing, Reiss dug into the flank, spurring the horse into a frenzied gallop. Pounding down the lane, she left Lunet in a literal cloud of dust while tears of anger burned in Reiss' eyes.

## CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

#### Math of the Stars

She didn't realize she fully worried the drawstring out of her tunic until it flopped onto her lap. Growling at the idiocy of having to spend the time stuffing it back into the loops tomorrow, Reiss focused all her anger upon it instead of the gloom hanging over her head. She acted pleased but aloof while delivering the good news to Harding, doing her damnedest to not think anything about how Lunet was going to spill the beans the first chance she had to her girlfriend. Or how her once good friend would convince Harding of her same thoughts. Lune had that kind of charm that would bowl a person over to her side whether they wanted to be there or not.

Freed of the armor, Reiss should feel lighter and able to breathe, but a weight pressed upon her chest that had nothing to do with pounds of steel anchored to her. How dare she! How could she stomp around assuming things about Reiss' life, a life she barely knew anything about. They never even spoke for...okay, that was all on Reiss because she'd been putting her all into this job. Into this job that was now inexplicably tied into her heart.

Rocking back and forth on her feet, her ass barely sunk into the waning mattress. It was plummeting deeper to the floor with each night, not used to two people spending so much vigorous time on it. What was she doing? This wasn't some fairytale where the prince spots the hardworking and kind woman in the city dregs and plucks her up to wear frilly dresses and take tea with Dukes for the rest of her life. Reiss wasn't a fan of frills anyway, her torso too long to support the wide hip trend. It made her look like a stick jammed onto the top of a cupcake.

She wasn't beautiful enough to capture a King's attentions, and all her knowledge amounted to serving in the lower barracks in an army, how to do various menial labors, and the collective readings of the most mind rotting books produced in thedas -- all things royalty couldn't give two shits about. Her charm could at best be compared to a mabari leaping onto a table in the middle of dinner, snatching up a roast, and giving chase out the door. All things that had no chance of keeping a royal man's notice for longer than...than what? A few weeks? A month? Two?

Maker take Lunet for putting these thoughts in her head! She'd been so certain with Alistair, the man, but adding in the weight of the crown and Reiss felt herself buckling in an instant. When she'd slipped down to the armory to strip the uniform off, she left him at his desk, reading through one of the stack of private letters he received. In retrospect, most likely from the Hero of Ferelden. There was an educated, beautiful, and charming woman who also happened to save the entire world and even she couldn't keep ahold of him. What chance in thedas did Reiss have?

Glancing up at her flower bouquet, her eyes gazed past it to the woman staring back at her. The filthy mirror didn't give much away, but she could see the marks of the road clinging to her cheek. Licking her finger, Reiss tried to rub the dust away but only managed to smear it around. She could rise and attempt to properly wash it off, but she feared standing while waiting in anticipation for the knock on her door. Any mood she felt was long obliterated by Lunet, Reiss wanting to bury herself under her covers and read the trashiest tomes she had to forget, but how would he respond? Would he be upset if she declined? Could she?

That fear hovered over her head like a dark wraith, tendrils snapping out to drag her frown deeper. If it was just Alistair...but it wasn't. It wouldn't ever be. What have you done to yourself, Rat? Reiss groaned, her face plummeting into her lap, fingers digging into her forehead.

A gentle knocking against their shared door dug through her haze and she sat up fast. Glancing once at the betraying mirror, Reiss tried to wipe the pain out of her eyes and forced on a smile. "Come in," she called. She never locked the door.

It knocked open and Alistair stood there with a bright grin on his face and a small spray of rosemary in his fingers. "Sorry," he said gesturing to the herb on offer, "they were low on flowers today but I thought it might make your room smell better. Like roast pork." Chuckling at his own joke, he dropped the herb into her water glass. Reiss stood up, uncertain what was to happen. Should she say something? But, that wasn't what mistresses were for. They buoyed the beleaguered monarch, they didn't weigh one down with their own problems.

After carefully arranging the rosemary to fall in with the rest of the flowers, he turned and wrapped his hand around one of hers. Reiss looked up into his eyes and her heart skipped from the enraptured way he stared at her. Absently, his thumb rubbed back and forth over her hand as he whispered, "Have I told you how pretty you are?"

"A few times," she blushed, her shot dead libido lifting one hand out of its grave.

Alistair tugged her towards him and she scooted forward, her hands wrapping around his neck while he closed off the hug on her waist. Pressing his cheek to her forehead, he mumbled, "But what about today? Because you're looking exceptionally pretty today."

"What makes it so different?" she tried to not stew on his words. He felt warm against her, his body locking tight to hers, but she couldn't shake the burrs of doubt clinging to her skin.

"How about you solving the great mystery of the squiggly lines and putting Harding and the rest of her merry band of stabby spies on the trail to solving this?" Alistair leaned back to stare into Reiss' eyes but she had trouble lifting her head. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, of course," she swallowed, nodding her head.

"You forgot to include the dreaded fine in there so I know something's really not fine."

"I..." Reiss tugged herself tighter to him to burrow her cheek against his neck as if she could find strength there. "I'm rather tired today, from all the traveling and was hoping, I don't know if..."

"If?" he chuckled, totally lost. Suddenly the silly laughter broke into gasping awkwardness. She could feel the blush burning up his neck as he rocked back and forth with her. "Oh, that if. That's all right. Good, I mean. I really like with you, but, you know, sometimes one has to take days off for fear of uh... Don't want to strain any muscles."

She couldn't help herself as he waddled around admitting that she had nothing to fear. Laughing at the panic in his voice, Reiss broke from her hiding place to kiss him. As he pressed those surprisingly soft lips against hers, a wave of calm washed against her wall of anxiety. It didn't tear it down, but it smoothed it out, slowly wearing away at the foundation. Why did she fear he'd press her? Reiss gulped at the thought. She knew why and she had to stop thinking all shems were the same.

Slipping away from the kiss, Reiss folded her body against his and felt a prod through his trousers. Alistair blushed brighter and tried to work his hips back, "I swear I have no control over that thing."

"So I'm learning," she smiled, happily curling back into his arms.

He was quick to lock both back into place, the man she was supposed to guard forming a blockade around her. Protecting her. Or was it soothing her? To Reiss it was one in the same most of the time. The jabbing bit of him pressed against her stomach, but she was polite enough to ignore it in favor of the lure of his serene presence.

"There was something I wanted to show you, if you're not too tired, I mean," Alistair said suddenly.

"Of course," she staggered out of his arms, uncertain what he was about to produce. Instead of guiding her to the bed, he gripped onto her hand and tugged her into his rooms. Past the graveyard of unwanted furniture, Reiss asked, "Where are we going?" Her heart beat faster at the idea he was about to tug her into his bedroom, both terrified and fascinated with the idea, but Alistair turned her towards the small balcony. The curtains remained closed, under orders of the Commander who feared another attack, and the King who despised the glare one got in the early morning from the summer sun.

Throwing open the door, he dropped Reiss' hand and tugged the curtain back. "After you, Ser Reiss," he smiled while bowing his head.

Uncertain, Reiss stepped gingerly out onto the balcony. It wasn't a grand one by any means, little more than an extra set of stone jutting off the wall with a railing put up to keep royalty from accidentally killing itself. A chair always sat outside, worn from various Kings of Ferelden doing their best to escape duties on their secret veranda for a few hours. Beside it, someone set up a small table with a bottle and two glasses.

She eyed it up uncertainly, then turned back to the man stepping out to join her. Closing the door, Alistair scooted a hand around the small of her back and held her close. "It's to celebrate."

"Celebrate?"

"Your big break in the assassins, tracking 'em to their lair and fighting off giant bats," he pretended to swing a sword through the air while Reiss nodded. He probably read her sigh at being for his elaborating upon her story, but Reiss felt the surge of Lunet's vengeful ghost rising up. The cynical part of her brain wondered if this wasn't all some plan to get her drunk and have his way...no, no, stop that.

Pointing at the bottle sitting in the near dark, she said, "Please don't tell me that's koomtra."

"Sadly no, regular old champagne. It was the only thing I could sneak out of the cellar before the wine steward turned around the corner to catch me."

Reiss paused in inspecting the bottle to glance over, "You set this up?"

"Course, it's not that hard. Get bottle, make certain their are two glasses and...I forgot a wine opener," his exuberant face drained instantly while he began to curse himself under his breath.

"It's okay," Reiss said. Yanking at the dagger in her bun, her hair collapsed under its own weight. Alistair was quick to part his fingers through it, tucking most back behind her shoulder while Reiss jabbed the tip of the blade into the cork. "The trick is to slowly work it up. Here," she handed him the bottom of the bottle to hold so she could winnow her hands back and worth, carefully dragging the dagger and impaled cork up against the pressure of the bottle. She had to pause a few times, inching her face close to make certain she wasn't about to split the cork in twain when finally a pop reverberated out the neck and she emerged victorious.

Alistair clapped his hand against the bottle, "How did you learn how to do that?"

"Oh, easy," she yanked off the cork and laid her dagger upon the table. "No right thinking noble lets elves anywhere near bottle openers, so when we're taking our Satinalia bonus as it were, we'd have to get creative. I knew one that could impale a tiny hole into the cork. He'd pour enough out for a glass and somehow seal it over with a wax that matched the color. The employer wondered if he was going mad as the prized wine kept slowly vanishing."

"Did you tell him it was evaporation?" Alistair laughed, already filling one of the glasses.

Accepting it, Reiss took a small sip and found it surprisingly crisp and light on her tongue. Blonder than most wines she rarely got her hands on, the bubbles made her snicker as they burst in her mouth. "I believe we convinced him that rats were somehow stealing his wine. He had us putting out traps for days."

"Rats, oh Maker," he found the grunts screwing over the man in charge hilarious. Either he forgot that he was currently the man in charge of all, or wished he could return to being the grunt. "Here," he extended his glass and Reiss paused in drinking to hold hers up. "To you going beyond your duties and finding those no good cowardly assassins in their den."

She clinked the glasses together, but paused before drinking, "I didn't exactly find them, only hints and it's not as if they've been finished off."

Alistair waved a hand through the air, "Not the point. Take the little victories when you can. Maybe I've been stuck at this for too long, but I all but insist Karelle through a party when I can get two people to agree to something." Placing his glass down on the table, he cupped both hands around Reiss and stared into her eyes.

By the starlight, she could only see a hint of his skin and the shine of his teeth as he smiled for her. "We'll get them, because of you."

"And then?" She hadn't expected this job to last forever, but she didn't want to give it up so soon.

"Then you get fitted for a proper royal guard uniform. Tailor made, no more stuffing batting into the crooks so it fits."

"You noticed?" she started.

"Some of it was molting out of your elbow before. Looked like winter came early in your wake."

"I..." she felt a stupid blush rising on her cheeks at being caught, but he scooped her tighter to him and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"We used to do that during the blight, taking whatever armor scraps we could find and then hammering them or padding them to fit. Make due and all. I looked like a right twat running into battle with my shins exposed after having to suffer a set designed for dwarves."

A giggle escaped from Reiss like the bubbles popping in her glass at not only the image, but the way he waggled his eyebrows to enforce it. Turning to her drink, she paused and the realization struck her that Alistair was champagne. Bright, bubbly, an effervescent self that built up so slowly it wasn't until you truly got to know him you saw the full body within. Shaking her head at the idiotic metaphor, Reiss sighed.

That snagged his attention away from the stars, Alistair's mouth whispering against hers, "Getting tired?"

Placing down her empty glass, she ran her palm against those scraggly cheek hairs and guided him, "Not yet." With a kiss as sweet as the champagne swirling in her system, Reiss felt another wave knock against her concerns. She wanted him, what did it matter if this couldn't be permanent? It was fun and he was...not at all what she ever thought possible in a man. His tongue darted into hers, the champagne tasting more earthy in his mouth. Digging her fingers into those shoulders, Reiss couldn't stop the moan in her throat as they flexed to stone. Maker's sake, he had to know what that did to her. Probably did it on purpose in fact.

Roaring out of its grave on stampeding horseback, Reiss' libido demanded that she pull Alistair back inside. Or just mount him out here, barely anyone was looking. It was he who stepped back, brushing his lips against her forehead as he tugged her tight to him for a hug but no more. He seemed to be taking the tired excuse literally, or wasn't in the mood to push for more. Reiss tried to not jump to any outlandish conclusions with him, but what little she'd known and seen of men seemed to break down entirely with Alistair. It was the caring that disturbed her most of all.

"Oh look," he gasped, the hand around her back dislodging to point a finger up into they sky.

Reiss twisted out of his grasp to watch as a white line flitted across the night sky. "A shooting star!" she exclaimed, trying to follow its trail that vanished almost as soon as it appeared.

"I used to wish upon them," Alistair said.

"Every child did," she turned an eye to him and got an unexpected bashful smile. While he dipped his head down to stare at his feet, Reiss caught another star dashing in a hurry across the sky. Padding towards the edge, she gripped onto the railing and peered up. A warmth spread up from her bones as his body folded in behind hers, Alistair's hands locking around her stomach as he dropped his chin onto her shoulder.

"Look, another two," she exclaimed, pointing to where the stars had been.

His sweet lips pressed to the side of her neck before he joined in staring up at the sky, "Should be a ton more coming soon. One of the scholars, the sky watching one told me that it was a comet shower tonight. Dozens and dozens of shooting stars all dashing off to wherever they go."

"Really?" Reiss tried to glance over to see him snuggled behind her. "How can they know that? Magic?"

"No, there's some way they can tell with numbers and based upon the length of day or the fall of sand down a cliff. I barely understood it. Seems this one happens regularly," Alistair began to sway with Reiss in his arms, both their bodies rocking to the rhythm of the sky bursting alive with splendor.

"I didn't realize one could study about the stars, or predict things with them," Reiss stuttered. She didn't know much, her education stunting at around age eleven or so as work built up. Reading and writing were impressive for a little elven farm girl. Forget math, or medicine, or whatever allowed one to anticipate the stars falling from the heavens.

"You should see when she predicts an eclipse," Alistair chuckled. "That woman must have been a bard before. For the last one she stood in the middle of the town square, hopped up onto the fountain and shouted 'Now shall come the hour of darkness!' And sure enough in that moment the dark spot shifted over the sun, blanketing Ferelden in shadows."

"What happened?" Reiss gasped.

"People panicked, a few tried to call her the next prophet, but as the entire retinue of enchanters was in town at the time, they all snickered and calmed down the masses until the eclipse passed. It was kinda funny though, I had to give her that. Can't say I wouldn't do the same if I knew half the magic numbers she does."

A chill climbed up Reiss' arm, darting through the thin linen to wrap around her exposed skin. Alistair must have felt it as he tucked in tighter around her, trying to transfer his heat. "You must know much, about...I can't even imagine."

"What makes you think that?" he chuckled, his chin digging into her skin.

"Well, you're King. Don't people teach wanna be kings things like philosophy or...that math of the skies."

"Not particularly. I learned some things in the templars. There was philosophy. We spent two days debating if shadow puppets were real or if we were the shadows being cast by the puppets. The knight instructor was less than pleased when I pipped up during the discussion with my interpretation of 'Little Peter Cottontail.'" His hand lifted off her stomach to form the small rabbit but with no light to cast the shadow it looked as if he was giving a rude gesture to the people in the east.

Reiss cupped both her hands around the little fake rabbit, trying to smooth over the skin while she sighed, "I don't know anything about this shadow idea."

"I'm afraid I don't much either," Alistair wrapped his hand back around her, tugging Reiss back to lean flatter against him. She felt oddly comforted by the move, certain that he'd hold her up. "The way I remember all philosophy broke down to was man's a jerk and would be an animal without the Maker's interference."

"But the Maker left us," Reiss scrunched her face up, regretting starting this conversation. She didn't stop to think about how much more knowledgeable all of his previous love affairs were until dealing with alchemists talking over her head. The mages were taught from a young age for free because of what they were, knowledge distilled deep into their bones. Reiss knew she wasn't smart, but she was pretty good at faking it when it was called for. Did Alistair expect the same level of intelligence from her as with all his other...mages?

"Now you see why I'd do shadow puppets on the wall and then get kicked down to the kitchens to scrub the larder with a hairbrush. If there's sense to be made in all the talking around each other I never found it."

"I find myself almost envious," Reiss admitted, "there were no instructors on the farm. You learned enough to make certain no one would screw you over in legal documents and then got back to work. I'm not," she curled her arms tighter around herself and hugged, "I'm afraid I'm not very clever."

"Are you kidding? You were able to get the cork out without a second thought, which we were drinking because you put all the pieces together on the sort of deadly, mostly crappy assassins."

"But that's just..." it came easy to her, memories often sticking to her brain like paintings. If she closed her eyes and concentrated she could see it all as if still there before her. It felt like cheating to be praised for something so simple. "It's nowhere near as impressive as this," she gasped, extending her hands to the sky over run with the rapids of stars colliding against her indigo beauty.

"Well, for what it's worth, I'm a complete idiot and it hasn't stopped people from looking to me for when the shit's launched out the catapult."

Reiss giggled at the idea, her head dipping down as her fingers skimmed against his holding her so tight, so lovingly. She began to speak, when a yawn broke through her words, which infected Alistair. His exhausted breath washed against her skin and he shook his head, "Maker, now I'll never stop. Good call on the sleepy, exhausted. How are you holding up?"

"Getting more tired, but..." she gazed up at the sky, "this is impossible to leave."

Alistair turned his head away from her to glance behind and he said, "I've got an idea. Hold tight." Locking his hands around her, Alistair lifted Reiss up off the ground. She felt the giggle begin first, while another part of her worried she was far too large for him to carry her around. He seemed unaware of her concerns, his arms rock solid as he inched himself backwards. Reiss watched the railing fading away, until the back of her leg met his knee and in one quick movement, he sat them both down into the King's balcony chair. Alistair leaned back in it, while Reiss perched upon his knee.

"Am I?" she glanced back at him to see a silly smile and nothing more, "Am I hurting you?"

"What? No. That leg's been dead since the blight," he chuckled before knocking a hand into it. Reiss' weight bobbed from the move when Alistair winced, the pain reaching him. "Okay, maybe not as dead as I remember." Abandoning his show of bravado, he wrapped his hands around her stomach and tugged Reiss further into his lap. She gladly gave in, resting her head back against his chest. "I'm being a stubborn bastard right now because...I don't want to stop holding you yet."

Turning away from the night's sky, Reiss stared into his umber eyes nearly black without much torchlight to highlight them. Ruffling up the scruff along his chin, Reiss drew him away from the stars to her so she could kiss him with a purity she didn't think possible. Sweet she expected from the man, light hearted and even dare she think kind, but it was his unwavering need to prop her up that kept surprising Reiss. Drinking deep from the waters she'd never thought possible, she was certain that all of Lunet's fears were beyond foolish. Alistair was never that kind of man.

Slipping away from his lips, she smiled, "I don't want to stop holding you either." Wrapping her hands around his neck, Reiss nuzzled against his taut skin. Comfort. In all her life, she feared she'd never again know that feeling. She had lived her life upon the tip of a pin, waiting with fear for when her newest job would dry up, wondering where she'd find her next bed, or terrified of what mood she could expect from Ethan. But here, with this man who shouldn't work at all, she felt safe for the first time since the blight took it all away.

Cuddling deeper into his arms, Reiss turned to watch the night sky playing to the Maker's tune.

## CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

#### Mother Issues

It was sad how long it took Alistair to realize that Reiss fell asleep in his arms. While her silence and methodical breathing weren't enough to tip him off, the small puddle of drool building upon his tunic was. Amazingly, she didn't rouse as he picked her up in his arms and staggered to his feet. It wasn't the best move in his life, his back angry at daring to put so much strain on it, and the arms being general jerks, but he managed to make it all the way inside to her room before she so much as stirred. Even then, it was only a small crinkle of her nose before she drifted off. She was more exhausted than she let on.

Laying her down in her bed, Alistair managed to yank her covers up over her before stopping and glancing down at the obvious silhouette of boots hiding below. Only cursing under his breath, he yanked those off, re-added her covers, and then slid out to his room. He wanted to stay, to curl up beside her, to drape an arm over her stomach and accidentally engulf her hair in sleep. To wake with her as sun's morning light skipped across her face. But people would wonder, and question, and then there'd be lots of "This is why this is bad for the country" meetings he was in no mood for.

Putting away the wish for something normal, Alistair quietly closed the door separating them and fell face down into his bed. He didn't have the tenacity left to remove his own boots. When he woke from a pleasant slumber and even more pleasant dreams, he found a few servants standing at the foot of the bed. "Don't tell me," he groaned, the ache in his head reminding him why champagne was bad. He never noticed how much he drank until the bottles began to stack up. "It's Satinalia! Everyone's waiting for me to open up their presents."

"No, Sire," the first servant responded seriously to his joke. "It is only Summerday, remember."

"Yes, I know, I was..." he rolled over, accidentally knocking an elbow into the nightstand and a shoe against the bedpost. Lifting up off the bed, he gazed through the door to catch Reiss standing outside. She'd already dressed in her armor for the day, but a sweet smile graced her lips that seemed to be only for him.

"You were what, your Majesty?" the second more senior servant grabbed at the sheet Alistair kept rolling on top of and gave it a good yank.

"Joking," he coughed, accepting defeat and sliding off the bed to land upon his still laced on boots. Maker, he didn't sleep in his clothes? Glancing down Alistair confirmed that he did in fact fall fast asleep in the damn things.

"Long night for his Highness?"

"I dunno, if I find him I'll be sure to ask," Alistair quipped back. He fumbled for a comb to de-knot his hair but snatched up a small pin instead. What was that even doing here? Oh well. Unlatching it, he tried to use the single stick to dig apart the mashed ends of his hair.

"Sire?" the poor, serious servant stumbled again.

"Another one of those joke things you seem to be allergic to," he tried to blink through the nests spiders built in his eyes overnight to catch a glimpse of the man circling him, "Are you new?"

"No Sire," he bit back, which caused the second servant to break into a few silent giggles. "Shall we bathe his Majesty?" the serious one asked,

"No _we_ shall not. I think his Majesty can figure out how a sponge works on his own." The old servant who'd been buffing Alistair's shoes since he first strolled into the palace politely coughed into his fist. Admitting to his past misdeeds, he added, "Provided it's not at the end of a stick which can grow slippery and be launched out a window when I'm bored. Fair enough, Charles."

"I said nothing, Sire."

Whatever they were fussing with, both men abandoned it, stepping away from the exhausted but technically upright King. Their jobs were finished. "Sire, I believe the water is hot and the bathing room is open. Shall I accompany you...?"

"Maker's sake, did the entire castle decide I was an invalid overnight? So I slept in, I was up watching the shooting stars. It's not a national disaster for me to miss first light," he dug a finger through his hair and found it didn't fall back down the way it should. Flames, what'd he get stuck in it now? Struggling to try and get a glimpse over the busybodies, he heard a soft snicker from the doorway and for a brief second caught Reiss' amused eye.

"If you're both finished here...?" he began, dragging his hand out.

The serious one looked about to argue, no doubt sent on Karelle's orders to get him into tip top shape for whatever awaited him today, but Charles knew Alistair well. "It's best if we give you your space," he said while grabbing onto the other man's arm. "Come along."

"But the Chamberlain ordered..." Whatever she'd threatened them with faded as both servants politely distanced themselves from the ramshackle King.

Abandoning hope of digging out whatever it was, Alistair turned to the beautiful woman who looked as if she'd slept a good ten hours on a feather mattress instead of curling up in his lap during a cool summer night. "Do I look that bad?" he asked seriously, his eyes unwilling to focus on the mirror.

"No," she lied while sliding into the room. "It's," Reiss yanked off her gauntlet so her warm fingers could tousle his hair back to where it belonged. Alistair fell dumbstruck from the care she gave for the smallest and most pointless detail. He was likely to have a gallon of water dumped on it soon, but it seemed to be important to her.

"There," she smiled, flipping his stomach up and down, "much better. Nothing one can do about the eyes I'm afraid."

"Let me guess, red as a sunburnt nug," he groaned, trying to scrub his cheeks.

She winced at his metaphor, but after glancing at the door, she slid close to him. Alistair's groaning at his pitiful state froze immediately as the beautiful woman wrapped her body around his. Those succulent arms curled up around his neck, his instantly matching by the small of her back. It was a bit more of a reach with all that armor, but even with the metal can acting as a buffer he still felt a wave of calm holding her.

"I take it I fell asleep while we were star gazing," Reiss whispered, her lips beside his ear. Perhaps she was afraid of the others standing outside the door overhearing, but Alistair couldn't hide a shudder up his legs at the intimacy.

"Uh huh, out like a cold cock to the back of the head."

"Thank you for caring enough to remove my boots and..." she paused, her eyes darting down as if a thousand darker thoughts trailed through her. Alistair turned his head to try and meet her, attempting to assuage her fears, when she smiled, "and letting me get my sleep. It seems you were less fortunate."

"I went down almost as soon as you did. This mess is one part getting old, one part I forgot what champagne does to me, and probably three parts being a Grey Warden."

Reiss scrunched her cute nose up at that, the side with the bump wrinkling up so bad, Alistair couldn't help himself. Darting forward he planted a kiss upon the side of it. As he leaned back, he watched her cheeks bloom red, Reiss smiling while her eyes stared off into the distance. Rubbing her gloveless hand against his scruff, she pulled him closer to her lips for a kiss. Even knowing that he looked like cat barf eaten by a mabari and barfed up again, she still wanted to kiss him. Maker he was so stupidly lucky. His lips brushed softly against hers when the door flew open.

"Sire, the bath awaits," Charles called.

She was quick to slip away from his grasp, already wearing her gauntlet when the exasperated servant walked in on his King seeming to have a little conference with the bodyguard. "My Lord," Charles continued, trying to jerk his chin to the bathroom.

Alistair glanced back at Reiss, but she was focusing out the window doing her best to seem aloof and slightly terrifying the way all good guards were. "Right," he ratcheted up his smile and beamed, "on to the bathing section of the day, my good man." Charles took the hearty slap to his back as he always did while handing his King a towel and being certain to keep him the path. He wished he could stay with Reiss, let her finish whatever she wanted to say, but duty and scrubbing himself squeaky clean awaited.

***

It wasn't until midway through the day that Alistair figured out why everyone was voidsent on getting him scrubbed within an inch of his life. They even brought out the pumice stone. That was reserved for days after he'd been in the field, had tried hunting, or once fell down a long slope in the mud, gave up on the idea of ever being clean again, and proceeded to start a mudball war. Squeaked, scrubbed, and shaved within an inch of his life, Alistair thought his skin probably shined bright enough it could blind someone. Even his hair was perfumed with a weirdly fruity blend that reminded him of a wine mixed with Spud's typical oatmeal breakfast.

The day's chores had been light: solve this matter, wave at a few people at the gate, act real impressed at some kind of tiny model waterwheel while no one got his joke about how it'd work great for milling the ant's flour. Alistair was happy to retire to his favorite of the studies. It wasn't much of anything special, the same usual number of desks, clerks skimming in and out, the chair about as uncomfortable as the rest, but they housed it right overtop the kitchens. All day he got to relish in the smells of whatever Renata was baking or roasting. This hour it seemed to be something bready, with hints of roasted nuts.

"Okay," Alistair slapped his hands on his thighs and thought about making another loop of the room. He was getting tired of sitting while people told him things and needed to stretch. "I think that's about it for the day."

"Sire?" Eamon asked. Ever since the illness, the Chancellor was hot on Alistair's tail, as if he had any skills in healing or keeping someone from rushing headlong into a frozen river.

"I get it, we're all waiting with fishy breath to hear if our newest Spymaster has caught the criminals down by the ol' smuggling hole, but it'll be a few days. Weeks probably." His eyes wandered away from Eamon and the handful of other advisors following aimlessly to land upon Reiss. She stood beside the door, doing her best to be in the room while not a part of the proceedings. At his pronouncement, she blinked and her eyes wandered down to the ground.

He knew that catching the assassins and solving that problem would put Reiss out of a job and severely limit their time together. But he had no intentions of casting her off, there was a way to make it all work even when the immediate danger was past. And, Alistair realized, he should probably tell her that so she wasn't worrying herself over fear the King was going to go all Kingy.

"There are other matters besides the assassins," Eamon tried, but even he kept wandering off to Harding's stand-in. The new Spymaster was off doing what she did best, slipping back into the scouting role without a second thought, while this guy tried to work as a go between. At the moment he seemed to be half merman, requiring a constant supply of sweat to keep himself alive on land. As word trailed through the castle that they were close, everyone kept hounding the poor guy for updates. Alistair made himself promise he'd only ask once a day.

"No there aren't," Alistair announced. "It's summer. Damn near everyone's off down in their southern homes, or up by the Waking Sea for the season. Denerim is surprisingly quiet. All in all, it's a good day to knock off early and do something fun." He slapped his hands together and rose off his chair when a man barreled through the open door.

He almost ran flat out at the King, but managed to pause just before Alistair. They stood so close, he could reach out and kiss the kid, who suddenly realized that fact and scampered back. Reiss moved towards him, a hand on her hilt, but the kid shouted out, "Sire, I come bearing news."

"I'd hoped it was that and not that a trio of bears were chasing you through the palace. What is it? Maker's breath, Harding didn't already get the assassins did, she?" Alistair honed in on the kid who felt a dozen very interested eyes drilling into him.

"Assassins? No my Lord, I know nothing about any assassins. I...Sire, your Highness."

"Yes, yes," Alistair rolled his hand through all the ways people could not say his name. "What is it?"

"It's the Grand Enchanter," the kid spat out.

"Oh," Alistair's interest fell off a cliff and he wanted to slump back into his chair in a sulk. Instead, he picked at the arm, "Let me guess, she sent another letter admonishing me for sending her little 'let's kill the Queen' mage back home." He'd received a good dozen and ignored them all. Eamon glared at Alistair's interpretation of the events, but didn't yell at him. Maybe even he was getting tired of the mage's power games.

"Ah," the messenger's eyes glanced around at the room before landing back on the King, "No, my Lord. She's here."

"What?!" Alistair whipped back around and he grabbed onto the man's lapels. Hauling him up to his face, he sputtered out, "Here, here? Fiona's here, in Denerim?"

"She's waiting in the atrium," the poor kid sputtered, his toes scrabbling to reach the ground, but Alistair didn't notice. Here. How could she...? Why would she even...? And Karelle blighted knew she was coming and didn't think to tell him!

Alistair released the kid to the floor and pounded his fist into his hand. The Chamberlain and he were going to have a few words later. She may think she knows everything about how to control her flippant King but on this matter he would have liked, no he needed some warning. Fiona. Finally in the same room as him. Sweet Maker, what was he going to do?

"Sire, what should I, uh, do?" the messenger asked, darting back away to keep from being snatched up by the King.

"I...I have no idea," Alistair admitted. How could she be here? He'd worked through what to say to her, how to talk to her, but it was always while in the bathroom or alone at night. And most of it sputtered into a rage that'd be certain to get him into trouble with the college and all his advisors.

Eamon was quick to step in, "Send the Grand Enchanter up, but limit her party to only two."

"No," Alistair interrupted, "Just her. And all of the rest of you, leave us alone."

"Sire, is that wise?" Eamon turned his surprised and unimpressed face on him. Normally, Alistair backed down at that, but this time he stood up against the man.

"I mean it, Eamon," Alistair thundered from behind the chair. He clung knuckles tight to it, digging into the flattened padding and ruffling up what had once been a very deep green velvet. Now it looked as if a mold sprouted across the wear spots.

Eamon blinked a moment before tipping his head, "As his Majesty says. We shall all excuse ourselves for a private meeting. You," he turned to the messenger doing his best to not shit his hose, "go and guide the Grand Enchanter here."

"Do I have to? She's, I mean, she's one of them," he sputtered.

"For the love of...!" Alistair roared, his anxiety snapping him like a cheap blade. The shrapnel reverberated through the room, causing nearly everyone to slink back. Glaring at the kid, he shouted, "If you can't do your damn job...Eamon, think you can lead a single mage up here?"

"Yes Sire, I can," he smiled before turning a curt look upon the man scared of mages, "And we shall have discussions with you later." The messenger only eeped quietly while the Chancellor drug him out on his ear without having to touch the man. That was Eamon's true speciality. One by one, the rest of the people that always surrounded Alistair, who kept the country humming and him somewhat on track slipped through the door. The clerks picked up their books they'd been hard at work on to try and find somewhere else quiet to scribble down whatever they did all day.

Alistair didn't hear any of it, he couldn't see beyond the white spots picking apart his vision. This was what he wanted, right? Why he kept inviting her to the castle to get answers from her, to learn why she abandoned him. Why she never thought to tell him the truth. Why she let him flounder alone without anyone to care a whit for him.

"Alistair," a cold hand landed upon his shoulder and he glanced up into Reiss' darkened eyes. They burned with concern as she stared down at his clenched fists. "Are you okay?"

"I...yes," he tried to throw on a smile, but she frowned at it, "Maybe. I don't know."

"Are you worried that the Grand Enchanter won't believe you about why you removed Linaya?"

Shit. What if that was the only reason she really came? Did she even care about the boy she abandoned all those years ago? Think about it? Wonder about him? Maybe she didn't know it was him, thinking there were other bastards kicking around. What were the chances hers wound up on the throne? What would he do if she hadn't thought about him at all?

"I, I," he clung to her gauntlet, squeezing against the cold metal and wishing that he could throw his arms around her instead.

"Sire," Eamon's voice boomed from the door, drawing both their attention. Reiss slid away naturally, but it took Alistair until the end of the tether to let go of his rock. "May I present Grand Enchanter Fiona and President in Standing for the Enchanter's College."

Alistair held his breath while glancing up at the woman who looked so much frailer than he expected. The last time he saw her he wasn't in the happiest of moods having to fight through a horde of evil Tevinter mages only to learn the damn people he was trying to save went and sold themselves into slavery. Not to mention fighting to get back his uncle's castle for the second time in his life. He couldn't remember much of the Grand Enchanter during their quick meeting beyond the accent and dark hair.

It was greying now, even that elven blood couldn't keep age at bay forever, but her eyes sparkled as she folded her hands against the staff clutched in her grasp. "Your Majesty," she bowed her head to him, the lines on her face aged like a fine sheet of leather delicately folded in the linen cabinet. While time came for her, Fiona wore it well, with a grace that she'd no doubt used to navigate all the politics over the years.

"My...Ma'am," Reiss stumbled at what to call her while stepping forward, "I shall have to confiscate your staff in the interim while you meet with the King."

"Whatever for?" she chuckled mirthlessly in that foreign accent. Would he have spoken with it if she'd kept him?

"For his safety," Reiss said in her stern voice. She called it the 'Getting her brother to eat his damn dinner' one when they were alone.

Alistair shook his head and waved a hand, "It's all right, Ser Reiss. She can keep it."

"Ser," Reiss spun around, her eyes honing on him. He focused away from the miles they ran off to to watch her mouth 'Alistair' before continuing, "Are you certain?"

Summoning the cocky soul he kept hidden away for emergencies, Alistair chuckled, "I highly doubt the leader of the Mages is going to fireball me down in my own home. It wouldn't look so good for the rest of them."

"Nor would it be polite," Fiona tacked on.

Reiss looked like she wanted to argue, which was just what he didn't need, but she tucked her hand away and sighed, "As you say, Ser."

Grateful that she'd given in, Alistair glanced over at her and said, "If you would be so kind as to leave us."

"I..." her eyes darted over to the woman who stood pointedly in the doorway, seeming to fill it. Fiona was short standing next to Reiss, and no doubt was dwarfed next to Alistair. Somehow that fact didn't do much to comfort him. Reiss focused on him, and he saw the concern that something was clearly wrong wafting across his face but he had no way to explain it, and feared opening his mouth would cause only a great squeak to erupt.

"Very well, I shall just be on the other side of the door," Reiss assured him while tugging upon the handle. She was slow to close off his only means of escape, Fiona carefully watching until the click of the latch falling into place broke over the suddenly silent room. What was he supposed to say? Should he be the first to say anything? Alistair began to rock back and forth on his toes and found he'd scurried behind the chair as if it gave him some protection should the mage suddenly turn on him.

He glanced over the Grand Enchanter, dressed in thinner robes than what he came to expect from the elite of the Circle. It seemed the higher up one moved, the more furs and shiny bits they added to your outfit. Perhaps it was her traveling outfit, or she was dressed in deference to the heat creeping across Ferelden. They were not a people who liked it hot.

"You don't have a staff blade," Alistair pointed out at random, his mouth moving before his brain through to real it in.

Fiona didn't need to stare at her own staff to know the truth, "I do not require one as this staff is mostly ceremonial. Shall I be the bigger person and begin this or do we keep waiting in silence?"

"Bigger...I don't even know why you're here," he scoffed.

"My intentions were made perfectly clear in the letters I sent. The ones His Highness deemed unworthy of answering," Fiona responded. She was trying to be deferential to him, but there was a venom in there that no doubt had been stewing for months. Too bad for her Alistair had his brewing over decades.

"Oh, is that so? It only seemed fair given how you never bother to answer the ones I send."

"I always respond in a timely manner to every missive from the King's estate," she was quick to bite back with.

Alistair began to nod his head back and forth, that strange concoction of anger and fear bubbling over in his gut. It tasted like gassy iron at the back of his tongue. "Right, uh-huh, they're always those polite 'No, I didn't read this. I made one of my under secretaries write out something noncommittal and stamped it.'"

"Are you accusing the College of not taking its role with the Ferelden allegiance seriously?" she piped up, clinging to duty like it was a dusty old shield. As if that was the reason she came. Shit? Was that the reason she came?

"Tell me why you came here and then we'll get to who's not taking what seriously," Alistair tried to do the bardic shuffle a few of his advisors taught him over the years. The trick was to never say anything and always ask a lot of stupid questions. He was a lot better at the latter than the former.

Fiona seemed to catch onto his ploy and folded her arms up, her long nails clutching tightly to her staff. "You are well aware why my presence is required after you so unceremoniously removed our arcane advisor from your court without even petitioning a single member of the College."

"I have to ask now if I need to put up with your castoff dregs?" his eyebrows shot up at that idiotic protocol, as if they were all in Orlais or something.

"She was hand picked..."

"She was an idiot, barely capable of simple spells, often claiming to have knowledge of things far beyond her," Alistair began to pace behind the chair as all of Linaya's faults fell into his memory. He'd excused a lot of it at the time because he didn't really much care. They didn't _need_ a mage, and if there was someone he was going to turn to for vital magical advice it wouldn't be the woman force-giggling so her chest bounced.

"The woman was trained by our top instructors, past her Harrowing, accomplished in matters of alchemy, chosen for..."

"Oh, I figured out why she was chosen," he wasn't listening to her, didn't care, the anger taking hold. It was rare for Alistair to let it stew like this but he needed to get it all out. "She's what, barely twenty five, if that? And seemed to spend all her classes capturing the perfect way to curtsy while scooting backwards. Even I know more about the transmutation of spirits into healing...Flames, I actually do." That caused him to pause, a flutter rising to his stomach from all the mages in his life who'd tried to get Alistair to understand a lick about magic. He never thought any of it took, but, looking back he could see Linaya's sloppy technique so evident that any senior enchanter would have groaned at it.

Fiona blinked at his realization, her mouth working quickly as she seemed to be weighing through various ways to curse at him without saying them. One of the few perks to the job, he only got called a bastard behind his back. "We did not send the girl here because she is considered unteachable."

"No?" he began to pace again, needing to feel something under his shoes to distract him from the pins riding up his shins. "I hadn't even considered you were dumping her on us so she didn't accidentally blow up the shiny new College. She made it pretty evident from her first meeting why she thought she was sent packing to Denerim. 'Oh, let me bat my eyelashes at you, your Majesty. I seem to have tripped and require you to carry me, your Highness. Help, half my dress ripped off and I fell into this puddle!'"

He all but forgot Fiona was in the room, needing to hear himself complain, until she growled, "It was made evident to me what happens to mages that fill the position of arcane advisor in this court, which I took into consideration."

"Great, that's not..." he was about to call it weird for his mother to pick out a mistress for him, but paused. The word perched upon his tongue, waiting to come flying free, but it wasn't breaking off. Instead he fell back to Linaya. "I don't even care. Maidens can flirt, given enough time she'd probably have found some other knight to turn her overbearing affections upon."

"Then why remove her? Was it due to her lacking abilities? I didn't realize sitting around in court required a highly trained mage to grow fat on the spoils," Fiona groaned.

He watched a flash of anger in her eyes and a small report darted into Alistair's head about how much the Grand Enchanter was at odds with a certain other mage who was trying to rebuild the circles in Orlais. A mage that wielded the Orlesian court like a sword. "Didn't Linaya tell you why?" he asked, pausing in his pacing.

Fiona narrowed her eyes at him and sighed, "Very little, she was inconsolable and in tears for nearly a month."

A nub of guilt burrowed into the back of Alistair's skull at causing her that much pain, but he shook it off. Folding his arms, he glared at the Grand Enchanter, "She told me that it'd have been better for me if the Queen had died. I suppose freeing up the position for her to fill, as if such a thing were ever possible."

"What?" that caught her, Fiona's eyes startling open. "No one told me that...are you certain you didn't mishear?"

"There is comes again. _Alistair, you must be imagining things. Alistair, it's all in your head. Alistair, don't be so daft. She means well_ ," he stopped rolling his head around to glare at her, "She knew exactly what she was doing, and what she said. At this point, I don't care if you hate me, if the entire College is going to blackball us. I'd do it again."

"I have..." Fiona glared down at the floor, her eyes working over it while calculations whirred behind, "I shall have words with the council upon my return about this matter. We were informed differently and had been planning -- it does not matter now." For a moment she faded, the energy that seemed to keep her going vanishing to leave a frail and exhausted woman behind. She flexed her aching hand and watched the papery skin fluttering above creaking bones before the glint returned. The tired lady vanished, leaving the same flint hard woman behind.

"This entire problem could have been solved if you'd answered a letter yourself instead of leaving the College in the dark." As if deciding the problem was over, Fiona turned, about to grab onto the door's handle.

"That's it then," Alistair's mouth spoke. "You're just done, going to leave, head back to the coast and never come back here."

"My business is concluded," she said, frozen to her spot. Officially, she couldn't leave unless the King gave her permission. Fiona glared at the door, her hand hanging an inch from grabbing onto the latch and freeing herself from him, from the son she abandoned and couldn't seem to muster a single care to give for him.

Steam hissed in his stomach as the anger boiled away while the fear lodged in his throat, stopping up the words he wanted to spit at her. To curse at her for leaving him to think his whole life that he'd killed his mother, that he was the royal bastard no one loved because he was inconvenient. A mistake, best kicked off to the side until, Maker help them all, he's needed. Oops.

"You know I know," he mumbled, the fight kicked out of him as he all but whispered the words he'd been wanting to say for two years.

Fiona snapped up tight, her shoulders locking into place as she spun around on her feet. Why did he always picture his mother as someone with big brown eyes and wearing a cap to hide away her curls? With a warm face and round arms to offer up hugs, thin lips to sing songs and kiss away pains. The exact opposite of the glaring and hard woman standing before him. He wanted Wynne and got Morrigan instead.

"Whatever you think you know..." she began.

"It's why you wouldn't attend any summits, even when you were needed, when the College was needed. It's why you avoid all matters that have anything to do with Ferelden. It's why you can't even look at me."

Fiona snapped up, her eyes for the first time landing upon his instead of drifting to a shoulder or out a window, "That isn't...Whatever reasons you believe you know my motives are false. I am growing old, and intend to step down soon. There is little I can add to any conversation for the sake of the College."

"Just like that," he tried to shake off the tears building in his eyes as the woman kept dodging every plea he threw out, "you'd turn and leave even now. Even knowing that I...I," Alistair threw his hands up in the air and shouted, "You know what, fine. Go ahead. I get what I can possibly matter, what little mistakes in the past are and how quickly they're forgotten, if they were ever even thought of."

 Fiona surged forward, a finger darting into his face like a scolding nanny, "You know nothing about me, about the sacrifices I've made in my life. The pain I've suffered."

He stared down her threatening finger to find her eyes and shrugged, "And do you know a damn thing about me."

"I..." she blinked, her eyelids fluttering as Fiona folded away from him. "It was for the...it is for the, there are matters that move beyond your understanding, beyond any that..." Shaking her head, she began to spin around towards the door. "The past belongs where it lays."

That was it. He could feel it collapsing between them. There'd almost been a moment when she'd finally admitted it to him but the walls closed back around. Leaning onto her staff, Fiona limped towards the door, to most likely close it in his face and life forever when it burst open and a blur of pink shot around the old elf.

Alistair barely had time to catch on, when Spud's sticky fingers grabbed tight to his knee. She planted her chin upon it and gazed up at him. "Daddy!" her shout echoed against the cover of every book in the study.

Without thinking, he reached down to grab onto her and tugged Spud up into his arms. She hugged tight to his neck, her forehead bonking him in the nose, but Alistair didn't care. He needed this without even knowing it. "Are you supposed to be breaking into Daddy's secret meetings, Tater Tot?"

"Yes?" she asked with a question so sincere it drew a laugh to him instead of the wrinkly frowny face it should.

"This..." Fiona spoke up. Alistair turned away from the girl trying to yank off the golden rope sewn to his shirt to the woman he was certain had already stomped off. "This is your daughter?"

"Yes," he pecked a kiss against Spud's cheek, which caused her to stick her tongue out and dramatically wipe it off. After entertaining her father, she glanced back at the strange woman in the doorway, the thumb heading right to her mouth. "The princess of the place, though the way she runs around you'd think she was Empress."

Spud didn't respond as she was too busy warily eyeing up Fiona, her thumb working overtime to soothe away the stranger danger.

"She has black hair," Fiona mused, almost reaching out to touch it.

"Gets that from her mother, don't you?" he said to the girl in an effort to distract her.

"Yes'm," she mumbled. "Daddy?" Spud grabbed onto his earlobe as if that would somehow dislodge the entire ear to tug down her. In the toddler loud whisper, she asked, "Who's that?"

"It's okay, Spuddy, she's not important. But let me guess..." Alistair glanced up to catch Marn hoofing it down the long hallway towards the open door. "You aren't supposed to be here. Did Marn tell you not to open this door?"

"No," Spud insisted.

"Did she tell you not to find me?"

"No." Damn, this kid was good when it came to the strict logic to prove she wasn't at fault.

Shifting his daughter in his arms, Spud wrapped both arms around his neck again for leverage as Alistair asked what he knew would get her, "Did Marn tell you to not leave your room?"

"Sss," Spud hissed through her teeth, the thumb clogging it up.

"What was that?" Alistair asked.

"Yes," she spat out as if writing her own death sentence.

"We're supposed to listen to Marn," Alistair said as he lifted his eyes up to the Nanny breathing hard in the doorway. "She knows what's best for us."

"Since when do you listen?" Marn grumbled, but Alistair smiled sweetly at it.

"Daddy," Spud groaned, aware that she was about to face a terrible punishment like standing in the corner and waiting, "I want to stay with you."

Alistair sighed at the subtle manipulation of a three year old, "I know, but you can't."

"Because..." Marn prompted.

"I did wrong," Spud answered, not believing a word of it.

Stepping forward, Marn swept past Fiona to snatch up Spud. "Give 'er to me."

Clinging tighter to her father, Spud tried the last weapon in her arsenal, "I love you, Daddy."

Plucking a kiss to her forehead, Alistair sighed, "I love you too, but you're going with Marn."

The sneer was instant, the sweet princess no doubt planning on turning into a snarling beast at her father for not getting her way, but Marn was quick to shut that down with a glare. Spud still pouted, but silently as she slunk to the ground. Marn kept a tight grip to her pudgy hand while the pair of them toddled to the door. "You, young lady, are in big trouble. Streaking across the castle, hiding in the armor, walking into three different closed meetings and running under the tables..." Marn continued to list Spud's crimes which faded as the door shut behind.

Trapped alone with the woman who'd never admit to being his mother, the awkwardness circling the air like hungry wolves, drove Alistair to pick at the edge of the chair. He began to notice a crack in the wood that needed to be sanded out. Rather than tell anyone, he preferred to pick at it needlessly when he was supposed to be working.

"She seems to be rather spirited," Fiona said softly, her eyes gazing past the door she no doubt wanted to run through.

"She just hit three so spirited is on a good day. It's mostly tyrannical monster but then she'll throw in a sweet kiss or hug or 'I wuv you' to keep herself alive." Alistair swallowed deep at the fear lurking inside him. He'd worried about her from the day he first held Spud, but it was vague fears: what if he dropped her? What if she got a bruise or a sprain because of him? Then it happened, those newly discovered legs causing the barely walking baby to smack right into a wall. It got better. She sometimes seemed to enjoy ramming head first into furniture, much to her father's dismay. But death...his own mortality never came up much for him. Even during the blight, he was willing to take the blow -- his life not worth much -- but Lanny's tears convinced him. It wasn't his only piddly little life he worried about, but leaving her behind to hate him.

How would Spud take his selfish loss? Not even an if anymore thanks to the taint swirling in his veins. Parents couldn't help hurting their children. As much as he wanted to swaddle her in nothing but cotton, sometimes she insisted on knocking her head into that statue.

"You know," Alistair whispered to himself, "it's funny. For a long time I had no idea what my birthday was. Eamon told me a month, but no one remembered the day itself. No one cared." He paused to glance out the window, not caring if Fiona listened or not. The day everyone gathered to celebrate his meager existence was one he guessed at based upon when a woman died giving birth in the palace. It seemed the most likely answer and also led him to that woman's doorstep with Lanny in tow. Maker, how did she never give him shit for that mess?

"All those people getting dressed up fancy, the biggest families in Ferelden stuffed into corsets and tight trousers to stand around on a date I plucked from nowhere," Alistair chuckled at the absurd idea of it all. What did it matter, it was all on ceremony. The chuckles gave way to deeper laughter and he folded in on his stomach, letting the tears wash down his cheeks at the madness.

As it faded, he staggered up and glanced over at the unamused elf glaring through him. "Maybe it's one of those you had to be there kind of funny things."

"It was a Wednesday," Fiona whispered to the air. "The day began with rain, a near constant downpour as was typical for Weisshaupt in the fall. Skies black as pitch when labor began."

Alistair turned over to stare at the woman clinging to her staff as if it was the only thing giving her life. She didn't look at him, her eyes shut tight as she kept talking. "It was the second most pain I've ever been in after the Joining, but...when the healers laid the child upon my chest and pulled open the curtain, a rainbow appeared in the sky. The rains had stopped just in time for the sun to allow me the first sight of my son."

Fiona maintained a steady voice, but Alistair's eyes burned with a cauldron of tears threatening to bubble over. He pinched his thumbs to keep himself in check. For a moment, Fiona stared off in the distance, a soft smile knotting up her cheeks as if she was...she was staring at a baby. Shaking from the past vision, she focused on the adult in the room and he almost broke down into the same gurgling tears as his daughter, as his own son.

"Kingsway," she said, shaking off the soft memories and snapping back on her unbreakable certainty, "It was the 12th of Kingsway."

"I..." he stumbled, wishing to say something. Should he hug her? Beg her to tell him more? Ask why, why wasn't he worthy of keeping after all this time?

Fiona shook off every clinging hope he had as she drew her shoulders back and said, "My time here is finished. We shall deal with the Linaya issue and then I believe I will retire within the College walls at last."

Like that, she'd snapped it back shut. Just like his father who would barely look at the boy running around Eamon's estates. Alistair was cursed with two parents who were both saddled with a problem neither wanted to solve which they dealt with by ignoring him. He should be angry, ready to shout himself hoarse with all the self loathing things lurking in his stomach, but Beatrice's thoughts floated through him. All there was in this game was trying your best. Maybe Lanny was right and it was time he gave up on the idea of turning someone into the mother he wanted.

Nodding his head, Alistair said in a wobbly voice, "Understood." He feared to say another syllable because it would crash into him openly bawling in front of her.

Fiona looked surprised at his strength of will, her eyes darting over his face for the last time. With no one to hold her back, she turned and lifted the latch to the door. He expected her to yank it open and flee to freedom, but she paused with the door open a crack.

"The First Warden, he told me to not name the child because I would grow attached and be unable to fulfill my duty. Officially I didn't and left it up to your...the father. But while you took your first nap from the birthing process I named you Caledon in my heart." She turned away from the door, tears clinging in her eyes, "It means the strength of the people."

Before Alistair could offer up anything, she disappeared from his life, no doubt for the last time.

***

"Maker's sake, I need to get a better mattress in here," Alistair complained as his ass sunk deeper until it struck the wooden planks. "Is this thing stuffed with nug down?"

"What? Nugs don't have feathers," Reiss chuckled. Her naked body straddled him, giving Alistair a vision of perfection while his ass flattened beyond redemption. His hands wandered up and down her thighs clenching into his sides, lost in the dips of her muscles.

"Exactly my point," he chuckled at his inanity, glad to have anything other than the events of the day to think about. Luckily, his bodyguard was exceptional at distractions. Gripping onto her waist, Alistair strained to tug her down to him. She giggled at it, but gave in. Forgetting to adjust for the fall, all of Reiss crashed into his ribs, causing a gasp to escape from his lungs, but he rebounded instantly to kiss her. First her lips, so achingly fresh, then down her shoulder, her cheek, up to her forehead -- each one caused another bright laugh and drew a smile to him. This was what he wanted, what he needed after Fiona...

"Alistair," Reiss whispered, her summery eyes burning with concern. "What's wrong?"

"Hm?" he blinked rapidly, his hands sliding up and down her ass while he tried to find an answer.

"You've been...quiet today. Distant. Is there, was there something you wanted to talk about?"

"No, no, no," he rushed to assure her as he lifted his head to kiss her once more on the lips. "Just lots of politicking, you know. Can't get enough of sitting around listening to people argue. Joy of my life."

It'd worked on other people, but Reiss paused above him, those damn perceptive eyes sizing him up. He held his breath, uncertain how he could explain the truth to her. Did he even want to? Did he even want to know anymore? Damn it, did that make Lanny right again? She was going to be so smug.

Softly, Reiss trailed her fingers across his cheek, each one stepping down like the itsy bitsy spider. But this one didn't get caught in an infernal water spout, this curious creature walked lower down his chest. Savoring a stop against his nipple, her fingers traveled in a circle down each of the ribs, visited with the belly button, and flicked against the edge of his pubic hair before dipping down to circle his excited at being thought of dick.

They'd been fooling around but hadn't gotten to quite the final end. She did, a few times if he had to take a guess, but he'd been...distant. Damn, he had to stop falling for such smart women. Running his hand over hers, Alistair deftly picked her exploring fingers up and rolled to the side so Reiss would have room to snuggle beside him. He loved playing the big spoon, but right now he wanted to stare into her eyes and lose the hours watching her smile.

"Am I...?"

"Wonderful," he said. With one hand he pulled her warm body close, lost in the curves that may drive him to distraction after all. "I was referring to making me sit up and howl, but you're pretty good at other things too," he tacked on, effectively killing the mood. But Reiss, despite his best attempts, smiled brightly and pressed her lips against his. Maker's breath, she was the balm he needed against the open wound -- her tender ministrations suturing up the gap in his soul he once again tore to shreds for no good reason.

He knew better than to say it, but that terrifying L word drifted deep in his gut. Instead, Alistair skirted her errant hairs back behind her ear and asked, "What was your mother like?"

That caught her off guard, "I admit I wasn't expecting that. Um...she was my mother. Typical mother like, I guess."

"I wouldn't know," Alistair admitted, "I never had one."

"Oh," her warm breath washed over him, lulling him deeper to sleep. "Well, she loved to crochet but hated knitting, which I never understood. She would often pick up odd jobs for people to repair clothes which I'd tried to learn but was never good enough at. And she grew up in an Alienage with my father. I don't know which one as they both hated the cities, called them cramped and dirty."

"Mm hmm," Alistair let his eyes slipped closed for her tale.

He felt a hand filter through his own mashed down hair before she turned in his arms. As her back pressed tight against his chest, Alistair greedily scooped a hand along her stomach, trying to hold her even closer than seemed possible. His lips pressed against her shoulders, wishing he never had to leave this bed or her.

"She loved to sing, all the time. And the little chantry liked her voice so much they'd let her in to participate in the choir, provided she kept to the back at all times. She smelled of cinnamon and clove, her favorite two spices that she'd put in anything she was cooking. Savory meats, sweet desserts, didn't matter. You knew there'd be cinnamon and clove in it. I..." Reiss' voice choked up and she curled deeper to her chest.

Alistair's wayward hand touched her cheek as he tried to see if she was crying, "It's all right. If it hurts I don't want you to suffer."

"The blight was a long time ago," Reiss said in a dead voice as if she'd repeated the same chant numerous times.

"And it still hurts," he said, his skin clinging to all of hers that he could reach.

"Yes, it does," she sighed, "that's a loss that doesn't...people tell you it'll heal but I think they lie to convince themselves."

He felt himself nodding along even though, what did he know? While he'd been told his parents were dead he was lied to, twice over, only to have to be the one to finish off his father and watch limply as his mother walked away for good. His pain wasn't the same as hers. She lost people who loved her, cared for her, did everything in their power to make her happy. He lost the idea of parents and nothing more.

"Thank you," Alistair whispered to her back, the tears slipping off.

Reiss' hard fought hand reached behind her to grace his cheek. He was quick to hide away the evidence that he was crying, but welcomed her touch as he always did. "It's nice to talk about her sometimes. To remember. Are you sure there's nothing you want to talk about?"

"Yes," he said. Maybe one day he'd feel strong enough to tell her the truth, all of the truth. Confess how he felt unfinished, the child formed from clay but destined for that damn throne whether he wanted it or not. What knowing that Fiona existed but didn't want him did to him, how it ate him up until he was behaving like a right prig to the mage envoys for no good reason beyond wanting to see her, to hear the truth.

"Right now," Alistair whispered to her shoulder, "all I want to do is lay here and hold you." Reiss didn't say anything, all she did was reach over to hold back.

## CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

#### Fire

"Milord," a man bowed so low to the ground his forehead brushed across it, "I beseech you for an answer to my conundrum."

The King sat in his throne, surprisingly, some of the court milling about while Reiss stood guard near the big chair. Alistair cast a quick eye to her and she smiled at the attention. "I believe," the King spoke to the man dressed simply and now flat out laying upon the floor, "that the answer to your problem is the...left passageway."

Beatrice softly coughed beside him.

"Right passageway?" he tried again.

Now it was Karelle who stomped a foot and rocked back and forth on her feet.

"Bloody hell, what other doors are there? You go left, you go right, either way there's always monsters down them," Alistair complained while picking at a small red stain upon his cuffs courtesy of a day with his daughter attempting to make jam. Reiss was uncertain where it all sloshed down her armor, and poor Brunt bore the, well, his namesake of it across his face and hair. True to his nature, he said not a word while scooping the squealing girl up to her room for a much needed bath even while scarlet jelly wobbled on the top of his head.

Shaking off her memories, Reiss focused back on Beatrice calmly finishing off a knot in her embroidery. "It's a riddle, dear husband."

Alistair puckered his face at that, "I hate those even more than giant spiders. Don't tell me, you're actually the day, or time, or lost youth, or a goat. There should be more riddles with goats in them."

"Ah..." the entertainer lifted up from his nap-bow and yanked off the field hat to worry it in his fingers. Reiss had to give him the costume was close to accurate, even with patches sewn up and down the worn joints, but the pale face couldn't hide a lack of tan. He was a man who never set foot in the sun. "I'm afraid I don't know any with goats in them."

"See, we are seriously lacking in goat entertainment," Alistair continued as if anyone was listening to him.

Karelle unearthed a small poster off her lap desk and said, "There's a performing goat group, they do tricks and what not. Leap through fire, jump on people. Supposed to be funny."

"Not that, well, actually that's not a bad idea for whatever state function we have next. In particular if the Orlesians are showing up," Alistair smiled his ornery twist in the direction of the ambassador. She, in turn, paid it no attention. He'd told Reiss that with Harding on the true tail of the assassins Cherie went from being almost amenable to a total snake in record time. She wondered how he could put up with it all, but he'd shrugged and then claimed it was easier to face the challenges knowing he'd find her at the end of the day. It was silly, but it made her smile like an idiot to herself for days past.

Lunet's dire warning faded away to nothing more than a whisper on the cold wind. Her life was good, she had a future working with the guards, the potential of a real home, and -- Maker help her -- the care and attention from a man who seemed excited to give it. It wasn't perfect, but what in her life ever was?

"Sire, should I abandon this riddle or are you going to guess it?" the entertainer asked. He plopped his hat back on, but in the process smeared the thick red grease paint off his forehead. The once strong diamond pattern now looked more like a strawberry swirl.

Alistair waved his hand and then bounced up and down in his chair, "I don't know. Do whatever you want. I wish Ghaleb was here, that man was ace at puzzles, riddles, that stupid color box that you twist and turn until you want to throw it against the wall."

"He caught you painting the sides you couldn't get to line up," Karelle said from her side. She rarely looked up from her work, but managed to stay focused on the King's words in the off chance they were important.

"What?" Alistair shrugged, "How else is it supposed to work? I thought I was being rather clever."

"By cheating," Karelle finished for him.

"It's all in your perspective," he smiled, and for a moment his eyes shifted over to Beatrice. Reiss felt uncomfortable at the bare fact hanging in the air, but the Queen didn't glare at him for dragging his infidelities below her nose, only lifted up her work and smiled back. Her attentions broke from her husband, to canvas the various clerics stewing away in the throne room. They'd wanted to hold court in the garden, but when the impenetrable heat beat down upon everyone's bones regardless of age, they all raced to the cooler shadows trapped inside stone walls.

"Sire?" the entertainer tried again, obviously needing an answer.

Alistair imparted his wisdom, "Yes, fine, what are you? Or what should you do?"

Sticking his hat on tighter, the entertainer and occasional poet in his downtime (not that it was paying the bills at the moment) banged a walking stick down on the stones and in a booming voice commanded, "I am the land, fallow and empty, tilled and broken by uncaring hands. I waste all who cross it, desiccating their flesh like tanned leather until naught but bones remain."

"And the only way to fix the problem is...?" Alistair continued, rolling his hand in the air.

"To die," the man honed in on the King. "To give back what was taken, to enrich the soil. That from which came the food that built a body, in death will feast the worms living inside it."

"Well," Alistair slapped his hands on his knees, the court falling silent at the man daring to tell their King to die. "That took an unexpected and morbid turn. Not bad, good effort with the creepy bits, but might want to tone down on all the death and dying parts. Startles the locals."

"It was very popular post-Blight," the entertainer rushed to defend his creation.

"Yeah, imagine that," the King rubbed the back of his neck and tried to shake off the lingering hand of death slicing through the air. It didn't help that with so many people crowded into the room, the hot air threatened to overwhelm any and all. Even Reiss had to take the occasional sip of water for fear she'd pass out on her feet. Throw in the perfumes and holy oils clinging to the air, and she couldn't shake off the idea that this was a holy tomb about to be sealed off and lit aflame to cleanse the bodies lain inside.

"How about you try juggling, instead," Alistair suggested to the man. Smiling, he unearthed a pair of balls stashed in his pockets and began to rotate them in the air. That drew a few gasps and claps from the crowds, while the King used the distraction to wave Reiss over.

"Yes, Ser?" she asked, dropping to a knee beside his chair to look into his eye.

"Is there any chance I have the authority to kick everyone out of court and take a nap?"

"Why are you asking me?" she stumbled, doing her best to not get lost in her eyes.

"Because I know all the handlers will say no, and I was hoping..." it was subtle, but in seeming to grip onto the arm of his chair, his fingers glanced across hers, "you'd join me."

"I...uh," her throat dried from the pressing heat, Reiss trying to not look over at the Queen who had to overhear this. "Ser, it's..."

She was saved by a horn blargling in the doorway. It was difficult to describe how the horns of Ferelden sounded. Most others in thedas were of the one or two note bellow like an ox about to charge, but here it was more like a frog caught in a drain pipe. A very angry frog growing more so at its being interrupted from attempting to mate. Sliding to her feet, Reiss moved away as a messenger raced around the crowds awed by the juggler.

"Sire," the messenger didn't drop to a knee or even bow. She wasn't wearing the obligatory poofy hat the rest of them wore, this one all in traveling leathers. "I have news."

Alistair sat up higher in his chair, his eyes darting over the woman gasping for breath. She unraveled a sheet of parchment wadded up in her fist, but didn't bother to read it. "What is it?" he prompted.

"It's Jader, Sir. It's burning."

_No._ Atisha! Reiss doubled her grip to the sword on her hip, as if that would give her some strength.

"Burning how? What happened?"

Reiss felt his eyes dart over to her once, but she couldn't look over, couldn't move. Her lungs were being compressed down to a solitary breath, air circling around her as she watched the messenger hobble to the King and hand him her note even while speaking.

"They say it was an elven riot, started in the night and with summer's dry season it's been going for two days."

"Sweet Maker," Alistair gasped. Even the Queen beside him dropped her work onto her lap and began to silently pray. Reiss was broken, her mind fracturing away from what had been the happy party. On one edge it was a typical day for those in the court, with the general amount of merriment and wonder. Inside her she felt as if a glass bottle shattered in her stomach, every jagged shard shredding through her innards as it reached upward to her mind.

"The Divine has requested aid from Ferelden, due to the close nature of the town to our bored," the messenger continued, only focusing on her King. She said the words with urgency but detached.

"Divine Victoria? Why isn't Celene coming to us first?"

"It apparently began in the chantry," the messenger said with a nod as the shrapnel barely contained inside Reiss exploded against her mind. Her vision went nearly black and pain seared behind her eyes as she stumbled forward, willing away the scream echoing in her throat but unable to burst free.

No. No, no, no.

Through a piercing whine circling the room, Reiss heard Alistair tell the messenger to send all the aid they could. She tried to focus on his voice, but everything began to wash away like blood drifting back and forth on the shore. It never vanished the way it was supposed to, crimson blooming with the foam of the waves, always coming back to stain the sands because it couldn't be forgotten.

Scampering away, Reiss turned towards the side door and ran headlong through it. Her hand snagged upon the wood, knocking back her wrist at an odd angle, but the pain felt good. The throbbing forced her away from the real agony stampeding up her throat and begging to be let free. She couldn't, not in front of so many people.

Barely able to see through the veil of tears begging to fall, Reiss bashed her shoulder against the stone walls like a bouncing ball until whatever force drove her flooded away like the tide. Tumbling to a knee, the cork on her throat broke free and a scream shredded her vocal chords. No! Damn her! Damn Her! She shouldn't have been there, not where they could find her, hurt her. Atisha...

Reiss glanced up to find her fist flat against the wall, blood trickling out of the rivets above her knuckles as they impacted against the steel of her gauntlet. It should hurt, the seething, bone shearing kind of pain that most soldiers tried to avoid. But there was nothing, her heart dead in her chest. It cracked away, burned to a crisp in her fury and then ash. Just like Jader, just like...

No.

"Reiss..."

She heard his voice echoing down the empty corridor. Struggling to get to her feet, she began to apologize for her display, when Alistair wrapped his arms tight and tugged her face to his chest. That broke her anew, the tears falling to bury her anger in crushing despair. Gripping tight to him, Reiss bawled like an infant against the royal finery worth more than her life.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered to her, his fingers rubbing calming circles against her back.

This wasn't right. She shouldn't be looking to him for comfort, he was King, and she was... Maker, take Him and His Bride, she didn't care. Curling even tighter, Reiss felt her legs wobbling below her. Alistair was quick to pull even more of her weight to him, his strong arms propping her up as her body gave up. It wanted to house her spirit about as much as she wanted to keep suffering in this world.

"I'm here, and...I wish I knew what to say," Alistair whispered, his lips pressing into her forehead from how tightly he hugged her.

"What...?" the words knocked against her ragged throat, but when she tried to voice it again only tears answered.

He kissed her again, tugging her closer, "They don't know anything more. They don't even know what started the fires."

"I do," Reiss hissed. She'd warned Atisha, told her of all the rumors stirring up anti-elf sentiment across thedas. People were angry and needing to hurt someone, anyone, but did her sister care? No, she was following the Maker's call and knew He'd protect her. Damn it! Damn Him for giving so many false hope!

"Don't tell me it'll be all right," she sneered, not mad at him but needing her anger if only to feel something.

"I won't," he said. "Ferelden has an outpost near there, and a fort a days march away. Help will reach them as soon as they can."

"And then word of survivors," Reiss dare not hope for Atisha's survival. Pinning so much of her sanity upon that dream knowing the likelihood that it'd be stomped from her body would end her. But she begged the Maker to not be so cruel as to let them suffer. Please. Andraste take her, but let it have been quick.

"You're not alone," Alistair said. "I'm here."

But she was. No other elves in the guards, barely any in the City Watch -- certainly not enough to make any difference. She was cutoff from her people and...some of it was her own doing. Reiss' thoughts trailed back to Lunet causing a fresh burr to land into her stomach. She ached to tell her friend, to drink with her until Reiss passed out with a bloated liver, but Lunet hated her now. All she had was him. He came running for her, comforted her despite leaving a room full of his people behind. It was the kindest thing anyone had done for her, but she couldn't shake the thought rattling around in her head. Reiss gave up everything for one man. Would that be enough?

Blubbering for too many losses to count, Reiss buried her face back into his shoulder. Alistair began to sway softly with her, their bodies moving through the funeral dirge while he butted his chin into her hair. "I'm so sorry," he kept whispering as if he could erase what happened, as if he could take away all the fear and hatred with those three words. There was no magic in thedas that could make a person stop hating like that. It was bone in bred.

"Your Majesty, we still have other matters to discuss about..." Karelle skidded to a halt as she slowly eyed up the King clinging to the sobbing guardswoman.

He didn't release Reiss, only glanced over at Karelle and in his least guilty voice said, "She knows someone in Jader."

"I see," Karelle stretched out the spacing between those two words enough to hint that she knew more was going on. "Shall I escort her to her quarters then fetch you a different bodyguard in the interim?"

"No," Alistair's chin rotated upon her head as he shook his. "Give us a few more minutes, I can handle it."

"As you say, your Majesty," Karelle dipped down and began to slide out.

"Oh, Karelle, can you send for Harding? I need to hear everything she knows about Jader."

"Of course, your Highness," the frosty tone of the Chamberlain drifted away as she had real business to work through. Keeping her eyes upon the pair of them for longer than was necessary, Karelle backed out of the corridor leaving the pair of them alone.

Reiss should be blushing at being caught in such a compromising position, but her cheeks were already burning from her never ending tears. She should be angry at herself for failing to maintain the decorum she insisted upon but her mind was numb -- all emotion, all thought drained from her. All she could focus on was the pair of arms supporting her.

"I'm sorry, I..."

"It's okay," Alistair whispered, "it's not a big deal. And if anyone asks I can tell the truth."

"Right," Reiss sighed. The truth that the King of Ferelden is such a kind soul he'll leap to the rescue of wailing women in his employ at the drop of a hat. Nothing untoward going on between them, not at all. The entire palace will all know before morning.

"Reiss, do you want to head up to your room?"

She didn't want to do anything, not now, maybe not ever. Reiss tripped back to her survival instincts, a year of no wants, only needs. All to keep her siblings alive and now some knife-ear hating bastard might have taken her sister away. Damn them all!

"I should..." she released her hold on the King who had a country to return to. Alistair followed suit, but before she slipped away, he cupped his hands against her cheeks. With his thumbs, he softly wiped at her tears while those sweet brown eyes stared into her soul.

"I can go with you," he offered.

She wanted him to, to sit beside her for the entire day while she bawled her eyes out, but that wasn't an option. "No, I...I'd prefer to be alone."

"Okay," he nodded. His face bothered her, the lines wrong, the cheeks flat and off. Everything was off.

Smashing her gauntlet against her nose, Reiss tried to wipe up most of the snot while she limped away from him. Alistair seemed to regretfully let her go as he remained rooted in place watching her step down the corridor. Glancing back over her shoulder, it struck her what was wrong. His face, there was no smile to it, no light, she'd never seen him frown this deeply for so long before.

"I'll check on you later, all right?" he called to her. By the shift in the sun, she could see the number she did to his doublet -- water streaks pooling upon the shoulder.

Reiss waved at him, putting on the last vestiges of her armored face before it would all collapse at her feet. Barely aware of where she was walking, Reiss staggered her way to her room to collapse onto her rickety bed and cry herself to sleep.

## CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

#### Hatred

Reiss wished she could remain curled up on her smashed in mattress with the covers yanked over her head waiting for the rest of the world to pass on, but stubbornly it refused. Numb to the touch, she stumbled out of her room. Freed of the trappings of the guard armor, almost no one glanced over at the elf dressed in less sartorial splendor than the average servant. Maybe she should care, but the dullness that slicked away all sense of touch to her fingers drilled down to her marrow. She felt as if cold should seep from her fingertips and ice trail every footstep as she moved dumbly through the world.

There was some of the castle she never visited either under the King's wing or on her own. The east wing held much of the Queen quarters, which aside from the children's bedroom and nursery, never interested Alistair. They also included a lot of the beds for handmaidens and other women useful but not with any real power -- the cousins and close friends a woman forced to leave her family and marry a total stranger could bring along for backup. Beatrice seemed to have quite a few orbiting her, but they also kept to themselves. It was as if there were two entirely different royal houses living in the palace. One was traditional and quiet, happy to defer to the more elder voice. The other loud and brash, but exceedingly kind to those most over looked.

She was thinking nonsense to keep from thinking anything else. Reiss trailed her fingers down a banister while slowly trudging down the stairs. One step, then another, each foot plunging her deeper downward to nowhere. It wasn't until she stepped a few feet away from the landing, that she realized there was no more banister to trail, yet her fingers hung up in the air gripping to something invisible. She'd often felt like a ghost moving through the waking world, wanting to be seen but scared of the consequences. It was worst during those years in Kirkwall when scrounging for an iota of attention from shopkeeps who assumed she both had no coin and intended to steal whatever she wanted. People looked through knife-ears until they needed something to blame them for.

And there was always something.

Light sparkled from a candle flaring with blue flame and Reiss reached her solid hand up to try and block it. Blinking against the assault, she recognized the bowl of fire being rekindled by a portly woman. Wrinkled like a shar pei puppy, the woman's face was both ancient and oddly adorable -- her bright blue eyes shining below the folds as she scooted to the second statue and dumped the potion inside. Andraste's pyre kindled inside of it, casting enough light outside the small chantry.

Nodding at her work, the woman slid in through the always open door.

Reiss had never been inside this one. She knew of it, apparently Beatrice would attend to it often during the day. While Alistair would trudge to the Grand Chantry in the middle of Denerim with his children once a week to say the right words and sing the correct songs, he didn't see much need to visit the tiny one installed in his home. Floating across the stones, Reiss ignored every warning etched in her bones and stepped across the threshold.

Incense walloped her nose first, the oils as musky as a deer in heat. Two censers dangled near the door, not in active use with no ceremony to conduct but the scent lingered around them in anticipation. There weren't any pews, only a handful of chairs along the back. Mostly it was a small shrine to Andraste, the Lady in all white extending her hands out to her people while painted flames of gold flickered up and down her dress. Three painted backgrounds made up the scenery behind her, each one displaying her life in easy to understand form. Birth, Life, and Death; though hers involved a lot more of the Maker's attentions and toppling an empire, it was the same for anyone else in thedas.

Reiss glanced warily around, realizing she had no idea what she was supposed to do. Even when escorting the King to the chantry, she'd wait outside. While there were tales of a few elves slipping in and out of the smaller chantries across Denerim, it didn't seem to be her place. Biting the inside of her cheek just to feel something Reiss glanced up at the stone face of the Prophet. She was supposed to fix everything, to stop the evil mages from hurting people, to free the elves from slavery. Well, there were still evil mages running around hurting people and elves...caring about elves required admitting that they were people first, a task that seemed almost impossible for most humans.

"She's quite lovely," a crackling voice whispered beside Reiss.

All but leaping to the side, Reiss' hand drifted down to her side where thankfully no sword waited for her. Drawing a blade upon a chantry cleric would be her final straw for certain. "I..." Reiss blinked slowly and nodded, "yes, she is."

"It's funny, but I always wondered why she looks so Orlesian in all the paintings and statues. Pretty rouged up cheeks, a deathly pallor as if she'd never marched armies in the sun, bright glistening robes instead of the battle armor needed. Not even the fabled Ferelden stature, always tiny as a twig."

Reiss glanced upward at the same face pictured and sculpted across all of thedas -- the bride of the Maker wasn't often depicted as a warrior but the woman waiting in anticipation in the bridal suite. Chaste and pure, not coated in blood and muck from getting into the dirt and stirring up shit. "I'd never thought about it," she said, her eyes drawn to the flickering bowls instead.

"It is a pretty form either way," the cleric said with a smile. "May I ask what brings you in here today? We don't often get many elves."

"I'm sorry, Sister," Reiss turned to scamper away, "I should not have..."

"No, please," her tiny hand gripped tight to Reiss' arm and managed to hold the warrior in place. "Something must have brought you to me, to...Her," she gestured with her flat chin up to the Prophetess gazing lovingly down at no one. "There is pain in your eyes. I'd imagine in your heart as well."

She shuddered at how quickly this unknown woman sussed her out. Reiss survived by hiding, balling up her emotions and burying them behind thick armor so no one else could pick them off her. But untethered from everything she'd ever known she couldn't cling to a single rope hold, her entire life picked open like a gaping wound.

"Jader," Reiss gasped out.

"A true tragedy," the woman drew her fingertips to her forehead and then brought them together in a prayer. Those bright pale eyes slipped closed as she whispered words from the chant through silent lips. "How can so much evil be allowed to exist in this world?"

_Because silent tongues let it fester._ The thought burned fast in Reiss' mind as she stared at the woman, but she shook it off. Her hatred would only lash back at her, no one else truly feeling the sting. No, maybe one other person.

After finishing her prayer, the woman smiled sadly, "Do you have friends there? Family?"

"My sister," she didn't know why she was talking. Reiss never knew any of her grandparents. There'd been an uncle in one of the alienages, but between the blight and time, she'd long lost any track of other family. It was only her sister and brother, and maybe, now just her brother.

Tears tumbled down Reiss' cheeks as her shoulder's began to shake. "She was in the chantry, worked in it as a Sister."

"Blessed be," the woman didn't gasp in pain but smiled brightly as if Reiss told her Atisha won some grand award.

Shaking it off, Reiss stepped towards the statue of Andraste and stared upward at the face that gazed past all the concerns of a little elf. What did her troubles matter in thedas? "I don't know if-if she's okay, or...not." Death floated through her life with every waking breath but somehow Reiss couldn't imagine the bright light of Atisha extinguished so cruelly. Was she burned alive while begging for help at the base of a statue just like this one?

"I told her not to do it, not to take the vows. It painted a target on her back, the first elf in a chantry? An Orlesian chantry?" Shaking her head, Reiss glared up at the face. "How could you?" she whispered to Andraste, the Prophet's serene gaze never wavering. She was supposed to protect them, to help them, but just like all the rest she didn't care. "Atisha gave her everything for the chantry even before the new Divine, before she could be anything other than a cook. And they, it..."

Fingers glanced across Reiss' shoulder, "We cannot all see the Maker's plan, often things are set in motion far beyond our comprehension but we must trust in it. All things happen for a reason."

The reason being hatred blankets out common sense, love means nothing when it goes toe to toe against despair, and in the end good doesn't triumph over evil when good gives up on the fight before it's even begun. She wanted to scream that and more in the woman's face, to point out how if humans weren't so terrified of a set of pointy ears that her sister would be alive. Atisha wouldn't be some aberrant freak paraded around as the savage elf that learned to speak the chant, leaving her open to arrows from all sides. There would be dozens of others, normal elves trying to survive just like the rest of them.

But she couldn't say it, because even without any true education Reiss knew what it would get her: an argument, a curse, a potential whack on the knuckles, and the label of dissident. People are most happy with elves that are frolicking, dressed in little to be pretty play things. When they stand up and start asking for more, then the claws come from out, often from the kind hand that swore they'd watch your back. Life taught her how to hold her tongue because a kick to the head is the sharpest teacher of them all.

"Thank you, Sister," Reiss bowed her head, needing to get away quickly. Stepping past the woman, the numbness in her soul burned away as a fire licked through her veins. It felt like she drank the same potion they used to stoke Andraste's holy pyre, her entire body hot with the blue flame.

"It's Mother, actually," the woman said, needing to get in the last word. "Please, return here anytime you require a balm for your soul."

Atisha used to believe in the chantry. She felt something neither Reiss nor later Lorace ever did while listening to the chant. Her calling, as she kept insisting. Even when her elder sister pointed out that the chantry didn't like elves listening in on services, Atisha would find ways to sit near the chanters. Every setback drove her to try harder, every cleric or Mother dragging her out by the pointed ear convinced Atisha to try a new way in. She loved Andraste with all her heart regardless of how much Her followers hated her. It was idiotic, and often drove Reiss to wanting to scream the belief from her sister, but nothing could shake her.

Outside the tiny chantry, without anyone watching, Reiss folded her hands and in her head said the only prayer she could think of. Maker, if you took her away from me, from this world she was trying so hard to help, please just...look out for her. She loved You without any good reason and deserves better.

***

Alistair knew better than to tell Karelle that she was imagining whatever she thought she saw. Sadly, he didn't know any way to try and tell his chamberlain to not talk about the thing that wasn't in any way important to anyone without making it a big deal. She was too damn good at her job for him to have her killed outright, so that left his final option -- playing fully stupid. It was the one skill he mastered.

If his chamberlain inquired anything about his bodyguard, Alistair would glance around as if he was following a butterfly, or less than politely change the topic by leaping to his feet. He doubted it worked, but it seemed to annoy Karelle enough her pointed questions faded away before anyone else started in. While he knew some of the court would find his assumed dalliances entertaining, the Banns were always amused at how their King kept rutting around in the 'working class,' Eamon would be a different story. He believed in tradition and keeping things within the castle as it were. Then again, technically Alistair had.

By the time he returned to his room, he wasn't certain what to do. Thanks to his requests, Charles brought in a fresh bouquet of lavender and mint because when it came to thinking of what to give a women, apparently Alistair defaulted to what went into refreshing drinks. Absently, his fingers plucked up a few sprigs of lavender as he stepped to Reiss' door. It was becoming routine in the way double knotting his boots kept him feeling safe, but after his fist gently knocked into her door, he froze. What would she think of that gesture? Would she worry he only cared about, uh, organizing her drawers, as it were?

Foolish, it was better to not bring anything. He moved to toss the lavender back into his room when the door cracked open and Reiss stared up into his eyes. "Hi," Alistair squeaked out, his fingers traitorously twirling the lavender.

Her bloodshot, heart breaking eyes followed the movement and she reached out to pluck the offering from him. He braced himself to have it tossed into his face, but Reiss forced on a soft smile as she placed it into the vase holding the rest of the flowers he brought her. With the fingers free, Alistair gripped onto the doorframe and leaned into her room. "How are you doing?" he asked, uncertain if he should enter.

Reiss turned from her little vanity to face him. Plopping onto the bed, she asked, "How do I look?"

Terrible. Her cheeks were so raw, it looked like pinpricks of blood were dashed across them from continual crying. The skin below that was wan and nearly yellow as parchment, while darkness hovered under her pain filled eyes.

Sliding into the room, Alistair picked up her cold hand and smiled, "Beautiful."

"I do own a mirror, you know," she said, a hint of something other than despair floating in her tone.

Alistair glanced behind himself to watch their copies acting out the same attempt of him trying to pathetically console a woman perched upon the edge of a cliff. Unknowing if her sister lived or died, Reiss seemed to keep going on by assuming the worst. In her shoes, he'd probably do the same.

A plate of food sat upon her vanity beside the bouquet, no doubt from Karelle, but it looked untouched. Swiveling back to her Alistair wrapped both his hands around her small one. Her fingers all but disappeared inside of his fumbling mitts, so surprisingly dainty for someone that wields a sword. He couldn't stop running the back of his thumbnail up and down each finger, feeling the bone hiding below her pale flesh.

"I don't know what to do," Alistair whispered, wishing he had an answer to help her.

"Neither do I," Reiss admitted. "I've been going through her old letters, to...maybe I shouldn't do that." She fumbled through a small box sitting on her bed. Parchment scattered across her duvet, each one in very fancy handwriting. Scooping up the wayward letters, Reiss stacked them back together and placed all back into the box. When she finished, she patted the empty bed and Alistair sat down beside her.

"Do whatever helps," he said. Sitting on the edge, he watched his knees knock together in an arrhythmic song.

"That's the problem," she pulled her shoeless feet up off the floor and tucked a knee under her chin, "I don't know if it helps or hurts."

Maker, he wished he was better at this. That he had the magic words, or the right ideas, even the ability to give a really good hug might help. But no, all she had was him in his fumbling, idiotic state -- poor girl.

Unaware of Alistair mentally kicking himself, Reiss reached forward for something sitting inside her box. She drew up what looked like pieces of grass braided tightly into a chain. Catching his curious look, she explained, "Atisha, she...she used to find slips of plants and knot them together to make bracelets or necklaces. Sometimes she'd trade them through the camp for bits and bobbles, then use that to make more. I...I told her to stop it."

The bracelet slipped out of Reiss' fingers as she wrapped her palms against her eyes. "I don't even know why. It wasn't hurting anyone, the others in the camp liked them, it made us feel like...like people for a bit. But I, knowing me I got mad and snapped and took it out on my little sister who was only trying to..."

He wrapped his arms around her, Reiss' crumpled body thudding into his chest while she berated herself for something decades past. Slowly, Alistair rubbed his hands up and down Reiss' arms while he said, "It's not your fault."

"She was a child," Reiss cried, needing to hurt herself.

Alistair bumped his chin into her forehead, wishing he could see her eyes, but she kept them covered as if afraid of the King seeing her cry. Brushing his cheek against her skin, he whispered, "So were you."

The dam shattered again, Reiss gasping like someone kicked her in the chest. Her fingers flew from her eyes to grip tight to him. Rocking with her, Alistair buried his face into the top of her head. No words passed between them for minutes, perhaps hours, he couldn't tell as he tried to hug her and she clung to him. It was all he could think to do.

After a bit, Reiss' tears stopped and she lifted her head away from her knees. That caused him to draw back, but he kept ahold of her while she stared into his eyes. "I...this is probably not what you were hoping for tonight."

"Reiss..."

She shrugged, half her face squinting in pain, "I'm not very good at this mistressing thing."

"Hey," he tried to catch her eye but she kept glancing towards the door that led to the hallway. "I don't need to have someone entertain me at all hours of the day. I can handle myself, usually. You're not failing at anything here. You're in pain, but...I want to be here for you. To help, somehow."

"Why?"

"Because I," careful there Alistair, "care for you." Whew. She seemed to sigh at his avoiding the big L cannon. "And, I know what it's like to lose someone close to you," he kept talking quickly, trying to cover up for the awkward moment, "someone you never thought could die. Who was, not just your life, but your tentpole? The person that through everything would always come back."

Reiss drew her fingers across her eyes, smearing away the tears and asked, "Is this about the Hero?"

Duncan floated through his mind first. The first person to ever listen to him, to let Alistair choose what he wanted in life instead of dictating it for him. "When I received word that Lanny died I crawled into bed and didn't get out for two weeks. They were sending healers on the regular, scooting food under the door, once they even had the entire kennel of mabari climb onto the bed with me to try to get me out."

"What happened?"

"I got stubborn, stubborner than usual, and every time Eamon or the rest insisted I had to put on a brave face for the sake of the People I refused. My world stopped that day and...the worst part was how nothing really changed. She was gone and yet birds kept cheeping, pies kept baking, people kept laughing and smiling as if--as if the most cataclysmic thing in thedas didn't just occur."

Reiss nodded along, her bun bumping into his chin as she did. "It's surreal, like a waking nightmare. Everything's different but not. How did you...? I shouldn't ask that, it's far too personal."

Alistair smiled at her and wrapped his arms tighter, "I got hungry, famished really, and while sneaking away with a tray of food I stumbled across a book Lanny lent me ages back. Never got around to reading the thing because she was always sending me books. The woman is a walking library. While I was flipping through it, I kept finding small notes she'd leave. Not meant for me, but to herself. Comments on sentences, musings on the various 'motifs of story structure and how it relates to the ideal.' It's stupid but finding that, seeing her silly little words about nothing important made me feel better because she wasn't all gone. Some things remained."

"But," Reiss fell silent a moment in his arms, "she returned to you."

"Not entirely, and not for two years. Those were a long two years, ones I didn't think would get better."

"And yet they did, you healed as one does and gets over the loss," she spat out quickly, seeming to need to psyche herself up for healing.

"No," Alistair whispered to the air, "some people you never really get over. You patch up the hole in your leaking soul with time and distractions, but it's always taking on water. Every now and then it needs a bit of bailing to keep you afloat."

"That's surprisingly poetic," she whispered to him.

"Guess who I learned it from."

Reiss chuckled at that, nodding her head against him. "I should..." she glanced around the room as if trying to find something to distract herself with. "Um...."

Opening his arms, Alistair scooted back but not away from her. He slicked up his hair and with his fingers knocking together brought forth the only idea he had. "I was wondering if you didn't want to, uh, have a go."

"A go?" she almost flinched at the idea.

"In the...with..." he folded his hands into fists and punched at the air. "I make a pretty good punching bag," Alistair shrugged.

A smile that lifted his spirits crested across Reiss face. She drew a palm under her eyes to mop up the tears and nodded. "Yes, I...I think that having a go at each other will do wonders."

Alistair stood off the bed while she picked up the box of her sister's mementos and carefully tied a string around it. Offering her his hand, he glanced over at the box, "Shall we bring the music or should I just hum a few bars?"

Lifting to her feet, Reiss smiled, "I think we can make due without."

He anticipated her to be vengeful, and rightly so given all the poison building up inside her heart, but Reiss attacked him with a methodical pounding. Alistair had no hope to get a punch in edgewise, all he could do was try to limit the damage she did to him. At the end he was certain he'd be finding some beautiful bruises sprouting up and down his forearms, as well as one perfectly placed punch to his stomach, but as the sweat and tension lifted from the room all the pain faded at her exhausted but slightly smiling face.

Snatching up a towel on the dummy's head, Alistair passed it first to her. Reiss dabbed at her forehead, and said, "Thank you."

"I believe it is customary to let the lady wipe the fight sweat off first. I read it in an etiquette book."

She chuckled at that before handing it back to him to do just as he said. "This helped, more than I thought it would."

"Fighting, feeling my muscles move into the old formations, following the flit of an arrow to the target always helps to calm me down. It's why I had this room installed. Well that and I hated every damn piece of furniture in here," Tossing down the towel, Alistair whispered in her ear, "There was a life sized clown doll right over there."

Reiss glanced to the corner, her eyebrows bent in concern, "Whatever for?"

"I didn't ask because I was afraid of the answer."

Laughing even more at that, she ran her fingers down his battered forearms to grip onto his hand. Alistair turned to return the favor, happiness swelling inside of him that he helped in whatever tiny way he could. "Are you feeling better?" he asked.

"I am," Reiss nodded.

"It's okay if you're not up to bodyguarding tomorrow," he panicked, worried that he sounded like the grumbling boss instead of the concerned boyfriend. "I can stay in house, or..."

"No, I'd...I would prefer to return to my duties. Wallowing won't help anyone," Reiss said, her eyes flitting back to her small room. "How did you get along without me today?"

"While I missed your company, it wasn't an unmitigated disaster. Karelle sent Brunt up to fill your place which also meant my children got to attend court for awhile."

"Oh dear."

"Actually, I need to invite them along more often. Spud insisted she belonged in the throne, then that I needed to sit in it while she sat on me. This was as some banker was defending his choices to something or other with interest and tax rates about other things I was paying close attention to with a squirming three year old in my lap."

Reiss' cheeks lit up and she glared at the ground, "How is that not disaster?"

"Because midway through the longest conversation on who has the rights to breed a donkey I have ever been forced to witness, my son decided to not just soil his drawers but give a great enough poop explosion that it streaked down the blankets and ended up on the floor," he laughed to himself, grateful he hadn't been the one carrying Cailan at the time. "That cleared the room in an instant, everyone with business for the crown insisting they had something else to be doing that day, far far away from baby poop explosion."

Reiss' shoulders shook with her silent laughter. Her perky cheeks lifted even higher as she spoke, "Maker's sake, they can't deal with a little baby shit?"

"This was no little. I'm starting to think that kid's secretly eating whole druffalo when no one's looking. Gotta say, I was impressed. Horrified, but impressed." Alistair swung their clasped hands together as he found himself bobbing away in her pretty eyes. Shaking off the urge to kiss her, he sighed, "After that spectacle, I spent most of the day with my kids. Post baby clean up. Spud tried to paint my hair, then we all had another bath, and Brunt more or less stood there like a silent statue glaring at us all."

"I don't say much on the job, either," Reiss said.

"No, but you give little nods or smile on occasion when something happens. You're not frozen without anything going on behind those eyes. I swear he's sleeping while standing upright."

"With his eyes open?" she asked.

"I knew a Warden that could that. Freaked us all out so we'd bury his face under leaves."

As his little laugh dissipated in the air, heavy silence descended in its place. He wanted to hug her, to tell her that he was there for her, that he'd do whatever he could to help. But she was so strong, it made him feel like anything he did try would probably hurt more than help.

"It still hurts," she whispered, her eyes closed tight.

Ignoring the fact they were both coated in fight-sweat, Alistair wrapped her tight to his body. "It's okay," he whispered.

"It'll be okay?" she asked.

"No, just that it's okay to hurt."

Reiss blinked a few times, her eyes darting through the air as if she was speed reading something. After a beat she glanced up into his face and a bottomless gratitude washed across her. "How are you so damn smart?"

A rampaging blush burned across one cheek, then leapt to the other as Alistair gulped at the air. "I...uh, I doubt you'd find anyone to ever agree with..."

Before he could finish, she lifted up on her toes, her lips crushing tight to his. As he tipped his head, giving her nose breathing room, her mouth softened, and Alistair matched in kind. There wasn't any heat. No, there was some because there always was whenever he kissed her. But what bowled him over instead of lust was a sense of comfort, a longing he didn't even notice being swaddled by her mere presence as she circled her fingers against his back. Reiss drew a calm to him with an ease he never thought possible.

Sliding her lips to the side, she kissed once against his cheek and whispered, "Thank you, again. Could I...May we sit out on your balcony for a time watching the stars together?"

A smile rose through Alistair's jittery nerves and he cupped her cheek, "I wouldn't love anything more." Taking one more kiss before he regretfully had to break from her, Alistair moved to step away, but Reiss kept their hands locked together. Maybe, maybe she needed this bond as much as he did.

## CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

#### The Letter

The next few days both flew by as well as crawled. True to her word, Reiss served for as long as the King required her -- Alistair maintaining his usual work throughout the castle and the occasional trip to Denerim proper. That gave Reiss a new challenge as she'd have to scout ahead to make certain that no one too suspicious was lurking around the perimeter. They feared that with Harding on the case, the assassins might get spooked into trying something even more daring than before, but also for the sake of cover it was vital the King act like, well, himself.

Today's challenge away from the bureaucracy and sitting quietly in a room while people yelled at him involved visiting a small woodworking shop and forge. It was a curious husband and wife team up, the woman stripped to nothing but an undershirt while she stoked the coals and the man with fancy spectacles perched upon his eyes chiseled a tiny fleck off a hunk of wood. When Reiss officially marched in, they glanced up from their work a moment but neither moved to greet her.

They saw the ears first.

She'd been getting through the days by ignoring what happened, trying to forget that she was even an elf, but Ferelden itself did everything in its power to remind her this wasn't her world. Coughing into her fist, she stood up tall and exclaimed, "I come on behalf of the King, and if you don't drop your tools now we're going to have an issue."

The threat, while severely limited by her lack of power, was enough to startle them to attention as Alistair strolled in. A few of the easier handlers trailed him, always asking questions because the advisors seemed to fear leaving the man truly alone for long.

"Your Majesty," the pair of crafters bowed, rushing towards him.

"Hi," Alistair waved in his disarming way, a smile full on his face from being free of the confines of the palace. There was no concern for his well being in his movements, but for a brief moment he glanced over at Reiss. She shrugged a shoulder, having nothing nefarious to report, and he focused fully on the pair. "So, I heard from Karelle that you're some of the best woodworker & blacksmith team in town."

"We'd be the only one in Denerim," the blacksmith said while running her bare forearm against her sweaty forehead.

"That narrowed my choices a bit as well," Alistair was quick to rebound.

"What my wife means is, we are delighted to have the royal house showing an interest in our wares," the woodworker raced to cover for the unimpressed woman. "Whatever the crown requires we will be happy to provide."

"Assuming it's possible," she snorted, very unimpressed with the King or well aware of Alistair's peculiarities.

"It's not anything fancy," Alistair said, his eyes dancing from one to the other, "I know it's a bit early, but I'm thinking of a Satinalia gift for Spud."

"A, er, potato?" the man stared at his wife, a sign of real concern flitting across his face. He feared the King was truly mad after all.

Laughing, Alistair shook his hair, "No, that's...I mean my daughter. Seems one of her cousins has those ridey horses on the springs and Sp-- the princess adores the damn thing. Every day in and out about the magical ridey bounce horse."

"Of course, Sire," the woodworker spoke for his wife who was already turning away to return to her forge. She had no interest in the conversation and Reiss had to say she felt the same. "It should be no problem, though I believe some of the local toy shops would have one in, uh..." visions of all the coin the man was about to talk out of his pocket flashed through his mind.

"Yeah, I know that," Alistair explained, "but I was thinking of something other than a horse."

That caught the woodcarver's attention, "Such as...?"

"Here," Alistair waved his royal hand at one of the clerks trailing him. A slip of paper passed over, which he unrolled on the desk, "I drew a basic idea."

"And was kind enough to label the drawings as well," the woodworker commented while pointing at the drawing. "Is that fire?"

While the two of them knocked their heads together in thought, Reiss paced back in forth in the shop. It seemed to be split right down the middle to highlight the two crafts -- one half was all logs, sanded and varnished to a glossy finish while the other rough stone to protect the fires of the forge. It was a wonder none of the sparks ever leapt to the wooden side, but maybe that'd be grounds for divorce should it occur.

Unable to stand still, Reiss picked at the horseshoes nailed to the wall. Most were inelegant and designed for function but a few bore filagree and some even had gold laid into them. Hopefully they were never nailed to a horse's hoof but people with more coin than they knew what to do with tended to find strange ways to burn it off. Not by feeding the hungry or clothing the freezing, that would be foolish, but golden horseshoes that's the real answer to solving life's problems.

That was one of Atisha's favorite topics of conversation right after the amazing things Andraste did, and how great the Maker is. If the wealth was merely shared equally somehow everyone would be happy. Reiss rather doubted it was that easy, seeing as how people had a habit of being selfish bastards any chance they could, but Atisha was so damn certain in her belief. That was her sister, if it required a leap of faith, she'd cling to it with all the power in her body even when everyone else trudged on home because supper wasn't going to make itself.

Lorace used to joke that when Atisha fell ill, the virus boiled her brains like pudding, pushing her to accept the tripe of the chantry without question. Reiss would scold him, as much as she thought he'd bother to read, but silently suspected he might have been right. Something in her nearly dying from a plague the chantry didn't have the compassion to care about or minister too, pushed Atisha right into Andraste's arms. Which always struck Reiss as funny seeing as how it was actually an apostate that saved her life.

Things were supposed to be getting better. The new Divine threw open the chantry doors, invited all she could to join in. When no one took her up on the offer, the humans were content at the message with no intent, but as elves began to trickle in the fires burned hot. Why did everyone get so upset? Why didn't everyone hold hands and sing happy songs together? Reiss knew, but dear, sweet Atisha -- Maker save her, but she believed in the good of people. Truly, fervently thought that if she gave every person a chance, a hug, offered up the clothes on her back and the blood in her veins she could save them all. It was foolish, and naive, and got her killed.

But...maybe thedas would be better off if there were more people like Aitsha and less like Reiss. The Mother's words to her rang through Reiss' head often, "everything happens for a reason." If that were true, if Andraste was pleading for people, or the Maker had some long stretched plan then wouldn't he have rescued his true daughter of the faith? Why did she have to-to burn while Reiss...while she...

Blinking off the thought, Reiss glanced up from the horseshoes to feel the blacksmith stared hard and long at her.

"Know much about horses?"

"Not in particular," Reiss admitted.

"Unsurprising, given the..." she gestured at Reiss' ears with her flaming hot tongs before scooping up a chunk of metal and bashing it with a hammer.

"Some elves, we..." she wanted to defend her people, to mention all the knife-ears she knew who were experts on horses and riding, but no names to came to mind. There had to be someone, right? A famous breeder or racer that defied the odds of being poor and ill educated to climb the sawed off ladder and make a name. The only one to dart though her mind was the stablehand in the palace, but even he was a half elf. For some people it didn't count for anything good, but mattered greatly for everything bad.

"Miranda," the woodworker called unexpectedly.

"Yeah?" the smithy answered back. While her husband spoke, she quenched the blade, steam hissing over his words and fog blanketing her from him. Chuckling at the move, she returned the metal to the fire to begin again.

"We have a job for the King himself, as a gift to the princess. Can you behave for two Maker damn minutes?" he sighed, the exasperation evident.

Reiss began to suspect that the spark to burn down their shop wouldn't be an accident.

"Possibly," the smithy laughed again. "Get yer ass over here and show me the plans."

Groaning, the woodworker picked up the King's hand and kissed the metal ring as if it was important. Alistair blinked madly at the move but didn't yank his fingers away. "Thank you, Sire for thinking of us." After bowing a few more times, he scurried away from royalty to confer with his wife who looked about to dunk his head into her quench bucket.

Alistair watched the pair for a moment while absently wiping the back of his hand across his trousers. When Reiss returned to his side, he leaned over to whisper, "True love, it's a thing to be admired."

"I'd put it at good odds that one or both of them is going to wind up murdered," she whispered back as the woodworker's arms began to flail madly at the woman ignoring him.

"Maybe," Alistair said softly which caused Reiss to eye him up. He didn't really think this was a healthy or normal relationship, did he? His fingers softly graced the edge of the armor across her upper arm. "It's amazing how stubborn some people are. You can't have that, it's bad for you? No, well now I want it even more! Also screw you for thinking of me."

He chuckled at the end but Reiss faded behind her eyes as Lunet's cursing her out echoed in her mind. Was she being stubborn or...?

"Your Highness!" one of the bushier of the handlers dashed into the small shop. Alistair devoted as much of his rapt attention as he could to the man. "You are required back at the palace immediately."

"Why? Did Eamon catch a spider and fear for my health? He hates the things," he directed the last part at Reiss who smiled grimly. She wasn't a particular fan either.

"No, Sire, it's the assassins."

That cut off Alistair's goofy grin. It was probably Reiss' imagination that every ear in the shop leaned in closer as their King turned upon the man blushing below his beard. "What about them? Have they made another move?"

"Uh, no. Harding, your Majesty."

"Skip the bloody titles and get to the point."

"She's caught them, Sir," the handler watched Alistair digest the news slowly before adding, "All of them."

It was the fastest trip to the palace they'd ever taken. Normally the King would take his time, trying to scrounge up any excuse he could find to avoid heading home but he was practically coach driving. With his head stuck out the window, Reiss had to keep tugging him back in so Alistair couldn't smack his face on passing sign posts. Leaving behind horses spitting steam in the stables, the handlers in their fussy robes hustled to keep up with the King's elongated gait and the elf keeping at quicktime behind.

Alistair didn't even ask where the assassins were being kept, he didn't need to as they caught the pitted remains of caged wagons cooling on the grounds outside the guard's cells. It seemed as if all the royal retinue were there, the crimson shining in the sun to discriminate them from the plate grey of the city watch. A few were manhandling the kind of slime one dug out of a drain at the bottom of a tannery, those wave tattoos evident along with a bright array of cursing. The rest of the guards leaned back, exhaustion evident from what must have been one hell of a move.

One of them jabbed another and soon all were staggering to their feet to salute their sovereign monarch. Alistair gave a small wave at the attention, as well as a "Good job, everyone," while passing the rows of men and women saluting. At the end of it, as the last of the prisoners vanished kicking but not screaming down the hole, Alistair grabbed onto the arm of the lieutenant taking down whatever information they could.

"Where's Harding?"

"Down there, Sire, with the Commander," the guard pointed into the hole without a second thought.

Nodding his thanks, Alistair glanced back at the pile of exhaustion sunning itself on the grounds. Through the groans and people trying to unhitch exhausted muscles were smiles and secret bottles slipping in and out. They won.

He glanced back once at Reiss, a look of dread in his eye, before it all vanished away. Summoning something to protect him, the King marched with head held high down the stairs into the pits. What had seemed like the cursed realms of the forgotten buzzed with sweat and anger as dozens of men hobbled back and forth like caged animals behind the bars. Eyes glittered in pain through the darkness, daring their King to draw closer. This wasn't poor Ghaleb and the ambassador tossed into a straw pile, these were the real horrors of the street. Men who'd found within each other a shared desire to take whatever they wanted and hurt when it suited them. If there was any soul worth saving, they long ago traded it away for drink or worse.

Reiss didn't look over at them, but she could feel the hot breath snorting from their noses. It felt as if it crawled down the back of her neck into her armor. Did they know she was the reason they'd been found out? Would it matter to them either way if any ever escaped?

Circling down to the second level, they spotted Harding with daggers drawn as she punched one man in the gut. Before he could think to slide back, she drew the dagger up under his dangly parts and moved to draw it upwards. That froze him in an instant, his eyes bulging as she dared him to try anything and face his new life as a castrato. Lifting his hands, one of the guards punched to the ground in the scuffle manacled one wrist and then the other before knocking the man into a cell.

"Remind me to not piss you off," Alistair said while clapping in appreciation for Harding's efforts.

The dwarf spun on her heels to eye up the King. Blood was spattered across her cheek, which she wiped up to mash with dirt and sweat. A smile lifted and she shrugged, "Make sure to pay me on time and you should be safe. Sorry about that one, we had damn near everyone secured but he got one look at the Commander here and went berserk."

Cade sneered from behind as he quietly slotted his sword back in place. If not for Harding's quick thinking, the Commander would have beheaded the prisoner without a second thought. "Fear will do that to a person," he grumbled in his bass, all the teeth flashing at the man glaring in his cell. Shaking it away, Cade turned to Alistair and said, "Milord, it's not safe for you to be here."

"Seems as long as I stick near Harding I should be good," Alistair said, rocking back and forth on his heels. Ignoring Cade's grumble at forgoing his safety, Alistair focused on Harding.

She slotted her daggers away and yanked up mounds of paperwork that spilled across the floor in the scuffle. "We've got them, your Highness."

"All of them?" he glanced around at the cells full to bursting as if in disbelief that there could be more out there trying to kill him.

"Every last bastard. Took a lot of reconnaissance and critical timing, and I won't lie, we got damn lucky in the end. But this is ever last member of the Zea Dogs, all thirty two of 'em."

A whistle echoed out of Alistair's tucked in cheeks at that number. "Thirty two?" he flipped through the paperwork Harding passed over, "That's a lot of people who want me dead."

"Only taking into account the ones in Denerim," Cade sneered.

"Add in the rest of thedas and we could probably have our own jousting tourney," Alistair tacked on to Cade's tactless comment before glancing down at Harding. "Have you begun interrogating them yet?"

"What in the blazes for?" Cade interrupted, needing to make it all about him. "They're assassins."

"Can we prove that?" he asked.

"Only the Maker'll care what to put on their tombstones. We know they're mercenaries, 'n' that's bad enough for a good stretching."

Groaning at the Commander's one size fits all solution, Alistair focused on Harding instead. "Not yet, it'll take time to get the right interrogators in, break them down, and there's another problem."

"Don't tell me, this is going to be something disgusting isn't it?"

Harding sighed, "Some of them seem to have...cut out their own tongues."

"Sweet bloody Maker!" Alistair gasped, staggering back at the blow.

"It was part of a ritual to swear themselves to a secret order. I'm not sure, seemed to have been thought up after bad drink and worse blood dragon. We caught the first few doing it to themselves while babbling in nonsense." Andraste's sake, it sounded barbaric. To try and cleave themselves to some ignoble cause by mutilating themselves? Why?

"So all these idiotic attacks and piss poor assassinations came down to a secret cult they invented with the sole purpose of murdering the King," Alistair summed up.

Cade intervened, his mass trying to shove the dwarf aside, "I've heard of the scum on the streets dreaming up stupider shit."

"Commander, Ser!" a voice echoed from behind Reiss all but startling her out of her boots. She took a calming breath as the Commander shouldered past everyone including his King. "There's a problem with one of the prisoners."

"Aye, I'll get to it. We ain't got the space to deal with so many," he grumbled to himself before turning to Alistair, "You best be stretching some necks fast before we get a real break on our hands."

The King's heavy brown eyes followed the man sweeping past them all as he ambled quickly up the stairs. There was no hiding the power in the man behind the girth to his body, fat certainly didn't slow him. Reiss watched Cade, a dark feeling sinking in her stomach that he may soon be her superior. She'd have to answer to him and even knowing she was favored by the King it seemed doubtful the Commander would think well upon that.

"Harding?" Alistair prompted, dragging Reiss from her thoughts. "You have some thoughts?"

"Hm? I dunno, the cult thing seems likely. And they weren't faking the tongues being cut out, I was there myself. It's just..." she tipped her head back in forth in thought, "people like that tend to leave behind manifestos. A reason to be balmy enough to go leaping off the deep end and we haven't found anything like that."

Alistair tipped his head back to glare at the roof. "Can anything be easy just once? I'm asking nicely here, Maker. One simple go here, take out these bad guys, then go home for celebratory pie kind of quest. And nothing involving escorts!"

"Sire," Harding jerked her head back towards the interrogation room. "We do have some papers looted from the hideout as well as what seemed to be the higher ranking..." she paused before saying the name, "Zea dogs homes. Would you like to read through them?"

"I doubt I can do more than color inside them, but I'll give it a go," Alistair agreed, following her into the guardroom. Stacks of crates overflowing with parchment sat perched in corners, on the table normally reserved for snacking, and in two chairs. "This is going to take awhile."

Harding lifted the first file she found and dropped it into the King's hands, "I'd say start here, but we have no idea."

Nodding with eyes glazed over in a silent scream, Alistair slumped into a chair and began to paw through the first of a never ending folder of documents. Harding left the room to attend to her own business, but people would enter to add even more to the bulging pile. Uncertain if she should have anything to do with it, Reiss stood beside the wall doing her best to not think about what came next. She'd performed her duty to the best of her ability, the main threat seemed to be dealt with. Perhaps he'd keep her on until the punishments were doled out if only for the sake of appearances and to discourage any of the assassins from breaking free and finishing the job.

Then what?

Reiss glanced over at the man with a crust of bread jammed in his mouth as he accepted another scrap of paper. Seemingly unaware that he was gagged by the food, Alistair kept trying to speak around it to the various guards slipping in and out. His gumming grew so intense, the bread began to tumble free from his mouth and plummet right onto the top of a stack of crates. Barely caring, he swooped it up into his mouth and finished the food off in two quick bites.

He must have sensed her eyes canvasing him as Alistair looked up from his stack of work. Those sweet, doe eyes honed in on Reiss before ticking off to the side. Certain that no one else was watching, he puckered up his lips and blew her a kiss. Maker's sake it was stupid, and foolish, and it made her smile all the way from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. She wasn't ready to give up whatever this was. Not yet. Not while he looked at her like that, not while he'd comb through her hair and hold her as she cried. What would some time serving under Cade be? She'd done hard and often unfulfilling work without a reason her whole life. At least now there'd be someone waiting for her.

"Excuse me, your Highness," another face entered into the room, this one dressed more plainly. Probably one of the Harding's spies. She passed a letter to the King while Reiss turned away to stare at the wall. Aware of the blush crawling up her cheeks, she was doing her best to hide it by appearing to be very interested in the ceiling.

After glancing at the latest missive, the King dumped the pile of folders out of his lap. His eyes devoured it, darting quickly to and fro when a great smile broke upon his lips. Stepping forward, he held an envelope out. "Actually, this is for Reiss."

"What?" she turned away from the wall and stared at the tan envelope without a mark to hint at what was inside. Oh Maker, was it something from Lunet? Did she tell someone or make things worse? Plucking it from his fingers, Reiss turned the envelope over and over in her hand.

"You may want to read it now," Alistair whispered to her.

Nodding, she slit off a simple seal and slid out a single piece of parchment. There wasn't more than a few paragraphs, which seemed a waste of sending anything. When her eyes fell upon the first line, all the breath in her lungs escaped in one gasp.

"Dearest sister,

I have been gifted this opportunity to inform you that I am well and alive. Jader is in a state of fear I have not experienced since the Blight itself, but the people are strong and are bonding together to overcome someone's misbegotten anger.

In truth, I was not at the chantry when the fires began. I was praying for the souls of the elves marching through the city streets, begging Andraste to fill their hearts with her love and hope. When smoke appeared above the skyline, every man and woman walking for acceptance raced to the river to help form a bucket line. It was all for naught as the blaze quickly took our beloved chantry from us. So many of my fellow sisters perished that day. It is difficult for me to comprehend the reason but I must trust to the Maker. Whatever drove that poor, wretched soul to douse Andraste's house in flame must have been consuming him his whole life. It is pity I gift him, even as we scrabble through the wreckage of our home and attempt to rebuild.

Efforts will be slow and I shall not be able to write to you for sometime I'm afraid. The people of Jader are letting demons spill lies, fear the most powerful as all. Many are trying to point fingers any which way they can but I have faith that they will see the light. It is a lucky thing you have friends in the army or I do not know how I could have contacted you so quickly.

Be well in Denerim, and your newest endeavors for the crown. I know you will wish for me to return to Ferelden, to settle down somewhere safe but Reiss, you cannot understand what it meant to have a purpose in my life. Even as the flames devoured the place I considered my sanctuary, I felt the ashes renewing strength from the people who folded around me, who came to me for help, for prayer, for salvation. This is my place for the Maker and I am at peace.

I love you, and believe it or not, worry for you as well. I'm not the only elf in the family breaking new ground.

May you forever walk in the Maker's light,

Sister Atisha"

Reiss' hands trembled in shock, tears dripping down her eyes as she read over the words a second, then third time. They were real, they were hers, she survived. She lived. Maker's sake, she was alive. Glancing up at Alistair, Reiss gasped, "Atisha's okay."

"Oh thank the Maker," he folded an arm around her, tugging Reiss tight to his chest even as she clung to her sister's letter like a life preserver. It was her proof that she was still out there. Smug as always, but alive. Alistair pressed his lips to her forehead while he whispered, "From the look on your face I feared it might be bad news."

"I don't understand. How...? I," Reiss didn't have any contacts in the army. She couldn't even think of who to send a letter to in Jader to inquire about her sister, so she spent the days staring at a blank sheet of vellum too terrified to pick up the quill and begin.

"It wasn't too difficult to have my people sent to ask around for an elven Sister. I'd guessed she looked like you, but there was only one known," Alistair said, his arms locking tight against her.

"You..." He did it. He took the time and cared enough to search for Atisha. No, he had other people do it. He used his power of the crown to find her sister, all for Reiss -- his mistress. A thud landed in her stomach and she fell deathly quiet while clinging to him.

"Reiss?" his voice floated above her, catching on fast to her change in mood. He probably expected her to be leaping in joy, or...or to offer up her gratitude in a more carnal form. The idea stung against the back of her brain like a jelly fish bite, burning through her nerves with a bitter anger.

Sounds of the door cracking open caused Reiss to scurry out of his arms to the safety of the other side of the small room. It was another of many guards to pick up a stack of crates. His eyes honed in on the King, but for a beat he glanced over at the elf trying to melt into the floor. "Did I come at a bad time?"

"Nah," Alistair spoke up for Reiss. "I needed to stretch my legs before they fell to death while sitting in that cramped chair."

The guard glanced over at where the King had sat most of the afternoon away and sighed, "Aye, we dubbed that one the back breaker."

"I'd call it ass-flattener first," he chuckled, the laugh so uproarious it screamed fraud. But the guard, no doubt on his own high from such a record day for them, smiled along. Tipping his head to the jolly King no one wondered why he was pitching in to help, the guard yanked open the door and vanished down the dungeon cells.

Reiss stood uncertain, her ears straining for the clip of boots knocking against stones while she drew her fingers against the divots in the wall. After they faded, she said, "I should-- "

"Not here," Alistair shook his head, "not with..." he gestured around the piles and piles of work ahead of someone. Most likely not actually the King as much as he was willing to dig his elbows into it. Everyone out there knew he was going to get bored soon and wander off, but if it gave them a break why not let him tire himself out?

"You know the old bell tower, which doesn't have a bell in it anymore?"

Reiss nodded. She'd seen the structure in passing around the edge of the castle.

"Meet me there. People think it's haunted so no one's ever up there," he whispered the fact under his breath as if he was sharing state secrets.

"Is it?" she asked, rocking back and forth on her feet.

"The veil's not particularly happy up there, but I've never seen any real ghosts, or demons, or skeletons walking around playing a folk song with catgut strung through their ribcage," he said, which brought a soft snicker to Reiss. Alistair seemed to read something was off, but had no idea what to do.

Reaching over, he plucked up her slack hand and curled his fingers over it. "I'll talk to Harding and tell her all of the nothing I've found so far and then we can talk in private without having to worry about guards tramping in and out and causing such a terrible draft."

"Okay," she nodded. His eyes searched valiantly through hers as if he could find the magic words to fix whatever was weighing on her heart. Reiss wished she could tell him, but the spell seemed to have bound her tongue as she was unable to voice whatever was eating her alive inside.

Bowing her head in deference to him, Reiss yanked open the door and entered the cells crammed with people who were most likely never going to see the sun again. Clutched tight in her fist were the words from her sister which should make her happy, but only drew a deepening gulf within her stomach.

## CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

#### Happiness

_Why wasn't she happy?_

Reiss paced back and forth through the derelict bell tower, her boots stirring up dust bunnies on their fifth or sixth generation. Bell tower was a bit of a misnomer, while it bore the general shape and structure of one, the architects clearly had no intentions of soiling it with an actual bell. This was most evident as they forgot to leave a gap wide enough in the ceiling for anything but the tiniest of bells to jangle away in. As a lark, someone did stick a string up there, the kind one would find attached to a horse's bridle when they're being particularly kitschy. She couldn't help but yank on the rope and hear a soft tinkling as they trembled through the silent building.

Maker's breath, what was wrong with her? Atisha was alive, she wasn't willing to leave Jader but Reiss expected that. Her sister was stubborner than her, often digging her heels in no matter how much Reiss tried to convince her she was walking into danger. The harder Reiss pushed, the more...

Her fingers ran over the seal on the envelope. In her haste to open it, she didn't recognize the royal emblem stamped into the wax. It wasn't Atisha returning to her after Reiss began to mourn that was chewing her apart. It wasn't even that Alistair did what he could for her, to try and find her sister, to give her peace. No, it was that damn crown again.

Don't get fat on someone, her mother used to say. She didn't mean it literally, well, maybe she did sometimes. Her mother had a habit of scooting all her food into various piles and if it didn't match up, refusing to eat even if she was hungry. But those words she said her mother, and her mother's mother told her. When you depend upon someone for food, for shelter, for love, for guidance, for sanctity, for friendship they're going to buckle under the weight and you'll be left bereft and penniless.

Reiss never thought much of the words, she hadn't had anyone to rely upon for so long they didn't seem to apply to people like her. Until Ethan. Until he swept in and she, like a foolish teenager, began to pin everything she had to him. She gave him her hopes, her dreams, her future, her livelihood. And how did he repay her? That Sayer stubborn streak of needing to prove the bastard wrong was the only reason she survived to Denerim, three coppers left to her name, and a cheap sword on her hip. In walking the streets she blundered into a pair of city watch caught in a bloody fight.

She could have walked away, there was no reason to go charging in, but all that Inquisition training took over and Reiss fought off the first, giving the other guards the chance to pin the second. That was how she met Lunet. Reiss was shocked when the woman yanked her helmet off to reveal a set of the same ears. There was no, "This isn't the place for you kid, run along home" from Lunet. She threw her arms around Reiss and begged her to join the watch, in particular her guardhouse because Maker did they need more people so bad!

Lunet.

Andraste's grace, Reiss missed her. She missed her before their fight outside the assassin's den, their old talks about nothing important always made her day and now... Reiss was putting all her cards in a stack beside a very drafty window.

Why did he do it? She flipped the letter back and forth, her finger scanning the lines from Atisha as if some secret could be revealed.

The cynical part of Reiss paced back and forth, clucking its tongue with certainty that it knew why he did it. She'd been blubbering and moaning at all hours of the night for her lost sister instead of playing the part of mistress. If he found Atisha, not only would he be the hero, she'd want to...have to return to...

"No!" Reiss' voice echoed through the hollow tower. Lunet may be wiser in matters of the heart but Reiss knew him. She'd seen him be sweet to those who didn't even glance back at it, help people who had nothing to offer in return. The idea that he'd hunt for Atisha just because he was hoping for sex in return was ludicrous. Wasn't it?

She was being an idiot, letting doubt drown her out when there was no reason to. Why does this have to be so damn hard? Growling at her ineptitude for not knowing when to savor something good, Reiss flipped around to glare out at the grounds. Far in the distance she could see the guardsmen pacing back and forth up and down the long drive to the gate. Their armor gleamed while they performed a meaningless move for the sake of pageantry and tradition. Would that be her? She didn't do much in the city watch, most of it walking the streets to remind people to not openly steal and kill, but sometimes she got to help. There were a few extra cakes slipped to her from citizens the blonde elf on the beat saved. What would come now? Was that, pacing up and down in exchange for enough coin to make her very comfortable, what Reiss wanted in life? Did she even have a right to ask?

"Sorry," Alistair's voice drew her from the window. She spotted the tuft of his blonde hair rising up the rickety staircase. "That took a lot longer than I expected." Halfway up he paused, his eyes trying to size up Reiss. She put on a small smile and he dipped his head down, his own grateful one slapping into place.

"Harding," Alistair continued while finishing the climb to the top of the tower, "she made certain I tell her everything I found. Which was mostly a lot of receipts for a very specific ointment." His tale slowed as he stopped near Reiss but far enough from her reach. Banging his hands together, he rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet, "Seems one of those Zea Dogs had a real problem with his uh aft side, which kept an alchemist very rich. And...I am running out of ways to talk now."

Reiss winced at making him uncomfortable. "I'm sorry..." she said and he groaned. "Not, okay, I won't apologize for it. But I regret not acting appropriately. It's taken me some time to adjust to..."

"Reiss," he sighed, shaking his head slowly, "you can drop the 'Shit, the commanding officer just caught me sneaking a prostitute into my tent. Better play all repentant with cold and distant words' act. I...I hope you can talk to me. I want you to talk to me. I don't bite?" he ended his plea with a question and a shrug.

Maker's sake! Darting forward, Reiss wrapped herself around him, catching Alistair so startled it took him a moment to return the hug. "It threw me, reading her words and...I still can't believe she's alive. Really alive. And..."

"I understand," he whispered, his lips pressing to her forehead. She tugged herself tighter to him, her eyes honing in on the whiskers upon his chin. It surprised her how many were red by dawn's light, but blonde in high noon. As if that was what she should be focusing on, Reiss dragged her thumbnail up under a few of the hairs, lifting each one to see if it changed color. Alistair pressed another kiss to her forehead, his fingers molding to her back.

"Everything's changing," she whispered to herself.

"Things have a way of doing that. Unless you're rich enough people call you eccentric instead of crazy. Then you can make all your servants dress in the same clothes from a century back, have your dead relatives stuffed and mounted in place. Eat nothing but ham jelly every day while tickling a lute with a feather."

Even his babble was oddly soothing for Reiss, his words lapping over her like a cool wind to clear away the embarrassing heat. "This was never meant to last, to be permanent," she murmured.

"Oh," he tightened his arms around her, his eyes drifting away.

"With the assassins and all, I mean," she was quick to tack on. "My being a bodyguard with you, for you. I hadn't considered, uh..."

That brought a brighter smile to his face, his warm brown eyes searching for hers. When he was being in a strangely poetic mood while also being stark naked, Alistair declared that his eyes were the dirt that nurtured hers so vibrantly into beautiful greens. It was so terrible, Reiss insisted he stop drinking koomtra lest he begin writing her love songs. Maker, how did she get a shem hooked on the stuff? Smiling at the memory, Reiss drew her fingers back across his cheeks, framing his face as she tried to memorize every line.

How long had they known each other? A season? It was barely enough time for fashions in Orlais to change and yet...somehow Reiss felt as if she knew him, knew his soul. It was baffling to find in a human that happened to be the most powerful man in Ferelden.

"Are you going to keep squishing my cheeks together?" Alistair asked. "I'm afraid no matter how hard you press it, it doesn't make my face look any better. I've tried. This thing," he placed a finger to the tip of his nose, "is staying out long past its bedtime."

Reiss giggled, her hands quickly tugging his away. "It's a very handsome nose," she said before kissing it.

"You're just saying that because there are no other dashing rogue noses in this tower to distract you," he said. His face gleamed in mischief but there was a question bobbing in his eyes. He was concerned that his joke was true.

Butting her broken, and character giving nose next to his, Reiss' hot breath wafted across his skin, "Even if all the noses of thedas were lined up in order of handsomeness, yours is the only one I'd want."

His lips parted, about to make some smart ass response to her, when she beat him to the path with a kiss. It began simple, even a bit chaste, but as Reiss' fingers climbed lower down Alistair's back -- skirting towards that steel ass she could barely dent -- the fire returned. Driving her body forward to mold to his, he staggered back at her forceful excitement. Alistair flattened against the wall in shock, his hands hanging limply while Reiss' were happy to become reacquainted with his body. Tugging on the back of his waistband, her fingers dipped down to curl up against each delectable cheek of his royal ass.

Just as he caught up to her fevered plans, Alistair's hands circling across the back of Reiss' armor, she gave a good squeeze to both. Gasping in shock, Alistair broke into giggles at her boldness. He slowly pecked kisses against her jaw, trailing them down her neck until his nose clanged against the edge of her metal armor.

"Damn," he staggered up, his hand falling away to rub at the poor bruised thing. "Told you it sticks out," he whined. Reiss watched him shrug, his puppy eyes skipping across the room as if he was aware he killed whatever mood roused without his doing. And yet, she kept both her hands down the back of his pants, still cupping that warm flesh that tightened against her palms.

Slowly, Reiss extracted out both her fingers, letting Alistair lean back against the wall. A dejected air floated around him, while he kept rubbing his nose vigorously. It couldn't have hurt that badly, but he seemed uncertain what to do now. Without saying a word, Reiss reached into the top of her armor and grabbed up the buckle connecting breastplate to back.

"What...what are you doing?" he gasped, watching as she undid the second, causing her armor to break apart and land at her feet.

With her eyes honed in on his, she stepped out of the metal casing and pressed her freed chest to his. "What's it look like?" she said, managing to get a single straight eyebrow to raise along with her smirk.

"That, uh..." Alistair began to give her a literal answer, but she was quick to cut him off. Her lips mashed against his while her hands cupped and swirled across every inch of his skin she could reach. Reiss grew so voracious, she tugged at his shirt, bypassing the ties and knot -- needing to see him, to feel all of him. She also forgot to slip away from kissing him, and in trying to take his shirt off, pulled it inside out onto herself.

His lips broke from hers, hot breath sliding up her cheek to her ear as his golden laughter echoed at the move. "I see how it is, you're trying to steal all my clothes for yourself."

She felt the blush burning at her idiotic move, but an orneriness claimed her tongue. Grabbing onto his belt, she tugged his hips tight to hers and growled, "Try and stop me."

"Sweet Maker," he gasped, his hands landing upon her shoulders and digging downward. Reiss was quick to unhook the knot in his belt, but with a gleam in her eyes, slowly she pulled every inch of it through the loops. He was watching her, she could feel the burn against her hair, but her eyes were focused upon the belt, and the bulge in his pants growing more pronounced as she yanked the leather.

As the last of the metal tip tugged free and Reiss moved to toss it aside, Alistair snatched onto the shoulders of both his shirt and hers, and yanked them skyward. She was fast to toss her hands up, but he pulled with such vigor, her lost shirt tugged apart her bun. Half her hair tumbled across her shoulders in messy straw waves.

After wadding up both shirts and adding them to the floor, Alistair drew his fingers through her scattered hair. When that warm and vibrant skin lay flush against hers, Reiss' body lit up in a special agony. It begged for his fingers across every curve, every line, every anticipating bit he could reach, in the way that only he seemed capable of.

"Touch me," she begged in between hot kisses.

"I, uh, thought I was," Alistair stuttered, even as his hands lay obstinately upon the hips of her greaves. Every foolish fear clinging in her brain rattled away when his fingers swept up her stomach. With every roll of his tongue, he drew his palms across her ribs until the fingers worked below the knotted band of her undertunic. While it usually required her to untie it, Alistair -- either unaware of that fact, or in such a state he forgot -- yanked it straight up over Reiss' head.

Both shirtless, Reiss held her breath as the last of her hair scattered like leaves down her naked back. He struggled in a breath, gasping like a fish freed from the river while those brown eyes darted up and down her body.

"Andraste's holy knickers, you're beautiful," Alistair gasped, both hands plunging forward to envelope her breasts. His teeth nipped against her neck, playfully pinching awake her skin as she grabbed onto that pesky waistband and finally yanked off those damn trousers. With one hand gripping tight to his hips, her thumb falling into the deep v indent, Reiss circled her other fingers around the base of his cock and began to slowly move them upward.

She expected him to moan, but it was her that gasped, her lips pressing tight to his chest as he drew out both her nipples, electrifying every nerve in her body. "Maker's..." Reiss' breath perforated the air, her tongue lolling slack as she kept butting up against him.

Her hand stalled as he kept pleasing her, his lips playfully darting across her décolletage while those honed fingers kneaded her breasts. Twisting his head, Alistair whispered in her ear, "How's this for touching you?"

Barely able to do anything but groan and beg for more, Reiss butted her head up to his and kissed him with every desire burning through her body. The force flattened him tighter to the wall and his hands broke away in surprise. Before he had a chance to return them, she grabbed one and slowly guided it down her. His fingers trailed her skin the way one would part the surface of a still lake. Treading softly against her trembling stomach, she whimpered in anticipation as his palm slid down the gap between her greaves and he brushed the top of her pubic hair.

"Please," she begged, snatching his other free hand and dropping it right to the straps holding her greaves up.

Alistair was quick to undo both, metal clattering to the floor in a cacophony. As he drew his palms in a circle around her hips, slowly digging under her thin leggings, he whispered, "I thought that was my line."

"Oh Maker!" Reiss cried, throwing her head back so fast she nearly beaned him in the chin. His royal fingers wasted no time sliding her free from the last stitch of clothing and parting down the golden hair to dive right inside of her.

With trembling legs, she widened her stance, ecstatic at how he swirled her own excitement back up to her "magic key." Maker save her, but she loved the stupid euphemism, in particular as his thumb knocked a perfect rhythm against it. Alistair knew far too well how to get her locked box open.

Biting into her tongue, Reiss tried to focus, her own fingers kneading into his steel back. Each muscle fought back against her, taut while she kept pressing herself tighter and tighter to his fingers. This was too good for her. Too good for...

Her eyes popped open and she stared deep into his, a connection passing from her body to his without a word needing to be said. Reiss leaped into the air as Alistair scooped his hands under her ass. Spinning in place, he pinned her back to the wall as she wrapped her legs around his waist while trading a never ending kiss.

Grunting in primal joy, Alistair lifted her ass high enough he could thrust his hips. His cock slid straight in, past every barrier her worry kept throwing up, obliterating each nibbling doubt with a new thrust. Maker, how could she question this? Her body whimpered and pleaded for it to never end.

"Grab my shoulders," he gasped, slowing his thrusts while staring at her. She blinked a moment in surprise, when a cheeky smile broke upon his face. "I know you're dying to."

Nodding with a great grin, Reiss did as commanded. Her thumbs at first brushed across that strung muscle and tempting sinew. When she dug in with her fingers, he thrusted deep inside of her. The combination tripped off a cascade of euphoria, like a never ending case of giggles building to bursting. Even with the unfinished wall digging into her exposed spine, she felt nothing but a pulse pounding heat radiating through her body. Alistair's fingers dug into her back, his eyes shutting tight as he drew that delectable cock almost as far out as he could for one last deep thrust.

"Maker's something," he groaned, the orgasm walloping him fast. Sweat glistened across the entirety of his bright pale skin, encouraging Reiss to try and wipe it off. She expected him to drop her, but the man somehow shifted nearly all her weight onto his one arm and began to vibrate his fingers against her clitoris. Still inside her, his cock pulsing with the last of his cum, Alistair could only manage a few shallow thrusts, but his finger play drew a new heat through Reiss' belly.

Her breath escaped in quick gasps as she clung tight to him, trying to rub back and forth to match that perfect tempo bringing her closer to a state of bliss. "Don't. Stop," she pleaded, rocking with her hips against him while clenching tighter and tighter to the cock inside. With her entire body knotted up tight, when his thumb hit the exact right sequence, Reiss felt herself snap apart. More than pleasure flooded her body as she almost fell onto him, taking them both down.

"Whoa," Alistair tried to catch her but he was as exhausted as her waning body, his hands slipping off her hips. At least she had enough sense to land feet first upon the floor, even as her legs wobbled like jelly, slowly dragging Reiss to wood. He watched her huddled naked to her chest, his fingers sifting through her fallen hair while she tried to pull air into her ecstatic and exasperated body.

Clinging to her cheeks, Reiss tried to bring herself back from the brink when she felt tears dripping down her palms. Her shoulders shook from the pent up emotions bursting out in the only form it knew to take.

"Are...?" Alistair staggered back from her, realizing quickly something wasn't right. "Are you okay?"

She bit down on her lip and nodded, but no words could come out. Lifting her face, she tried to smile through the never ending tears washing her cheeks. He frowned at her weird reaction and plummeted bare assed to the ground. "Reiss?" Alistair tried again, hovering near but not touching her.

A laugh gurgled in with her cries and all she could get out was, "It's stupid," before reaching over to plant her face to his chest. Scooting closer, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pinned her tight to him in a hug. Crying as if she wasn't happy, Reiss was rocked by Alistair back and forth in his arms until the spell passed.

Even while the tears faded it took her awhile to think of what to say and how to explain it. "I...it struck me suddenly that my sister's alive. Safe."

He smiled brightly at her explanation, his fingers picking up her fallen hair and stuffing it safely behind her ear.

"She's okay, and...it'll be okay. I never, I'd been prepared to say goodbye, to never see her or hear from her, and now..." Reiss tried to wipe away the salt drying to her cheeks and felt foolish for this display. "I'm sorry, this is deftly destroying the mood."

Alistair pressed his lips to her forehead and whispered, "If you'll forgive my bean induced sonata, I think your breaking into tears of happiness is barely a blip on the 'Who can destroy the romance' faster meter."

Wrapping her arms further along his back, she buried her face into his warm chest. The hair waffled against her cheek as she whispered, "How are you so good?"

"A lot of push ups really maintains the upper body strength," Alistair said. She suspected he knew what she meant, that it had nothing to do with sex, but had no idea how to respond to her earnestness. Rubbing his hair, he tacked on, "and eggs."

"I've never seen you eat eggs?"

"Not for eating, for throwing. Hurl a good dozen rotten ones at sketches of Banns you can't stand every day and you too will be blessed with biceps like these," he smiled, flexing his arms against her so those mentioned muscles pushed against her body.

"Alistair," she whispered, her fingers beginning at those shoulders that drove her wild and trailing down each curved, steel muscle until she could grip onto his hand. He didn't release his hug, his face buried into the top of her head, while she kept knocking her fingers over his knuckle. The metal ring rotated against her skin, the band always warm from the magic protecting him.

"I like being with you," he said. "I mean, this part too. It's rather obvious I really like the uh being to being with your bits and my bits getting all friendly like. But holding you," Alistair shifted slightly so he could tug her into his lap, "breathing you in, kissing your skin and...maybe leaving a small bruise on your shoulder. Damn."

Reiss glanced over at a red indent where his teeth pressed a bit too tightly and she laughed it off. "It'll probably go down and if not, it'd be hidden below my armor."

A grateful smile lifted his cheeks and warmed her heart. "I don't want this to end."

She understood what he was telling her. Even with everything changing, with her reason to be near him all the time slowly being interrogated and extinguished, he was going to do all he could to cling to what this was. Doubt wormed through her gut, but in her rapture it was toothless, the voice silenced. Snuggling against him, Reiss whispered what was in her heart. "Neither do I."

## CHAPTER FORTY

#### Prepare For Weird

Maker's sake but he needed a holiday. A proper one without ten dozen handlers flocking around him insisting he needed to wave at the exact moment and act gobsmacked at a rug. No politics, no Banns, not a single damn person from the court. Actually, not another living soul for miles and miles...save one.

Glancing over from his seat, Alistair's eyes wandered dreamily to the woman picking through a stack of papers. While he'd been "thank you for trying" with the evidence, Harding put some faith in Reiss and let her sift through a box on her own. As he'd sit through the typical daily requirements to keep the crown on his head, she'd be reading and making notes upon pages, quick to learn the special filing system. It was fun to have her sitting near, hard at work doing something that didn't involve waiting just beyond his sight and glaring at people.

She seemed to enjoy it too, so deeply focused while flipping over a finished sheet to not notice the King's fingers curling over hers. A smile lifted away the concentration frown and she gripped back. It was foolish, and silly, but he liked having her close. Alistair kept telling her that it would be best if she remain in her post until all of the assassins were dealt with. Now he was thinking a little longer wouldn't hurt, for the sake of transition and all.

"Shouldn't his Highness be finishing off those notes the clerks left on your desk over an hour ago?" Reiss asked, her eyebrow perched high as she picked up a new sheet. But even with her admonishment, she kept ahold of his fingers.

"As if I don't know they rewrite the entire things once I'm finished," Alistair sighed at the stack of 'From the King's desk' he was meant to send out to make certain important nobility felt special. "I once filled out one of those blighted things so the first word in every new line spelled out 'Sod off.'" He expected a sigh, or shake of her head at his childishness, but Reiss chuckled and her eyes lifted a moment from her work to shine in his.

Maker's breath, she was cute. The sitting at a desk didn't seem to agree with her, but chasing a suspect down this puzzling and twisting path drew a brightness to her eyes and almost skip in her step. Alistair ached to kiss her, but the best he could hope for was some secret hand holding as more of the clerks bussed in and out of the study.

"Not sure if anyone ever caught that one," he mused to himself while watching her draw out a quill and tap it against the rim of the ink bottle. She must have not been aware, as when Reiss went to make another line, she found she'd accidentally knocked all the ink off it. "I was thinking," Alistair said, trying to be subtle and quiet, "when the whole assassin issue is finally laid to rest that I...we could use a vacation."

"Oh?" Reiss didn't glance over from her work.

"There's this hunting lodge near Teagan's estate, very nice. Nothing like camping, there's a roof, and thick logs for walls, and it's right near a hot spring no less."

She placed the quill down and turned to him, a soft smile breaking through the weary exhaustion that came from staring at scribbles to try and decipher words. "Sounds nice."

"And I, I'd love for you to come with me," he began to fluff up his hair before forgetting there was a bunch of wet ink dribbled across his fingers. "I, uh," Alistair glanced around his desk uncertain if there was anything to try and blot the black out of his hair. "You'd be seen as a bodyguard, but I mean, I guess I'd hope that we could spend time as...more." Abandoning his quest for a towel, he swallowed deep and turned to her.

Reiss' expression didn't shift, her eyes seeming to glance through him. Was that a good thing? Bad? Probably bad. It wasn't the best idea he'd ever had, not by a long shot. He just... "I'd like that," she said. As her eyes trailed off to the side behind him, she reached forward and with her fingers tried to draw the ink stains out upon her pale skin.

Darting forward, Alistair grabbed her fingers, now a mess because of him, and slowly dragged each one down the front of his shirt. Reiss giggled at the stains setting deep into the linen, then slowly shook her head. "The launders don't think much when I show up covered in Maker only knows what."

With her eyes closed, she whispered so softly Alistair could barely hear, "I wish I could kiss you."

"Me too," he added back. That was the point of getting away from judgmental eyes, prying lips, and wagging tongues. From hands yanking him this way and that for the sake of whatever fresh problem arouse in the time he was taking a piss. To just be Alistair for a few weeks with her, none of the crown crowding it out.

"So I'll, uh, contact Teagan and get things arranged," Alistair said, trying to slide back to business.

"Will there be much hunting?" she asked, as that sheen dropped in front of her eyes. He was coming to know that was her way of trying to look excited about something she hated for fear of disappointing someone.

"No, Teagan's a sit by the fire with a good book type and...let's just say the royal hunt masters tend to keep me as far from their blinds as possible. I may have once accidentally sat upon a wasp's nest and run shrieking right into a stand of deer. Which then stampeded in rage towards the hunters because of all the wasps. It was a long day of swabbing stings with ointments in sensitive areas and no one making eye contact."

Reiss' shoulders shook from her stuffed down laughter, but he caught a trace of her smile in profile. "That's good to hear, about the hunting. And to keep you far from wasps."

"Oh, I can recognize their evil homes quite well now. Damn near professional at it."

Despite her wary eyes trailing the people moving through the study, Reiss leaned even closer to him across the gap between their desks. Alistair found himself matching with her, the want ratcheting up to an ache for her lips. He was about to touch her cheek, when a polite cough startled him awake.

"Yes, what? I...something's gone wrong!" In his panic, he stood up, forgetting the desk in the way and smacked both knees hard. "Maker, damn it!" Alistair groaned, both hands trying to massage away the great bruises he no doubt just gifted to himself for Satinalia.

"Sire, I didn't anticipate your reaction. I'm so sorry," the man dressed like all the other spies flocking around Harding panicked, then began to try and rub Alistair's thighs.

"Yes, it's fine," he batted away the man's hands, aware that his cheeks were lighting up both from being nearly caught and having someone he didn't know fondle his thighs. He was a good little chantry boy who saved that for the third date. "What do you want?" Alistair gasped, shaking away the pain and awkwardness as best he could.

"Spymaster Harding, Sire."

"Yes, she'd be the only person I've spoken to in the past three days," Alistair said. It was hyperbole, but it felt like as the dwarven woman would sit in for breakfast, hold a meeting with his highness until afternoon, run with him on the way out to the kennels, and sometimes sit outside the door of the water closet to give updates. He grew so tired of seeing nothing but Harding's face he began to discover constellations hidden in her freckles. Maybe he should tell her about the angry golem about to punch a dragon one.

"As you say," the spy gave the 'I'm acknowledging I heard your words but find them idiotic' signal the rest of the castle used. "She'd like you to sit in on her latest interrogation, your Highness."

That got his attention, as well as Reiss'. Harding took her job seriously enough she'd shoo the two amateurs out and promise to give them summaries later. Sharing a look with Reiss, Alistair turned to the spy. "Why?"

"One of the ringleaders is finally willing to talk."

***

Harding had a certain way about doing things that didn't fit with Cade's punch everything until it gives up or is dead philosophy. Rather than drag each prisoner to the back room, knock out their teeth, and toss 'em back into the rat infested cell until they talked, she took the humane approach. There was no blood splattered upon the walls, no dank seeping through molding stones, not even a tray of torture implements -- all rusted nearly shut. Nope, the room was blank, starched and polished to a hope destroying dingy white. It reminded of Alistair of the under tunics to cheap ass armor -- the kind of shirt that was as scratchy as burlap and somehow less warm at the same time.

He winced at it instinctively, and focused on the dwarf sitting confidently in a chair. Her target wasn't chained to the wall by his wrists, the flesh bulging as the body strained from the reach. He too sat comfortably on a slightly wobbly chair across from Harding. Manacles were all that kept him tethered to a simple table sporting a carafe, two water glasses, and those dreaded boxes of information.

"Ah, Sire, glad you could make it," Harding said, a hint of annoyance in her words. He'd hustled as quick as he could, but moving through the castle while King took twice as long as it should. "And you brought your bodyguard," she lifted her chin up at Reiss who haunted the edge behind him.

"Was I not supposed to?"

"I didn't request it, but assumed you would," Harding nodded before turning to the man in question. He looked like the kind you'd expect to find rattling through your rubbish bins at three in the morning, not to find food but because he was about to take a dump in them. Drink made its mark the only way alcohol could, leaving his cheeks bloated and the eye sockets hollow while he rocked back and forth on the rickety chair. It was exactly the kind of man Alistair would have dispatched without a second thought during the Blight. Even now he was having trouble thinking of a reason not to end his suffering quickly.

"This is Mauro? Marto? I can't read this. M," Harding gestured at the man with her jaw held tight. Judging by the glare she probably didn't get even close to pronouncing his name right, but it didn't matter. He was one of the 'evil cultists' set on murdering the King. It was doubtful he'd be needing his name or the head attached to it for much longer.

"Your man said that he's willing to talk," Alistair filled in.

"Yeah, about that," Harding snorted.

Mauro (or whatever it was) opened his teeth to reveal a bloody stub where his tongue should be. "Maker's breath," Alistair groaned, rearing back at the macabre sight. He'd seen broodmothers, ogres, gotten up close and personal with darkspawn on a regular basis, been near the archdemon when its guts coated every roof through the palace district but this was unnerving beyond measure. Mauro slammed his jaws tight again and glared.

"How are we going to get a confession out of that? Can he write?"

"What do you think?" Harding groaned. "I'd give up and focus on the others with their tongues intact but the guards said he was insistent in speaking to me."

"And you wanted me here for moral support," Alistair filled in.

The dwarf shrugged, a hand digging into her shoulder as she worked out a knot. "I don't see the point in talking to the mad. Bastard who cuts out his own tongue..."

Mauro banged his fist into the table, causing Alistair to jump back. He glanced over to find Reiss' hand drifting to her sword. She didn't make any solid moves to unsheathe it, but her eyes narrowed upon the potential threat. Having snagged their attention Mauro whipped his head back and forth like a mad bull.

"What?" Harding tried to interpret his rage, "Are you saying you didn't cut out your tongue?" His head bobbed up and down. "That's the biggest load this side of a landsmeet. I was there, I watched you do it."

"You were there?" Alistair gasped, a shudder climbing up his spine at the idea.

"Yeah, skulking in the underbrush no one ever thinks to check. Believe me, I'm adding it to my bill."

Chains banged on the table and Mauro rolled his head back in obvious disagreement. Leaning forward, Harding all but grabbed onto his mutilated beard to get his attention. "What then? What cut your tongue off?"

Mauro grunted under his breath, his curled hands bouncing up and down against the table. In a quick move, he flipped around his palm to show a quick scratch openly bleeding. The crimson washed down his filthy skin, which the man barely acknowledged.

"Pain hand?" Alistair guessed.

"Blood. Blood mage?" Reiss threw out, her eyes narrowing even further at the idea.

Great, that was high on the shit they didn't need to add to this mess, right below dragon and above plague carrying nugs.

At her guess, Mauro jerked his chin up and down like mad.

Harding was the least impressed. "Every two bit con man screams 'A blood mage made me do it' when he's caught. It's the first excuse they go for."

"If they can't pin it on an elf," Reiss whispered more to herself, but Alistair heard it.

Growling at the back of his throat, Mauro slammed his wounded hand onto the table smearing the blood around to make his point. What would it hurt to humor him?

Bypassing the two women, Alistair leaned forward, "Let's say it was a blood mage who used magic to get you to cut out your own tongue."

"Not likely," Harding whispered to herself.

"Why? Do you know..." Alistair staggered back off the table. "You suspected an inside source in the castle, right?"

"It was possible, best to keep things to as few as we could just in case."

"What if...?" he tipped his head down at the tongue-less man's hand.

"Oh come on, you think someone with enough power and influence hired a cabal of low-life thugs to make a play on your life, and when the heat was getting too close, hired him or herself a blood mage to get them all to cut their tongues out so they couldn't talk. That's the most convoluted play for the throne I've ever heard," Harding groaned while pinching her nose. "And if this mystery person is so gifted at corralling these shits, why not hire proper professionals in the first place?"

Alistair withered from Harding's 'use your brain' stare and he kicked at the floor. "I don't know, it's just an idea. Maybe it's wrong but it's something." Risking a quick glance up he stared at Reiss. Her lips were twisted in a thoughtful pout, her eyes trailing far away as she was probably weighing just how idiotic he was. Thank the Maker for his cute ass, or she'd probably have dumped him weeks ago.

"Mauro," Reiss addressed the prisoner, "did someone hire the Zea Dogs to attack the King?"

His head nodded wildly.

"Do you know who it was?" she continued.

Mauro glanced over at the King doing his best to not be too offended at so many people wanting him dead, before slowly shaking a no.

"Did you get a good look at this person?" Reiss was fully taking over the investigation now, her brain whirling with ideas. Alistair staggered back from the display and was surprised to find Harding watching as well.

Mauro shrugged and his lips opened as he tried to form a sound but the sucking noises of saliva sloshing through that empty jaw unnerved everyone in the room. Glaring at his lot in life, Mauro banged his fist on the table in anger.

"Okay, this is doable," Reiss grabbed at the chair and spun it around so she could straddle it from behind. Alistair had to admit it was a bit of turn on to watch her ratchet straight to can-do-anything. Her eyes beamed in on Mauro, "This blood mage, did you see him or her?"

That got a long nod and then Mauro drew his fingers across his throat in an obvious threat. If this blood mage was real, he obviously intended to rip 'em limb from limb for that was done to him, what he was made to do. Alistair trembled at the damn horrors malifecarum could conjure.

Reiss ignored the outburst and tried to catch Maruo's eyes, "Was the mage a woman?"

He shook his head.

"A man. Short?"

Another negative.

"Tall?"

No

"Average height," Reiss guessed because that was all this was. It was like dropping a bunch of sentences into a bucket of water and the one that floated to the top was your future. Who knew if he was lying, or if he was even capable of knowing if he was lying. The man cut out his own tongue! Hard to walk back to sanity town after you do that.

"Hair color? Blonde?" But damn was she not about to give up on this idea. Reiss plucked at her hair as if afraid the man didn't know what blonde looked like.

Mauro gave a quick shake.

"Brown?"

Yes.

"Any identifying marks? Tattoos, scars?" Both questions got negatives, Mauro quickly realizing how little he had to add to this.

"Do you by any chance know where this mage lives? Frequents? What did his voice sound like?"

The first two got no's, but at the last question Mauro flipped his wounded hand around and drug his nails across the wood. The gravely and bitter sound bit deep into Alistair's ears and he raced to try and cover them up when Mauro stopped. Reiss grimly nodded at it and pinched the bridge of her nose, "Got it. So we're looking for an incognito mage, male, average height and brown hair."

"That would give you about 40% of the Denerim population to go asking 'Excuse me, but are you a blood mage?'" Harding groaned. She seemed to have no faith in this mage idea.

"Ah, I forgot," Reiss flipped back to Mauro. She swallowed a moment before asking, "Was it an elf?"

That got her a quick shake of the head, which she responded to with a grateful sigh. "Well, a human male so that should knock off 5% in the search." Groaning, Reiss staggered away from her attempts at cracking the case wide open.

Alistair pulled both women further from Mauro, who he kept a very close eye on while they huddled in the corner. "Well, ideas, suggestions? Accusations on how it was the butler the whole time?"

Harding groaned at his pathetic joke, but Reiss' fingers skirted over the tip of his elbow before she retracted them away. "This is idiotic, you're assuming a massive conspiracy based upon a man shaking his head a certain way and the patented shoving the blame onto bogey blood mages."

"It is possible," Reiss said, but even she didn't sound convinced.

"So's dragons bursting through the ground and eating us all alive, doesn't mean it's likely. One thing I've learned over the years in the Inquisition, prepare for the weird but expect the mundane."

"What about all the times the cult seemed to have the upper hand?" Alistair threw out, trying to keep in on the conversation.

"Luck, okay, three parts luck to one part no one expected an assassination attempt so they didn't plan accordingly. If you want anyone to blame, it'd be your guards slacking off on the job," Harding muttered before she dug the heels of her hands into her eyes and groaned. How long had she been working on this problem?

"When did you last sleep, Harding?" Alistair asked, throwing her off balance.

"Caught a nap a few..." she pointed towards the narrow window where the sun was already dipping to the horizon, "I'm fine."

"You'll do no good to anyone exhausted," Alistair said, then blinked, "Maker's sake, I sound like an ol' biddy about to insist you all wear sweaters."

"I'll be sure to pin my mittens to mine, for your sake, your Majesty," Harding snarked back. He was going to miss her when she had to go back to Skyhold, the dwarf was one of the few who'd call him on his shit to his face. Rolling a shoulder, she yanked up a mug and drowned the sludge in a quick toss of her head.

"Look," Harding flattened her hand into her palm, "Cade's right. This many in here's a gaatlock barrel ready to blow. The best thing is to round up the obvious dirt they're carrying, drag 'em in front of court, and finish it off. If there are any lingering conspiracies involving dark cloaks and evil blood mages, we sniff it out later."

"That..." Reiss whispered, seeming to want to disagree.

Harding gestured at her, "I doubt you're going anywhere anytime soon."

"Wh...why do you say that?" Reiss' cheeks lit up bright red but she didn't glance over at Alistair.

For her part Harding only let her hand hang in the air a few beats longer to emphasize that she knew exactly why. "Unless his Majesty's orders are for me to go beating down every door in Denerim to find this fabled blood mage, I think my time is best served here getting more answers out of Tongue-less Mo here."

Alistair watched Reiss glaring at the ground, her fingers limply knocking together. She looked as if she wanted to say something, to defend herself, but Harding's insinuation about their close ties seemed to have drawn the wind from her sails. Maybe it was best to put his faith in the acting Spymaster, she seemed to have a quick grasp on things.

"You do what you think will get the scum out of here, Harding. But first, get some damn sleep. I don't want to find out you broke a tooth passing face first onto the ground."

She stuck her chin out, those freckles flaring red in the torchlight. Alistair braced himself for a dressing down, but instead Harding tipped up her hand and limply saluted him, "Yes, Mother."

Snickering at the response, Alistair leaned closer to her to whisper, "Also you should eat more vegetables, and would it kill you to keep your hair out of your face?"

That got him a full on groan, Harding all but shoving the King out of her domain as she turned back on the man to ask her important questions. He focused on the dwarf playing bad guard, but for a brief second his eyes flickered to Reiss and that same vengeance flared in them. Mauro didn't care about whoever hired them to kill the King, he just wanted that blood mage to pay for what he did.

Reiss went first down the long corridor of hissing and angry mercs about to meet their end. They knew it, the very air stank of death, which meant any semblance of humanity long fled from their veins. A few tried to throw things, most of the shit thankfully missing, and some hooted and hollered at the pair of them walking past. Alistair sneered, an anger stirring in his gut, but Reiss didn't even flinch.

By the time they exited the cells, he needed a hug of support from her, but a few of the royal guards she was about to be serving with milled around. It would probably not endear her to them. Still... "You okay?" Alistair asked, referring to the walk of shit she had to endure.

But Reiss wasn't even thinking of that. "I know it's a long shot, but...something's off, things don't add up the right way and what if...What if he's telling the truth?"

"More like nodding the truth," Alistair cut in, then winced as she deflated.

"Aye, it's preposterous. And perhaps I am seeing things that are not there. It is best to leave it in Harding's capable hands."

"Reiss," he whispered her name, always forgetting the honorific to keep them distant, the one she earned.

She however always remembered, save that one time when she feared he was about to get himself killed. How Alistair adored and wished he could somehow preserve for later every time she whispered his name. "I know my place, Ser."  Her head tipped down as she seemed to genuflect, but the voice brimmed with something other than adoration for her King. "It is by your side," those sparkling green eyes met his a moment before she stood tall to tack on, "as your bodyguard. Of course."

The other guards didn't seem to be giving them any attention, their own lunch far more fascinating, but Reiss snapped in an instant at the fear of being caught out. "Come on, bodyguard, I've probably got a stack of work that needs to be pushed from side to side. Hopefully you can protect me from any errant paper cuts or accidental cuticle tears. Those are the nastiest of them all."

He wanted to hold her hand, to skirt his fingers through her hair and tuck back those free tendrils, to kiss her and say it'd be okay. Instead, he cracked open the door, letting her fall back into place behind him.

"I shall do my very best, Ser," Reiss said, back to business. But for a brief moment, he felt her eyes caressing his ass while he walked.

## CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

#### Maybe

The sentencings began quickly, each man hauled before the King and a staple of the highest people in Ferelden to have their charges laid out. It amounted to the same: conspiracy to commit treason, conspiracy to commit murder, conspiracy to conspire, working with a potential malifecarum. The last Harding threw in just in case nothing else stuck, but no one was rushing to defend the Zea Dogs. They were the kindling being broken in half and tossed onto the pyre people wanted to burn for days. Reiss didn't realize so many in Denerim cared about the life of their King until she watched the citizens shift into snarling beasts in the presence of those who would dare try and take it.

Or were they just spitting their anger out on the most obvious target at the moment?

Even with Harding and Cade moving the men through without any stop in sight, it was going to take time, at least four days. They were working through the lower dregs first, which at the suggestion of everyone who had an opinion told the King to not be merciful. Excusing anyone who even got a whiff of a planned assassination would throw open the doors for more. Without any obvious recourse to counteract it, Alistair agreed, sending each man to hang on the gallows.

She'd expected a fire in his voice, he'd been living in fear not only for himself but his children, and yet every night when Alistair would seek her out he was subdued. He wasn't a man who delighted in doing what had to be done, which broke her heart a bit as Reiss knew the next day he'd only face more dead men walking. At least it would be over soon and then they'd be off to this hunting lodge in the Hinterlands. Alistair would lighten considerably whenever she'd ask about it, giving up suggestions for what they should do first upon arrival. Apparently leaping buck naked into a pond was high on his list. Reiss was uncertain of the idea, remembering all too well the predominance of leeches in Fereden, but figured she owed it give it a try. At least she could enjoy watching him paddling around fully nude.

Mid-way through the rounds of trials and executions, Alistair called a break. He didn't rise from his seat the way Reiss expected, but slumped forward. Slipping away from her post behind the throne, she whispered to him, "Tired?"

"Would it be improper for the King of Ferelden to curl up on the floor for a nap? I bet I could talk Bann Loren into it," he laughed while waving at the pinch faced Bann.

She stopped herself from rubbing his shoulders, as much as she wanted to, "We were...awake late into the night."

That drew a sly snicker to him as he leaned back and shut his eyes, "Yep, lots of _cross-referencing_ going on as I remember."

"Is that what we were doing?" There are people, lots of people crammed into this over heated room doing their best to act serious and you're flirting with the King right in front of them? _Rat, what is wrong with you?_

Unaware of the tiny voice in her head screaming at her, Alistair skirted his fingers over the outside of her gauntlets and smiled. He opened his mouth to talk when a rumbling erupted in his stomach. Glancing down, he ordered, "Silence from the stands!"

Reiss laughed at his silly move, but said, "Perhaps I should slip into the kitchens and find something for you to eat."

"Really?" he gasped in surprise as if he wasn't the blighted King who regularly had people find and deliver things for him. "That'd be wonderful."

Barely bowing, Reiss began to slide towards the door. From behind her she heard the King shout, "Oh, if Renata's got any of that roast boar pudding left I'd love some!"

"I make no promises," she called back to him. It drew a few curious glances out of the gentry, but none raced to belt her with turnips, their attention already back to something other than the elf slipping away.

Once freed of the chambers, Reiss took a deep breath trying to shovel as much cool air into her lungs. Sadly, the day itself wasn't helping her as the sun beat an intolerable heat across the land. It amplified ten fold inside the smaller courtroom that filled with even hotter air as the various gentry huffed and puffed for orders of importance. She feared she was about to fall flat out off her feet a few times while standing at attention. Luckily, Reiss learned how to not lock her knees and did her best to wave a hand near her face when it grew worst and no one was looking.

Her own stomach gurgled, but not in the same empty manner as Alistair's. It'd been growing vengeful during the day, the mere concept of food causing the bile to rise up her throat. It was probably the random dinners Reiss kept snatching up, her schedule thrown fully off balance by the trials and the King who only ate when he felt like it. After wiping the sweat off her brow and trying to fan out the sides of her armor, she trekked down the stairs to the kitchens.

Mercifully, the fires were low and slow, though the tempting smells of gravy bubbling inside dough traipsed through the air. Whatever Renata had on hand for dinner was going to be delectable. Too bad that only angered Reiss' stomach more, the scent grabbing her petulant organ and giving it a good shake. Screwing her eyes up, Reiss willed herself into the larder and began to search for something Alistair would like. In truth, it wasn't that hard. The foods the King didn't like amounted to sprouts, fish stew -- though everything else fish was good -- and for some reason oranges. He didn't explain that one much, just kept them far from the castle, much to Renata's grumbling. She'd been wanting to try an orange sauce she read about in a Seheron cookbook, but the King shot it down.

After sifting through the cheeses, breads, and a few of the grapes fresh off the vine, Reiss staggered up to her legs when another bout of dizziness struck her. Gripping onto the ledge, she shut her eyes tight even as the room spun down the drain around her. The spell passed quickly, this damn heat knocking her down harder each time, but in her clumsiness she accidentally spilled a bag of onions across the ground.

"Oi," a voice ricocheted through the kitchen proper, "you better be big fat rats and not Philipe tryin' to mess with my..." Renata's tirade faded as she eyed up Reiss struggling to scoop up the onions she knocked over. "My lady."

"I'm sorry, I was fetching food for the King and..." Reiss explained with a basket dangling off her arm and onions overflowing out of her hands.

"It's not a problem," Renata scooted forward, yanking the onions out of Reiss' hands and promptly returning them to the barrel. Reiss began to slide down to pick up the rest, when the cook called out, "You don't need to do that."

Reiss froze, her muscles locking from that panicked voice she knew well. It was the same one she'd often use when someone with blood bluer than the sky was about to do something that'd get her in trouble. "I...it was my fault?"

"Accidents happen," Renata smiled, her lips smiling but her eyes glared.

"Right, of course, it was..." Reiss clung tight to the basket like a granddaughter about to go visit her werewolf grandma in the forest. "Should I...?"

Renata finished stuffing away the errant onions and turned back to smile at Reiss. "Is there anything else you'll be needing?"

She knew. Maker take her, but Renata, probably Philipe, they all knew that Reiss and the King were... _Oh Andraste_. A blush burned across Reiss' cheeks and she tried to bury her face in the basket. "No, it's...I'm fine," she gasped, feeling tears burning in her eyes as she scampered past the polite but distant chef. That was all anyone would be now, all her fellow guards, the servants, the coopers, the stablehand, any and all who feared potential reprisal from the King were never going to trust her again. Because if they let their tongue accidentally wag about something his Majesty didn't like around the mistress, then she might use that against them.

They all hated her.

No, worse than that, they all had to put up with her because he did. It was easy to be friends with Alistair, he was the known King who bowled people over with his self deprecation, but the sidepiece encroaching upon the beloved Queen's territory? No one would ever see Reiss again. She'd be _the mistress_ and nothing more.

Reiss' back clattered to the wall and she gripped tight to the stone to remain upright. Another round of dizziness hit, but instead of striking her mind, this one drove right to the gut of the matter. Upending her stomach in one quick blow, she barely had time to shift before vomit shot out across the floor. Burning with the anger at herself, most of her soupy dinner landed in a wet plorp on her shoes -- chunks of corn and carrot mocking her failure.

What was she going to do? She didn't know where the buckets were to clean it up, and if she told someone, they'd...they were all going to look at her the way Renata did. Groaning, Reiss placed her head against the stone. Coldness bit through the heat burning up her skin, trying to soothe away the ache in her exhausted joints. Maker, if she could just stay here and catch her breath, then maybe, maybe she could think of a plan.

A high pitched whine began in the distance like a fly buzzing through the hall. Reiss didn't move to chase it, her body only capable of keeping her upright. Gasping for air, she tried to calm the acid burn in her esophagus while a fog crept up the sides of her vision. Oh no... She managed a single step, realizing what was about to happen, when her body gave up and Reiss fainted dead away to the floor.

She woke dazed, aware that people were talking but only hearing the same buzzing whine. The back of her head throbbed from where it no doubt smashed into the ground. Someone took the time to prop her up into a sitting position against the wall. An elbow bumped into her and she turned to watch the fingers of an elf scrubbing away her vomit. The eyes didn't lift to her as the man was too focused on his job.

"What...?" Reiss tried to speak, but every joint in her body ached.

"Hey," Alistair dipped to a knee and picked up her hand. "You had me worried there."

"I, uh," she tried to move to stand, but he gripped onto her shoulder to keep her in place. Giving up on falling back in line, she groaned, "I passed out, the heat must have gotten to me."

"Here, Sire," Renata passed a wet sponge into his hands, which he thanked her for while trying to dab off Reiss' sweat. The cool wash felt so good, she moaned in appreciation, her eyes slipping closed to marinate in the sensation. It struck her how that must look and she guiltily glanced up at the cook doing her best to not watch. Maker's breath, how much worse could this get?

"You feel hot," Alistair said.

"I'm..." Reiss tried to wave it away, insisting she was fine, but another flip of her stomach told her otherwise. Don't puke on him. It'd be bad enough walking it back from vomiting on her lover, but doing it to the King and while surrounded by gossip hounds would put her on the pyre. Gripping to his shoulder like the edge of a cliff, Reiss groaned in agony and nodded. "I think I'm sick."

"You don't say. I'm guessing elves don't regularly decorate the floor in their dinner."

"Only for Satinalia eve and Wintersend if one is orthodox," Reiss sighed.

"Here," Alistair left the sponge on the ground and moved to lift Reiss off the ground into his arms.

She wanted to let him, but aware of the eyes always watching, she was quick to stagger a foot down. Maker, that flared up a bruise stretched down her side. Was it from the fall? Alistair slid a hand around her waist, trying to take some of her weight as Reiss began to limp towards some destination. She hadn't any idea where to go aside from away.

"I am interfering with your trials. I can attempt to make it back to my room on my own."

"And have you bash your head in again with another faint? I don't think so," Alistair tugged her even close, the pair of them hobbling away from her site of disgrace and towards their side of the castle. "Besides, I'm certain Eamon's having a wonderful time soothing all the gentry wishing for more blood right now. I left him with some juggling balls just in case."

"You're terrible," Reiss gasped as she clung tight to the man who rushed to her side and was tenderly guiding her to bed.

Alistair brushed his cheek against the top of her head and in a soft voice murmured, "I know."

By the time he deposited her in bed, a healer was already waiting outside the door. She had a heavy leather bag in hand which jangled with every drop of her arms while chasing after the King all but carrying some invalid elf to her room. Reiss plummeted against the mattress and began to crawl up it, murmuring that she just needed a few minutes of rest and then she could return to work.

"Don't you dare even think it," Alistair ordered. Despite the strange woman standing at the foot of the bed clicking her teeth, he drew his hand down the side of her arm. "You took a pretty bad fall."

"It's nothing," Reiss tried to insist even as she had to lay on her side to avoid the rising goose egg on the back of her skull. "You need someone to guard you during the trials," she tried to slide her feet back out off the bed, but he was quick to stop her.

"I'll be fine," he said. "We're nearly done and Cade'll be there to keep me from doing something incredibly suicidal. It's his speciality." Those warm brown eyes all but pleaded for her to get back into bed, clear worry stinging his still smiling face.

Acquiescing, Reiss leaned down into the bed, aware that her armor was biting into her but uncertain how to get out of it now. "You win," she groaned. "But promise me you won't do something that requires you to ask someone to hold your mead." She tried to reach out to tug on his collar, but Alistair dipped down enough her palm curled against his cheek.

As it lifted with his smile, he pushed back her hopefully not vomit stained hair and said, "You have my word." Groaning, Reiss let him walk away, her hand tumbling off his cheek to drift across the empty floor. Her body didn't have the remaining strength to lift it. Even staying alive was on a fifty: fifty chance at this point. Reiss was uncertain which ache came from the illness and which the fall.

"Get better, that's an order," Alistair said beside the door to the hallway. Reiss limply waved and nodded. She had every intention of trying even if succeeding may be beyond her hope. Quietly, he closed the door behind him, leaving Reiss trapped in her room with a stranger.

"Your Majesty," the woman bowed to the vanishing King, before focusing on the pathetic elf clinging to life. "I am Healer Orana."

"Reiss." Biting down on the pain flooding every vein in her body, she sat up to come eye to eye with the woman. Surprised to find Orana sitting on the bed, Reiss almost leaped backwards, but her body refused to comply -- the entirety of its energy spent getting her upright.

"What hurts?" the woman asked. She was that age where the lines and wrinkles showed more than vanished by soft lift, but wasn't to the autumn years just yet. Cracking open her bag, she began to lay out various tools. Reiss glanced down at them and felt a fresh flop stir in her stomach. They reminded her of gelding day on the farm, each clamp and cutting bit laid out neatly on a tray before the animals were corralled over for the next part.

"I'm," Reiss began, trying to find anyway to get out of this alive.

That got her a slow glare from the woman's left eye. It was behind a thick glass inside wire frames, while the right was milky white and stared at nothing. The refraction on the glasses made her iris pop, the grey blues reminiscent of storms on the grasslands on the south. Tutting her tongue, she yanked up Reiss' arm. Her touch was cool but not painful, calming her fevered body.

"Everyone's so afraid of healers, I promise I won't steal your soul in the night."

"It isn't that, I..." she glanced down while the woman drew her fingers up in strange measurements until hitting her elbow and yanked it back down to begin again. "I grew warm in the room filled with the gentry, and upon exiting it I...purged my dinner on the floor before fainting." Maker, it sounded ten times worse now that she said it.

"Fever, don't even need to feel your forehead, your cheeks are lit up with the blood spots," Orana waved her hand to dismiss it as she tugged something out of her bag. "How's the stomach? Been feeling queasy long?"

"Most of the day and..." Reiss struggled to remember when it began. It fell into the background of her life because she had other matters to deal with. "Some of yesterday perhaps."

"Feel better after...how did you fancy it up? Purged your dinner?"

"Sort of," she hung her head down, wishing to be left alone. Having to recite each of her bodily failings made her want to climb into a closet and never leave. Healers rarely bothered with elves unless there was blood spurting over their clean clothes. A lot of the alienages got by with old wives tales and idioms, which did a little worse than the average non-magic healer for humans. All she wanted was a tiny elven woman to pinch her cheeks hard, slap a wet blanket to her head, and shovel koomtra down her throat until she felt better.

"Here," Orana fished out a small biscuit that was rectangular and dark grey. "Eat this, it should help calm your stomach."

Nodding, and knowing she couldn't get out of it, Reiss accepted the biscuit and took a bite. "Sweet Maker," she gasped, "it tastes like burning logs."

"That'd be the general idea. Charcoal will bind up all the bad stuff, but, uh, you'll want to keep a bucket near. It has a way of 'purging' fast and often violently."

Reiss nodded, while trying to not be terrified. The woman quirked her eyebrow up at her no longer chewing. Accepting her fate, Reiss continued to eat the biscuit briquette, the Maker blighted taste clinging to her tongue and esophagus on the way down. It tasted as if she licked a fireplace clean -- which was probably a punishment a shem thought up for an elf at some point in history.

"Is there anything else I should do?" Reiss asked.

"Rest, a cool compress to help fight that fever. I don't recommend blood letting for someone of your type."

"My type?" she asked after mercifully finishing the last of that damn biscuit. Orana passed her a glass of water, which Reiss was quick to chase down her throat.

"Here," Orana yanked up her limp hand and pointed at the wan flesh below, "the pale shade of yellow means any blood loss on your part wouldn't balance correctly. Purging the system is the only hope. Too much bile, got to get it all gone."

"Ah," Reiss glanced down at her own skin as if she'd never looked at it before. She figured the inability to bloodlet it was an elven thing and not because of her bile.

Orana patted Reiss' knee, a ring clanging against the metal, before she began to close up her medical bag. "What do you think may have caused it?" Reiss asked, curiosity clinging to her.

"Could be any number of things. Been acting extra bilious lately?"

"Uh, I don't believe so," Reiss tried to scan through the last few days. While she'd been distraught, she'd hardly been irritable, and Atisha's letter cleared that cloud away in an instant.

"You don't seem the type, despite your skin hue," the healer seemed to compliment her, "if not that, maybe something you ate, or ate at the wrong time. Food can have quite an effect on our constitutions if we're not careful. It's why I only eat things that bear an appearance like brains -- walnuts, broccoli, sweetbreads. The real thinking woman's dinner."

"That makes some sense," Reiss nodded, aware that she'd been scrounging more than usual and at odd times. Perhaps something in there grew vengeful upon her, combined with the emotions she kept swallowing down, it all turned vengeful against her.

"Course," Orana chuckled as she closed the latches on her bag, "there's always pregnancy."

"Wh...what?" Reiss blinked madly, her throat drying to sandpaper.

"Fainting, queasy stomach, vomiting, exhaustion -- all hallmark signs a little one's on the way," the older woman glanced up at the wall before turning to find Reiss glaring at the ground.

_No. No, it... No._

Orana's good eye narrowed, "Didn't your mother teach you about it?"

"A little, before she died," Reiss admitted to this complete stranger. She knew the basics of how babies were made and then came out, but even when her mother was pregnant with Lorace she made it seem like it was all sunshine and rainbows. Almost willfully hiding the bad parts under the guise of excitement so that the Maker knew she wanted the baby growing inside her. "There were a lot of stillbirths," Reiss whispered to the air, her hands clutching tight to the empty cup of water.

"Ah, I see," Orana licked her cracked lips and scooted closer on the bed. Despite the two of them being alone, she lowered her voice to a whisper, "Do ya have any thinking idea you might be with a wee one?"

Reiss tried to voice a no, but her lips were numb. All she could do was shake her head, as mute as the man who chopped out his own tongue.

Orana sighed, her kindly fingers patting against Reiss' gauntlet, "When's the last time you bled? If it's steady, you're good."

"I..." Maker's sake, this is an easy question. She knew it always fell around the middle of the month. Steady as a rock once she passed the age of twenty three. It had to have happened, right? It was so common she stopped noticing it, stopped thinking about it. Was it this month or the previous one?

Orana read her silence and carefully opened up her bag. Extracting out a glass jar, she passed it to Reiss. Clear liquid sloshed around inside, all held in place by the wax seal at the top. "If ya want to _know_ know without having to wait 'til you feel a kick, put a drop of your blood in here and wait for a color change. Goes blue and you're empty, turns red and...congratulations."

Her eyes glared at the clear liquid sloshing back and forth. It moved slower than water, whatever gave it the magical abilities to sense life almost sparkling under the weak candlelight. "I don't need this," Reiss said, trying to pass the test back.

Folding her hands away, Orana smiled kindly down at her as she got off the bed. "Keep it, in case you ever need it, or come across someone who might. In the mean time, get rest. Your body will require it regardless of the outcome."

"It's not, I..." No, Maker's breath, no. It wasn't possible. She couldn't be... What have you done, Reiss?

"Do you need help getting free of the metal can?" Orana asked, still showering the scared young woman in a kindness that was shared between those who faced such a precipice.

Reiss shook her head, "I've gotten out of it in worse states, but thank you for helping me and...helping."

The woman smiled and nodded, "It's my pleasure, dearie. Rest up, you'll not want to worry the King by fretting too much. Gives you wrinkles." Bobbing her head once more, Orana exited Reiss room. On the way out she blew out two of the three candles, leaving only a whisper of orange light to crawl across the walls.

Broken into a million pieces, Reiss stared at the liquid bobbing back and forth in the bottle. Why was it doing that? Should it sway while being held? Was that a sign of...?

Oh Maker, she swallowed hard, realizing her hands were trembling. Reaching forward, she placed the bottle on her vanity, right next to the bouquet of flowers. Each one a reminder of every time she... Blessed Andraste, no. Of course not. It wasn't possible. Sure, in the theoretical sense of the word there had been the mechanics accomplished to create a...

"No," Reiss said aloud to herself. She worked quickly, dumping the armor on the floor. Even if Karelle saw it and yelled at her until she was blue in the face, Reiss didn't care. Her body was exhausted from the illness working through her system, and she needed sleep. In the morning she'd feel much better and any lingering doubt would be washed away.

Digging under the covers, Reiss tried to lay down on her pillow, but the bruise on the back of her head enraged in anger. Pain burst through the headache, throbbing up into the back of her eyes. Accepting defeat, she turned to the side, her eyes drawn straight to the big question sitting on her vanity.

No.

Never.

She couldn't be.

Reiss yanked the blanket up to hide her face away from the world and let the exhaustion digging into her body finally take claim. As sleep wound up through her, a single thought echoed in her head.

Maybe.

## CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

#### The Test

Reiss lay crumpled in bed the rest of the day, when she wasn't curled over the edge clearing out her stomach of that disgusting black biscuit and everything else left inside. After wiping off her mouth and rising up, her eyes would linger over that ominous clear bottle mocking her from the vanity. It was foolish to worry, this was a stomach bug, something she ate like she guessed, or one of those illnesses that prey upon elves. They seemed to succumb easier to some of the really unfun ones, while humans passed by fine. Shaking off any idea that she might be...it was foolish.

Sleep came in spurts, the exhaustion slinking away for an hour or so until it ravaged her system and once against dragged her back down. In the middle of her non-dreaming state, Alistair checked in on her. She tried to wave him away, aware of not only that she looked like the diseased liver of a bronto left to fester in the dirt, but smelled of it too. But he didn't mind her state, his hands trying to brush apart her matted hair as he sat upon the bed.

"This is dangerous, what if you catch this?" Reiss tried to argue. Turned on her side, she tried to glance up at his handsome face, but her eyes kept trailing back to that bottle. A fear gurgled in her gut that he had to know what it was for. Oh Maker, what would he say? Or do?

"I've had worse, and the healer seems to think it's unlikely to leap around," Alistair waved her concerns away.

"Of course she'd say that," Reiss muttered to herself. She thinks I'm knocked up, little hard to go passing that off to someone else, in particular a man. Aware she was stewing to herself, she broke away from glaring at the blanket to find Alistair's eyes crinkling at the edges.

"Something gnawing on your thoughts?"

"No," Reiss gasped out quickly, "I...the trials?"

He accepted her change of topic easily, still not giving a single look to the bottle Reiss couldn't stop watching. "Going well. As well as condemning a bunch of men to their death can go. No one's raised themselves back from the dead, so plus in that column. Harding thinks they'll be done tomorrow, and Karelle agrees."

"Karelle? I thought Chancellor Eamon was coordinating the effort." She was trying everything she could to not think about the contents of her stomach or any unwanted passengers therein.  Which seemed to be working on Alistair. His fingers paused in brushing through her hair so he could shrug, the hidden politician rising up to the surface a moment.

"He is in that 'I'm going to stand here and read a bunch of words while being extra important' way. Karelle's doing the grunt work, making certain next of kin are notified, putting out official criers, all the nitty gritty bits that have to be done or else. I have no idea what comes after the or else part, but it's probably bad." Groaning, Alistair mashed the heels of his palms into his eyes and tumbled into his lap.

Reiss ran her cold fingers up and down his back, trying to soothe him, "You're exhausted."

"Me?" he peeked out through the fingers, "I've been sitting on my ass all day while everyone else runs around. What about you?"

"I believe I've been in bed, doing nothing but vomi..." she trailed away the word, while mentally kicking herself. Way to be romantic there, Reiss. Why not discuss your bowel movements as well? That's sure to win him over. "You must have more important matters than checking in on me in my sick bed."

"Probably," Alistair's warm eyes drifted over her, "but I'd rather be here."

Trapped below the heavy blankets that barely cast any warmth as she struggled through the fever, Reiss had never felt so fragile. Her body all but vanished in the middle of the bed, that sallow skin that couldn't afford to be bloodlet clinging tight to bird-thin bones. She knew she cut a pathetic picture, but it wasn't right of her to usurp the King's time and attention so. Especially with so many people talking about them.

"Tell you what," he scooted a bit closer, "you owe me one."

"What?"

"Next time I drink filthy river water, or break a bone and wind up bedridden, it's your turn to take pity on me. I should warn you though, I've been told I'm terrible when sick."

"Really?" Reiss felt the stirrings of a laugh in her acid roughed throat.

"Oh yes, constantly whinging, damn near at throw myself on my own sword to end the agony levels. And all because of a small cold. It's damn near impossible to put up with me. Everyone runs as far as they can. I once sent a healer all the way to Antiva just to avoid having to deal with me."

Giggling at the inanity, Reiss butted her flaming forehead into his chest while her limp arms struggled to reach around the back of his neck. Alistair stopped talking long enough to return the hug, his hands scooping around behind to pin her close. Why couldn't it just be this? Two people sharing moments together, building upon one another, and...caring for each other? Why did duty, and whispers, and rumors, and what was proper have to get involved? Even while buried in his arms, Reiss' eyes darted over the bottle full of a potential future that was beyond her understanding. She should tell him, or no. Not tell him. Did mistresses tell their lovers when they suspected or wait until they knew? Maker's sake, why wasn't there a book on all this?

"Do you think you'll feel up to making the trip out to Teagan's place?" Alistair asked, his voice breaking through the stillness.

Reiss nodded her head instantly, not even taking stock in if it was possible. That drew a slow frown to Alistair, and he dragged three fingers over her fevered forehead.

"Are you saying that to make me happy or because it's true?"

"I...I think with rest this should pass. I am feeling much better since I...fainted. Andraste, I can't believe I did that."

"Scared the garters off Renata. She was practically in tears when she ran to find me."

"Oh?" Reiss pinched her nose in surprise after the cook had been so distant before.

"Seemed to fear I'd think she was poisoning you or some other nonsense."

"Oh..." No one wanted to be nice to the mistress, but no one wanted to be cruel either. Just treat her like she's furniture, a credenza that comes with the castle and hope you don't piss off your boss. Reiss thought they were at least becoming friends, and now...

"What is it?" Alistair interrupted her dark thoughts.

"I should return to resting," Reiss smiled up at him, aware that it was forced. She hoped he'd read it as her overcoming her illness and not the pain in her heart.

It seemed to work as Alistair nodded, "You're right. I've bothered you long enough. If you need anything..."

"I'll be certain to contact Karelle," Reiss said quickly.

Laughing, Alistair nodded, "Exactly so." His lips placed a cool kiss to her forehead, dampening down the fever where they touched, and he staggered up to his feet. "Get better," he smiled before his face panicked, "That's not an order or anything, I just, you know, don't like seeing you sick. Not because you look bad -- well you do, anyone would after hitting the floor but..."

Reiss held up a hand to stop his panicked babble. Nipping her lip with her teeth she sighed, "I'll do my best, Ser."

"Good, I'm certain your best will have it licked in an hour," he nodded, already slipping out the door back to his room.

"Alistair," Reiss sat up higher. Her eyes focused on him turning back, but out of the corner she spotted the bottle. "Thank you for checking on me."

A smile dawned upon his cheeks, that dimple denting like a crater. Placing two fingers to his lips, he blew a kiss at her and quietly closed the door behind him. She tried to return to sleep, her eyes screwed up tight while mentally willing herself to health. Without anything in it, her stomach did calm, and while some of the fever knocked her bones about, it too was parting. Reiss should be on the mend, but a toxic guilt darted in and out of her clinging conscious. Even shutting her eyelids as tight as possible, she could still see that damn bottle.

Giving up in a rage, Reiss threw the covers off her and rose to her feet. She blinked in surprise to find her candle burnt a good two or three hours lower, not having remembered falling asleep. All her mind kept playing over was the possibility that there might be something growing inside of her, and it was all her damn fault. Of course she knew the mechanics and what went into baking a baby, but it didn't seem important. The Inquisition was good about providing any necessary supplies to its soldiers, no one wanting to have to build a nursery beside the armory. It was an interesting meeting when they gathered nearly every battalion to the great hall and the Commander, red faced and sweating, tried to explain what the little pink bottles were for and how any and all had access to them. No questions asked, he was very specific on that part before dashing away in a panic.

But, there was no way the King would know of them. Why would he need to? And if she'd inquired of Karelle or anyone else in the castle their very first question would be "Who's the not-potential father?"

Those are all excuses, Reiss, excuses that aren't going to turn back time and fix things. She picked up the bottle, watching the liquid slush back and forth like the foamy waves of the sea. Right. She had to know, if only to come to a decision one way or the other.

Uncorking the bottle, a strange herby smell wafted free off the cork -- a bit like thyme mashed into lemon grass. Blood, it needed her blood. The potential mother's...Maker's breath. Shaking off the urge to run and hide under her bed, Reiss placed down the bottle and inspected her finger. It wouldn't take much to prick, but Alistair would notice and wonder.

Wait, was she not going to tell him? If it was no, then there was no reason to. It wasn't as if a no would have an effect on his life. And if it was a yes...?

Reiss shook her head, she'd slay that dragon when she came to it. An idea struck her, and she ran her finger up the healed scar tissue on the tip of her ear. It had faded to a scabby pink but it wouldn't take much to slice open again. She could blame it on the fall. Yanking out the dagger in her hair, Reiss tugged her ear tight and slit open the edge of her skin.

Pain nipped at the wound, but the superfluous kind destined to fade quickly. Holding the edge of the dagger to her ear, Reiss squeezed up her ear, trying to worry a drop of blood onto the steel. Crimson wobbled upon the tip, her blood, an answer to a question she never thought to ask. Screwing up her courage, she dipped the dagger into the bottle and swirled it around. Her blood twirled through the clear liquid like a dancer of the veils spinning upon the tip of her toes before vanishing from the stage.

With one hand clinging tight to her wound, Reiss placed the bottle down onto the vanity and waited. Blue and she was safe, red and...and what? There were other answers, certainly. Maker knew plenty of other women when faced with such a choice did what was prudent and best for themselves. But...

Curling her knees up under her chin, Reiss watched the clear liquid the way a hawk trails a field mouse. If she carried a child of the King it would change everything in her life. She wouldn't be Reiss, the guard who served in the Inquisition. People would only know her as the whore that birthed the half-elf bastard. And, there's no reason for Alistair to even...

No. Reiss shook the idea away the second it took. He adores his children, all but worships them much to the nanny's consternation. He'd probably love whatever grew inside of her too, but would it be as much? Or would he grow to hate her for bringing a threat to his real children into the world? Maker, and she didn't even think of the Queen. It was one thing to push Reiss into filling up the King's dance card as it were, but she'd have their affair rubbed in her nose every day.

Stupid, it was stupid to even consider the thought. A child? One known to be half elven, even if it came out the spitting image of the father would be ridiculed by the gentry, questioned as being unfit for nearly anything that would normally befall someone with half royal blood in him. And what would become of the mother? People already kept their distance, if she began to bulge with obvious child -- a royal baby no less -- they'd kick her out of the guards. Then what? Would she be the aimless ghost drifting through the castles with only a child to keep her company?

She glanced over at the bottle that remained stubbornly clear. How long was this supposed to take? Merciful Andraste, what if it took hours? Her fingers were already digging welts into her knees, any longer and she'd probably be able to get blood samples off her shins.

The very idea of living under the scrutiny of the palace, of having her entire life upended because of half of her blood mingling with the King's terrified her. And yet... He was so adorable with his children, even the baby that seemed to humor his father. Alistair was right there rocking a crying baby and on occasion changing filthy nappies. He even had a few opinions on which clothing worked best for his son based upon how cold out it was. Mittens seemed to be a special focus.

Out of any man she could accidentally find herself pregnant with, he was perhaps the best she could ever imagine. Reiss' hand wandered away from her knees, the palm cupping over her fluttering stomach as she tried to focus away from the bottle. It was foolish but she couldn't stop picturing a little boy with blonde hair, bright green eyes, and a hint of a tip to his ears, toddling along after a father that kept slowing to let the child wrap his arms around the back of his legs. She knew two things with certainty: the gentry and the noble house would despise any child she could produce and also that Alistair would adore it.

Something began to flicker within the bottle. Her eyes honed away from this rosy future to the rocky present. A color undulated through the clear liquid, impossible to tell at first but as it began to grow stronger it looked like gold flecks sprinkled into the mix. What did gold mean? Was it inconclusive or...? Gripping tighter to her legs, Reiss inched forward off the bed. The gold began to twirl, creating a vortex within the bottle. Bubbles rose and burst at the top of the neck, popping more of the lemony scent into the air as it worked whatever magic powered it.

She practically pushed her face up to the glass as she caught rising up through the middle of the vortex a small speck of color. Catching a breath in her throat, she waited until she counted one, two, five, twelve specks gaining in momentum as the entire cylinder of the vortex turned blue. There was no child. No baby. Thank the Maker.

Reiss collapsed to the ground, her face pressing into the cool stone as she cried every prayer she could think of. She'd been rescued, the problem lifted from her shoulders in an instant. No baby to draw every self assured eye to her. No child rattling the line of succession the way...the way Alistair did.

As Reiss staggered up to her knees, she spotted tears streaking down her copycat in the mirror. Wiping them away with the back of her hand, she tried to smile at the good news, but it flipped over. Unable to reach her eyes, her cheeks sunk in and a dour yellow bloomed across her skin. No, don't be foolish.

She shook it off, sliding back into the bed. She needed to heal. This was the best possible outcome, it was so obvious it was practically written across every inch of her skin. Having a child with the King of Ferelden would be a disaster for her life. Blinking, her eyes darted over to the bottle that was now half blue -- the color of a cloudless sky in summer. But, having a child with Alistair would be...

Would be what?

Snuggling deeper under her covers for warmth and something else, Reiss' hand skirted over her empty stomach. She didn't fall asleep right away, she was too busy making certain that the entire bottle turned blue. Waves like the sea washed over her vision as sleep began to knock against her. Bluer than the deepest ocean, the bottle's vision soothed her with assurances that everything would be all right, but mixed in there was a sandy blonde with eyes as green as the seagrass.

## CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

#### Wants & Needs

She hadn't told him. Alistair was happy to see her up and walking about, happier when she managed to get some broth down, and practically squealing in delight when Reiss said she could handle riding on a horse for a week. How could she puncture through that? He'd been miserable with so many deaths hanging over his head, a cloud of both vengeance and despair working together to drive him to great pains to work off his nervous energy. Instead of bothering the sick woman, he turned his emotional fervor upon the dummies in his room. Reiss could often hear through her door the sound of sword sticking into wood and slicing open canvas.

She thought about talking to him, letting him talk to her, but there were certain things the man refused to broach upon. His fear of death seemed to be a pretty big one, not that Reiss was in any mood to weight her mortality either.

It would be cruel of her to tell him that for a brief window she thought she might be carrying his child. Which, of course, assumed he'd even have wanted one from her. They hadn't known each other long, and had been intimate an even shorter amount of time. What was she doing thinking that the King would wish anything so permanent between the two of them? He'd probably find it as great of a relief as she did.

There was no reason for him to need to know.

Reiss kitted up for the first time since her illness, taking the time to hone her blade and oil up some of the joints that grew rusty, before returning to her room for the day. She knew the last of the assassins was being led to the gallows that very afternoon -- it was over. Her entire reason for standing behind the King, for sitting in on his meetings, for being let into his life, was about to be ripped from thedas. What was to come next?

"Reiss? You home?" Alistair's voice echoed through their shared door.

"Yes," she chuckled, rising off the bed and throwing open the door. "I am, but where are you?"

"In here," he said, offering no hints to where that here was. Suddenly, his blonde head stuck out through the door at the far end of the room and he waved a hand. "Come on, come on."

It was his bedroom. Reiss had seen the King naked in so many various ways and positions, lay upon him while watching the stars, felt his punch rattle through her bones, but in all the time serving him she'd never walked into his bedroom at his whim. Laying her hands against her still fluttering stomach, she crossed the threshold and took her first great stare around the room.

She'd barely looked around when he fell ill, most of her time spent pacing back and forth outside trying to not worry the floor and herself to death. Alistair was a surprising man in many respects; on top of the shelves and shelves of books -- stocked by the Hero of Ferelden perhaps -- and a few swords and shields stuck to the wall, there were trinkets of every make and type upon shelves, desks, a few even perched upon the floor as he ran out of room. While tchotchkes were a purview of the certain type of wealthy that could afford them, these were not golden antiquities designed to gain in wealth over time. Reiss spotted a hunk of wood that looked like it was plucked out of a river before someone carved a silly face into it. That shared the exact same spot next to a mechanical wonder box where a metal boat rowed upon undulating waves of silver.

Every inch of his room was incomprehensible, nonsensical, and all Alistair. Things without any value were treasured more than the most priceless gem. Reiss laughed at the idea, knowing where she fell in that ranking according to the world.

He turned at that, breaking away from a chest cracked open on his bed. "Sorry, I was getting into the packing zone as it were and didn't hear you come in."

"Packing zone?" she asked, rising up on her toes to try and glance inside the chest. Reiss was surprised it was nothing but clothing. She'd figured on a few of those golem dolls making it inside.

"You know: what do I need? Will it be cold? Will it be warm? Will there be swimming? Should I fear an attack of bears? Always plan for bears, they could be anywhere. Even sitting at your breakfast table sharing a bowl of oatmeal with you."

Reiss cracked up at the certainty in his words. "I shall remember that, though I do intend to bring this," she knocked at the hilt of her sword, "so that should help with any bears attempting to swipe my morning porridge."

"They're sneaky, never know when a bear might suddenly pop up sitting in your favorite chair." Abandoning his packing, Alistair slid a hand around Reiss' waist. He didn't even pause at the cold metal.

Letting herself be tugged into his arms, she gripped onto him and said, "What about when they wind up in your bed? That's the worst of them all."

"Nah, you never get bears in bed. That's too civilized for them. They all lay flat on the ground and pretend to be rugs. So when you're sneaking across one for a midnight snack BAM! Rise up and bite your foot clean off."

"You've put a lot of thought into this."

"A lot of living you mean. Never gonna get caught unaware by another sneaky bear ever again," he sounded so sincere it almost caught Reiss, but then she spotted that ornery grin and with a foolish smile upon her own mouth, bounced a shoulder into him. Chuckling, Alistair placed his lips to her forehead for a quick kiss. "You've cooled down a lot."

"Is that so?" Reiss asked, rising up on her toes to nuzzle deep into him. With a soft peck of her lips, she darted kisses up and down the sides of his neck. Grief plus stomach flu put a damper on her libido that was now begging to be unleashed.

Alistair stumbled at her growing affection, his mouth flapping and teeth chattering as he hung in shock a moment. She moved to free herself, when his mind seemed to have snapped back into his body. Alistair tugged her close for a kiss. Simple and succinct at first, as her fingers dug through his finery to find the muscles flexing below, his lips parted open. An ache echoed up her healing stomach that had nothing to do with her illness. She hungered for him, to have his touch be more than a comforting caress. It could be so much better.

Popping away, Alistair began to chuckle in his uncertain but happy mode, "I'm getting the impression you're feeling much better."

"Mm, you could say that," Reiss clung closer, her fingers skirting under the hem of his shirt.

"Good," he bumped his forehead into her like a clumsy dog, but didn't race to make good on her half offer. "Because we should have plenty of, uh, free time to ourselves at the lodge."

"Free time?" Reiss crinkled her nose in confusion, which drew a sigh to Alistair. Unable to help himself, he pecked a kiss at the side of her broken nose, the man truly enjoying whatever wrinkles occurred because of it.

"You know, free time. A chance to arrange our luggage by color, or inspect the linen count on the beds, or try to mimic every pose in the Love of War book," Alistair's voice skipped up and down, his eyes darting around the room to land upon this supposed book.

It was a crimson cover, which meant it probably wasn't meant to be a proper technical manual for -- well, depended upon what one considered technical. She felt the blush deepen on her cheeks at how adorably he skipped around voicing the hope that there'd be a lot of sex on their vacation. Sex. Right. A dread dropped back in her gut, but Reiss tried to shake it off. She had to ask or the worry would burn through the marrow of her bones.

"About that, um, I was thinking or wondering if perhaps we should use some special timing to prevent any accidents."

Her true meaning obviously missed the mark, as Alistair shrugged, "There won't be anyone for miles to worry about. People go out of their way to avoid me on hunting trips. It's rather nice actually. I don't know why I don't go more often."

"No, it...that's not what I meant. I..." Reiss bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet, trying to get the words out. It should be simple, 'I don't want to be pregnant.' But as he beamed his puppy dog eyes upon her, she felt herself falling deeper inside, her inner voice scurrying in fear that she was going to say something wrong.

Staggering away from him, Alistair's smile froze and he held his hands open. Reiss began to pace back and forth while arguing in her head. Silence decimated the easy atmosphere, dragging his hands down until they dangled limply at his side. "Reiss?"

His plea of her name froze her in place. Screwing her eyes up tight, she spat out quickly, "I thought I was pregnant."

Nary a peep echoed from Alistair at her revelation. Popping open an eye, she watched him standing stock still staring at her. "But I'm not. It was my illness, the healer seemed to think it could be a pregnancy but it wasn't. Yet I took the test because I wasn't certain and I keep thinking that...that I should, um...we."

A soft chuckle broke from Alistair and he fluffed up his hair, "Is that all? It's no problem."

"What?!" she rounded on him, every anxiety induced second honing her anger to a diamond edge. "What do you mean no problem? A child would be...it's not as if it'd be your body carrying it. Or, I mean, we'd be stuck together forever because of a baby and..."

Alistair frowned at her last sentence, his eyes flaring, "Would it be so bad to be stuck with me like that?"

"No," Reiss shouted, a strange certainty gripping her tongue, before she backed down to a whimper, "I don't know. I mean, we barely know each other and a child, with me..." She felt tears trying to burn in her eyes and snapped her lids tight to stop them. "Where would I even go? None of your advisors or chancellors, nor anyone in the alienage would suffer a half-elven bastard."

"Joke's on them," Alistair whispered to himself. The cavalier attitude rubbed her raw, Reiss shirking back at him. His life wouldn't be little more than inconvenienced to acknowledge another child while hers would be forever changed, perhaps even destroyed and he didn't seem to give one shit for it.

Reading that something was wrong in the air, Alistair shook his head and tried to scrub his face, "Look, I'm not saying the idea wouldn't be a problem in the abstract way. I just mean it's not an issue because if you did get pregnant it wouldn't be because of me."

"What?!" growled out of Reiss' throat. Was he really saying that it was even worse than she feared? That he'd abandon her, refuse to claim the child of his own in order to avoid the stigma of having little bastards running around? He'd turn his back on one of his own children, no doubt sentencing him or her to a life on the streets? Raw fire licked up her throat, the rage bursting with an unquenchable fear at the heart. She thought he was better than that.

"That isn't..." he slapped his hands together and began to pace back and forth. "I didn't mean it like that. It's that, look..." Alistair worried his fingers through his hair and in a broken voice whispered, "I can't have children."

"You have two," she sneered, "one of whom is barely four months on the ground."

At that Alistair reared back, her truth striking him hard. Was he really under the delusion that he could make himself sterile at will? Or was he once again refusing any responsibility without flat out admitting it? Maker, were there other women who'd birthed his bastards that he turned away? Reiss felt as if someone kept yanking fresh rugs out from under her.

Drifting away from her burning eyes, Alistair pinched into the bridge of his nose and began to sway as if he was trying to console himself. "They are my kids," he said, his words punctuated by slow breaths, "but..." Alistair swallowed deep, but didn't look at her. "I am incapable of creating children and have been for years and years. It's part of being a Grey Warden."

No. That couldn't be right. He...it was a trick, or... Reiss' sneering paused at the stricken look marring his cheeks. They dangled off his cheekbones like wet sheets on the line, a frown dragging them further downward. "I don't understand. Are you telling me the princess and prince are not yours?"

"They are my children!" he shouted at the air, his hand smacking into the palm to emphasize it. Reiss felt her body want to cower, but she held her place. She had to. "Heart and soul mine. Heirs to the throne, carry the name..." His thunder rolled away and he wilted a moment, "just not the same blood."

"The Brother," Reiss meant to whisper to herself, but the King snorted once at it. People were quick to notice the Queen's affections for a certain man almost always in her circle, and the rumors grew more rampant after Cailan opened those big blue eyes of his. Blue eyes that neither the King nor Queen possessed, but the friendly Brother always at Beatrice's side shared with her newest babe. "Cailan I can see, but your daughter..."

Alistair didn't speak but he nodded softly.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it's none of your business," he rose up from glaring at the ground, the thunder ringing in his words. "It's none of anyone's business but mine, and..."

"Your wife's," Reiss cut back at him with. Sweet Maker, if he really wasn't their father then had he and the Queen ever been together?

"I won't let anyone hurt my daughter or son," Alistair rose up higher in his shoes, his imposing frame filling the room. It quickly reminded Reiss how much smaller she was in comparison. "Not her future, nor the Maker damn succession to the throne. She is mine, my child, and no one can alter that fact!"

Reiss let his shout finish ringing in his room, the echo pinging off the swords and shields left to rot upon the walls. After a moment, she pursed her lips and softly nodded her head. Alistair deflated at her agreeing to keep the secret. It wasn't as if she was in some lofted position where anyone would believe her anyway.

"You should have told me," she whispered. The tremor in her gut was building, threatening to tear apart and spill forth all the demons she kept swallowing back. So many worries Reiss didn't even notice festered inside her.

"It never mattered before," Alistair resumed pacing. "Before my children, the women didn't...they never asked. They could take care of it themselves if they wanted and I..." Groaning, he scrubbed his face, "I keep forgetting you're not a mage."

"Do you wish I was?" Reiss couldn't bite down the wobble in her voice.

"What? No, Maker's sake."

"A mage, just like all the other mages before, to play with and then cast aside," the tears started and she felt the tarp over her fears tear open. Every worry, every doubt burst through the hole crashing up her throat.

"That isn't what happened," Alistair jabbed at the air. "I'm not like that. Maker's breath, I thought you knew me better than that."

"How can I when you won't tell me things? About you? About me? Our future? No," Reiss tried to stem the tears with her hands, the cold metal of the gloves pressing against her cheekbones. "No children, no possibility of marriage, not even letting it out in the open. Nothing but secret meetings behind locked doors and stolen moments. That's the only possibility with you. Forever."

"What do you want from me?" Alistair shrieked, his voice scratching in agony. "I'm trapped under this damn crown, okay. If I could get out I would, but I can't, ever."

"You wouldn't even try for the Hero of Ferelden," Reiss shuddered, the woman's words finally bursting to understanding behind her eyes. She would have to fight every day for him, for his attention, for a place in his life, and... A whimper rolled up her throat at the exhaustion from it all.

Alistair cracked at her words, his anger breaking in half and tumbling away to leave behind a tremble in his lip. "This is different, what we have is different."

"How?"

"I'm blighted trying!" Alistair shouted. "Fine, I didn't tell you about the kid thing, I'm sorry. I was too busy thinking of protecting my children first."

Reiss winced at that, understanding his thinking but unable to shake off the feeling of betrayal festering under her skin. He should have told her, or at least thought of her and offered up ways to combat pregnancy beyond knowing he was sterile.

"But I don't want to lose you," Alistair grabbed onto her hand and almost dropped to a knee to beg. "It's why I made certain you had a job here, so you'd be close and..."

"Available."

"That isn't what I meant," he growled while also groveling, always quick to defend his honor.

Reiss shook her head, a million thoughts stinging her mind like hornets. Her heart beat erratically, the blood rushing through her ears while a single though rang in her head. "I...I can't do this. I thought I could, but..."

"Reiss," he begged, both hands clinging tight to hers while his eyes tried to find her.

She could see her future with him, the true one without romance's rosy glasses getting in the way. There'd be no certainty, no children, only whispered promises as ethereal as a soap bubble. Even her job depended fully upon the King's whims, Reiss already well aware of the Commander's opinion of her. He still called her Corporal to her face. The second she displeased Alistair, she'd lose everything: her job, her home, him. But this wouldn't even be a home, with every person too afraid to either befriend or despise her. Reiss would be a ghost drifting through the halls, touching no one and nothing save the King.

"I thought I was strong enough," she whimpered, wishing her words could make it so. That somehow steel would pour through her spine, shoring her steps to shake off any fears she'd have from Cade, and harden her heart to the loneliness of a life without friends or even acquaintances. She'd survived it before, for years, but that wasn't living. Even with him in her life, Reiss would wither away, only instinct and routine carrying her onward to death.

She tried to tug her hands out of his, but Alistair seemed frozen, his eyes staring through her. At her movement, he focused anew upon her face and swallowed hard, "Please, please don't do this. Don't leave me. Not now, not after..."

Tears dripped down her eyes, even as she tried to suck them back into place. Crying wasn't helping, but she couldn't stop. Her heart was banging against its cage, begging to take back everything she said and fall into his arms. But her brain turned away from it, knowing that this was the only answer.

Alistair's eyes burned red, his skin paling whiter than snow as he watched her grow more set in her decision. "Reiss, I don't want to lose you."

Her legs wobbled below her, the tremors knocking her about as she tried to mentally distance herself, "I'm certain that in time..."

"Maker's sake, I love you!" he shouted, a single sob punctuating the sentence.

"No," her hands slipped out of his, Alistair coming undone from his own confession. "It's not..." She shook away his words, certain that they were nothing more than a desperate cry from a man not getting his way. "I can't do it. I wish I could, but I'm not right for you."

"Just like that?" he clung to himself while trying to hang on to the threads between them Reiss shredded apart. "After everything I've, everything we..."

She should say something, explain how the world wouldn't understand, wouldn't ever let them be, but her throat constricted tight. Too many sobs were crowding out her words. Tears welled up, ready to burst free and all Reiss could do was slowly nod her head. Before Alistair could reach out and beg again, let his earnest charms win her over to him until Reiss became a shell of herself, she fled out of his room to her own. The tears burst free from her eyes, already streaming down her cheeks.

Behind her she heard Alistair collapse to a knee and hiss, "Maker damn it all!"

Slamming the door behind her, Reiss fumbled for the key in her pocket and for the first time locked it between them. Not because of what he would do, but fearing that her heart would drag her back to him. After testing the latch, the keys scattered from her fingers and she plummeted to her ass. Fingers tried to cover up the tears that may never stop pouring from the wound in her soul. Rocking back and forth, Reiss tried to cling to her single shred of sanity.

Through the door she could hear Alistair moaning. In a voice to match him, she whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

## CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

#### Misery

People were quick to notice two things about their King: that his bodyguard was no longer hovering close to his elbow, and that asking him about it was liable to get them thrown into the dungeon. Alistair insisted he was only kidding the first time, but no one was willing to test just how far his kidding would stretch before snapping. The throbbing jaw from gritted teeth and eyes that looked as if he spent the night drinking were enough of a hint.

He tried sleeping that night, but staying in his room so close to her only made him want to rip apart every dummy in the castle with his bare hands. Instead, the King paced up and down through his battlements while dressed in a long white robe he "borrowed" out of a laundry basket when it grew cold. Unbeknownst to Alistair, more than a few whispers grew that night that King Maric was haunting their very halls. Probably looking for revenge for his murder, as all ghost Kings did. Alistair never stopped long enough to hear anything, to see anything, he feared that if he stopped moving he'd start thinking and then crying, and never stop.

By dawn's light, a few of the servants -- while pumping out the well -- stumbled across their King half jammed inside the stable window while he spoke to the horses. He was a mess, the stubble that gave him more of a cavalier look was brittle as grass after a flash frost, and nearly as white. The bags under his eyes went and bought themselves an entire castle's worth of furniture just to put in storage, and the less said about the hue of his putrid skin the better. A few even threatened to send for a healer which Alistair responded to by saying he'd get changed and maybe shave for once.

Charles did his best, but there wasn't much saving a man who had his heart crushed inside his chest. It was rather impressive Alistair was even upright. His mind kept tricking over the stupidest thing it could find. From the hours of 2 in the morning until four or whenever the Sister's sang, he kept trying to remember the exact lyrics to a bawdy dwarven pub tune Oghren tried to teach him. It was in dwarven, which Alistair didn't know, and apparently full of double entendres. The task took nearly all of his brain power and he dug elbows into it, doing his best to not think of...

A vase of daises sat perched upon the table beside the window. How did he not see them when he walked in? Alistair plucked up one of the flowers, its yellow color fading to a dull red-orange as time came for them. His fingers dusted over the fragile petals, stricken by the urge to rip each one off the stem, but...

Returning the flower back to its vase, he groaned, his head falling to his chest. His hollow, ransacked, stomped and spat on chest. It'd never hurt this bad before, not with the other mages. Most of them either drifted away, a few were legendary shouting matches with Alistair trying to come up with even more outlandish things to finally get her to go away. But with each he'd feel a moment of loss, a pang of regret, and then move on after drinking heavy for a night.

All he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and never come out. But he couldn't do that, because there was an entire country wanting his attention and a full castle that knew nothing about how badly he fell for his bodyguard. He had to finish this, the right way. She'd blindsided him yesterday, leaving Alistair stuttering in his room alone and trying to scrape his brains off the floor. After adjusting the knots along his biceps, he nodded to the broken man in the mirror. Just one more talk. Despite his best efforts to drown it out, hope circled his legs like the minnows in a stream. Maybe if they were lucky, food would fall from the sky. And maybe, if he was lucky, Reiss would realize that she didn't want to turn her back on him, on everything he offered to her.

Alistair was never lucky.

Raising his fist, he got one solid knock on their shared door before it crumpled against the wood. Maker's sake, what was he doing? How could he do this? He was going to just waltz in there and let her go with his heart as if it was a matter of signing off on some paperwork. Shouldn't he fight or at least argue that she was wrong, that he deserved another chance to...to do what? What did he even do wrong?

When the latch drew across the door, Alistair leaped backwards. It opened a sliver, revealing one of Reiss' eyes, bloodshot and hunting through him.

Every resolve inside his body died a quick death. "I...we need to talk."

He anticipated an argument, for her to state that she'd finished what she had to and slam the door in his face, but she nodded her head and slowly drew the door back. Alistair stood in his room, warily eyeing up the one refuge that they'd been free to hold each other, to talk to each other, to be with each other. Its once welcoming warmth warped to a sickness knotting his stomach with visions of what could have been.

"You can come in," Reiss' voice scratched across his ears, the words barely forming through the gravel.

Like a skittish rabbit, Alistair slunk into the room they shared. He noticed the bed looked as if no one had slept in it, a pile of blankets strewn across the ground instead. "I...I'm setting out for the Hinterlands today."

"Right," Reiss grimaced, "I forgot."

"If you..." He couldn't look at her. He was so mad at her for breaking his heart he wanted to rage and growl, but seeing her in pain overrode all that anger and he just wanted to comfort her. As if he could ever hope to do it again. Shaking off the thought, Alistair gripped his hands tight to his back and tried to stand up higher, "If you intend to leave then you will have to go through Karelle."

She didn't look at him, her eyes burning a hole through the ugly braided rug. At first her head shook, as if she was about to disagree with his words, but a breath pushed a single, "Okay," through her lips.

Andraste, he'd never get to kiss those lips again.

"She will walk you through untangling any remaining...ties you have and will handle any remaining pay necessary." Maker, every word stung him like he was breathing in fire. Alistair didn't cry, he never did when he was with people. But alone, when no one could hear or see, he collapsed into a heap groaning on the floor. Black and blue bruises coated his bony kneecaps, which Charles was kind enough to not mention.

Reiss nodded, perhaps she'd already made arrangements with Karelle and was on her way out. It was doubtful he could add anything to her life anymore aside from a lingering grief. After a moment, she lifted her head and those summery eyes he wanted to lose himself forever in focused upon him. "I..."

"Please," Alistair gasped, the control fleeing from him in an instant. "Please don't. I can't, anything else, anything more will..." A forced snicker broke up his words, "You can only kick a man when he's down so many times before you start making tartar with your boot."

She flinched at his assessment and maybe he should feel bad for it, but it was accurate. Alistair's entire body felt like it'd been beaten and mashed until he was nothing but meat goo. "I will not be around for your departure, so officially I thank you for your assistance and devotion to the duty you performed by the job of guarding the duty to the crown." He'd been working on what to say to her all morning, but the words jumbled in his brain until he was spitting them out at random, duty crowding out his tongue as the word haunted him like a vengeful wraith.

Reiss didn't speak, only nodded her head. It looked like her neck was replaced by a spring and the breeze kept bouncing her head back and forth. There was no conscious movement to it, only a need to do something.

"Right," Alistair spun on his heel and marched to the door. Should he say goodbye? Would it matter if he didn't? It was growing more doubtful in his gut that she ever cared for him the way he did for her. The way he loved her. Grabbing onto the door that was about to be locked for good because no one would need it, no smiling face would light up his heart when he opened it, Alistair paused.

His fingernails dug into the wood, gouging deeper as the finality rattled in his soul. He'd been prepared to do anything he could for her, to fight for her, to stand up to Eamon, or Cade, or anyone else that thought an elven lover to the King was unseemly. He didn't care, he loved her.

"What did I do wrong?" Alistair whispered to himself. He didn't realize it was aloud until Reiss' gasp whipped his head back to her.

She looked as broken as he felt, her ear bleeding again. Alistair couldn't even save her from those awful helmets. No wonder she turned her back on him. Digging her fingers into her cheeks, Reiss rocked her body up and down on her heels. He should leave, let her be. She made her choice and there was no changing it. Accepting that this was the end, Alistair slid across the threshold and began to close the door.

"It wasn't you."

Reiss' cry froze his body, his eyes glaring a hole through the doorframe while his ears begged for her to save them. But he wasn't the kind of person who was afforded miracles. "It's not you, it's..." she pointed towards the top of his head.

The crown. The one thing he could never get away from. What took Lanny from him. What kept him forever chained to this life of people pretending he was important. What was now taking Reiss too. Blinking madly from tears bubbling in his eyes, Alistair shut the door and didn't turn back. He couldn't change who he was, even if he wanted to burn all the royal blood coursing through his bastard veins and never look back.

Broken and dumbstruck, Alistair nodded dumbly as Cade intercepted his little cavalcade heading to the Hinterlands. The Commander was the first to ask the King point blank where Reiss was.

"She's decided to return to her post in the City Watch," Alistair didn't entirely lie.

Cade eyed him up, no doubt expecting the King to crack into blubbering tears, but there was no water left in his body to cry out. "Good," he summarized, "but you should have someone at your side."

"In case of what? The assassins are dead. I was there, watched it. Made a thumb's down, or across the throat, or stuck it in a pie. Whatever I was supposed to do."

"There is still the matter of transferring power, the bodyguard handled some of your day to day duties that will need to be..."

"Fine," Alistair interrupted, "I don't care. Send whoever you think I need. The walking bear, right? Brant?"

Unable to muster a fight for anything, Alistair let Brunt slide in behind him. At least the man didn't talk, which kept the usually boisterous King from having to explain why he wasn't in the mood to play any traveling games. Few traveled with him to the Hinterlands, and the ones forming the caravan began to break away the further west they went.

By the fifth day, Alistair finally arrived to Teagan's welcoming handshake. His uncle didn't comment on the dour turn still haunting Alistair's gait, he was too busy welcoming all the rest of the entourage that always followed a King. Maker's sake, how did he wind up with so damn many people trailing behind him, ready to pick up anything he may accidentally drop or wipe the soup from his chin? He was a grown man, he'd suffered worse as a child.

All Alistair wanted was to be left alone and...

He stood gazing out one of the windows in the hunting lodge. It was bigger than he remembered, far better furnished too for being meant to hold nothing but deer carcasses and filthy hunters rolling in from the woods. Fires burned in the stone hearths surrounded on all sides by the bookcases Teagan preferred to sitting outside in the rain hunting for stag. Alistair heard his wife was the same, the two of them often inviting dignitaries to their lodge and letting them have free run of the land while they stayed behind to...

The ache never really left him, but it'd often flare up like his knee in the rain. It struck worst when they rode past a field brimming with wildflowers, their golden petals leaning to the sun for love. He wanted to kick himself for being in so much pain, it was foolish. They'd only known each other for a few months. How did he fall so hard so fast?

"What are you watching for, your Highness?"

"Teagan, we're nowhere near Denerim, the Landsmeet chambers, or Eamon. I think you can drop all the fancy pants titles for the time being."

He paused, a cup of tea in his fingers as he stepped beside his sort-of nephew. "You're right, Alistair."

"Huh, I haven't heard that in a few years," Alistair grumbled to himself. Folding his arms, he stared out across the afternoon lands. By the window he could watch the road leading up to the lodge, but what drew his attention was the horizon. Trees obscured nearly everything beyond a few hundred feet, yet he could spot smoke circling through the air.

"You can't see it from this distance," Teagan said before taking a slow sip of the herbal tea.

"See what?" Alistair blinked, happy to focus on anything but the gaping wound in his chest.

Teagan didn't answer him. Instead, he place the cup back onto a saucer. Maker's sake, only Arl Teagan would have porcelain saucers in a hunting lodge. He was proper without being a right tit about it, and would have made a far better King than the one Ferelden was stuck with. Anyone else would. Shit, stick the crown on a nug, draw a small beard on him, plop on a blonde wig, and call it good. Your new King.

After placing a hand to the window, Teagan whispered, "It's about a two to three hour ride to the abbey from here."

He'd wondered if that was what the smoke was, but not at this distance. Probably someone's small shack they set on fire to celebrate the feast of burning down your home, or a pyre to purge the last of a dead animal's carcass. Or any number of things within easy reach that wouldn't do a thing to soothe Alistair's perforated soul.

"I wish I could..." Alistair wanted to talk to her, to see her, to spend time with the one person in Ferelden he was never King with. But that was impossible. Dragging so many of his handlers into her abby would only invite questions and suspicion. He was selfish, but not that selfish. "Too bad I've got damn near enough people following my every move we could host our own miracle play."

Teagan yanked off his hat a moment and wiped at the nearly smooth bald head. Either the last of his hair gave in, or he took Alistair's advice to give up on fighting it. "There is a horse saddled and ready on the grounds," he whispered.

Alistair turned to him, his eyebrows practically meeting in the middle in confusion. "Okay?"

Smiling through the reflection on the window, Teagan focused out on the horizon, "I believe I can distract your entourage for an hour, which should be enough time you can give the slip."

"Wait, really? What about the body...the bear assigned to me?" Alistair dropped his voice, aware that Brunt was standing outside the door glaring. Not at anything in particular, he just seemed to really love glaring.

Teagan chuckled, "Give me some faith, your Majesty."

"I dunno, I mean there's a good chance Brunt can't even speak our language, and maybe ate a few campers on the way here," Alistair hopped back and forth on his shoes, hope rising in his stomach despite his dour words. He wanted nothing more than to ride as far from everyone as possible.

Placing down the teacup, Teagan turned from the window. He paused a moment and patted his nephew on the shoulder, "When you see her, give her my love."

A smile lifted up Alistair's lips, "I always do."

Teagan didn't take long to pull Brunt away from his half-assed post, inquiring of the man about his life and learning more about him in a ten second conversation than Alistair had in months. Once the man-bear broke away, Alistair was able to slip quickly down the stairs and out the door. No one even blinked an eye at the King boldly tugging on the reins of a horse, leading it to the road, mounting up, and riding fast towards the west.

By the time he turned down the barely evident path that led up to the abbey, Alistair felt slightly giddy. The entire trip he feared Brunt and a pack of dogs rushing into the forest to dredge up their wayward King, but there wasn't another soul on the road that day. Only a handful of hawks scattered the air on the hunt for dinner. It seemed either they were all entranced by the always charming Arl, or had no cares to give about a King that was suddenly playing hide and seek by himself.

The last time he'd been to the abbey was over a year ago, for that damn wedding. Well, it hadn't been all bad. He did get to watch Leliana outdrink the Champion of Kirkwall, which surprised everyone but the smirking dwarf. And she was happy, at least. Tugging back on the reins, Alistair slowed his horse to barely a trot as hooves churned up the muddy grass. He had to duck down a bit to avoid the recently repaired stone archway. There must have been a gate for it as well, but either it too was one of those things they'd add later or in trying to be welcoming to everyone, she had it removed.

It was a beautiful abbey. One of those older styles from before the Orlesian occupation when a bunch of introverted sisters sick and tired of having to deal with people trekked up into the hills and made their own refuge. Time and war tried to break apart the building, but the foundation was true Ferelden -- solid all the way to the heart of the earth. In the right hands, its hidden beauty returned.

"Excuse me," a voice perked up from below Alistair. He was quick to dismount off the saddle and wandered stiff legged around in circles while tying to shake off the cramped muscles. The black and white horse snorted at the indignation of her rider spinning pointlessly while tugging on the reins in his fingers.

"Do you have an appointment to be here?" the voice continued, a harried man in what looked like bastardized chantry robes stomping towards him.

Alistair paused in his circling to shrug, "Probably not, but I know the owner."

That didn't impress the man, who folded his hands up those giant sleeves and humphed, "Most claim to know the Commander."

Alistair flinched. "Not that one. The better one." This man must not have recognized him a lick as he huffed at such indignation to the beloved once Commander for the Inquisition forces. A brief thought flitted through Alistair's mind that he may wind up getting kicked out if he wasn't careful. The man seemed to be thinking the same as he moved to push the horse into Alistair.

"Maker's breath, you were the last person I expected to find standing on my doorstep today. What are you doing here?"

The cheeky smile he'd taped on for the ride vanished into a heartfelt one as Alistair turned to find that voice. Lanny stood with one hand on her hip, the other curled around a box of bottles. She'd tied a towel through her hair, the black locks spilling out of it no matter how hard she tried. Tinges of green dotted along her fingers and dusted the nose -- probably from another one of her mage experiments gone awry. Or she took up painting in her old age.

"Being told to leave by..." Alistair turned away from her a moment to glance down at the man, "Sorry, didn't get your name."

"It's, uh..." his eyes widened as they skipped over to the woman who ran this abbey and back to the seeming interloper. "Ma'am, I wasn't about to. I didn't realize that he...he came without warning."

Lanny waved a hand as she passed him her box, "Don't worry about it, Thomas. He has a way of showing up unexpectedly. Take these to the potion room, please."

"Of course," Thomas bowed deeply to her before scurrying away leaving Lanny and Alistair alone in the courtyard save the snorting horse.

"Ali? How are you here, without anyone else trailing behind you?" she glanced through the gate, no doubt expecting his usual train to come galloping through.

"It's, uh..." Alistair shrugged, the weight of his coming crashing down upon him. The easy smile cracked away, revealing the heart break he'd barely bothered to disguise. "Kind of a long story. Did I come at a bad time? I can always try again later." He almost wanted to leap back on his horse and keep riding west, through the Frostbacks, past Orlais, back into the Anderfells and beyond thedas itself. Leave every damn thing behind, the pain couldn't hurt if he had nothing to remind him of her.

Lanny's warm eyes canvassed across him, her fingers almost touching his. Even at the opportunity, Alistair didn't look up, he felt like someone jabbed barbed hooks into his heart then tethered it down into his shoes. Nodding, Lanny hobbled over to one of dozen stacks of crates. The abbey was littered with them for whatever reason. She picked up an empty one and then her cane.

"Amber," Lanny waved to a girl barely over fifteen slipping in and out of one of the rooms on the ground floor. She squeaked and raced over to her mistress. "Take the...our visitor's horse here, dry it off and bed it down. I'm going to go pick some more elfroot for our stores."

"Yes, ma'am," Amber lifted the hem of her apron and curtsied. With a smile only a girl who loves horses could have, she tugged upon the bridle and began to coo to the one Alistair rode hard to freedom.

Lanny stuck out her elbow and watched Alistair shifting painfully back and forth on his uncertain feet. Her eyes traveled across every inch of his face, no doubt finding all the pain he'd been digging graves for when anyone looked. Waving her hand, she commanded, "Shall we?"

At her urging, he was quick to take it and help guide her out of the abbey and into the woods beyond it. Lanny took charge, as she always did when with him, as she always should. Alistair was grateful for the few moments when he wasn't the one anyone was looking to. They didn't wander too far, the woman on his arm not saying a word until she stopped in a small copse of trees and placed the box on the ground.

He suspected the elfroot was a ruse, until she bent down and yanked upon that far too familiar plant and dropped leaves into the box. Not wanting to feel totally useless, Alistair grabbed onto a tuft himself and yanked a few free. They passed the time, slowly blanketing the bottom of the box in the old herb and speaking not a word. What could he really say to her anyway?

Look at that, Alistair's back on your doorstep with his heart ripped open needing the healing only you're capable of. It was an accident the first time, the King needing to visit the Vigil. He'd meant to keep it to himself, Lanny was still barely talking to him at the time. But then he found a bottle of something that should have been labeled with a skull and crossbones and his tongue spilled all the beans. She should have thrown him out for it, for dragging his latest love affair gone bottoms up below her nose, but she didn't. Sweet Lanny was always there for him with a shoulder and a few "I told you so's," which she rightly deserved.

"Are you ready to talk?" she said, shaking Alistair from his dour turn.

"Me? What? I..." he folded in an instant from the perch he'd maintained. Nearly a week and no one got him to open up and admit what happened, they couldn't even get him to say her name. Most gave up hope, or didn't bother to care to plunge into Alistair's icy depths, but Lanny was always different.

She folded her hands and staggered upright. The cane she was never far from rested against her leg but she put no weight on it. "You show up on my doorstep without any warning and...alone." Her voice dropped low and for a moment her fingers skirted over his arm, "What happened?"

"I don't know," Alistair gasped out. He couldn't look at her, rather doubted he could look at any woman ever again for fear that his eyeballs would melt from his skull. Shutting his eyes tight, he let loose every thought that'd been beating tiny fists against his brain.

"One minute things were fine, better than fine for the first time in so Maker damn long and the next..." The back of his eyes boiled, trying to release the tears but he wouldn't let it happen. He kept shaking his head to cram all the emotions back down into a single knot in his stomach. That was the healthy thing to do.

A soft hand caressed up and down his bicep, tugging Alistair right into Lanny's eyes. She had the kind of bottomless irises that sucked a person deep in and never let go. For being the slayer of so many darkspawn she was a comfort to him, one he didn't realize he needed until she entered his life.

"I tried, Lanny, I really did. I wanted it to work, I..." still did. Reiss gave no hint that she would give him a second chance, or another opportunity but that damn scar tissue he called a heart foolishly clung to hope. "Gah!" Alistair slipped out of her careful grip and began to pace back and forth through the clearing.

"It was supposed to be different this time," he growled. His tongue wanted to list every one of Reiss' sins, to place all the blame upon her shoulders for breaking his heart. When his foot cracked on a stick, Alistair slowed to a crawl, "It was different this time."

"Ali..."

Lanny's soft voice rattled him and when he glanced up at her he started to find tears streaking down his cheeks. The sight of him breaking down that bad caused her eyes to widen, but she didn't move as if he terrified her the way a wild animal would. Scowling, Alistair wiped at his cheeks and eyes, trying to hide away the evidence. "Things were good, we caught the assassins, she was going to join the royal guards, and then...I don't know. Somehow I messed everything up..."

"How?"

He should have told her. Not just about the grey warden curse, but how hard he fell for her. Alistair was scared of telling her the truth and having her laugh it off or worse, but also of him being that far gone. There were few in his life he'd ever truly let into his heart, and... He glanced over at Lanny and his tongue ran dry. So many of them kept disappearing from his life.

"By being an idiot," he muttered to himself. It didn't matter, none of it did. He failed, again. Maker, damn it all!

"I'm sorry," Lanny whispered, her hands folded together. She'd often said it to him before, after every one of his affairs had gone belly up and the news reached her one way or the other. It was usually spoken with varying degrees of sarcasm, but this time she radiated sincerity.

At his look of shock, she added, "I'd had hopes that...you two seemed to fit well."

"Really?" Alistair snorted, the full hilarity of the situation landing upon him. "What about King and elf guard seems to work together? Sounds more like trying to stick two pieces together from separate puzzles."

Lanny sighed at his obstinance, her fingers tugging off the sack in her hair. Sure enough, those eternal spirals bounded free, most of them reaching nearly to her back. He hadn't seen it this long in years. Not since...

Alistair closed his eyes as a memory washed over him, "Do you remember what you told me after Marta?"

She pursed her lips in thought, and some bitterness, "Was that the tall redhead?"

"No, she was short," he paused and readjusted for the tiny woman before him, "shorter than me and with olive skin. It doesn't matter. You were in Denerim on Warden business and happened to be in the blast range of an argument." A chuckle rumbled in his chest at the memory of so many servants scattering whenever Marta took a deep breath before her impressive string of curses launched free. She was a very disciplined mage with the mouth of a pirate.

"I," Lanny tapped her foot at the toe, a clear sign she wasn't happy tripping this far down memory lane with him, "you had a lot of paramours."

"Not that many," Alistair shot back with.

That earned him an eye roll, "Enough for the days of the week, forgive me for not remembering each moment with them."

"It, I was thinking about how after that screaming match you walked past, demanded whatever it was the Wardens needed and were about to walk out. You were so not you back then, short hair, spine of steel, when you wore that metal armor overtop the robes to seem more Commandery."

"Ugh," Lanny rubbed a hand on the top of her chest, "that stuff pinched terribly. I do not miss it."

"Anyway, at the door you say in a soft voice, 'She's trying to get you to hate her. Give her what she wants and cut it free before everyone goes deaf.' Which I did, took me a few more days to work up the courage but you were right, as always. Marta practically skipped the entire way back to Kinloch."

Lanny winced either at her unkind words or at how accurate they were. "Ali, why are you telling me this?"

"It was easy for me to go along with things, to nod when I was supposed to, smile when ordered, love what," he grimaced at how he'd put up and even encouraged that damn betting pool about him, "everyone expected of me. I stopped fighting for anything because nothing mattered, life was easiest without rocking the boat."

"Maker's breath," Lanny gasped, a hand covering her lips, "you love her."

"That..." he wanted to deny it, afraid that letting such a fragile thing out into the world would destroy it even more, but he couldn't lie to Lanny. "Can't be love, right? It'd be love-d, past tense and all."

"Ali," she reached forward, her hands reaching over his shoulders to tug him to her for a hug. He didn't lift his, too scared of what to do, but he was grateful to her for trying. His head thudded against her shoulder, Alistair's knees bent to close the distance.

It'd been so long since she'd hugged him this tight, the phantom of their past always crowding him out until now. But even as he picked up one limp hand to grip onto her upper back, he wished it was someone else clinging to him. Someone taller, with eyes the color of the forest by summer's height and a crinkled nose with a bump on the top. A gasp rattled in his throat as he dug his fingers in tighter, trying to bury another round of tears into her shoulder.

Lanny rocked back and forth on her toes and whispered, "You don't stop loving someone just because you can't be together."

He chuckled at her statement of fact, "Ten years and you'd think I'd remember that. I didn't hide any of my life. I know it's a lot; kids, a wife, an entire country breathing down my neck but..." Alistair added his other hand to fully close off the hug and blubbered against the strap of her dress, "Blessed Andraste I really thought it would work, that she'd want me in spite of...no, of course not. Never. I'm so bad at this."

She didn't say anything, just let him whimper against her while cupping her hands against the back of his neck. Somehow the woman whose heart he crushed was probably the only person in thedas to know what he was going through. He'd turned his back on her, on what future they'd hoped for because he was too afraid of what his life would be like with her. Every day having to defend it, to disappoint so many people because he dared to love a mage. And Reiss, she didn't want to fight either. Saw her chance to run from the politics, the drain he'd be on her life and took it. He almost couldn't blame her.

A dog's deep bwoof echoed through the trees, scattering a flock of birds to the air. Alistair lifted his head off Lanny's shoulder as a mabari came barreling through the underbrush. It was on a collision course with their legs, but dug front feet into the ground to stop before striking Lanny. Chuckling, she released her hold on Alistair and reached down to pet the dog's head. Before he even had time to wipe off his nose, the last person Alistair wanted to see him in this condition waltzed through the trees.

"Lana, here you are. That horse girl told me you were out picking elfroot. I said I would do it, you didn't have to go it alone. There simply hadn't been time to..." the templar's admonishing of his wife faded away as he finally glanced over at Alistair doing his best to skulk away into the shadows.

Her eyes darted from Alistair back to the reddening man. "I didn't expect you to be here with her," Cullen said, his words pointed at Alistair but he honed in on Lanny.

She shook her head and despite the limp, dashed over to Cullen. Her words dipped down as she no doubt explained that Alistair had his heart gutted from him and she was trying to provide some comfort the way a normal human being does. Of course, the templar wasn't a real human, but some kind of golem formed not from stone but duty and a superiority complex that set Alistair's teeth on edge. The blood pounded in his ears, mushing the words they exchanged, but he couldn't stop watching them.

Lanny's hand instinctively cupped across the templar's chest, and he wrapped his around hers -- always holding her close and protecting her. She leaned into him, not for the sake of whispering but to be near. The aching pit widened even more in Alistair's gut but he was unable to turn away from the two people so damn much in love it was almost sickening. He wasn't jealous of Cullen, Maker's sake the last thing he wanted was a stick that big wedged up his own ass to match, but...a brick thudded in his gut as he realized he'd never again hold Reiss' fingers in his hands. Never thumb the points of her ears, or press a kiss to her stomach. She was gone and he found himself once again alone and unloved.

"I am," Cullen lifted his head, speaking loud enough the leaves on the trees rattled. He looked about to apologize but Lanny's quick shake of her head stopped him. "I came to tell my wife that dinner is prepared."

Alistair snickered at his making certain to mention that Lanny was his wife. Though in his mind, he always thought of the templar as her husband not the other way around, and he was damn lucky to be given that position. Most people in thedas would kill for it. Staggering up from his lean against a fallen tree, Alistair began to shake the dust off his trousers. He knew what the dinner bell meant, he wasn't wanted much more around these parts and it was time he headed home, wherever home was.

He moved to leave the copse, though stopped to rustle up the mabari's ears, before casting a single pathetic glance at Lanny. The last thing he wanted to do was get her in trouble with her templar, but there were probably going to be words later about his appearing out of nowhere. All Alistair wanted was...what? He knew the answer his heart kept screaming, but that was impossible.

Cullen shifted slightly on his heels, that almost replica face blocking Alistair, "You're welcome to stay if you'd like."

"You..." he stared at the man, terrified that this was a test or he was about to get his jaw punched again. "Are you sure?"

"It will be dark soon," Lanny interrupted from him. "And the last thing we need is you thrown from your horse that ran into a rock it couldn't see."

Alistair stared into her earnest face and then tried to catch the templar's eye but he was staring through the distance, clearly not happy with the idea but willing to give in to Lanny's logic. It was the hardest damn thing in thedas after all. Knowing he couldn't defeat it either, Alistair nodded his head, "Okay, I doubt they'll start combing the woods for my body until tomorrow at the latest."

"Good," Lanny smiled and for a brief flicker his spirits raised.

"So, what's for dinner, because I'm starving?"

Cullen kept a grip to his wife's arm, steadying her as she limped upon her cane while Alistair hauled up the box of elfroot they'd sort of begun picking. He couldn't see her face as they walked back to the abbey, but he could hear the exuberance as she laughed, "One of your favorites, lamb stew."

## CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

#### Loves Company

Lanny'd been traipsing around outside of Ferelden for too long. He barely even recognized the lamb stew, the meat boiled for at most two hours and actual bits of carrot and some kind of potato bobbing in the surface. If it wasn't one single color with the consistency of regurgitated beans and with oil floating on the surface you had to stir back in, it wasn't proper stew. They didn't eat huddled away from their various staff and charges, but gathered everyone together in the open kitchen/dining hall. It was a bit awkward when the templar called for a prayer before eating, Alistair midway to sticking the spoon in his mouth as every other hand clasped together.

Of course the man made certain to drone on and on in thanks to Andraste and the Maker and whatever bits of the Chant he felt like drudging up. The other templars all followed suit, their heads bowed in reverence. Even the staff, most obvious by a familiar gingham check pattern to all their clothes, closed their eyes with folded hands. Bored, Alistair glanced around while waiting for the go ahead to put food in his yawning gullet when he caught Lanny's eye. She kept her flatware in place, but wasn't hunched over in prayer, her sight locking in with his. Alistair was about to respond somehow, maybe by mocking his tossing a knife in the air, when the templar finished his meandering prayer and eating commenced.

The lord and lady of the abbey sat at the middle of the long table. Lanny offered him a seat near her, but he plopped down beside a elderly woman who commented on how terrible the stew was with every spoonful until she ate it all. He didn't think he was up to sitting beside her while she and the templar were all...them. Stupid loving and caring gestures, it burned Alistair's eyes the way staring at the sun did. Surprisingly, no one seemed to recognize him. There was almost no politics at the table, most of the people discussing their bets for the coming tourney Alistair was supposed to supervise. That entailed him sitting in a chair outside, gnawing on meat skewered to swords, and occasionally waving. It was one of the perks of his job.

Mid-meal a head landed on his lap, big brown eyes watering in anticipation. He knew he shouldn't, but he also knew it'd piss the templar off more as Alistair palmed wads of bread and a few carrots to the pink and black tongue panting near his crotch. Their dog, Honor, wiggled in happiness with each offering. Her entire backend caused the table to buck. Alistair would cast glances up at the head table, and while there was a scowl on the templar's face, Lanny was clearly trying to hide away her smile. It was worth it.

With his stomach more or less over burdened in the stripped down meal, the pair in charge of the place wandered off and Alistair was led to a room. He'd expected to be sharing it, and was almost hoping to have that acrimonious woman from dinner. Her constant assertions of what was wrong with Ferelden these days would keep his thoughts off of the barely beating lump in his chest. But no, of course not. He was left alone to drop onto the cot someone was kind enough to toss a mattress on and wait.

A single candle burned upon a nightstand, the wax being carefully caught for use later -- and someone left a book. Curious, Alistair paged through it, only to realize it was one of the chantry's supplements that they'd make templar recruits recite while waiting in line. Of course he'd have this here, it was a wonder the man didn't have a chanter stationed just outside their walls. More than likely Cullen would grunt out the old canticles while thrusting away...

Sneering at his imagination biting against him, Alistair chucked the book back onto the nightstand and moved to lean back on the blank mattress. The door opened, and he stood up only to have disappointment personified standing there.

"Here's a pillow and blanket for the night," Cullen said. He didn't hurl them at Alistair's head but it was crystal clear from the sneer deepening his lips that he wanted to.

Snatching both up, Alistair dropped the pillow in place but wrapped the blanket around his shoulders like a cloak. The abbey was freezing, or he was too used to being constantly pampered with already lit fires. "Thanks, here's hoping I don't become a human ice block by morning."

"Yes, that'd be a real tragedy," the templar deadpanned, the jawline twitching harder. "Lana's attending to rounds, but..." He pointed out the door he barely crossed into as if afraid of Alistair attacking him. Groaning, Cullen dug into the back of his neck and stepped back and forth on his feet.

Before he could start the accusations that'd probably been building since learning of Alistair's untimely arrival, Alistair spoke up, "Sorry for dropping in without messaging ahead first. If I'd had it my way I wouldn't have a reason to come."

"That..." the man screwed up his eyes, "I don't like you."

"No," Alistair gasped, "I am shocked and appalled. What about all those late nights we shared together? The bonhomie built over bonfires? Being knocked about on deck during storms at sea? Did it all mean nothing?"

That earned him the gravel munching growl Alistair expected. He wanted it, wanted to make someone at least a tenth of as miserable as he felt. "But," Cullen spat out, "you're her guest. And I won't interfere in that."

Alistair blinked in surprise. He wasn't expecting that. Lanny was good at getting her way relying upon a special blend of tenacity and logic, but even she deferred to her husband in matters of things that made him uncomfortable. Being one of the chantry's once golden boys, nearly anything _different_ made him run scampering away scared.

"Look at that," Cullen snickered, "four years and I finally found a way to shut you up."

"I am merely out of practice. There aren't as many templars running around in Denerim as there once were," Alistair stumbled, annoyed at himself for giving in so fast.

"For which you have us to thank," he didn't bow. Shit, in all the time they traveled together he never once showed a lick of deference even while always calling him King. Whistling for his dog, the templar turned on his heel and marched away.

Tugging the blanket cloak off his shoulders, Alistair slumped onto the bed. He didn't fall asleep, but his mind skipped aimlessly through his thoughts. Most of it was pure nonsense, with an emphasis on the cheese unicorn he was certain could work if he just got the right mage to see his mad brilliance. But lurking at the heart of it all was Reiss. He kept tripping back to their first meeting in his bedroom, her room. She'd looked uncertain while facing up to this big new world, but didn't flinch for a moment as he fumbled and bumbled around. Even then Alistair wanted to kiss her, to rub salve on the tips of her ears and promise he'd protect her. Fat lot that did. All his words added up to was a pile of horse shit and nothing else. She didn't want him, didn't even need him. He was the lone brussels sprout bobbing in the stew that you tossed to the dogs, and even they knew better than to eat it.

A knock broke through the fog of near sleep, and Alistair sat up as the door opened. He was surprised to find the creep of night framing behind Lanny. "Sorry that took so long, there's been a problem with..." her eyes wandered over the threadbare blanket clinging to him, "Maker's sake, is that all Cullen gave you?"

"Don't worry, I was thinking about embracing my new life as a meat iceberg."

She rolled her eyes skyward and slid into the room, "It's not as if we don't have plenty in stock. I'll get you more blankets, and a better pillow." Groaning, she collapsed onto the second cot in the room, this one missing a mattress.

"I'm getting the impression your ball and chain doesn't much care for me," Alistair snickered.

"It's not that," she said, before pausing and shifting her head, "it's some of that. He's not having a good day."

"Due to that dashing, rapscallion king wandering into his home unannounced no doubt. And daring to stay the night as well, most unbecoming."

Lanny chuckled a moment at Alistair's bully for them voice before she folded her head into her hands, "You had nothing to do with it. It's a Wednesday."

"Pretty sure it's Saturday," he said, his eyes crossing to try and remember if that was right.

"Never mind, it's... How are you doing?" she reached over across the gap between their beds, her fingers skirting over his. Alistair watched her sweet brown skin softly rolling over his sallow flesh, entranced in it a moment before shaking his head.

"Me? Who wants to talk about me? There's nothing interesting whatsoever in my life, but you. What about you and that old man you've got teetering through this abbey?"

"Old?" Lanny pursed her lips, her hand sliding off of his, "He's your age."

"Exactly, I'm old as dirt now. Hear that," Alistair creaked his knee back and forth, getting the pop he expected, "happens all the damn time now."

"Cullen will be fine. Later I'll, uh..." a momentary blush erupted on Lanny's cheeks, her retracted private moment with that man she for some reason married throwing up the shield always between her and Alistair. Just what he needed to be reminded of, all those happy couples out there being free to love each other without any of that political muck getting in the way.

Lanny patted her cheeks, trying to dampen down the blush, before she reached into the pocket of her apron. A flat bottle full of amber liquid twisted back and forth in her fingers before she passed it over to the heartbroken man. "It's Nevarran whiskey, more or less."

Alistair already uncorked it and was about to take a drink when he paused, "What do you mean more or less?" Despite that, he still poured more than a shot down, needing to feel his throat burn the way the rest of his insides did. Tears that for once had nothing to do with Reiss burned in his eyes, which he wiped with the back of his hand before passing the bottle back.

Sniffing first, Lanny took a more generous sip before answering, "It wasn't technically whiskeyed up in Nevarra but by Nevarran traders."

"Whiskeyed up?" Alistair chuckled.

"I don't know the blighted word for it. Distilled? Brewed? Whatever one does with wine?"

"I believe we call that 'smashing the hell out of grapes and then leaving it in the sun for a few years," he picked up the bottle and took another shot. "More or less."

Chuckling at their inanity, the pair traded the whiskey back and forth between them until the bottle ran dry. They didn't need any glasses, drinking just like they had during the Blight when something so frivolous as cups wasn't an option. He remembered far too well the first time she found a bottle of wine, or what they said was wine. After the hangover he woke up to, Alistair suspected someone passed off their varnish drowned in piss as wine. She wanted to get him to open up about Duncan, he didn't want to talk about it. So instead they drank, one for one until that damn seal on his mouth opened up. After Kinloch, he did the same for her, in that case with a bottle of rum that someone drowned flowers in.

"I've missed you," Alistair groaned, one hand propping up his head. Why did he need to prop it up? Oh, because it was too heavy to keep upright. Duh.

"I miss you too," she tried to pat his knee, but missed and swiped at the bed instead. Shrugging, Lanny crossed her leg in the least lady-like way possible. Good thing she was always in trousers, or the templar would probably have to challenge Alistair to a duel, and in his state he'd wind up a stain on the ground.

"If you miss me so much then why don't you ever come to Denerim? It takes my nearly dying for me to see you and even then it's only for what? A few days."

"Ali," she shook her head sadly, before smooshing her poofed out hair to her face to try and hold it all tight in place. "I can't just up and leave. I'm needed here."

"That templar can handle it. Isn't that the point? Bet he loves stomping around giving orders to all the others. Has he built a squirrel army yet?"

"Squirrel...?" Lanny looked about to ask, which would have led them down a winding rabbit hole, but she shook it off. "It isn't just duty that I'd leave behind here, and you know that."

"Ssso what? It's a few weeks without him, big whoop. Whoa!" Alistair leaned over, planting a hand on the ground to try and stop it from spinning away.

She grew silent, her eyes staring out the door before speaking, "Why don't you come out here more?"

"Because it'd bring a good dozen and a half people all babbling about what the King needs and how they have to secure this and that as if I'm some baby that can't chew his own food."

"And..."

"And what?" Alistair blinked slowly before his heart waved the answer before him, "Right, and I can't leave my kids for long. Don't want to leave them. Maker, did you see how big Spud's gotten already?"

She nodded her head slowly, her teeth nibbling on her bottom lip. "I miss you, but Cullen's a different kind of missing. A more urgent kind, like you with your children."

Any biting response he had shriveled up at that thought. Even when Spud was in her 'Let's shove everything breakable off a shelf because I'm half cat' stage and Cailan was somehow suffering from double colic because why not, he still yearned to be near them. With breaks mind, and the much needed nap, but even this time away while his kids were off with their only grandfather and various aunts doing fun summer things where no one wanted that King to mess stuff up he missed them. Wished he could see them, play with them, put them to bed and every once in awhile strike a candle to watch them sleep.

Lanny reached forward to grab his hand tight. He glanced down at their clasped hands but didn't grip back, Alistair's spine prickling with worry. Thankfully, the whiskey didn't toss all her common sense out the window and she refrained from leaping on top and ravaging him. Alistair was about 75% certain he'd have the wherewithal to stop her. Probably.

It took her a few more moments before she spoke, her voice roiling in unspilled tears, "Maker only knows how much longer we have with them."

Clasping his other hand over their conjoined ones, Alistair nodded his head. She was always fretting over it, that ever shortening fuse burning away in their veins until one day...Boom! Somehow in between saving templars and marrying that loutish oaf, Lanny kept on trying to cure the blight, to give them both another decade or two with the ones they loved. He didn't want to dampen her spirits, but deep in his heart Alistair feared that there was no answer. Life wasn't fair and in the end no one cheated death.

"At least I have you at the end of it." He meant to whisper it to himself, but she lifted her weary face and smiled.

"Always," she squeezed his fingers once before releasing them, Alistair letting her hand return to her. "I'm sorry that, you know..."

He shifted on his hip, trying to lean all his weight onto as little of his ass as possible. Somehow that would distract him from the pain reverberating up every bone in his body. "My life's always been one colossal screw up, right? Not like I've ever gotten a thing right, why should I start now?"

"Ali..."

"I'm fine," he waved away her concerns.

"Bullshit," Lanny was always quick to call him to the carpet for it. He knew he was hurting, and of course she did, but in that moment all he wanted to do was sulk far from prying eyes and concerned tongues. "It's all right if you don't want to talk about it now. There's plenty of time later."

"Later?" Alistair scrunched up his nose, fully confused.

She shrugged a shoulder, causing the strap of her apron to go sliding off. That was Lanny, she never could find anything that fit properly. He almost moved to push it back automatically, but her fingers beat him to it. "You can stay as long as you'd like. Follow around with me, hold bottles, mix things, get people to drink stuff they all but spit in my face."

"You make it sound so enticing," Alistair laughed. "But I rather doubt your templar will like me sticking around for long."

"Nonsense," Lanny waved her hand, "he's fine. Okay, he'll grumble, but he won't say anything directly...to you."

"I don't want to get you in trouble."

That caused her to laugh, "Says the man who pointed down a path littered with bear traps and exclaimed, 'It's a shortcut.'"

"That..."

"And then in the middle of stepping around them we have nearly a dozen wolves descend upon us."

"It got us there faster, I think," he scratched his chin, barely remembering the incident. There were so many in that year it was hard for him to keep track.

No doubt she was aching to tell him how wrong he was, but Lanny let it subside. Instead, she patted the empty bottle and sighed, "Stay, we can send a raven to Teagan telling him you're safe and being watched over by friends."

She seemed to be all but begging him to remain. Was it for her benefit to have someone other than the dour templar to keep her entertained or...? A dirty mirror hung on the wall, barely tended to by the always busy staff. Out of the corner of his eye he caught his own reflection and nearly panicked. Alistair looked half dead, his skin so pale the reds of his besotted lips burst like a darkspawn's intestines in snow. The under eye baggage piled up on top of his cheekbones, waiting for someone to come along and claim them. But most striking of all was the frown lines setting into the fold on his forehead. They seemed to be permanent now.

Lanny wasn't hoping he'd stay for her sake, but for his. She went and became a full time nurse and healer when he was off playing King and he didn't even notice. The mighty warrior that killed hundreds, perhaps thousands of darkspawn found her true calling in shoveling medicine down a crotchety old templar's throat.

"I'll consider it," Alistair lied. While he'd love nothing more than to give into her ministrations, able to easily distract himself with her witty banter, he knew what watching her and that damn man she loved would do to him.

"Good," she nodded, a bright smile lifting up her soft cheeks. Hers was the kind of smile that brightened up a room. No, an entire building. He missed how easily he used to be able to draw one from her, before everything between them became weighted by years and disappointment.

"Do you..." Alistair spoke before his brain told him this was a bad idea. But it was too late now, might as well keep going. "Do you ever wish that I'd never taken the crown? That I'd stayed a Grey Warden...with you?" He stared at his hands while talking but, when no answer came from her, looked up.

She was tugging on a curl, her lips pursed as she thought. "Ali, I'm married. Happily so, to the point it annoys some of the more conservative of our charges," at that confession, a blush burned on her cheeks. "The past is just that. I wouldn't change what I have now for anything."

He winced even while knowing that'd be her answer. Of course in the scales of life she'd choose her templar, damn near every woman in thedas had that blighted sketch of him nailed to their bedroom wall.

"But," Lanny interrupted his self lashing thoughts, "before Cullen, I did think upon it. Often."

"One more thing I completely screwed up," Alistair said, but there was no malice in it at her or him. He knew that as King it never would have worked with her, but without that crown... He'd hoped that Reiss would be different. Then again, he wanted her because she cared nothing for the damn thing. "I'm not worth overcoming the insurmountable pit of shit that comes with that shiny hat."

"Yes you are," Lanny insisted the way all smug married couples do. Granted, he was technically married. Maybe he should ask his wife how she was able to find someone to fall in line as her lover without buckling under the weight. "There's got to be someone out there for you."

"Lanny Amell, the eternal optimist."

"I am not," she pouted.

"Sorry, Rutherford. Maker's sake, I know you took his name to hide but couldn't you have just made up something better instead. Sounds like the noise a horse makes just before it sprays snot all over you. Rrutherford!"

She giggled at his mangling her beloved's family name, her family name. "I meant I'm not an optimist. You can still call me Amell, provided no one else is around."

That brought a soft glow to his cheeks, "You are so the optimist. Come on, you were the one leading us through the damn near impossible for a year. If it were left up to me we'd have laid down in a ditch five feet outside of Lothering and let the darkspawn trample us to death."

"No, there's no way. You're more competent than you give yourself credit. Also Morrigan would have kicked us for miles until we were safely out of the darkspawn path."

He frowned at the witch's name, but didn't rise up to rant and rave about her. Alistair was getting better about it. Getting better about a lot of things, but still not good enough. Not for her, not enough for her to keep him. Why did it have to hurt so bad?

When Lanny's hand rubbed up and down his back, he startled and sat up, not realizing he'd bent over in pain. Maker's breath, he was tired. "I shouldn't keep you. I'm sure you have to get back to your dour darling and do whatever it is to fix him."

"Ali, I don't have to leave right this second. Cullen's fine, at least he's not pacing outside the door."

He smiled at her acknowledging the strangeness of the situation. Lanny usually got through it by ignoring it which somehow made it all even worse. Shaking his head, he staggered up to his legs in the universal 'the party's over' move. "I'm really exhausted, about to pass out and I really don't want to have that man jump to wild conclusions that lead to him pounding my face into the ground."

Lanny frowned, her lips pursed almost to a flat line.

"What? I've grown rather attached to this face. It's not good by any means, but it's familiar. Think of all the new paintings they'd have to make if it got beaten to mashed potatoes."

"All right, I'll leave you be," she stood up, slipping the empty bottle into her apron pocket. "Whenever you wake up, you can come find me. If you want to talk we can, if you want to work I know some stables that need a good mucking."

"Ooh, both delightful options. However will I choose?" he chuckled, earning a soft crinkle at the edge of her eyes. Those lines weren't vanishing as quickly as they once did, age always creeping up on them both. She nodded once and tried to shift out between the beds to the door.

"Lanny?"

His plea paused her and she turned, her chin quirked up.

"Would it be unseemly if I...could I have one more hug?"

Her eyes shattered as a thousand thoughts and regrets burst and faded away, that weird wobbly wall between them thickening and waning as she burned through every possibility of what a hug could cost her. "Of course," she said, sliding towards him. So much tinier than Reiss, tinier than nearly everyone he interacted with that wasn't a dwarf, her cheek pressed into his chest and Alistair leaned over to cup his hands against her back. Just as he did during the blight when they'd sit together by the light of the campfire terrified of what the next day would bring. Friends at the time, friends now, clinging to the rare anchor they could both depend upon in this world.

Patting her hands once more before sliding back, she glanced up at his eyes and smiled, "Try and get some sleep. I hear that whiskey's got a real kick to it."

"Something I can look forward to tomorrow along with the horse shit."

With the smile that'd never leave his memory, Lanny tugged open the door and stepped into full night out beyond the abbey's walls. An owl's cry burst above them, the feathered fiend's glide silent save its hooting. Maker only knew how many screws the templar was going to put her for this, but she'd bounce back -- that was what the Hero of Ferelden did. When the world kicked her down she kept getting back up and fighting.

"I'm sorry," Alistair whispered to her retreating back. She paused in the doorway, her head glancing over her shoulder to stare a question at him. "For hurting you after the landsmeet, for rejecting you because of...I'm sorry."

She winced a moment before letting it slide away into a beatific smile, "I know. And I'm sorry too."

"For what?"

"That you're hurting now," her final words reverberated in the fresh air as she closed the door behind her. Alistair curled up on the cot's cheap mattress and tugged the blanket up to his head. Of course that left his toes and ankles exposed to the nipping cold of the south, that was just the kind of man he was and life he lived. Always coming up short no matter how hard he tried.

Licking his fingers, he pinched off the candle flame and tried to dig himself into a dreamless sleep. Inside his chest, his heart labored on as if unaware it'd been left shattered in a million pieces and would never work again.

## CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

#### A Turn

Everything hurt. Reiss would lift up her sleeves expecting to find gouges shredding apart her skin and bruises popping up like mushrooms after the rain. But there was nothing. All the pain she felt ransacking her body was on the inside.

And it was her fault.

Karelle had been quiet and asked few questions of her. She had to wonder who drew first blood, wanting to supply that ever churning gossip mill that Reiss once had access too. Then again, perhaps they preferred to make up their own tales and not have the far more mundane truth to fall back on. After returning the armor to the stand and handing the chamberlain her sword, Reiss' decision smashed down against her head. This was it. She'd given up on everything in her potential glass future, pretty but forever cold and untouched, for a gaping unknown. It was too late to go back even if she wanted to. Alistair...the King was already a days travel out of Denerim. And it was doubtful he'd want her back anyway.

She could feel the glares and impolite whispers trailing her, everyone who'd poked fun at their King suddenly railing to his side against this heart breaking interloper. Reiss didn't fight it, in truth she deserved it. She'd been the one to kiss him, to pursue what they had between them and at the last second balked. Everything was on her. Maybe if she confessed it all to the chantry mother, Reiss would receive the proper lashings she had coming.

Clutching tight to the trunk holding her few belongings, Reiss slowly inched down the hallway. She'd left everything gifted to her by the chamberlain and...him -- toiletries, towels, even the bandages in her room. For a moment her fingers lingered over the flowers, their petals fading with age but still clinging to the stem. A painful reminder of each time when he'd slip a hand over her back, kiss her with his full heart, and then happily plop another into the vase.

Unable to toss the flowers out, Reiss laid each one upon the vanity to dry. Moisture would leech from the petals, crackling them to a dead brown but preserve something of what had once been, just like her heart. She felt the tears struggling to come out again at the thought, but the stomp of boots bouncing up and down the hallway paused her. Cade was leading a batch of the guards through for no good reason beyond keeping them fresh.

He didn't even glance at the woman who almost worked for him, clinging to her chest on the stairs. What did he care of her? It was one less knife-ear cluttering up his job. The disciplined guards hoofed it through the atrium, the clicks and clacks of their boots echoing in the wake. Reiss didn't realize her legs were shaking until she moved to take a step and almost tumbled the entire way down the stairs. Maker, she couldn't do this. Where was she even going to go? She tried to think of who to press upon until she could get her feet back, but every picture of her cowering away in someone else's home drew forth another crying fit. It didn't matter which building she wound up in, whether it was in the alienage or the fanciest tavern in Denerim -- every single one didn't have him.

Maker, damn her!

Too late, she already did it to herself.

Reiss wiped at the tears with her hand, growing used to the never ending stream, before gripping onto the railing and working her way back down. Beyond the door was the second set of stairs that led her out of the palace proper and out of his life for good.

"Excuse me, you're not allowed entrance in here," one of the guards spoke up, shifting quickly to fill the entryway.

"Says who?" the voice of Lunet drew Reiss instantly to try and peer over the guard's shoulder. She had to stretch, but sure enough the dark haired elf stood with hands on both her hips glaring at the man. "I happen to be with the City Watch."

"Is that so?" the guard drawled, in no mood for a random knife-ear's shenanigans.

"What? You think every elf nicks themselves a watch uniform just to go waltzing up to the King's bedroom to rifle through his knickers?"

Reiss winced at the sarcasm, knowing how well it would go over, but nothing would stop Lunet. Not even the guard groaning while sliding a hand towards the sword on his hip. "Ma'am, do not make me tell you again to exit these premises."

"But you're doing such a delightful job at it. I'm here for someone, okay." Lunet continued to badger him, her persistence wearing on even Reiss' nerves. If she came for Harding, she was using the wrong entrance and approach. What if...? No, Reiss shook off the idea the second it entered her mind. She didn't know if she should stay rooted in place and wait for Lunet to leave or find her own back exit.

The guard gripped onto the sword and sneered, "Who?"

"My friend," Lunet stated with certainty.

"It's okay," Reiss spoke from behind, her soft voice turning the guard inward to reveal her to Lunet. Those dark eyes blinked at the pathetic sight before her, but she held her tongue. "I think she's here for me."

The guard knew her, everyone blighted knew her thanks to...her failing, and he was quick to tip a head down as if afraid the King's ex-mistress had any power left to wield. "I didn't realize, please move on inside," he gestured to Lunet, but Reiss walked past him, the case dragging against the ground as her arms gave in.

She slid towards Lunet to whisper, "You can probably head in now."

"What the shit for?"

Reiss swallowed down her rough words and tried to smooth them over, "To talk to Harding."

"Maker's breath, Rat. I'm here for you," Lunet cursed at her before she wrapped her arms around Reiss and tugged her close. The tears wouldn't stop now, salt burning across her broken skin as each new pain stung her even harder. She buried her head into Lunet's shoulder and tried to grip back with one hand clinging to the chest.

"I thought you, you hated me. Yelled at me."

Lunet clucked her tongue as if she was trying to guide an errant horse. "Come on, let's get you out of here first."

Reiss offered up no resistance to being manhandled out of the opulent palace she'd nearly thought of as a home. After a few steps, Lunet released a hold on her, but kept a hand up as if fearing Reiss was about to turn around and rush back inside. Few people paced up and down the thoroughfare just beyond the palace gates, the day too hot for those who didn't need to be in it.

It would have been proper if the guards rolled the gate shut after she stepped past it, but it rarely closed. Instead, Reiss was left to stare unimpeded through bars back at the open door letting any and all walk inside -- at least until coming to a guard wondering what someone needed to be near the royal quarters for. Knots twisted up and down her guts, as if someone was wringing each one to try and bleed her dry. This was her choice, damn it. Why did she hate it so much?

"How," Reiss struggled to speak, finally turning away from the castle and him, "did you know to come find me?"

"We got the order today that you were being transferred back to the guard station," Lunet sighed.

She was? Alistair didn't say anything about that, he couldn't even look at her after what she did. Reiss assumed that her old life would be gone, and she'd have to rebuild again from scratch.

"And I knew what that meant. If he was kicking you out of 'Arlathan,'" Lunet waved her hand at the palace, "then you were going to need me."

"I..." Reiss tried to fight off the despair circling her like fog on a moor but there was no hope. The chest tumbled out of her hands as she dug both arms around herself. Lunet was quick to snatch up the nearly empty luggage and then try to hug her friend. "Thank you, I thought I...that I messed everything up. Ruined it all for..."

"We're in this together, Rat. A little punch drunk idiocy isn't going to scare me off," Lunet smiled at her. "It might take a bit of work to form an angry mob, but do you need us to rattle our sabers outside the King's bedroom?"

She was trying for a joke, but it stung so hard against Reiss' aching heart. Burying her head tighter to Lunet's shoulder she spat out quickly, "It was me, not him. I...I stopped it, broke it off before..."

Lunet sighed, her eyes watching the tears streaking down the side of her uniform. "Good to know there's some brains rattling around in that head of yours. Do you...want to talk about it?"

Everything hurt. Breathing hurt. Thinking hurt. Living hurt. She'd had this happen before but her being the one to throw the dagger somehow shattered her more than Ethan turning his back on her ever did. Reiss did this to herself, because she wasn't made of the good stuff, she couldn't fight against everything she'd lose at his side. She was a coward. Every thought of him bit back at her twofold, because she caused it all.

"No, not now," Reiss shrugged out of Lunet's arms, aware that more than a few very curious eyes were wondering about the two elven women hugging each other. How many others in Denerim knew that she got close to the King? How long would those rumors trail her? To the pyre?

Passing over the chest, Lunet adjusted the dagger stuck in Reiss' hair. She didn't even remember knotting it up in there this morning. It was such a reflex that her muscles did it without thinking, without reminding her that there was no point. Her life was a broken road, the next step on it so far in the distance she couldn't make it out in the fog. Reiss glanced over at her friend and felt the tug of a smile in her heart. At least she didn't have to do it alone this time.

With a slower gait than normal, Reiss began the long walk back to her district. It was doubtful she'd ever again set foot here. Silence fell between the two of them, Lunet taking up the rear as if she needed to watch Reiss out of fear of fainting or suddenly leaping to her death. On that she need never worry, Reiss' survival streak always kept her digging her claws into life.

"How long do I have to wait for the 'I told you so?'"

Lunet chuckled at her assessment. "I'll give you awhile to wallow. Maybe a few weeks."

"Thanks for small favor, I guess," Reiss mumbled. She couldn't fall back into bed, for starters she didn't have one. Nor could she afford to give into the frozen abyss nesting in her chest. They'd need her in the guards, probably right away. The Captain wasn't known for overlooking time off, even if it was in service of the King. Shems could afford the time and energy to be sad, but not her. Emotions were too expensive for the poor and downcast. Alistair could...

No, Reiss shook her head. Arls, Banns, the various rich merchants that flocked in and out of the palace -- they could all take weeks or months in bed bemoaning a great loss, but they'd have him smiling and waving to all regardless of how terribly she hurt him. The Elven King was one of many nicknames for him, strangely the latter coming both from those who tossed around knife-ear without thought, as well as the alienage elves. It was just who said it that determined if it was a good thing or bad. She hadn't considered it much; even the Shems who liked to pretend they were elves and really embraced the culture wouldn't set foot in the Alienage at night. But he had, and he loved koomtra for some Maker damn reason.

He was the Elven King, and an elf broke his heart.

_Oh no._

"Lune, do you think there'd be a...that he'd..."

"Can't read your mind, Rye, no matter how hard I stare at the back of your skull."

Reiss slowed to a halt and dug her fingers into the handle on her chest, "Because of what I did, would there be a purging of..." She couldn't say it aloud, couldn't even think it.

"I dunno," Lunet shrugged, "I've heard of purges for pettier reasons. What do you think?"

No. He wouldn't. He cared. Even if she stole his heart away, Reiss wasn't the one to make him notice elves. He did that all on his own. "I'm tired," she groaned, her body swaying as the lack of sleep caught up with her.

"Come on," Lunet was quick to catch her, "I need to get you back to the guardhouse for check in."

"Is that what you were sent to do?" Reiss squinted at the official armor Lunet never wore off duty. Not for any official protocol reason beyond she hated it, and corsets worked better to her advantage.

"Psh," Lunet blew air up through her lip, scattering her hair backwards, "you think Fatain gives two copper plated shits about you, or me, or anyone under his command."

"But you're on the beat," Reiss pointed down her chest as if her friend forgot she was in uniform.

"I can see you're sharp as ever. They found a body floating in the ditch and it's got the entire guardhouse in a tizzy. Barricaded off sections of the street and everything. Figured no one would notice if I nicked off to find you."

Reiss was grateful that she'd risk repercussions to help her, but that good girl that clung to rules was about to scold Lunet for doing it. She wasn't worth a dock in pay or potential firing. "I'm hardly an...wait, a body. Since when does anyone on the watch care about a single dead body? Now a dozen, sure, but just one?"

"Aye, bit weird, eh? Saw some crimson down there too."

Not just city watch but the royal guards as well. Reiss' mind whirred far from the pain nestling in her gut, grateful to cling to this new mystery.

"Not like the dead guy's got anything interesting to him. Average height, average frame, average hair color, in an average death. Cut across the throat."

"A man with brown hair and neither tall nor short," Reiss repeated, the back of her mind blaring at her.

"It's what I said."

"Was there any identification on the body? A name, address, a tattoo?" Reiss whipped around, already beginning to pace back and forth as the thoughts burst behind her eyes.

"Noo, nothing. Though," Lunet tapped a finger to her chin, and Reiss all but froze mid-twist hanging upon her next word with rapt attention. "There was these burns on his fingertips and up his hand. Not like normal fire neither, I overheard some people mention magic."

"But magic doesn't burn mages, and if they used it to attack someone they wouldn't aim for their fingers." Reiss ignored the dozen of people glancing in the crazy elf's direction. No doubt they were about to flag down a guard to cart her away for displeasing their view of the district, but she didn't care. "It wouldn't make those marks unless it was blocked by a shield!"

Lunet seemed less than impressed by Reiss' thoughts. "How do you know that?"

"I've seen it before, when fighting against the Venatori in the Inquisition. Their fire would reflect off a shield if one got close enough and scorch back upon the mage. It wasn't an across the battlefield move, usually came up from surprise attacks." Reiss remembered having to scrub the magic ash off her shield where it burnt in even at a few dozen feet. That up close and personal against a mage and you'd have to practically replace it.

"Rye, I'm starting to worry about you. Your eyebrow's gone all twitchy like," Lunet pointed at her, but Reiss didn't listen.

This could be the big break, what Harding was looking for. A link back to the assassins that... Reiss' momentum tumbled off the cliff, her body slumping as she stopped. It didn't matter to her. If the royal guards were there then Harding already knew. She'd consult with the King and track down the last threads she could find. Reiss had nothing to contribute, no help to give beyond trying to weasel her way back into a life she turned away from.

Accepting her place in life as a glorified statue that could growl on command, Reiss hugged her chest tighter and glanced over at Lunet. Her eyes watered a moment, something off. It wasn't until she glanced down at her hip that Reiss asked, "Where's your sword?"

"Oh, that blighted thing. So," Lunet waved her hand, trying to get Reiss to move along. She fell in, the stares of the rich breaking through the armor her excitement put up. "Don't know if you know, but my little Lacey hired our watch house to take out the assassins."

"She did? Why?"

Lunet shrugged, "Figured we didn't have any possible attachment to any fancy pants assassins, us being the ones to bring in all the Zea dogs before. Anyway, in raiding the place, grabbing people, heading back in, I smashed my hilt in that Maker cursed rock. You know the one that jutted out in the most annoying place. I ignored it, but the cheap thing finally broke so it's off at the shop getting repaired."

It caught her, Reiss having to dodge quickly away. Something in the curve of the tunnel made it impossible to see on the way down, causing someone who hadn't been in the tunnel often to bang into it. A person slightly larger than her would probably crash into it often, denting up even the...

Color drained from Reiss' face as a memory waved itself in front of her eyes. Spinning in place, Reiss dropped her chest to grip onto Lunet's armor. "Which side was it?!"

"What are you on about?"

"Your hilt, which side of your hilt was damaged?"

"The left," Lunet warily eyed up her friend, afraid she was about to snap.

Reiss remembered the left side of a hilt smashed up as if rammed into something by a person stumbling into the Zea Dogs cave. He wasn't used to it, failed to adjust the few times he had to be there right before the naming day assassination attempt. No one would think much of it, swords were often getting damaged, and there hadn't been time to fix it until after. Oh Maker.

"I have to go!" Reiss shouted, she began to run down the street, leaving the chest holding all her belongings in her wake as well as Lunet. Luckily the latter was wise enough to haul up the former and give chase.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Lunet tried to flag down Reiss heading back to the palace.

"To warn someone, they have to get a raven out to..." He was alone, almost as alone as a King ever got and it was unlikely that he'd be the first to see her message. If they knew that someone was on their trail then she'd be as good as ordering his death.

Reiss skidded to a halt, her boots digging into the cobblestones as she tried to pry apart her brain for an answer. Think, Rat. She couldn't let this happen, couldn't send him to his death without trying.

"What in Andraste's boob sweat are you doing?" Lunet gasped, grabbing onto her arm and trying to throw the luggage back into Reiss' arms. But she wouldn't take it, her eyes trying to see through a couple hundred miles.

"The King," Reiss gasped.

"I know, Rye, I get it. It hurts, and it's gonna hurt for awhile..."

"No," Reiss waved her hand, trying to buzz away any doubt clinging to her. She could be wrong, her evidence was as thick as a single strange of spider silk, but if she was right and didn't do anything... "Lune, his life is in danger right now."

"Oh Maker, I thought we'd have a few days until you slipped into the delusional stage," Lunet groaned.

"Listen," Reiss grabbed onto the collar of her armor and yanked her closer, "If I'm right, there was a conspiracy to get someone close enough the King to kill him and either blame it on a common street thug gang or make it look like an accident. Except that failed, and they were scrambling to find a new plan when I... Shit. Shit, shit, shit!"

"What?"

"I let them," Reiss sobbed. Her guilt tried to drown out the determination but she wouldn't let it. Not now. "I walked away and that left an opening. Shit! Who knows who's...Lune, I have to get to him."

"Get to who? What the void is going on?" Lunet stuttered, her eyes marking everyone watching them.

"Alistair," Reiss gasped, "he's in trouble, please, I know you think it's me being stupid and maybe it is. Maybe I'm so lovesick I'm not thinking clearly, but if I'm right, Blessed Andraste, he could die. Please Lune."

She blinked slowly, "Where is he?"

"On his way to the Hinterlands, with a two day head start," her heart began to sink. What if she was too late? What if they pulled him into the bushes, murdered him, and blamed a bandit? "I have to get a horse," Reiss spun around, trying to remember where any of the stables were located.

Breaking into a run, Lunet trailed behind trying to get her friend to stop but there was no time. She'd wasted too much already crying in bed. If she was too late...? Reiss found not the royal stables, but one of the high class ones where the horses ate oats that were hand milled by courtesans or other such nonsense.

A shemlan wearing a broad rimmed hat was patting the nose of one. He didn't even look over at the elves dashing into his stable until Reiss with punctuated breaths gasped out, "Your fastest horse, how much does it cost?"

The man tutted his tongue and slowly drew his arm away from the black filly. Turning to her, he placed a hand on the stable door and clucked his tongue, "Seventy five sovereigns. If you're looking for something in your price range I believe we may have a mule out back. It's unbroken, but..."

Reiss dug into her satchel and barely needing to count, dumped a pile of gold into his greedy hand. "There's a hundred, I expect the horse saddled and ready to go now."

He blinked madly, his eyes practically bulging at all the coin weighing down his hand. "Ha, ma'am, do you expect me to...these coins could be counterfeit. I could be caught breaking the law."

Lunet stepped forward and tapped her shiny chest, "I am the law, now get the lady her horse or you and the law are going to have a little talk. We clear?"

Nodding at Lunet's vague threat, he dropped the coins into a chest -- which he locked tight as if afraid the elves were about to steal it -- before rushing off to his horse. Reiss doubted she'd get the best, but anything was better than her having to hoof it by foot.

"You're supposed to report in today," Lunet said. "I could explain away a one day absence, tell Fatain you were there the whole time he just forgot, but Reiss, if you do this you'll be gone over a week. There won't be a job waiting for you here."

"I..." her head dropped down. She knew that if she got this wrong, it would look to Alistair as if she was making a pathetic ploy for his attention -- which he'd probably reject, and there'd be no reason to return to Denerim. But if she didn't try and he died... "I have to Lunet," Reiss begged her friend. "If he dies, if I lose him then..."

"Okay," Lunet nodded, her lips lifting in a hard smile.

"You...you're okay with it?" Reiss couldn't believe what she was hearing. This was the same woman that shouted her hoarse when she found out about the relationship. Lunet shrugged, her lips pursed in contemplation, when the man tugged a horse forward. She was a beautiful bay, with an almost auburn mane. Instinctively Reiss patted her nose, earning her a nuzzle.

"I assume you know how to ride one of these," the man glared at her, still in denial he had to service elves any of his goods.

Reiss nodded and without a second thought saddled up. Her legs strained to reach the stirrups but there wasn't time to adjust. She had to chase after the King's caravan. Plucking up the reins, Reiss turned the horse around and aimed out to the road.

"Be careful out there, Rat," Lunet ran up beside the horse and tugged at Reiss' fingers. "The world's not gonna like it if you fail."

She tipped her head, well aware that there were a dozen ways this could destroy her life. Even going would end some of her future, but she had to. She couldn't lose him like this. "I will, Lune."

"You said lovesick, you know," she said, her eyes darting across the picked clean stable ground. "It's why I think you should go. So...get to it. I'll keep your stuff safe. Go and save the King already."

Smiling once at her friend, Reiss dug in tight with her legs and the bay broke into a run. The dust of Denerim quickly faded to flying dirt of the road as she raced across country to save the man she tried to leave.

## CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

#### Snake In The Grass

He didn't last much after breakfast. In truth, Alistair wanted to slip out by an early light while Lanny was still groggy with sleep -- she was always the worst to rouse at camp. But to his surprise, not only was she up long before him but was bright eyed and slightly on fire. Apparently that was normal as no one else seemed to be panicking, though Alistair did almost toss his glass of water at her.

In trying to be polite, he chewed through the typical mountain abbey meal of gruel spiced with a touch of oatmeal and beans for the mushiest food to ever plorp in ones guts. He suspected that was all the templar's doing, no doubt as part of lashing himself for some slight against Andraste by attacking his tastebuds head on. Lanny tried to goad him into staying with more of that tempting stable talk, but Alistair knew when he was licked.

As much fun as toiling under the hot sun while fearing a back kick from a horse sounded, it was knowing he'd occasionally catch her making moon eyes at the templar that drove Alistair off. He couldn't blame Lanny, he was in that mood, the one that wanted to strangle love from every heart, turn it to cinder, and then kick the ash to the wind for good measure. It was a perfectly normal stage in any breakup, at least for him. After the first time he dumped Lanny and she fled up north to fight talking darkspawn, he was in such a foul mood he declared a couple necking on the palace steps to be immediately divorced in the eyes of the crown. Didn't care what Eamon said about how that was highly irregular and would lead to rebellion. He didn't even care to learn that the couple in fact weren't married and now were under the fear they'd have to wed just to appease the King.

It was that kind of a dark mood, and this one felt just as bad.

Rather than turn his occasionally acrimonious tongue on his friend (while secretly wishing he could go after the templar just for a bit) Alistair rode back to the hunting lodge. At the door where a small waterfall gurgled into a stream, he found Teagan, that bodyguard Brunt, and some of the household staff all gearing up for a trip into the woods.

"Don't stop on my account," Alistair cheekily called while dismounting off his horse.

"Sire, you've returned," Teagan was quick to smile in relief, no doubt his excuses for the King's disappearance failing to hold any water over half a day later.

"Where have you been?"

Didn't matter who said it, though in this case it came from that big, gruff bodyguard. Alistair'd been hearing those words if he was missing for more than an hour since his little sabbatical into the west for two or three months. Unable to explain it beyond insisting it was important and no he couldn't say why, he more or less chained an invisible collar to himself and let Eamon hold the leash. Things had cooled with Spud's birth and the castle realizing Alistair never willingly left her for long, but people grew antsy if there'd been no sight of his idiotic face for a half a day.

"I was out taking a walk to enjoy nature...with this horse. Horses love walks. When I ran into some hunters. Followed them home, had a lovely dinner. Talked about sorghum, turns out it's a very fascinating subject. Fell asleep after that rousing conversation, woke up and I think you can figure out the rest."

Teagan sighed, pleased with his explanation, but Brunt was less than forgiving. He folded those hams for arms and grumbled, "A likely story."

"It's all I've got," Alistair admitted before trying to comb his hair, "now if you'll all excuse me, I'd like to wash the road and a no doubt extensive louse collection off me."

After the bath, where he stayed in long after the water turned to ice and his skin pickled, Alistair couldn't take two steps before accidentally bumping into a servant. He began to wonder if they were drawing lots to see if someone could slip bells on him. The ornery part wondered what they'd do if after the last check walked out, he hid inside a wardrobe. Knowing his luck, there'd be a national panic, and they'd light the beacons from South Reach up to Amaranthine all in search for their wayward King. He's important, kinda. Not really for decisions or anything, but you want a butt in that seat otherwise it gets cold and lonely. Vital for national goodwill and things.

As the day drew on, Alistair accomplishing little beyond picking up a book, flipping through it as fast as he could to see if there were any naughty scribbles, then yanking out the next, the servants began to ease off. No doubt they were as sick of his face as he was. Shaving, pampering, even slapping an orlesian mask on his mug wasn't going to hide the heartbreak. Somehow he looked even uglier than usual, which really ought to break one of those laws of nature the mages are always going on about.

Teagan approached after an early supper and tried to lay out five apologies before Alistair could figure out what he was excusing himself from. "I'd intended to return to Castle Redcliffe after you were secured here. But given the..." he didn't say Reiss' name, didn't have to as Alistair nudged a toe into the arm chair. A fur blanket lay stretched across his lap and he never felt more feeble.

"Go," Alistair waved his hand, "Isn't your wife due any day now?"

"Not for another three months," Teagan said, but Alistair knew those worry lines skirting up the sides of his mouth. They were the same ones every expectant father had.

"You don't have to fuss around here on my account. I know where you hide the good alcohol already," Alistair winked, but his heart wasn't in it. It wasn't in for anything anymore. "Go be with her. Tell her hi, Spud can't wait for a new niece or nephew to boss around. Oh, are you...was she going to have a certain special midwife?"

Teagan's eyes slipped back and forth but the study was empty save the bear standing outside the door. Brunt seemed to have calmed in his duties, and on occasion Alistair caught him eyeing up one of the servants as she skipped past. It'd be just his luck that everyone would lick a lamppost on this trip but himself.

"I pray that our mutual friend will not be required and the birth will be easy, but she's prepared on standby just in case."

He smiled at that. Lanny'd come even if she wasn't needed. She'd done something to help Teagan's wife way back when during the Blight and the woman practically had a heart attack upon learning the Hero of Ferelden lived again. While the worship was a bit much for her to stay around too long, Lanny liked Kaitlyn and Teagan.

Alistair shooed him out to go be with his wife. Teagan took most of his servants but left a few behind for fear the King may forget how to boil water on his own. Alone. He remembered what that was like, to have no one around for miles, only his soggy wits and muscles to depend upon. This wasn't alone, he was always surrounded at all times at all hours of the day, but it was loneliness. The kind one gets when people stand near but never interact with you. That one he knew well too.

The templar abbey he trained in was always full of people both younger and older than him, every one either above that bastard who wanted nothing to do with their calling, or too terrified to engage him. Alone was the frozen wastes blanketed in a never ending white as snow washed away both sky and land. Loneliness was a disease that wiped away his ability to touch or speak, leaving him the silent ghost trailing through life hoping for someone to acknowledge him.

Reiss.

Alistair glanced out the window. Technically this one faced the west giving it a beautiful view of the sunset and not in the direction of Denerim, but he could pretend. She looked at him, not out of fear or because she was supposed to, but because she wanted to. _Right?_ He'd been so certain that her smiles were genuine, the laughs they shared weren't just a subject humoring their monarch but a real connection. The way he'd slip his fingers through her hair and she'd lean into him. Was that fake too? Did she put it all on just to make him happy?

Doubt swirled through his gut while his fingers absently twisted about the ring Lanny gave him. The damn thing was too big, nearly falling off at all times, but the second he slid it off Reiss would give him a look. Not a "you should do what I say or else" one, more a "for the love of the Maker, you nearly died. Let's not have a repeat, please" one. Once, after they'd made the beast with two backs and eight legs, he jokingly slipped it onto her thumb. Reiss was in and out, sleep always quick to glide her away, but at that she sat bolt upright and harangued him for both putting his life in danger and causing her to potentially disappoint the Hero of Ferelden.

Alistair was quick to put it back in place, but he couldn't stop laughing at her sudden insistence, as if someone was about to break into their room and stab his naked ass while she was entwined with him. He was so damn certain she cared, not just because she was paid to but because... Because.

_Ah, shit._

There it was, that thing that bothered Lanny. What she wouldn't voice because she knew him too well, knew he wouldn't listen. It would have been different though. Alistair was trying to make it not so ethically awkward. He got her a job not directly answering to him. Was it too little too late? He didn't really talk about the other stuff much.

Because you never think about it. You pass all that planning off on others: Karelle, Cade, Ghaleb before he left, and prior to all this Lanny. Decisions meant someone would be hurt, maybe not right away, maybe not badly, but there'd be consequences and it'd be all his fault. Each bad one terrified him to make another until he was rendered useless, happy to rely upon everyone else for a plan.

Which left the woman he loved wafting in the breeze.

Maker's sake, did he really love her? Alistair stopped spinning the ring and glared down at his hand. Raw from gripping to the reins, the callused part of his skin rubbed off to reveal even redder flesh below. It could have been swinging around swords to fend off darkspawn, but no. His one decision after leaving a mountain to Lanny was this...and look at what it cost you.

The ring was superfluous now, the assassins caught and one by one tossed onto the pyre. What was the point of wearing the damn thing? He gripped onto it, about to slide the steel metal over his swollen knuckle when his heart thudded awake.

No.

It was a gift from the first woman he loved. And if the second ever found out he took it off, she'd be pissed.

But how could she? Reiss was gone, and if he ever did see her again she'd be one face in a sea of them shadowed below city watch helmets marching up and down the streets of Denerim. She'd never talk to him, never smile at him, never be with him again.

Alistair began to worry the ring forward, when movement out the window drew his attention. Dust perforated the hazy sky, no doubt from a rider driving a horse to the brink to approach fast. Was Teagan returning? Had something bad happened? Placing both hands upon the glass, he squished his nose up against the pane and tried to stare closer. A black horse drew up to the lodge, the exhaustion in its stance evident even to a man who only suffered horses because it was better than walking. The rider barely waited for the horse to stop moving before dismounting off the side. Summer's light burned against a mess of blonde hair knotted at the back.

Probably not Teagan then.

At the distance Alistair couldn't make out who it was, the face a blur, but his brain kept gesturing at the all too familiar crimson tunic, the hair, the set to her gait, while his heart refused to listen. The new guest stomped upwards, about to be eclipsed by the overhang of the lodge, she she craned her head back and those green eyes tried to peer through every window.

"Reiss?" he gasped. How could she be here? Why would she...?

A hand dug into Alistair's shoulders, fingers pinching tight through the fancy fabric to tug him backwards. He felt the touch of a point poke in between the ribs, when the entire world tasted of blue and storms. The veil snapped around him as the ring on his finger exploded into metal shrapnel, doing the only thing it was designed to.

His continual breathing with no new holes was enough to throw off the attack and Alistair's training kicked in. Dodging to the left, he kicked backwards with his foot. This sent the attacker scrambling, while Alistair's fingers searched through the room for the first thing he could use to defend himself. Books and pitchers scattered in his hunt, glass shards creating a dangerous trap while he turned to find Brunt huffing in anger and shaking off Lanny's spell in record time.

"Son of a..." was as far as Alistair got before he threw a hard fist against the giant's cheek. What had erupted stars in most of his foes eyes, only caused the man to lean to the side and slash wildly with the blade. _Shit!_

His fingers reached for a hilt only to roll across his empty waist. Of course he didn't have a sword with him, this was supposed to be a vacation.

Brunt slashed twice more towards him, leaning closer with each step and growling under his breath. Alistair leaped backwards, his hands blindly trying to find anything. Grabbing onto a bottle, he spun it around intending to break it over the man's head, but he picked up the bottom and instead doused Brunt's eyes in alcohol. Roaring at the no doubt very unpleasant burning sensation trying to eat his eyeballs, Brunt tried to wipe at his eyes while keeping a loose grip on the dagger.

Alistair had two choices, either run for the door, or snatch the blade from the man's hand and finish the job. Running was the smart and also cowardly move, while trying to reach for the blade would probably get him killed. Frozen in indecision, Alistair could only slide further back into the room, smashing his side into the chair and flipping it between them.

Unfortunately, Brunt roared to life at the sound and the seven foot mountain of muscle moved in between the panicking, unarmed king and freedom. _Well, you've really done it now.  _

Thinking with his muscles, Alistair snatched up an end table, scattering some of Teagan's favorite pottery against the wall. He could get him some replacements later -- assuming he lived. Holding the table up like a shield against the bodyguard trying to kill him, Alistair jerked it at Brunt.

"If this is about you asking for a raise, normally people wait for the no before murdering their boss in cold blood," Alistair jabbered, his brain aware of what was happening but the rest of him in denial. They'd killed all the assassins! This was supposed to be over!

Brunt sneered and slashed at the table, but the dagger's blade was too tiny to cut through real Ferelden oak. It chipped, breaking off sections of the table's fine finish -- sorry Teagan -- but kept the King well protected. Maybe if he could hold Brunt at bay, one of the servants would come to check on him and then... Maker damn it, he had to get to the door. Alistair shoved the table at the mad man and shouted as if he was about to tame a lion. That only earned him a slow eye roll as the man stopped his attack and carefully sheathed his dagger.

Maybe he realized that he was being unreasonable. He meant to kill some other head of state and got confused by how alike all the meat puppets looked. Alistair nearly convinced himself of that until that gigantic paw gripped onto his sword and yanked it out.

"Ah shit," Alistair groaned.

Brunt swung hard, Alistair deflecting the first blow with the table, but the second split into the wood. The table cracked as Brunt yanked his sword out, prepared to take off the King's head without any thought for tradition or procedure. With his shield little more than kindling, Alistair only had one option left. The sword swung through the air, Brunt lining up all his muscles to take him down in one blow. He had one chance now.

Dipping into the rarely used templar pools, Alistair threw every thing he had at him. Brunt was no mage, but a proper holy smite unnerved anyone with a connection to the fade, and it could knock the air out of most people's lungs. Not expecting it, the man's aim bounced through the kingless air. Admittedly, Alistair wasn't betting on it missing him as he ducked down and ran full bore at Brunt.

Even with the templar attack and his two hundred or so pound frame smashing into him, the damn bear stood his ground. Alistair wasn't the berserker in their group, but that survival instinct that Oghren insisted gave him his fighting force (instead of whatever he had hidden in a flask as Alistair suspected) overrode his training. Fists pounded faster than he thought himself capable of, shattering against the man's jaw, his cheek, into that massive mound of stomach muscle. Whatever it took to keep him alive.

This close and under constant assault, Brunt couldn't hit him with the sword, but he knew the same as Alistair that time wasn't on the King's side. Fatigue was waiting and if he didn't get that damn sword out of his hand, Alistair was dead. Forgoing every damn lick of training anyone ever instilled in him, Alistair jammed an elbow into the crook of Brunt's arm, kicked into his knee, and head butted into the sternum. He meant to hit the stomach but missed. Stars erupted in his eyes, the last one a big mistake, but Brunt's wrist slipped downward, about to drop the blade, which he could scoop back up and turn on his would be assassin.

Honing all the energy left inside of him, Alistair launched one last attack at the man, punching a left -- that he blocked -- followed by a right, also blocked, and another unexpected head butt into the arm. Brunt yelped in pain, the sword clattering to the floor. Alistair moved to snatch it up, his eyes watching the man reeling back and reaching for something on his back, when the sound of the door opening drew his fumbling attention. Realizing his mistake, Alistair moved to focus back on Brunt.

His fingers gripped onto the sword, about to draw it across the man, when he felt a poke in his side. Silly little thing, just a tiny jab that grew excruciating with a breath. Blood dribbled down his fingers trying to blot away the dagger sticking into his gut. Hot and sticky, it clung to his sweating hand like a thick custard. The thick custard he needed to stay inside of himself so he didn't die.

_Fuck._

Stumbling backwards, Alistair's legs gave out as the pain twanged against every nerve inside him. Every breath tossed him deeper down the pit, shock taking over his every thought as Alistair tumbled into eternal darkness.

## CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

#### Alistair

Reiss leaped off her horse, surprised to find no one rushing out to tell her off. She'd had to trade it three times over for a fresh one at every stop, even while aware she was getting the rawer end of the deal each time she had no choice. Yanking the cheap sword she bought off a merchant out from under the black horse's saddle, Reiss shoved through the open door. A head perked up from what looked like the big gathering room.

"Where's the King?" she shouted.

The servant should have argued with her, asked who she was and demanded proof. But even out of armor and carrying a basically overgrown cheese knife, Reiss was not someone you argued with. Her eyes blazed with ferocity to try and bury the guilt and fear lurking below, and her voice bellowed louder than the most assured Teryn. She was not about to be turned away.

Shaking like a leaf, the servant pointed up the stairs. Reiss didn't take the time to thank her, just nodded and ran as fast as she could up them. What was she going to say? She'd thought of a few sentences on the trip out, most of them amounting to "I'm sorry, but your life is in danger and even if you hate me let me keep you from dying." It wasn't poetry but it'd get the job done, assuming he didn't throw her out the second she opened the door.

As Reiss' boots skittered to a halt on the floor she faced a multitude of doors, each of them shut tight. She threw open one, peering inside of a broom closet. The next a plain bedroom with no one inside. "Maker take it all. Why didn't I ask what room he's in?"

"Ma'am?" another servant wandered into the hall at her outburst. This one looked familiar but so many had the same plain look to them for the sake of uniformity it was entirely possible she'd never met him before.

"The King, where is he?"

"He's..." the hand paused a moment, the man not as easily bowled over.

"Please, it's a matter of life and death," she gulped, terror growing that she may get kicked out without even talking to Alistair. All this way, her life upended and they could still get to him. Her only consolation was that he couldn't be dead yet if the servants were pointing her towards him and not a body.

The man eyed her up before lifting his finger to point at the third door down the hall. "There."

"Thank you," Reiss gasped, already jogging towards the room. Her heart beat so loudly, it drown out nearly all sounds as the blood rushed in her ears. Time to see if you were right, Rat.

Swallowing down the quiet urge to turn and run, Reiss lifted the latch and stuck her head inside. The entire door rattled away from her as she watched the children's bodyguard jam a dagger through Alistair's ribcage.

"NO!" the scream ripped out her throat, ensnaring Brunt's attentions to her. Alistair stumbled out of his hands, skittering away under his own power but the blood... So much blood coated the floor, too much.

Snarling, Reiss raised her sword and came at the man. He bent down and faster than she thought possible, snatched up a dropped one and deflected her blade. The clanging ran up her arm, her piece of shit sword barely keeping in the hilt from his defense. Use your brain, Rat. You can do this.

"Alistair," she called out, praying he'd respond.

Brunt dropped his shoulder back, and she mimicked the pose. This wasn't going to be easy. Sword clanged against sword, Reiss the faster draw but not fast enough against his greater reach. Each thrust from her, even with vengeance whetting her vision, was quickly parried away. Worst of all, she could feel the edge of her sword biting and chipping with each blow. For Andraste's sake, why didn't she bring a shield?!

"Gah!" Reiss cried, twisting in a circle from the force behind Brunt's attack. His eyes lit up as he realized she was bluffing with her power. Heaving his massive arm, Brunt's swings broke again and again upon Reiss' waning sword. Sweat poured off her hand, slacking in the cheap grip. One more and she was done for.

She had to, to get him to jam his sword...

Brunt lifted his blade high over his head and in one fell swoop drove down towards her. She had no choice but to block with it, the power reverberating through the barely holding steel. Shrapnel exploded out of the grip, pieces of her sword slicing through the air. One nipped her cheek, another embedded into her thigh, but Reiss shook off the pain, barely letting it settle.

Sweet merciful Maker, one of the shards ripped right under Brunt's eye, the bastard shrinking back. Rushing forward, Reiss tried to grab at the sword in his hands. Her fingers dug into his, her nails trying to draw blood, but he swung his free arm around and grabbed onto her wrist. Powerless, her fingers lost their grip on his as he yanked her left arm nearly out of the socket. A sneer rolled up the man's face and she knew he was going to pay her back for the eye.

Reiss barely had time to breathe before he hurled her body downward. With one hand on her wrist, he stepped his massive foot onto her forearm and lifted. Screaming in agony and rage, Reiss tried to grip onto any flesh she could reach but it was all padded in armor. The same fucking armor she wore day in and day out. Brunt shifted his foot back and forth, digging it in deeper until a cracking erupted from below. Pain battered Reiss like a ship in a hurricane, blood welling out of the shattered bone prodding up from her forearm. Fuck. Maker damn it! She drew her arm to her, the unending agony knocking so hard her vision swam. Whistling roared in her ears, she knew a faint was quick on its way. Sitting on her knees, Reiss watched helplessly as Brunt picked up his fallen sword, but he didn't turn it on her.

She was broken, her arm useless. She could put up no more fight. No, no, no, he grabbed onto Alistair's hair and tugged him up. He groaned, still alive despite the blood, but not for long.

Damn it, Reiss. Don't fucking give up now. You've done this before. Ignoring the pain, the blood slicking up her arm, the white haze fading the world around her, Reiss stood up. Brunt was too busy with his work to notice, or care. She was the little elf no one noticed.

But she wasn't just fighting for herself, she was protecting the one she loved. Reiss's fingers wrapped around the grip of the dagger in her hair. No one ever asked why she wore it. It was handy, was her go to excuse. She never told anyone about the night in the refugee camp when thunder crackled the dark air and a solitary Tal Vashoth tried to steal their only food. Reiss walked away with a broken hand, he didn't walk away at all.

Knowing she had once chance at this, Reiss waited until Brunt drew up his arm for the final blow. Alistair whimpered at the man yanking his golden hair out. Only a single snicker erupted from the assassin as he lifted his sword for the finishing kill.

Reiss launched forward, her dagger biting far into the man's armpit up through the weakness in the armor. The one place she knew she could strike him, because she too wore that armor. Ignoring the blood and with only one hand, she drove the blade in deeper until it struck bone. Brunt shrieked, trying to whip around and slash at her, but Reiss was faster.

Yanking the dagger out, she popped up right beside him and staring deep into his eyes, drove it right through his throat. Past the yards of beard, Reiss didn't stop shoving until blood spurted down the metal chest plate. Watching the panic rise as Brunt tried to throw her off, Reiss heaved her all against him, knocking the giant backwards. She twisted the dagger back and forth, widening the hole and cheering the blood pouring out of the wound.

That's right, she snickered as the panic faded to a debilitating realization. You were killed by a rat.

Without any flourish, Reiss tugged her dagger out. Air gushed from the hole, the man's final breath before blood gurgled bubbles across the floor.

Alistair.

Forgetting the pain, Reiss scrabbled across the floor to him. He had his eyes closed, his head thrown back, but she could see a breath rattling his chest up and down. Her bloody fingers drifted across his cheek, so cold, so pale. "Alistair, stay with me. Okay."

He groaned as if she was trying to wake him from a pleasant nap. One eye rolled open, but it looked glassy. "Reiss?"

"Yes," she couldn't stop the stupid tears, her brain panicking. "I'm here to..." Maker damn it, she was here to save him. But she was too slow, too weak, too stupid.

"Good," he sighed before his head lolled forward.

"Hey, stay with me. I'm going to...I'm gonna," she had nothing, she knew nothing. What was she going to do? Unable to stop the tears, Reiss threw her head back and shrieked.

"Ma'am," a voice spoke up from behind her.

She didn't glance away from Alistair, terrified that if she did he'd die on her. "What, what is it?" Oh Maker, were they going to think she killed him? The elf that burst in on the King only to kill him and his bodyguard. It'd be the end of everything.

"Here," the man scuttled forward through the blood. "This will help," he passed a red bottle to her fingers.

Reiss yanked the cork out with her mouth and scooted forward, placing the lip to Alistair's cold mouth when a thought struck her. What if it was poisoned? What choice did she have? Tipping it in, most of the liquid gurgled down his throat. And what didn't make it washed down his chin to join with the blood pooling down him. It seemed to revive something in him, more groans of agony erupting from the once deathly silent throat.

Placing the empty bottle down, Reiss' fingers circled around the hilt of the dagger lodged inside him.

"No, Ma'am!" the man grabbed onto her elbow, trying to pull her fingers away. "Leave it in, until we can cauterize the wound."

"Cauterize? You know of medicine?"

"A little," he bobbed his head, "I served in the blight."

"How?" He couldn't be more than twenty if that.

The man blushed at that and sighed, "Bandage boys they called us, but we have to move quickly to close this. Can you help me carry him to a bed?"

"I..." Reiss' aching arm finally struck her and she stared in horror at the mutilated bone. "No, I can't."

This war hardened boy followed her sight and the blood drained from his face. Compound fractures were not for the light of stomach. The pain ransacking her body somehow made her arm go numb, as if she was staring at someone else's forearm prodding up through the tear to her shirt.

Cupping a hand to his mouth, the boy bellowed for his fellow servant who upon skipping into the room and getting a good look at the bloated corpse with a dagger sticking out of his throat screamed her head off. The boy waited a minute for it to die down before he shouted that she get over and help him with the King. While whispering prayers to Andraste for having to touch so much blood, the woman and part-time medic both heaved Alistair up and carried him to a bedroom.

The King's head lolled against his chest as they carried him, almost no life left inside. Please. Hang on. When the pair dropped him to the bed, an aching groan broke through his paling lips. Reiss was drawn to it, her fingers cupping against that cold skin. She could feel the tears rattling through her soul, but had to focus. He may look like he was about to cross the veil, but she wasn't going to give him up.

"What do we need to do?" she asked, turning to the boy. With one foot he cranked on a set of bellows, bringing life to the fire, while tossing the end of a poker into it.

"You're not going to like this bit. We've got to stop the bleeding and without a mage here I only know one way."

Oh Maker. She'd seen this done before, on the battlefield when mages were only meant for offense and there weren't enough potions to go around. Those who weren't vital to the cause had to suffer with amputations and prayer as their medicine.

"Alistair," Reiss leaned closer to him, hoping to get a glimpse into his eyes but he was too far gone. Barely a breath passed through his dangling lips. "This is going to hurt," she explained despite him clearly being lost to a faint.

The boy looked over at Reiss. "You're gonna have to pull out the dagger and tug up the shirt so I can..." He made the motion of pushing the poker to skin.

"I..." Reiss didn't want to break her fingers away from Alistair's face, convinced she was the only thing keeping him alive, but one look at the poor girl about to hit the floor and she knew it had to be her. Grimly nodding, she lifted her broken arm higher against her chest. Pain burst through her gut, threatening to splatter out what little food she scrounged on the road, but Reiss managed to tamp it down. Grabbing onto the dagger's pommel, she glanced once back at Alistair and mouthed 'sorry.'

Drawing it out quickly, blood gushed from the wound. Freed of its dam, red pooled over the King's side and stained upon the bed sheets. Reiss chucked the dagger that killed...nearly killed him to the ground and tugged up his shirt. She barely had time to look away as the boy jammed the poker against the wound.

Alistair didn't scream, even as the scent of his burning flesh and boiling blood filled the air, but he groaned in agony, his body trying to roll away from the pain coursing through it. "It's okay," Reiss drew her fingers over his cheek, "it's going to help. I hope. Right?"

The boy's shaking hands pulled the poker away from the burned skin and he dropped it to the ground. "I, uh, I think so. The bleeding's slowing, I should, uh...Patrice?"

Wide eyed the scared woman scampered over from her corner to snatch up the errant poker as if it was vital it be returned to its place.

"No, get some towels and bandages. I'll try to do the only thing I know to do."

Patrice was terrified, and rightly so as she barreled into the hall to fetch the supplies.

While the still nameless boy did his best to clear off the blood and try to patch up the mess, Reiss kept drawing her fingers down Alistair's cheek. That cold, whiskery cheek drawing deeper into itself as if Alistair was fading away. Someone passed her another potion, which she was careful to get more down his throat. If it helped, she couldn't tell. "Will he be all right?" Reiss whispered to the Maker.

"I don't know," the boy sighed. Blood coated his hands which he kept wiping across his forehead to try and combat the sweat that came from someone attempting to save their King's life. "This is bad, really bad. If we had a healer here, a proper one then maybe..."

"Proper?" Reiss' mind was having trouble focusing, her fingers unable to stop petting Alistair's cheek as if that could somehow revive him.

"You know," he tipped his head back and forth, "a mage."

Reiss turned away from him to stare out the window. Could it? Maybe. Oh Maker, it could be her only hope. "Is there an abbey near here?"

"I don't..." he began before Patrice sweetly spoke up.

"Aye, down the road a ride. Takes in all kinds of sick."

"We can't move him," the servant interrupted.

Reiss nodded, her steps shoring before her. "I'll go." She knew it was the right path, but she'd have to leave him and what if...? What if he died while she was gone? Thinking she'd left him again?

"Ma'am, you're hurt," the boy pointed out.

She glanced down at the broken arm and sighed, "It has to be me, for...reasons. You, Patrice, can you belt this to me like a sling? Good and tight."

The poor girl blanched even more, but she unhooked the flimsy belt around Reiss' midsection and with delicate fingers wrapped it first around her shoulder and then moved to pick up the bone. Pain shattered Reiss' body, sending her almost pitching backwards, but she dug in tight with her good hand to the bedpost. Patrice paused, but Reiss bit on her tongue and nodded her to keep going. Wrapping the belt twice, she knotted it off.

"No," Reiss grunted, "tighter. Real close or I'll bump it."

"Blessed Andraste, please guard us in our hour of need," Patrice mumbled while doing as told.

Even with pain blinding her sight and shredding apart every inch of her skin, Reiss hung on until the girl stepped away. Turning her head fast, Reiss vomited on the ground, the pain too much for her. She felt herself sinking to a knee, when the medic's hands grabbed onto her shoulder and held her in place.

"Drink this," he jabbed a health potion to her face, but she shook it off.

"How many are there?"

"Three more remaining."

Reiss tried to hand it back, "You'll need them all to keep him alive."

"And you need to not die on the trip to the abbey," he rightly pointed out.

Groaning at the logic, Reiss tipped a quarter of the liquid into her mouth. It tingled against her tongue and a gentle cocoon wrapped around her body, trying to wash away the pain. With such little the best it could knock down were some of her bruises, but it would have to be enough. "Ration these out, keep him alive as best you can. You," she pointed at Patrice, "I'm going to need you to help me get onto my horse."

The girl nodded, already scampering out of the room that stank of death. "No one is to enter this room until I return," Reiss ordered to the boy.

"What about...?"

"I don't know who all is involved in this, so until the King is...until he's on his feet, no one." Reiss suspected she knew the truth but doubted anyone she told it to would believe her. If Alistair died...

Her resolve dissolved away as she stared back at the man she had to leave to save his life. Stumbling through his blood and her vomit, she bent down and placed a single kiss against his forehead. Her lips brushed over the cold skin as she whispered, "Don't you die."

It wasn't easy stuffing her ass up into the saddle, but Patrice managed. Without turning back, Reiss dug the horse into a gallop down the road. She had little to guide her beyond the woman's vague suggestions to keep going west until smoke appeared in the horizon. The potion wore off about an hour into her ride, pain seizing up and down her arm with every jostle, and since she was on horseback those occurred every other step. A few times her vision swam, and Reiss feared she was about to tumble right off the horse to the ground, but then what? She'd be stranded in the woods, unable to mount alone and Alistair would...

Snapping her head up, she tightened her lone grip to the reins and focused down the road. Little more than a deer trail at this point, it seemed almost no one traveled it to keep the woods at bay. Tree branches littered the path, shed from a storm that was recent or... Reiss felt her breath constrict as the woods leaned tighter and tighter around her. Was this the right way?

Her daylight was dipping down right into her eyes, all but blinding her to whatever lay ahead. She tried to shield her vision with her one working hand, but that tugged the horses head back -- and the poor thing already hated her. Closing her eyes against the light, Reiss turned her head to the north to try and get a glimpse of the darkness when she spotted what looked like gold dancing in the air. Not a sunbeam, but speckles of gold glittered against the sun as it buffeted upward to the clouds.

Was that the strange smoke?

Tugging back on the reins, her horse gladly slowed to a trot while Reiss glared at the glittering swirls. It could be any number of things, bugs caught by the setting sun, her own dying vision as pain racked her brain, or an apostate hiding in the woods. Glaring at the path to the west, Reiss couldn't see anything down that way but more forest ready to suck her away.

"Maker take me," she cursed to herself while tugging the horse up the northern path. If this wasn't it then she not only killed Alistair, she may have doomed herself as well.

The horse jangled back and forth, the motion rocking Reiss the way a cradle would an infant. Long days on the road and short nights barely spent sleeping merged with the pain coursing through her veins, all of it doing its best to lull her to sleep. She kept starting awake, once even pinched her cheeks to focus, but nothing was working. Andraste, how long will this take?

Fear that she'd chosen wrong and wasted precious time stung Reiss as she ducked under a low branch. She was about to yank the horse back around and head to the western path, when lights burst through the woods. More smoke, this of the regular variety tumbled apart the clouds, and she could swear she heard a bit of laughter in the air. Please let this be right.

Spurring her horse into a gallop, Reiss rose up off her haunches and drove towards the only hope she had left in this world. White walls rose through the forest greens, an archway towering above the open gate. She barely ducked under it while yanking back on her horse to come to a slow standstill in the middle of the courtyard. There were no signs saying what this place was, no one ran out to greet her, only the smell of bread and voices speaking behind doors admitted that anyone lived here.

"Hello," Reiss shouted, hoping someone would come out.

"Ah," a man's voice rumbled above the stomping of her exhausted horse's hooves.

She turned it around to find the source and felt the blood drain from her cheeks as the Commander of the Inquisition stepped out of a side room and glanced up at her. "Picking up or dropping off?" he asked so assuredly, Reiss had to run back through what she needed.

"Commander," Reiss bowed her head to him.

He frowned in response and paused in wiping flour off his hands, "Most call me Cullen here."

"Right, I need help," Reiss sputtered, her own brain running on fumes barely able to sputter out anything coherent. His eyes wandered up to her arm tucked in a sling. "No, not that. I...I need a mage."

That snapped his spine straight. Reiss didn't realize he'd been warm and welcoming until it all drained away. "You're mistaken, there are no mages here."

"Please," she begged. Maker it felt strange to be above the Commander, but she feared getting off her horse. It seemed to intimidate the man a bit as he folded his arms but made no direct move to throw her out. "There's been an injury and..." Could she trust him? Would Alistair? But he trusted the man who stabbed him. "I heard that there was a mage here who could help."

"You were misinformed," he growled, the smoldering anger silencing Reiss' tongue. She'd never run afoul of the Commander but Maker save her soul if she ever did. He was more terrifying than having to face down Andraste's wrath. "If that is all..." he extended a hand to the door and began to turn away.

No! This isn't about you! Blighted save him!

"The Hero of Ferelden!" Reiss gasped out.

Cullen froze in his turn, the muscles in his shoulders popping into rage as he whipped his head back to her. "What?!"

"I need her, I know she's here. Please, it's for..."

"Get out." Not caring that she was on a horse that could easily trample him, the Commander grabbed the reins out of her hand and yanked the horse towards the gate.

"Stop," Reiss begged, wishing she could explain, "I know her, she's here because she..."

"You know nothing and it would be in your best interest to forget anything you think you know," he growled, marching her away from her only hope.

Reiss fumbled forward, trying to snatch the reins away, but her broken arm smashed into the saddle horn. Her scream of agony shattered the quiet air of the abbey. Even Cullen paused in dragging her away, his eyes hunting over to make certain she wasn't about to split apart into a demon.

"What in Andraste's name was that?" a voice called out from behind her. "Reiss?"

She spun in the saddle, fighting through the pain wracking her spine to find the Hero standing at the top of the stairs.

"Cullen, stop!" Lana dashed forward, waving her hand to him.

He did as commanded, but sneered up at Reiss while turning to his wife. "She..."

"Is the bodyguard who...you know," Lana was quick to intervene, a smile on her lips while the Commander cooled down in an instant. But Lana whipped her head up to Reiss, fear marring her features. "What are you doing here without him?"

"Please, I need you," she begged, tears of pain and relief streaking down her cheeks, "Alistair's been injured."

"How bad?" Lana asked, her back snapping to attention.

"Gravely, he was stabbed in the..."

Reiss didn't even have time to finish her answer before Lana whistled for a stablehand to come rushing over. "Prepare a horse," her eyes glanced over Reiss' sweating, staggering nag, "two horses."

"Yes, ma'am," the stablehand wandered off.

"Make it three," Cullen added, dropping Reiss' reins and marching over to his wife who was already hobbling towards a back room.

"What do you think you're doing?" Lana asked, barely pausing to talk to her quickly catching up husband.

"I'm not letting you go alone, and the two of us riding together would slow the horse down."

She gripped onto his arm, eyeing him up a moment before nodding. With that blessing Cullen dashed off to help saddle up the three horses in the stable. The Hero vanished into a room she had to unlock with a key while someone was kind enough to help Reiss off her horse and onto the first prepped one.

"Here," Cullen passed her a bottle much like the ones the bandage boy gave her. "It'll help for now," he tipped his head at her arm but made no mention to almost running her off.

Reiss drank it all in one go and felt a surge of energy burning through her veins. This must have been far more concentrated than whatever the hunting lodge had available as the throb in her arm died down to a dull ache. She felt so free from the pain, she glanced down to make certain the bone was still there saying hello to the world.

Slightly aware she was getting loopy from the pain medication, Reiss wrapped the reins around her hand so they wouldn't fall off just as Lana hobbled out of the room. She had a pouch knotted tight against her back which her husband cast a concerned glance over but said nothing too. After being helped onto her horse, Lana didn't wait for the others. She spurred it into a gallop, churning quickly to the hunting lodge. Barely rolling his eyes, Cullen lopped his horse and mounted onto it while running beside.

Reiss shook off the long fingers of sleep trying to burrow into her mind. She had to be there or they wouldn't let Lana in to see him, to save him. A flash of Alistair laying lifeless on the ground, his blood pooling upon the floor snapped her fully awake. Yanking her horse around, Reiss followed after the mad cavalcade. Please, Andraste, Maker, even the damn Creators if you care, keep him alive.

Let this work.

## CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

#### The Sun

Lana was the first to hit the ground, her cane rattling quickly against the steps as, sure enough, the people Reiss ordered to guard the King came out to stop her. The Hero wasn't about to be pushed around by anyone, and raised her fist, magic sparkling around when Reiss shouted from outside the gate, "She's with me!"

Nodding her thanks, Lana hurried up towards Alistair's room, almost as if she knew right where he was without having to ask. It was the Commander who helped Reiss off her horse, his eyes darting over her a minute to see if she needed help standing, but once she got her legs under her, she bolted for the stairs. He kept close on her heels until they stumbled upon the thrown open door.

"Please tell me he's alive," Reiss gasped. Lana froze a moment with her hand hovering above his dangerously still chest, her eyes in shock. She found her courage and with the certainty of a healer laid it upon his sternum.

Time froze, Reiss clinging tight to her wounded shoulder while feeling her life split in two. One path had hope, no matter how brief it may be while the other was an eternal darkness she may never climb out of.

Lana gasped, and nodded her head, "He's still with us."

Thank the Maker! Reiss sobbed to herself, freezing up in the doorway. Luckily the healer now assured that her patient lived was on the job. Lana yanked the pouch she got special off her back and placed it on the chair.

"Cullen," she turned to her husband filling up the door, "take his shirt off."

What should have been awkward for all was nothing as the Commander tugged out a small hunting knife and split apart the King's blood soaked tunic. It fell open revealing the bloody wound and burned flesh. Lana hissed at the sight, her fingers dancing over it as her eyes closed.

"I get why, probably saved his life, but..." she chuckled mirthlessly to herself, "Sorry Ali, this is going to hurt." Twisting her fingers around, white light poured out of her hand aimed at the wound. Below her fingers, Reiss could see the charred flesh rising away to a rubbed raw pink as if it healed quickly, but the blood returned, gurgling out the wound.

Lana yanked off the light, a panic in her eyes. She didn't seem concerned about the bleeding, her hand waving across it and stitching the torn flesh together in an instant. "He didn't scream, he should have screamed," she mouthed, her eyes darting back to Reiss a moment before folding her hands together and slowly drawing them down Alistair's exposed chest. Cullen stood beside the bed, his fingers rolling back and forth the knife while he watched his wife closely.

At that exact moment, the servants came bustling into the room. "What are you doing?" the bandage boy called out, angry at her messing with his work. Or perhaps trying to defend his King. Patrice's eyes widened to just the whites as she clung tightly to her elbows, one of which was now crimson.

Lana snarled, "Cullen, get them out of here."

He nodded at his wife, and swooped his arms out to block the servant's view. "Let's go, she needs time to work."

Reiss turned to leave, when Lana called out, "You stay, I might need your help."

Maker's sake, what could she do? Nodding at the order, Reiss tried to move to the Hero's side when the Commander having finished shoving the servants out and was about to close the door leaned to her. "Make certain she doesn't kill herself."

Was that a possibility? Reiss bobbed her head, terrified of what he'd do if she failed. His eyes darted back to his wife once before Cullen shut the door, no doubt standing in the way so no one would interrupt.

"Come here, I need you to dig into that satchel and pull out a bottle."

It wasn't the easiest to unknot the tie with only one hand, but Reiss didn't slow down while Lana kept kneading her fingers an inch above Alistair. "Will he make it?" she pleaded.

"I..." Lana opened her eyes a moment and sighed, "I'm not sure yet. Do you have the vial?"

Reaching into the pouch, her hand skimmed over strangely warm glass and Reiss yanked out a blue cylinder that almost pulsed with power. Staring too hard at it made her teeth hurt. Reiss shoved it toward's Lana, but the healer shook her head.

"No, just open the cap and Maker's sake don't touch it," Lana ordered.

With her thumb and forefinger, Reiss slowly unscrewed the lid and watched it bounce off the ground. Something happened, the air in the room thickening and Reiss felt her fingers reaching around and around the vial as she tried to hold it steady. But all she could see was the blue liquid dissipate out of the vial as if by magic. When the final drop vanished into the air, Lana parted her hands across Alistair's chest and he tossed his head back, his lungs pulling in a deep breath.

"Is he...?" Reiss ran to the other side of the bed, hoping he'd open his eyes.

"Not yet, but...that's a good sign. This is going to take some time," she groaned, exhaustion evident. Oh Maker, what if the Commander was right and she had to sacrifice herself to save him. Was that how magic worked? Reiss had never been near it before beyond the small spells.

"Don't..." Reiss began, but the woman waved her concerns away as she prodded at Alistair's ribs. "What should I do?"

Lana's eyes darted over to her standing awkwardly beside him before returning to her patient. "Hold his hand, talk to him. Give him a reason to stay here."

"That..." tears bit in her eyes, but she shook them off. This wasn't the time. Fumbling down his forearm, Reiss' fingers wrapped around his slack ones. Maker, they were so cold. It felt as if he stumbled in from a day of building snowmen. Was that something he enjoyed doing? She didn't even know because she hadn't known him long enough to see their first winter together.

"I'm here," she whispered, falling to a knee. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

Lana worked her magic above her while Reiss kept mumbling the same two words over and over. She was so exhausted she couldn't think of anything else to say, but she prayed that it would be enough. His fingers dangled limply in her grip, Reiss trying to impart her useless life force through him, as if that could work. Don't die. Please. Just. Don't. I can't lose you after I...

After I already lost you.

Reiss started at the thought infecting her brain, surprised that her heavy eyelids slid open. Did she fall asleep on her knees? Struggling in a breath, the pain reared awake in her arm -- the draught's power having ebbed out of her system. She glanced up at Lana and the woman didn't look as if she'd moved a step, her fingers spread over Alistair's midsection. Both eyes closed, she breathed softly through her parted lips, the scent of lightning brash in the room.

Alistair didn't look any better, but he didn't look worse either.  Please be okay. Please come through this. So many people care for you. Need you.

Love you.

"You should head out to the hall to sit with Cullen," Lana's voice boomed through the still room. Reiss drew away from staring a plea into Alistair's closed eyes. The mage hadn't opened her eyes but she looked strained.

"It's all right," Reiss coughed out, "I'm fine, I can stay."

"It wasn't a suggestion," the depths of the power of the Hero washed over Reiss and she staggered up to her legs. For a moment her knee tried to buckle, the muscle falling asleep when she did, but she managed to stagger around without bumping into the bed.

"Will he...?"

"I need to concentrate," she hissed, her fingers parting through that veil the mage's used. Blue light sparked from one hand to the next, undulating as she honed in on his chest.

Reiss didn't want to leave but she had no logical standing to remain. She made that choice to exit his life, it only made sense that his closest friends would try to protect him now. Staggering to the door, Reiss turned on the handle and left the healer alone to try and save the dying man.

The servants must have scattered after realizing there was no crossing the Commander. He wasn't standing guard the way Reiss would but was sitting on a bench beside the wall. Hands clasped together, his eyes were shut tight as soft prayers moved through his lips. The words were so quiet Reiss could only catch the barest breath of the consonants, but she knew it. Atisha wasn't a fan of the darker parts of the chants as she put it, she liked the lighter stories -- like Andraste toppling an empire. That was good bedtime reading.

But this canticle Reiss knew well, hearing it often reverberating in the refugee camps, in filthy work houses, bandied about by bleeding lips while survivors huddled together during the Blight.

"When I have lost all else, when my eyes fail me and the taste of blood fills my mouth, then in the pounding of my heart, I hear the glory of creation."

Bending her legs, Reiss collapsed onto the bench doing her best to keep her shattered arm from hitting anything. The pain threatened to knock her stomach about, but it was empty -- everything long since voided in her mad dash to save Alistair. And it could all be for nothing. So close and she could still... Silly rabbit, you already lost him.

Maybe, but that doesn't mean the world should too.

"Do not grieve for me, Maker of All. Though all others may forget You, Your name is etched into my every step."

"I will not forsake You, even if I forget myself."

Reiss didn't realize she spoke the prayer aloud with him until the Commander parted his hands and glanced over at her. She moved to apologize for interrupting him, but exhaustion and guilt stamped out her ability to play nice. Every thing in her life dangled upon the knife's edge, and no matter the outcome it would never be the same. She'd never be the same.

"I'm sorry," the Commander spoke to her, his voice soft. It's lightness surprised the ex-soldier who only ever heard it bellowed with a raw rasp across battlefields and crowded halls. "For trying to send you away. For not listening."

She swallowed hard, uncertain what to say. In the list of offenses against her, his fell so far down it wasn't even in her mind. Closing her eyes against the stinging light, Reiss sighed, "You were protecting her."

He snickered at that. The Commander sat with his legs wide, both elbows pushing into the thighs while his hands dangled limply in the middle. He felt useless, as useless as Reiss did. Right now there was a man dying, a King dying, and only one person who could help.

"It's not easy, loving someone like that."

Reiss' eyes flew open and she whipped her head over at the man who as far as she knew never opened up to anyone. Little was known about the Commander's private life, which he seemed to prefer, and also inspired the rumor mill. Somehow no one ever got that he was enraptured with the Hero of Ferelden right.

Aware of her scrutiny, he leaned up, the back of his head brushing against the wall. "Like trying to protect the sun itself. All your worry, all your fears mean nothing because it shines bright enough to both attract constant danger but also ferret away darkness."

"I..." Reiss couldn't shake her own awe at the real Solona Amell being only a room away. She was a legend, saved her and her family.

Cullen glanced over, his weary eyes almost lifting in a smirk, "Falling for someone like that, someone who has saved millions of lives, impacted all of thedas. It's...terrifying at times."

"But you..." Reiss struggled to speak her thoughts, that shield she kept in place to protect herself rising up. No, there was no point now. "You're the Commander of the Inquisition. Or were, your standing it must be close to hers."

He didn't smile, but he nodded his head a moment as if slightly impressed. Turning away to stare down the open floor, Cullen spoke, "I wasn't always. I certainly wasn't when I fell for her. One templar out of a hundred, a thousand, a nobody who foolishly loved the woman that saved Ferelden, saved the world. I didn't think for a second that she'd even cast a second glance my way."

On the first floor below them, Reiss spotted the head of Patrice slowly sliding towards the fireplace. She hurled a log onto the puny flame before glancing up to the quiet room where a King would either live or die tonight.

"It's maddening sometimes," Cullen continued, "to think that someone like her can care about me, can love me. That I can have that great of an impact on her life."

"She married you," Reiss sighed, knowing that was never in her cards. Granted, an elf with no alienage and no parents was destined to be a spinster regardless.

"She did, and still," he leaned out of his seat as if he could peer through the door to watch his wife struggling to save Alistair. "Sometimes I see the sun and I fear I might be lost in her wake. They forget, they don't know what they are to people. Lana's...she's slipped more and more from what she once was while in hiding. But I remember." A smile lifted upon his dour lips as he stared out across the vast emptiness, no doubt rifling through a favorite memory.

"I don't..." Reiss shifted, feeling like she was being given a lecture in a language she didn't speak.

"That man is an idiot," Cullen said point blank about his King while jabbing a finger towards the door. "And I was forced to live through his depths of idiocy for far too long, but...and it pains me to say it, he's a good man."

"I know..." she swallowed hard.

"I don't know what came between you two, but I can take a wild guess. He did something stupid, more than likely not out of malice, but because he didn't stop to think, to remember that we're not all the same. Those two," he jerked his head to the door, "they can't see the pedestal the rest of us put them on. And when they try to drag one of us up to it, it gets messy."

"I'm sorry, Ser, what are you saying?" Reiss wasn't certain if she was hallucinating from the pain wracking her body, or if the actual Commander of the Inquisition was giving her relationship advice. The latter seemed far more likely.

Cullen grumbled, seeming to have lost the words he was barely able to get out. "Tell him what you need, make him realize that you're not the same. He's too stupid and kind hearted to figure it out himself."

"Oh," Reiss' head hung down, her eyes focusing on the carpet. Was that the problem between them? Why she ran when she felt the collar of high society tightening against her throat like a noose? Did he really not realize that others would see her differently? Oh Maker.

"And for my sake and his, never tell him I shared this with you," Cullen sneered, folding back against the wall in silence.

Reiss didn't know exactly what went on between the two but she got the feeling there wasn't exactly any love lost. "My lips are sealed," she promised.

The pair of them fell silent sitting on the bench. On occasion a few muted sounds would permeate the closed door, mostly shuffling but Reiss thought she heard the sound of glass breaking which drew a deeper frown to the Commander's face. She'd spent so long worrying about what to do if Alistair didn't make it, a new thought rattled in her brain. What was she going to do if he survived? Would he hate her? He should, she broke his heart. It was only fair. And rushing out to save him left her without anything to return to.

Reiss should feel something about abandoning her post, leaving behind the only job she'd known for the past year and a half but it was a soap bubble. Letting it pop from neglect had little impact upon her. It was money and a bed, but it wasn't what she wanted.

Maker's sake, Rat. What do you want?

The door opened, jarring both Reiss and Cullen out of their daydreams. She moved to stand, but he was faster on the draw already on his feet to grip onto the elbow of his wife.

"I've done all of what I can for now." Lana looked like she'd walked through the void itself and returned. Her fingers gripped tight to her cane which Cullen was quick to take over for as he helped her to sit down.

"His chances?" Reiss asked, her fingers digging into her knee as she glared out at the world. She had to know but didn't want to.

"They're..." the Hero paused, her hand kneading against her forehead as exhaustion rampaged up.

"Lana," Cullen's hands cupped her shoulder, the man providing support for her. Perhaps the only way a normal person could to the sun.

She gritted her teeth and patted his hand. "I'd give it fifty, fifty right now. If he makes it 'til morning then...then I think he's in the clear. It was bad, worse than I first anticipated."

Andraste, please. Reiss couldn't fold her hands together so she curled the only working one up into a fist, her body wanting to take out all its frustration and fear upon the one who caused it. But beating a dead corpse wouldn't get her very far.

"You're exhausted," Cullen drew his fingers down his wife's cheek cheek.

"I'm fine," she said, shaking her head despite all evidence to the contrary. There'd been a dissonance in the room but without her patient needing her to be focused, a redness welled up in her eyes, the pain quick to overtake her.

The Commander took her assurances about as well as Reiss expected, his arms folding as he asked point blank, "How many vials of lyrium?"

"All of them."

"What? All four!"

"It was very bad. And close. If we'd been an hour late, a half hour, I don't know if...oh," she leaned her head back against the wall and began to flex her hands out across her knees. Her husband looked on, clearly wishing he could do something to ease the burden on their only mage.

Wrapping an arm around the back of her neck, Cullen tugged his chest to her cheek in a strange hug. "Rest up, I'll see if I can find you some food."

A heart rending smile played about her lips before the Hero turned to place a kiss upon him. "Thank you," she whispered. With something to do, Cullen stomped off, his growling voice already requesting for one of the servants to point him in the direction of the larder.

After a moment of exhausted silence, Lana sat up and turned to Reiss. "Let me take a look at your arm."

"No, it's..." she moved to yank it away, but the mage was already slipping her fingers over it. Reiss gritted her teeth anticipating pain, but none came. Numbness drew away all feeling upon her arm as the mage stared down at it. "Don't exert yourself on my account."

A soft chuckle was the only response she got as Lana passed her fingers back and forth over the break. Sure enough, the bone began to retract to where it belonged -- not shattering through her skin. The sight was almost sickening to watch, as if she was suffering her attack but in reverse.

"It won't be fully healed, and will need to be kept in a sling for awhile but that should help ease the pain."

"Th..." Reiss tried to wiggle it against the belt but her elbow refused to communicate down her fingers. "Thank you," she whispered.

Lana closed her eyes as she leaned back against the wall, her fingers back to worrying up and down her lap as if they itched terribly. "Soldier's bravado?"

"Hm?" Reiss slid back and forth on her legs, surprised to find herself capable of more without the constant pain beating her down.

"Why you didn't want me to heal you? It's either fear of mages or soldier's bravado that pain will make you stronger. As idiotic as it sounds."

"No it," Reiss gulped, "your...the Commander told me to make certain you didn't overexert yourself when casting magic. He said I should keep you from killing yourself."

That caused her to open one eye, a brow lifting higher as Lana turned on her, "Did he now?"

"Ah, sort of, yes. I was afraid that...I mean, this isn't life threatening, and if it hurt you..."

Lana dismissed her apologies with the wave of her hand, "Don't worry about it. I'm made of sterner stuff." She lapsed into silence, the deafening kind where the air thickened with every unspoken word knocking hard against Reiss' head. It kept reverberating that she should say something, but damn if she knew what. Even thinking Alistair's name clogged up her throat, speaking it aloud might be what did her in.

"It's a lucky thing," Lana's voice cut through the oppressive atmosphere. "You showing up when you did, protecting him and all." Her words seemed full of praise, but the tone was damning. She'd been distant before, but with exhaustion and fear stripping away whatever facade the woman wore to heal professionally the metaphorical gloves were off.

Reiss accepted the anger, her head hanging low as she whispered, "I should have been here before, never have given them an opportunity."

She didn't answer that, but Reiss could feel the nod of, "Yes, you damn well should have." Shifting on her weary bones, Lana ran her fingers over the handle of her cane, as if tracing something underneath it. Her breath slowed as she kept repeating the pattern. Either she was working up the courage or the energy to tell Reiss off for endangering the King. No, for endangering her friend and someone so dear to her. As if Reiss wasn't already crumbling inside for it.

"Here," Cullen softly jogged across the creaking wood floor to deposit a mass of berries and nuts into Lana's hand.

The offering vanished quickly, her fingers plucking each up as she swallowed. In between bites, she turned to her husband to say, "The one time my pockets are empty. Not even a slice of bread in here."

His fingers curled over the back of her neck and down to pat her shoulders. Always protecting her. Reiss tried to not think on the fact that one of the most well known templars in thedas was now actively hiding an apostate. Announcing that fact would probably turn both of them against her.

Chewing apart the last of the berries, Lana began to stagger up to her feet. "Thanks, that should be enough to last me for a few more hours," she jammed her cane under her and moved a step towards the door, when Cullen's fingers gripped onto her shoulder.

"No, you've put in enough. You're exhausted beyond measure, Lana. Bed is the only place you belong."

That earned him a near on growl and a massive eye roll. "For the love of the Maker, Cullen, not..."

"This is not up for debate," he thundered. "You went through four vials, alone." That paused her, Lana's eyes skirting down to the ground. "It's been a long day, and...you won't do him any good so fatigued you can't stand." Butting his forehead to hers, he drew his hand up to her cheek and whispered, "You know that."

She sneered, her head turning to the side to break the contact. Reiss braced herself for an oncoming couple fight, potentially with magic thrown in. But Cullen broke it all away by pressing his lips to her cheek and in a wobbling voice say, "I don't want to lose you."

That steel certainty melted away, and Lana wrapped a hand around the back of the one her husband pinned to her cheek.

"Now," Cullen coughed, the emotion cracking off his voice, "do I have to carry you bed or..."

For a brief second, the Hero chuckled, "No, I can walk. But someone should stay with him in case..." Her head rotated over her shoulder and the eyes almost softened on Reiss. "Sit with him, please. Just watch, make sure that he's stable. And if anything changes."

"I'll come find you, right away," Reiss swore, absently saluting which brought her fist right into her broken arm. With the numbing still floating through her system it felt like she punched a block of cottony wood instead.

Accepting that she had no say in her own life, Lana hooked an arm around her husband's shoulders and he led her away towards a bedroom. Reiss glared down at her broken arm as she heard the steps creaking down the hall. She should do this, she had to do this. No one else could.

Her fingers fumbled for the door latch, as if the numbing spell was affecting her entire body. But no, it was her brain scampering in fear that despite the Hero's words she'd open that door and find him dead. That even with her all, she'd failed him by being selfish and stupid. Swallowing it all down, Reiss pushed it open and slipped inside.

Lana took the time to tug the blankets up around Alistair's shoulders, but she must not have been able to pull his ripped shirt off. His skin looked as deathly pale as Reiss remembered, with a yellow twinge offset even worse against the tan bedding. Grabbing onto a chair, Reiss dragged it across the ground. She wasn't able to fully lift it one handed and winced at the horrific sound, but it didn't cause the King to stir. He had his head propped up on two pillows, his mouth slightly open as he gasped for air to fill his body anyway it could.

Dropping into the chair, Reiss stared down at him and a thought struck her. If she'd been happy with what he offered her he wouldn't be near death. She'd be watching him sleep in her arms instead of dangling on the edge with a deadly knife wound infecting his guts. Damn her weak heart.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the air. "I'm sorry I didn't..." Flecks of blood decorated his face like sprinkles on a cake. Someone, probably one of the servants, left a water basin near the bed. Tugging out an old and dingy kerchief, Reiss dabbed it in the water and tried to wipe away the blood. Was it his or hers?

"I wish I could be the one. That I didn't keep thinking about everything that will go wrong, could go wrong. I want to be. I tried to be once, but it..." Reiss drew the cloth back through the water, her mind rolling over Ethan. She lost herself for no reason other than wanting to matter to someone. To be noticed. It was a mistake forever marked not on her body but in her mind. She still felt it sometimes, his words rotting through her soul more than any blade wound ever did.

"You're so much better than I ever thought was possible," Reiss gasped, her fingers releasing the kerchief. It bloomed in the cold water, slowly hovering in between the surface and bottom of the bowl. "I never imagined meeting someone like you, falling for someone like you."

Tears dripped down her cheeks, each one filled with her stupid little failures. What did she want? People kept asking it, but they didn't understand. Her life hadn't been one of want. It was always need. She needed to survive, and in order to do that she needed food, shelter, the promise that tomorrow would come. Wants didn't filter into that. Want was a necessity that only led to more pain.

Maker take her, but she wanted him. Digging under the blanket, Reiss fished out his fingers. Even after dragging hers through the water, his felt cold in her hand. Almost as if they were preserved in ice, unreachable to her. How often did she watch those fingers tug up his hair, wrap around his daughter, cuddle his infant son, and hold her? And she walked away from it. She nearly doomed them to never rise again.

"I love you," Reiss whispered, "I should have said it before, or trusted in my gut, done something else. I don't know, I wish I did because I just keep thinking if I got it right then...none of this would have happened. You'd be safe, you'd be... You'd be better off if you'd never have met me. If you'd fallen for the mage. All I did was walk into your life and ruin it." Her head hung low, the tears falling so freely she couldn't see anything through the fog tearing apart her insides. Blessed Andraste, how could she live with herself if he died? The world would despise her, would call for her head, and she'd gladly give it up.

Despair ransacked her resolve, and Reiss buried her head against the blanket. Through it she could feel the slow intake of a breath. Even while slipping further into the dark abyss, she matched it in kind, needing to feel some connection to him. In and out. She didn't need him. In and out. But damn it all, she wanted him. In. Too bad, Rat. Out. Because you already ruined it.

"Reiss..."

It took a moment for her ears to register that the voice was real. She sat up quickly, blood rushing to her head. Sweet brown eyes blinked up at her, and Alistair tried to attempt a limp smile.

"Sweet Maker," she gasped, wishing she could wipe away the tears clogging her view of him awake. But she wouldn't let go of her grip to his fingers. He watched her a moment longer before his eyes began to slide shut.

Reiss sat forward, her cheek pressing against his cold one. "Stay with me," she pleaded, those blighted tears running down to pool where her skin met his. "Please, stay with me."

He didn't open his eyes again, but in a strained voice Alistair whispered, "Okay."

## CHAPTER FIFTY

#### Endgame

Cade was out in the field when the first raven dove through the sky. The band around its leg denoted it was carrying a message, the black color said it wasn't good. Without anyone questioning it, he shot the bird down before it finished its flight to the castle.

"King Alistair gravely injured. Near death. Send reinforcements quickly."

Crumpling the note up and tossing it to the fire, he kicked the dead bird into the dirt, snagged the best horse the palace owned and headed towards the west. He'd never been privy to the King's private getaways, the leader of an army not what one wanted while off doing whatever decadent and immoral thing royalty got up to. But Cade knew how to find it, knew ever tiny hamlet and small shack that cropped up across Ferelden.

Pulling the horse to a standstill, he tumbled off the thing three days after snagging the raven out of the sky. Others had flown above him, a few he shot down and left to rot where they landed, but some slipped past. There'd be people on his heels, the Chancellor no doubt taking the message seriously and perhaps wondering what happened to the first. But they didn't know Ferelden the way Cade did. They sat in their tea parlors and glass houses sipping the wine carted out of the fields off the backs of men like Cade.

A handful of servants scurried back and forth in the courtyard of the lodge. Most didn't bat an eye at the man in uniform, but one of the larger types was left in front of the door.

He extended a hand out and said, "No one's allowed to enter unless they've already got clearance."

"Clearance?" Cade snickered, "Listen here, boy. I'm the blighted Royal Commander and there ain't a scrap of this land I'm not allowed on."

"Uh," he squeaked, glancing over his shoulder as if someone more superior would back him up.

Growling, Cade shoved his arm into the kid's side. The boy skidded away, unable to stop the man peering around the place. Chairs sat clustered around a fire, but no one sat in them. He wouldn't be there, they'd have him somewhere secure -- the biggest bedroom, of course. Hauling up the stairs two at a time, Cade counted his steps. He spotted the fancy pants giant glass window outside which had to be for the master bedroom.

Right smack dab in the middle of the lodge, so servants could scuttle from one end of the place back to it lickety split. This had to be it. Grabbing onto his scabbard, he closed his fist and drew out the sword to silence the sound. No one else roamed the hall, a lucky break. Get in, and finish this quick. He'd find a good story later.

Drawing the blade tight to his chest, Cade pressed an ear to the door. Voices broke through the wood: one unknown, one annoyingly familiar, and the last one right beside him. That cursed woman, how in the Maker's name did she wind up here? Then again, perhaps it was the Maker's own grace that led her here, to allow Cade to finish this all.

More of the inane chatter erupted behind the door, when Cade grabbed onto the door's latch and yanked it forward. Shoving with his shoulder, he caught glimpses of the participants in the room but his real prize barely stepped away before he grabbed onto those bird-like arms and drew his steel to her elfy neck.

Silence clattered through the room as Cade kicked a foot against the door. Some tiny servant stood back in the shadows, a hood drawn over the head, but she wasn't important. No, all his focus was upon the man sitting up in bed.

Alistair.

That penurious, addlepated bastard was still alive. Sure, he looked like shit, his skin drawn and sallow but somehow he was still breathing. And Cade had a pretty good idea he knew why.

"Commander, what do you think you're doing?" the bastard asked.

"What I should have done months ago. What any right thinking Ferelden would have done a year into your reign. What is right for the good of this country and its future," Cade snarled. The elf tried to worm out of his grip, but he drew the blade tighter to her neck and she froze. He expected to find a puddle of piss curling down her boots -- they weren't a very hearty stock.

He expected to see fear in the King's eyes, but all the man could manage was to loo disappointed as he sighed, "You did it. For the love of the Maker, Cade. Why? I trusted you, put my security in your hands. My kid's."

Cade sneered. He'd worked on the plan for nearly a year. Threaten the King's life with some easily dispatched assassins who would never finish the job, let Brunt get close, learn his movements and ferret out the quickest and easiest way to dispatch him. Finding the pointless street scum to put the blame on was easy, and there'd even been a few convenient people in those frilly ambassadors he could point the finger at if the King ever grew a brain. But no, all that work, all that planning down the drain because of _her._

Because of that knife-eared bitch in heat. She stumbled into it on accident, forcing Cade to have to take out the assassin himself with his crossbow. Which turned the Zea Dogs, who were tired of their own taking a fire nap, on him. Fearing one of them would talk, Cade had to secure his future. It was a pity about the mage, having a maleficarum in his back pocket had done wonders over the years for his career. But that fucking rock chewer was circling the dogs ever closer and he had to clean house.

Then imagine his luck when the prickly little elf goes and changes her mind. Flight of fancy lets him slot in what he'd been hoping for for months.

"You were supposed to die," Cade hissed, glaring at the impotent King confined to his bed.

The disappointment fled in an instant and the man folded his arms up. "Turns out I'm harder to kill than you thought. Maybe try two assassins in bodyguard clothing next time."

"Bitch born, rabbit fucking pissant!" Cade cursed, his words drawing a dark anger to the King's face. Good, let him feel worthless before he cut him down. "You're a disgrace to this country. To your people, who you turn your back on for...for _them!_ First it was mages, but that wasn't enough. Because fearing constant abomination attacks isn't enough for Ferelden, no, now you're letting the elf savages take whatever they want."

"Last I checked, all of ' _them_ ' were Ferelden same as you and me," the little boy in a man's body spat out, his credulous eyes narrowing.

Cade shifted his stance, tightening his fingers around the elf's arm to stop her from moving. Whatever hidden weapon she thought she could pull wasn't going to happen. One flick of his wrist and she was dead.

"They're outsiders, disease carrying mongrels who'll destroy us from the inside out. Ferelden's rotting away with the rats and robes free to roam wherever they want. I'm taking back my country, even if I have to kill you to do it."

He expected the King to squirm, or begin screaming for help, but no, the man only groaned and tipped his head down. "You're dead set on this?"

Why wasn't he panicking? He should be beside himself with terror, he was going to die. Cade glanced around the room, trying to spot any hidden soldiers but it was nothing aside from the tiny woman. The only threat in the room was him.

"I'm going to slit this one's throat, and while you watch your knife-eared play thing bleed out on the floor I'll finish what Brunt started," Cade growled, spittle splattering against the back of the bitch's hair. "After that, it's quite easy for me to say your elven lover went berserk, killed you, and I -- in trying to stop her -- had to finish her off. I'll be the hero, able to guide the next Queen of Ferelden on the proper path where humans are all that matter."

The man curled his limp fist on the blanket, his fingernails scratching against it as a sneer fought against that always loopy smile. Lifting his head, Alistair stared dead set into Cade's eyes. There was no fear there, but a hatred flickered. Cade flexed his bicep, prepared to draw the first blood the second the King opened his mouth to scream.

"Please," the man begged, barely a whimper in the voice, "let's not kill anyone."

"Ha," Cade chuckled mirthlessly, "that's no longer for you to decide, milord."

"Oh," he shook his head, "I wasn't talking to you."

"Wha..." Even as Cade's mind began to wonder just what the tiny woman was doing in the room, his arm moved to draw the sword against the whore's throat but it froze. His entire body locked up, as if under one giant cramp. As if knowing Cade couldn't slit her throat, the elf wiggled out from under the blade. Shaking his muscles by sheer willpower, Cade threw off the cursed magic holding him in place.

He was about to swing when a rabbit punch knocked into his nose. "Fuck!" he cried, another following the punch, and then a third that finally shattered the bridge. Blood gushed down his cheeks, but he had the blade. Ignoring the pain, Cade drew his arm back, about to bifurcate that fucking elf once and for all.

Freezing cold wrapped around his bicep, then traveled and splintered like a frozen river up to the wrist. His arm froze in place, the ice thickening against him like a storm from the heart of winter. Whipping his head, he watched the little mage aiming both her hands at him. She'd lost the hood, revealing a stomach dropping familiar face.

"You!" Cade screamed at her. The damn woman didn't even acknowledge him, just kept spraying more ice until it coated his entire lower body. He couldn't move an inch, the sword stuck to his fingers that were locked in a block of ice. "You're supposed to be dead," he shrieked, refusing to believe he could fail.

Her, the fucking Hero of Ferelden, shrugged and stopped her spray of magic. "Oops. I guess you miscalculated about all those filthy robes stumbling around fucking things up."

The elf snatched onto his hand and without care ripped the sword from his frozen fingers. Ice cracked away, pulling layers of skin with. Blood oozed off his hand, but it couldn't melt the unholy power the mage encased him in. Examining the blade a moment, the elf drew it tight to Cade's throat. Those inhuman eyes glared death into his as she twisted the edge nearer and nearer to his jugular.

"Reiss," the King shouted from his bed. "We need him alive."

Snarling, the good elf walked back on her leash. She twisted the sword down and turned to the King when suddenly, spinning in place she landed a punch hard as stone against Cade's jaw. Encased in the ice, his head couldn't snap back and the force echoed from the impact site all the way to the back of his brain.

With a shrug, the elf folded her arms and said, "I didn't kill him."

"Lanny?" the King glanced over at his pet mage. She held a hand out to him and together Alistair rose to his feet. It might have been almost impressive if he weren't wearing fuzzy duck shaped slippers. That was the man that outsmarted Cade, the man that caught him. Maker's breath, he'd rather they killed him now.

"I don't get it," Alistair sighed, shaking his head. The mage clung to him as support while the elf stood ready to cut Cade down should the need arise. "You had years to dethrone me. I've been sitting on the blighted thing for over sixteen. Why now?"

"We thought we could enact change through the next generation, but no, you couldn't even get that right," Cade hissed, all feeling in his body lost to the cold. His eyes darted over to the mage that was still spinning her fingers, making certain the ice wouldn't break.

"You..." Alistair gulped, his tiny brain catching on, "you're saying I had to die because I spent time with my children? I was teaching them how to like people."

"How to like the wrong people!"

"He said we," the elf spoke up. Fuck her and those fucking ears that heard everything. All elves were just little spidery spies. "That means there are others out there, others involved in this."

"Which is why we put on this little farce for you, Cade," Alistair smiled. "See, Reiss here, that degenerate and other words I should scrub your mouth out with soap for using, she figured it out. Figured you out. And we knew you'd be watching and wondering. Couldn't kill you, no. There'd be questions, and I'm certain you have a few friends waiting in the guards who are itching to try their hand at a revolution."

Shuffling on his legs, the man leaned so close to Cade, the King's breath was the only warmth across his body, "But no one will care, no one will rise up. You tried to kill a King, that's really high on the naughty list. And, most of all, this is the part that's really gonna sting, you were defeated by an elf."

Cade sucked in his saliva about to spit it in Alistair's face, but as the loogie flew past his lips that fucking magicer froze it midflight. Splattering onto the ground, it exploded in ice crystals without even touching the man.

"Commander Cullen, you can come in now," Alistair called. The door Cade was certain no one was standing behind flew open. He couldn't see the man, but he knew that voice growling as a hand grabbed onto him.

"About time, took you forever to give the signal. If something had happened," Cullen lectured the King even while trying to yank Cade's frozen arm back. The robe waved her fingers and the ice melted. Before Cade could even think to wrench it away, manacles slapped onto him, each one binding him tighter and tighter to the inevitable headsman's axe.

"You think I'll tell you anything? You can't break me," Cade cursed. "You'll get nothing from me."

The mage waved her fingers around, fire dancing on the tips as a demonic grin took hold. "You'd be surprised what a robe can do, especially one that's walked inside the fade."

"Get him out of here," Alistair jerked his chin. Without any fanfare for who Cade was, or what he nearly accomplished, two men snatched up his manacled arms and dragged him out of the room.

The next time he saw the sunlight, it'd be with his eyes staring up out of a basket.

## CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

#### Want

Everything hurt.

A good 99.99999% of that was a blade perforating his organs and slicing him up like the family hog for Satinalia dinner. But while Alistair watched Cade being dragged away a tiny part of him stung. It was probably the oncoming shit storm of dealing with this mess, but maybe some of it was regret at losing another person he once thought of as a friend. Having exhausted what little energy he had in scooting across the floor, Alistair began to sag. Lanny moved to catch him, but it was Reiss who beat her to it. Her arm slipped around his back. She used the still sore but not as broken one to steady him but put no pressure on it.

For a breath, Alistair stared deep into her eyes, his hands dangling limply at his sides but yearning to cup her cheek. She blinked and turned her head away, staring daggers out the door while Lanny gripped tight to her cane.

After making certain that Cade was on a well guarded carriage ride to the dungeon cells in Redcliffe castle, that templar rounded up the stairs and dashed into the room. He didn't even glance over at Alistair, his eyes fully on Lanny. First curling a hand around her back, he brushed his lips over her forehead and seemed to melt in her presence.

"Thank the Maker you're okay," he gasped. In the grand scheme of things it seemed that Reiss was in the most danger, then Alistair, and if Cade had time he'd probably go after Lanny. But of course, the templar was only concerned for his wife. Alistair didn't blame him an inch for it.

"I was on pins and needles outside that door, not knowing if you'd have time to send for assistance or if he'd do something to..."

"Cullen," she lay her fingers against his cheek and gently patted it, "I'm fine. I can take care of myself."

"I know, but it won't stop me from worrying."

Lanny smiled at that, "Fair enough."

Trying to roll his eyes away from the two about to mack on each other while professing their unending love, which seemed to happen on the hour, Alistair's eyes wandered over to the woman still keeping him upright. She was staring past him watching the two love birds, but when she felt his attention Reiss blushed and Alistair dropped his head to the ground.

"Sorry to tell you this, Lanny, but I'm going to have to borrow your templar for a little bit," Alistair said, doing his best to fight through the awkward mist rising up through the floorboards before it went toxic and turned all their skin inside out.

"Oh?" she broke away from him, a quirk to her eyebrow.

"For standing up against Cade, he'll have to head to Denerim for the trial. It'll be tough going to convince people the Commander of the royal guards was behind this but..."

Lanny nodded, already onto his same trail, "If it comes from the Commander of the Inquisition, then they'll have to believe it."

"I don't know if it's wise," the stick in the mud began, his fingers curling over Lana's hand pinned tight to his chest.

Alistair shrugged, "I need a witness, someone with great standing. Teagan can offer some support but if it's not you, then..." He waved his exhausted hand at Lanny. The Hero of Ferelden would certainly sway minds in an instant but it'd also raise a bunch of questions like: How was she alive? Did the King know she was alive? Why was she alive? and What's for dinner? Landsmeet meetings were notorious for taking hours and also having rather decent spreads.

For once Cullen actually listened to him. He curled a hand over Lanny's erupting locks and nodded his head. "Of course, I'll testify or whatever you need."

"Well, that was easier than I feared," Alistair admitted. He never thought the templar would agree to anything he asked for on principle alone. "Now, if you don't mind, I need to return to bed before I pass out on the floor."

He'd woken in fits and spurts over the past few days, always with Lanny clucking her tongue and trying to jam some other Maker awful concoction down his throat. That Alistair wasn't surprised by, but the presence sitting on the other side of his bed -- often silent -- was a big question he yet had the courage to ask.

With her hands full of the King, Reiss guided him to bed. She hadn't been in charge of physically dragging him around, what with her own arm being cracked open as Lanny explained in her graphic and fascinated detail. Reiss didn't say much, about her biggest speech to him involved her theory on why Brunt up and went rabid. And even if she was capable to touching him, Reiss seemed to shy away from it. No, the special honor of lifting up Alistair's exhausted body to change clothes and do other bodily things went to his least favorite person in all of thedas. It seemed to be the kind of fitting punishment the Maker dreamed up for both of them.

As Alistair's ass fell to the bed, Reiss released him and slid back. She kept flinching her hand, no doubt in pain after the punch she landed on Cade's jaw. But she didn't complain about it and he wasn't certain if he should point out noticing or not. Lanny was stretched to her limits already with him, Reiss' shattered arm, and that one servant who accidentally ingested deadly berries. It'd been a rather interesting few days of what he could remember.

"We should leave you to rest," Lanny said, her head dipping down. Her eyes glanced over both Alistair and Reiss, but it was the templar's hand that she picked up. Tugging it around her back, Lanny let him guide her out the door. While she closed it, the latch didn't take and they could both overhear the pair of them standing outside.

Lanny sighed, "'Make sure she doesn't kill herself?'"

"What?" Cullen responded.

"You know that's not how healing magic works. One can't transfer all their life force to someone, it requires a spirit's assistance and...there is no draining of someone else's health to heal."

Alistair shifted in his bed, knowing that voice. That was Lanny's petulant tone about to shift into 'why can't you trust me' mode. He'd been privy to it more times than he cared to think about during the Blight, and a few times after. The smart thing to do was apologize immensely and then change the subject, too bad the templar was an idiot.

"I also know that you will do anything within your power to save someone," Cullen hissed, "especially him."

Ooh, wrong choice. Alistair twisted awkwardly on his haunches, expecting to see literal sparks shooting under the door.

But something else happened. The templar's voice dropped lower and he whispered at barely audible levels, "Lana, I love you and I don't want to lose you again."

No fight broke out, no one stuck to their wounded egos while stomping away. Lanny's voice answered back, "I love you too." As they were probably swapping saliva outside his death bed, the awkwardness in the room reached peak 'Dear Maker, I'd rather set myself on fire and jump out the window than have to suffer this.' Thankfully the sound of feet and Lanny's cane striking the floor echoed away as the two of them probably shuffled off to make goo goo eyes at each other for a few hours.

Sliding back against his pillows, Alistair darted an eye over at Reiss. Her body stood like a marionette with the strings all knotted up. The mourner's chair sat behind her, but she didn't take it. "I don't think I'm going to have any more assassins drop in on me today," Alistair said. "Least I hope not. If you don't want to stay, you don't have to."

"No, I..." she pulled in a shuddering breath before lifting her head up. Those summery green eyes brimmed with something he'd almost think were tears, but that seemed impossible. "I'd like to stay, if that's okay."

He shrugged, jerking his head to the chair. "It's no skin off my nose. I hope. Maker, please don't tell me there's some cult out there that needs the skin of King's and Queen's and Empress' noses to rise an ancient bone golem back from the dead."

"Bone golem?" she sat down in the same spot he kept finding her in. Instead of placing her fingers tight to her knees, she fiddled with them.

"Like a regular stone golem but made out of bones. Far more creepier and eeevil!"

"Wouldn't it be much easier to destroy? A single good boulder from a trebuchet should shatter it to dust," she pointed out.

"You'd think that, but skeletons always have that evil bone magic to keep them all boned up and bony like." He had nothing, no foolish quips to walk his way through his broken heart, no obstruction with a wave of his fingers to drive away the pain sluicing through the room.

She came back.

But, she did it to save him. To protect his wretched little life as she was paid to do. Maybe it'd mean something if Reiss had been a gardener or farrier, not someone in charge of keeping his worthless skin unstabbed, but that'd been her job. Sure, she quit it because of him, because he...

"You're here," he sighed to himself. "I mean, the bad guy's off on a long and interesting trip to his new accommodations in chateau rat squalor. No reason for you to keep sticking around."

Reiss didn't look at him, but she put up her armor. "I, uh..." blinking slowly, she whispered in a scratchy voice, "I owe you one, you know for sitting with me when I was..." Was she here to honor some foolish debt between them? He didn't check in on her when she was sick in exchange for the same. He did it because...because he didn't want her to hurt. But she hurt him, hard and fast. Someone should have told Brunt there was no heart for him to stab because Reiss already gutted it from him. Alistair groaned, the forced levity cracking in half.

"I feared falling asleep because every time I opened my eyes, I kept expecting to find you'd left," he whispered to himself, "That I'd turn my head and there'd be a Reiss shaped cloud of dust."

She winced, her head falling down. That bun was in place, but she hadn't slotted back in the dagger. Instead it was an empty vial curling through her golden waves of hair. The sprinklings of tears dripped down her cheek and Alistair's stomach sneered at him for being so cruel.

"I mean," he shifted on the bed, trying to pull himself away from the raw wound in his soul, "you have your whole life to get back to. City Watch and all that fun entails, and I shouldn't keep you from it."

A snicker lifted her lips, but there was no mirth to it.

One part of him wanted to lash out the way he always did, one part jokes to another part bitter anger, but as his eyes tried to look past Reiss, to harden his heart to her, it had the damn opposite effect. She looked miserable, almost as bad as he felt and he was the one that was stabbed. All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and promise that somehow it'd be okay, but he couldn't because...because she left him.

And then came back.

Right, because of assassins. Not exactly the same as riding in on a white horse and declaring eternal love.

Why not?

"You're still wearing my blood," Alistair said, pointing at the stained tunic. A dark scarlet sopped up her chest where she'd probably helped in trying to move him, or maybe it was Brunt's blood. Or her own. There was so much blood everywhere, it was like a Tevinter office party.

Reiss picked up the middle of her filthy shirt and inspected it as if the fact was new to her. "I...I didn't bring another change of clothes with me. There wasn't time, I had to leave it behind. Leave it all behind."

"Oh," he tugged on the bandage wrapped tight around his midsection, the feel of the linen distracting the pain knotting up his heart. "I had no idea. You, I mean, I've got a lot of random shirts that someone was kind enough to insist I needed for this trip. You're free to take one."

Her summery eyes washed over him and Alistair felt the lump in chest sluggishly thump awake at the attention. His mouth flapped away, needing to provide a distraction. "You know, so you don't have to waltz back to the City Watch decorated with blood. They might get a bit funny about that."

She swallowed hard and bobbed her head listlessly, "It doesn't matter, when I left I...I left everything behind."

"What?" Alistair tried to sit up, the pain in her voice drawing him closer like a moth to a flame. "What do you mean?"

Biting on her lip, she shrugged half a shoulder, "I've missed reporting in by...nearly two weeks now. There's no way they'll take me back."

Andraste, she abandoned that for him? "Reiss," his fingers skirted over hers. She didn't yank her hand back, but let him attempt to comfort her. "I'm pretty sure 'saving the King's lousy hide' is a damn good excuse for missing work. And if not, Karelle could probably swing you an even better posting."

She didn't speak for a few breaths, her eyes staring down at his hand cupping tight to hers. Should he let go? Was it the right thing to do or...? "I suppose that would be good," Reiss' voice washed back and forth like the shore, uncertainty in her every breath.

"Or," Alistair groaned at the mere thought of the monumental work ahead of him, "turns out I'm going to be needing a new Commander of the Guards. Someone I can trust who won't strategically place bodyguards in the palace to stab me in the back, or front. I'd like to avoid anymore stabbings if at all possible. This is about as much fun as having to sit through a ten year old's fife recital."

Reiss snorted at that. Why did she do that? Anyone else, everyone else suffered him. He knew it, grew used to it, didn't mind. Even Lanny had to take her occasional breaks, but Reiss would smile at him when he was tripping down non sequitur lane. She didn't attempt to mash him into place, or sand off the rough edges, just let him be him. Even, Maker help him, prop Alistair up when the world was taking its pound of flesh.

"I'd be honored if you were my Commander of the royal guards."

She pinched her eyes together tight before staring fully at him, "What?"

It'd be hard, to have her close while also beyond reach but Alistair didn't want to lose her. Not again. "I trust you, there are few anymore I can say that of and...I mean, think of the potential. You'd be the first elf ever in charge of a small standing army. At least since Shartan. And some of the Dalish, I suppose."

He didn't expect a yes right away, but Reiss' head drifted down further, her eyes burning a hole into the bedspread. "That doesn't seem wise."

"Why not? You've proven yourself, over and over. Sure, people might be hard to win to your side. Have to be a lot of 'I didn't believe in you until you stood up to the enemy and showed you were capable and now we're best friends' kind of learning experiences but... You can do it."

"That's not it," she lifted her head up and tears bubbled in her eyes. "Whether I'm capable isn't...I can't because I don't want it."

"Maker's hairy ass," Alistair groaned. Yanking his hand away from her he thudded both into the bed and growled, "What do you want?"

Her lips opened, a breath passing through them. The tears were dripping faster now, each drop an ice pick jabbed into his soul. He wanted to help, to try and give her something in this world to make her happy but he had no idea what would do it.

Steadying herself, Reiss whispered to the air, "You."

Alistair pointed at himself, then turned his head to look behind himself. "Me? Since when? You were the one to..."

"I know," she stuttered, her fingers digging into the blanket. "I walked away, I'm the reason you were nearly killed."

"No," he jabbed his hand through the air, "that was all on my turncoat Commander who's going to become very familiar with the dungeons he once ruled over. It had nothing to do with you."

She didn't seem convinced, but that need to blame herself was tabled for later. "For so long, I didn't focus on what I wanted. I couldn't. I had to keep my eyes on what I needed. No one ever cared about what I wanted." Reiss lifted her eyes and stared right into his soul as she spoke, "I didn't care about what I wanted."

He knew that feeling. Ten years old, sentenced to a life Alistair never asked for, certainly never wanted, with no one willing to listen to him he began to lose hope. He'd find little ways to rebel, to remind the Grand Cleric and anyone else that he didn't want to be templar, he didn't want to hunt mages, or give his life to the chantry. But in all that time, shouting at the top of his lungs to make certain he was still alive, hiding moldy potatoes in the Grand Cleric's pillows, rebelling the only way he could, he began to forget what it was he did want. What the very act of wanting was.

"Reiss," Alistair reached out, his fingers curling to her cheek. She didn't shrink away, or turn her head. Those beautiful eyes slipped closed and she pressed into him, her own hand cupping the back.

"I want you," she whispered, "my heart...Maker's breath, my heart's been begging for you for, I think since we met."

Biting his tongue, Alistair braced himself for the but he knew was coming.

"The problem is I can't be with you and also work for you," her eyes opened, fresh tears glistening on the edges. Leaning closer, Alistair dabbed his thumb to the sides, trying to wick them away. He couldn't take her in pain even if she was hurting him in the process.

Reiss blinked madly, trying to fan away the tears while she launched into an explanation, "I keep thinking what if I find myself doing things not because I want to, or because they'd make you happy but because I...I fear reprisal. If you, if there was a chance you'd turn cold and then, and I'd lose... It's not that I think you would, only, from my past when things were... I'm sorry," she faded away, trying to turn from him. Her lips puckered against his hands, but Alistair didn't release her.

"I get it," he said. Reiss' eyes opened wide and she honed in on him. "I didn't think how, thought that you being separate wouldn't interfere. Though then I was putting you under Cade and in retrospect you made the right call running far from that."

"I didn't think he was so calculatingly evil at the time, just an elf-hating jerk," she shrugged.

"Which is still a good enough reason to refuse the job," he chuckled. "Salary's good, benefits are wonderful, but the boss thinks me and my kind should be wiped from the face of thedas. Hard pass."

"You've given me so much," Reiss sighed.

Alistair shook his head, "Only what you've earned."

"Can you really say that if I had not slept with you, you'd still offer me the position of Commander?"

"I..." Yes. Of course. She put all the pieces together, saw what no one else did, jumped straight to the right conclusion, and saved his ass. But.

He couldn't be sure. Not really. Try as hard he could, Alistair couldn't divorce his affection... Maker's sake, call it what it is. His love for Reiss from her accomplishments. And it'd always be there if she served under him, even with her own charges to answer to. For the rest of her life she'd wonder what got her the accolades as would everyone else in the palace.

"Damn," Alistair cursed himself, cursed his foolish heart. How did he not see all those traps littering the path? He thought it'd be easy, just like the ones before but he didn't want what the handful of mages gave him. A few moments throughout the day, and then nights, never connecting just existing in the same room. He wanted so much more but had no idea what to do to get it.

"This job would change things for the better," he admitted, his eyes pinched tight as he couldn't look at her while damning his own heart. "People never thought much of Shiani but she's done good for the alienage. Another elf in such a vaulted position would...it'd..." He turned over to her and tried to shake off the pain building in his eyes. "Knowing what it means, I can't take it from you for my own selfish reasons."

"Ma'arlath," Reiss whispered. Her fingers skirted over his cheeks and he blinked in surprise to find tears sopping into her skin. Alistair wanted to run, to turn all this into punches and kicks and other things that would pop open any stitches and piss off Lanny. Emotions were to be wadded deep down and turned into something useful. But...

Rolling his fingers around Reiss' wrist, he pressed her hand tighter to him and tried to place his lips in her grasp. It wasn't a kiss, because his trembling mouth couldn't pucker. No, instead he breathed wordlessly against her skin every fear in his heart, every loss, every broken hope and eternal despair. He couldn't stop, the tears on a downpour while salt sloshed into his mumbling lips as he begged her to stay. To be with him. To love him. But he couldn't voice it, couldn't tear her away from a future that she not only deserved but could do so much with.

She'd earned her happiness even if it wasn't with him.

"I'm sorry, I seem to be blubbering all over your hand," Alistair shook his head, trying to knock away the last of the depression as if it was ever that easy.

Reiss drew back her hand stained in his tears and then gently wiped it down the front of her shirt, "I can use it to clear away the blood."

That hammy sentiment made him snicker, his eyes entranced at her fingers tugging back and forth against her chest. The one that she used to tug his head to, sometimes before falling asleep. Once so he could listen to her heartbeat because he was being foolish, insisting that hers had to have a symphonic quality. Something about her being so quick on her feet or other nonsense that Reiss kept encouraging.

"I can't stop loving you," Alistair gasped, the dam shattering. "I'm sorry, I wanted to make this easier for...for both of us really, but," he thudded a limp fist against his sternum and groaned, "this thing never listens."

"Don't," Reiss wrapped her fingers around his fist and tugged it away.

"I won't do too much damage to myself. I've faced Lanny's wrath before," he confided.

"No, I mean don't stop..." her eyes darted away. A breath rattled through her nose, crinkling up the broken part which almost brought a smile to Alistair's pale lips. "I didn't come out here because I thought I'd get you back. No, that's not how I should. I mean."

Reiss tipped her head back and glared at the ceiling, "Why is this so hard? Maker's sake, I love you. Okay. I've loved you for...I don't know since I first kissed you, or when you rescued an elven child, or while you were slurping up soup and drizzled a drop to the fly beside you. I don't know when because my brain keeps telling my heart that it's bad, it's dangerous, and I shouldn't, but I can't stop loving you. I wanted so badly to tell you but..."

Her amplified words faded and she whipped her head down. Uncertainty filled those summer eyes and she bit onto her lip. "I guess I just did tell you."

Alistair began to laugh, the absurdity of it all striking him hard on the nose like a naughty dog. She loved him, he loved her. Blighted everyone in his life was pushing him to be with her. But of course it wasn't enough. Things kept interfering, his damn crown all but stabbing him in the back.

The idiotic laughter slowed and Alistair stirred a finger through the blanket, "I want it to work, to be with you, even if it's at a distance, or once a month, or I can only see you through a tiny hole in the wall. I don't blighted care, I want you in my life."

"Me too," she smiled.

"Then, what do I have to do, what do you need me to do to make it happen?" He wished he had a piece of parchment near to scrawl it all down. Every step, no matter how outlandish or seemingly impossible he'd do. Cross the invisible bridge, solve the impossible riddle, pluck a flower from the top of the mountain if it meant he could be with her.

Reiss roughed her fingers up and down his unruly stubble -- Cullen was willing to deal with shirts and pants, but he refused to shave him. "Nothing," she whispered before leaning forward. Alistair froze, his body exhausted and his brain lost, while she placed her lips against his. Those beautiful, ornery, quick witted lips that he never thought he'd taste again, pressed and molded against him. The kiss was horribly sloppy, Alistair sliding forward and nearly head butting her with his forehead, but he didn't care. It was the impossible kiss; but would it be the last before the end of everything, or the first in a new potential?

Sliding away, Reiss breathed, "That's the point, you do nothing and I...I live my life outside the palace. As a random citizen who's in love with a man that also happens to be King."

"You think that'll work?" Alistair asked.

Her fingers parted over his forehead before tugging up his oily hair. "Who knows? Who knows what anything will bring. I hope it will."

Even with exhaustion and pain swirling through his body, Alistair reached forward. He locked both hands around Reiss' body, pulling himself into her embrace. She was slower to respond, still trying to get his hair to obey before those thin fingers, broken and callused from her mad dash across Ferelden to save his sorry hide, circled over the weary muscles in his back.

"I love you," tumbled from Alistair's throat as he lost himself in her softening eyes. "Which I should have told you before, and not in the middle of a big fight."

Reiss smirked a moment, "And I should have told you before as well. Letting someone in is...it'll take getting used to." As his hands locked in tighter, Reiss scooted onto the bed until Alistair could place his lips to her forehead.

"I happen to be an excellent person to get used to. I damn near hear it every day. 'Oh, the King, yes well, you'll get _used_ to him.'"

She chuckled, her warm cheeks knocking against his. It was enough to draw a smile to Alistair's weary face. Hope. Maker's breath, he never thought he'd feel that one again. To think he'd never have even met her or had a reason to get to know her if Cade hadn't been trying to off him. Talk about a flower grown in a pot of dirt scenario. Granted, he'd also not have this stomach cramping knife wound in his gut either, but... As Alistair curled a finger down Reiss face, he knotted up some of her escapee hair to push back behind her ears. Maybe the occasional stabbing was worth it for this.

"What do you want to do? With your life I mean. Though, if you have some really exciting plans for the day I'd love to live vicariously through them as I get to face sitting in bed, sleeping in bed, getting bored in bed, and the potential of another sponge bath from a man that once almost broke my jaw."

She nuzzled her beautiful face into the crook of his neck, both hands careful to drift nowhere near his aching side. "I don't know. I've never given it much thought before."

"Well, I promise I'll stay out of it, but I hope you wouldn't mind a few suggestions," Alistair whispered, his lips forming the words against her skin.

Reiss lifted her head off him and he began to clench for fear of saying the wrong thing, but she smiled. "Not at all." Her eyes drifted away in a haze as she whispered, "not from the man I love." Alistair's thumb and forefinger cupped around her jawline and he pulled her to him for the second impossible kiss. With all his focus, he softly parted his lips, tasting as much of her as he dare. In his chest, his heart palpitated to a new rhythm of its own making. Seeming to enjoy the sweet but in no way chaste kiss, Reiss nibbled a moment upon his bottom lip before returning to nuzzling against him.

Right. It was good that she broke that off before Alistair's little brain took control of the big one. He could explain a few injuries away, but needing Lanny to heal him because he broke something during sex would probably be his undoing. The templar's tongue clucking alone... Reiss put almost no pressure on him, her legs hooked off the bed, but he could savor in her warmth, her wind swept smell, the way her always messy hair tickled against his skin.

Back. She came back.

"When you were traveling all hooded black rider across Ferelden, did you happen to stay at a little tavern an hour or so past Lothering? Big white steeples with a blue trim and a horse on the sign despite it being named the Dragon's Gullet?"

"I...I did actually."

"Everyone I ask it of always says that. This tiny rundown inn somehow has merchants, princes, and long lost heroes searching for a quest all boarding under its one roof. There are these four lanterns I can't figure out. By the time you light the fourth one, the first's already gone out. What are they for? It's bugged me."

"Why don't you have people light them all at the same time?"

Alistair's jaw hung open, "I never thought to try that. No idea why, there's always a good dozen people following behind me in case I start plucking royal jewels out of the crown and tossing 'em away for fun." He paused and sighed, "I used to think there was some magical spell that pulled everyone in, but...my templar senses never kicked off."

She nodded her head, not arguing with his nonsense or trying to stave it off. "You know what, I think it's the breakfast."

"That they put some magical potion in it," he snapped his fingers in excitement.

But Reiss shook her head, "No, it's just that good. Waffles and pancakes? At any hour you wish? Who wouldn't travel across country for that. I'm thinking of taking a few trips again just for them."

"Do it at the height of blueberry season," he pressed her tighter to him, never wanting to let go. "They work it into the batter. I...I guess when I'm not knocking near death's plague wagon, we could stop there together. I mean, assuming you'll want to travel with."

Reiss buried deeper into him, almost as if she never wanted to leave. "Of course I do. For starters, I don't have any other clothing. And if random people in Denerim see me dressed in the King's known wares, I'll probably be strung up in the street."

He winced at the fact, but threw on a smile, "Or worse, they'll think you're me and plop you on the throne. It's all downhill from there."

"You've done well with it so far," she said.

There were so many reasons this wouldn't work. Alistair knew them, Reiss did too. People that'd never approve, time and commitments pulling them in two different directions, but Maker take it all, it was worth the risk. He was going to get it right this time. No secrets, no running away when things got sticky.

"There are somethings I need to tell you, about being a Grey Warden..." Alistair whispered.

"Okay," she nodded, rising off his chest, "but how about later? I don't know about you but all that waffle talk has me starving."

"You only care for the waffles?" Alistair gasped, "I'm sorry, but pancakes are all the King allows at his breakfast table."

"Oh, those are fighting words," Reiss sighed. She pretended to hold her hand up as if about to challenge him to a duel. Alistair gripped it, but instead of letting go for the fight to commence, he pulled her tight to him. With one hand roaming through her hair, he couldn't stop kissing her, couldn't stop touching her, and Andraste and damn near everyone else who knew, he couldn't ever stop loving her.

They'd find a way. They had to.

"I love you," Alistair said, his heart beating in time with every word.

"And I love you," she smiled at him, "and also waffles."

Feeling lighter than he ever thought possible, Alistair tugged this brave, beautiful, smart, irreverent, funny woman into his arms. She was already safe in his heart.

## EPILOGUE

Eighteen Months Later...

Wiping the sweat off the brow under her hat, Reiss closed the file that'd been sitting in her case box for the past month. Raising her voice to be heard in the small but packed room, she spoke, "I'm pleased to announce that the City Watch has just accepted the confession of one Mr. Derick Larner and we have officially solved another one."

A smattering of applause broke out as Reiss jammed the closed case file onto the sword she was gifted for preserving the King's life and foiling Cade's dastardly deeds. He actually had "dastardly deeds" engraved onto the hilt, the alliteration striking him as hilarious. Over a dozen other case files were already wedged onto the blade, each one was plucked from the streets and once declared unsolvable, but Reiss and her company proved them wrong. It was growing so heavy, the brackets that held the sword on the wall were beginning to bow. Either it was going to fall off, or they'd run out of space to store them. That was a dragon they'd slay when they came to it.

"All right, everyone get back to work. We've still got a good three open ones to put to the sword," Reiss called to her crew. It took awhile for Denerim to warm to this ragtag group of outsiders, no one certain what to make of the elf skimming in and out of places where dead bodies landed while another jotted down everything Reiss told her to. But when they began to get results, the City Watch and other organizations with questions no one could answer turned to them.

They didn't have a name to begin with, Reiss too busy scrounging to bother with something so trivial, leading Denerim to name them the Solvers. It was silly and not really accurate, but who was Reiss to argue. The Solvers rested in the back of a small building just outside the alienage sharing the corner with what used to be a tanners turned avant garde painter's saloon, and a bakery that kept them all well stocked after the great croissant caper. Three desks crowded around a barely working stove for warmth, which used to be more than enough for the tiny group until their ranks began to swell. Now they were often working in shifts just to give everyone a chance to sit down. Reiss rented her own little room above the shop. It wasn't much and she'd often wake to find rats cuddling up on her pillow but it was hers.

Knocking her hat back in place, Reiss swung around the desk, her new coat flapping in the always leaking breeze. She moved to sit upon discovering that that would be impossible.

"Where's my chair?"

Lunet cranked around from her own desk and jabbed a thumb towards the dwarf twins, "Jorel's got it."

"I have not!" he shouted before running his fingers under the seat. "Ah, shit, I think I do. Where's my blighted chair then?"

Reiss collapsed an elbow to her desk and began to massage her forehead, "Let's not have a repeat of this summer's 'chair war' please."

"Some of us still limp when it snows," Lunet shouted as if she hadn't been one of the driving forces behind it.

Rather than get into a long fight of trading chairs, Reiss grabbed some of the boxes that were always stacked four or five high around the place and dragged them over to sit on. She had work to do, they all did.

The sound of the bell jangling above the door drew all the eyes but Reiss' to it. Hidden in the back and behind one of the weight bearing posts, she couldn't see anything but the back of her friend's head and the gold polished horns of their newest Qunari investigator and lunch fetcher.

Lunet spun in her chair, about to rise to her feet to greet the customer, when she cracked a grin and rolled back to eye up her boss, "Oh, it's just Reiss' sidepiece."

"Hello to you too, Lunet," Alistair's voice chuckled as he navigated around the maze of work. "Maker's breath, it's cold out there."

"Aye, there's this new thing they're trying called winter. Think it'll catch on?" Lunet razzed him. She shifted the lolly in her mouth around before jabbing it at the King. It was a strange habit she picked up while they were on cases, needing something to do with her hands while Reiss was being noticey as she put it.

Alistair shook his head, scattering snow out of his hair, "Never. Give it a few months and then it'll be back to blazing heat. Mark my words." Scooting around their lead investigator/secretary/filer/whatever else they needed's desk, he stood framed beside the open doorway into Reiss' alcove. It could hardly be called an office as there was only one wall.

His fingers scritched along Sylaise's head, the office cat purring in rapture from the attention before Alistair slid across her desk. Reiss looked up from the work just as his lips met with hers. Every damn problem she had on her docket faded away at his touch. Folding tight to him, Reiss stumbled to her feet to get a better grip around his shoulders, losing herself in those arms she craved with every waking moment. Alistair seemed to feel the same, his fingers frozen from the cold curling up through the underside of her hat to rifle apart her hair.

"Oi, you two," Lunet shouted. "You're making Kurt feel awkward."

"Are not," the quieter of the dwarf twins glanced over, his cheeks burning as hot as the crackling wood on the fire.

Reiss didn't apologize for the kiss but she did break from it, her eyes staring deep into Alistair's sweet ones. He wore the same smile she saw every time he'd wander into her neck of Denerim, the kind that looked at is he shook off every worry in his life and slipped into bliss.

"You're late," Reiss said, unable to turn her smile off. Sliding back off her desk, she began to gather up her mounds of work to its designated piles.

"Yeah," Alistair dug at his hair, causing another tuft of snow to plop free, "sorry about that. Got caught into one of those 'Your Majesty, I have to get into a long, drawn out argument about unimportant matters because I wasn't hugged enough as a child.' Took an hour to get away and it only worked because I hid inside the kitchen until he vanished."

Reiss chuckled at the image, well aware of some of Alistair's current issues. She may not be in the palace but he'd write to her damn near every day and replay his days for her, often with funny voices and sometimes shadow puppets. "Ineria won't hold the door for anyone."

He shrugged, "Not even her favorite dumpling maker?"

Reiss rolled her eyes. She wanted to say no, but in truth, Ineria probably would make an exception for that shemlan she kept nudging Reiss about and telling her was cute. Ineria still bullied him around when in the kitchen, but she practically purred when he sat down to eat. While Reiss struggled to get all her open files back in order for tomorrow, Alistair glanced around.

"Hey, where's your vase?"

She looked up, blinking a moment in the sea of chaos. "Oh, it's over there."

Twirling a bouquet of four flowers and a strip of greenery in his fingers, he unearthed her vase always overflowing in colors. After placing the ritual offering in, Alistair carried every reminder of him and his visits back to her. Reiss tried to act unattached to it while working for productivity's sake, but when the fire dipped low, she'd said her goodbyes for the day, and had locked up shop, she'd run her fingers over every petal and reminisce about his last visit.

"I see how well loved my foolish token of affection is," Alistair mocked.

Rolling her eyes, she glanced up to the ceiling, "It was only temporary. I ran out of room while I was working on this." She gestured to the three boxes that'd been taking up her space because they ran out of storage a month or so back.

Alistair twisted his head at the first box and asked the question she knew was coming, "Just so we're clear, you do know they're dollhouses?"

"No, they're crime scenes."

He scrunched his adorable face up while spinning the first box back and forth. "Let me guess, it was Talky Tina, in the cornfield, with a knife!"

Reiss pointed at the furthest diorama, a near perfect replica of one of her first cases with the door and windows all locked on the inside where a traveling merchant trained a pack of nugs to scurry down the fireplace and murder two brothers. A tiny butcher's cleaver covered in nug prints was just visible under the little dresser. "I use them for training purposes. It helps new people get used to how we do things." It'd been easier when it was just her and Lunet, but as they brought more on they had to learn beyond rounding up anyone in the area and picking someone at random as guilty. Looking beyond the superficial was key, as well as notes. Everyone working for her had to be literate, and if they didn't start that way they were learning fast.

Alistair scrunched down so he was eye to eye with the second and stared through the window bearing a tiny bloody handprint, "I like the little wallpaper. It's even got a small tear."

"Yes, that's where they stashed their murder victim's clothing."

"This is why you don't babysit Spud. She's already prone to running around the castle waving her wooden sword, ten minutes with Aunt Reiss and she'd be the new Princess of Death." He tried to look horrified at the idea, but Reiss knew better. While lots of voices were trying to get the headstrong princess to behave like a proper lady, her loving and doting father was encouraging her to be herself.

Placing down a rock they at first thought was a murder weapon but turned into a paperweight, she properly inspected the vase Alistair returned to her desk. "Holly and a strip of evergreen, but where did you get these?" Reiss twirled a pair of daisies that should not be surviving the winter.

"Ah, funny story. Turns out the new arcane advisor is big into plants. Got a hot house going and I may have maybe stopped in and swiped a few before anyone yelled at me."

Reiss glanced up from the vase into his eyes, "A new arcane advisor, huh?"

"Before you start in," Alistair waved both hands for clemency, "this one's over fifty, on the portly side, and a man."

Chuckling at his admittance, Reiss abandoned her gift to curl both arms around his neck. "So you're saying the pool's still on but the odds are long."

Alistair leaned against her, his forehead knocking her hat back but not off. When his cool skin glanced across hers, he began to speak, "Philipe's hopeful because that kid's..." His self denigrating speech died as Reiss caught his lips in another kiss. The year had been a lot of work, many sleepless nights and 16 hours days trying to get her toe in the door, but it was everything she never thought she wanted. She was doing something that relied upon her talents, and best of all, some nights she could curl up in the arms of the man she loved...and caress up and down his shoulders while he kept asking what she got out of it. It wasn't the life of luxury and royalty, the King's love spending her days knee deep in sewer water to chase a lead instead of in parlors, but she couldn't ask for anything better.

"Okay," Lunet coughed, "now you're making me uncomfortable. Don't you two have to get going so the rest of us can get back to work?"

Reiss pulled away from him to call to her friend, "You really expect me to believe you get any work done while I'm out?"

"Anything's possible, boss," her friend shrugged before yanking out her pad and beginning to copy out the notes into longhand.

She was right though, Ineria might hold the door for an hour or so for her favorite dumpling maker, but it wouldn't be much past. Reiss turned back to Alistair only to find the King's eyes focusing on her hat. It was a simple thing, a good rim to keep the water out of her eyes, dark tan from a deer hide, with a black band running around the middle. Yanked up from a street vendor who couldn't give the things away, Reiss went from wearing it to keep the rain from slogging her out, to it becoming her symbol. Of course Alistair was damn near obsessed with it.

"What is it?" she asked, trying to push her hat back into place.

"Is that new?"

"Nope," she sighed, shaking her head. The coat was. She'd been eyeing it up for weeks, tanned hide, oiled to filter out the rain and long enough to keep most of her warm without dragging through the gutters. But what really sold her on it was the pockets, deep set on the hips so she could stash an entire book if the need arose, with another smaller one on the breast to hold her small quill and ink bottle set.

"I thought you'd be more interested in this," Reiss tugged on the edge of the coat. She never buttoned it, letting the chest plate she always wore glimmer as a small warning that the elf wasn't just some nobody.

Alistair glanced up and down it a moment, but he returned back to her hat. "There is something different," he skirted his finger over the dip to the brim.

"Right," Reiss remembered now, "I cut holes in the side so my ears would stick out."

He blinked a moment before smiling, "No tape this time?"

"No, they weren't rubbing, it...funny enough it turned out people were asking about the elf. The investigator elf to help fix things, solve their problems, but when I wore the hat no one realized I was an elf, so..."

Alistair laughed at her ingenuity, his hands locking around her back. He looked as if he wanted to kiss her, and Maker did she want him to, but the office had been saddled with enough of their affection. Reiss placed her fingertips to his lips instead, softly tracing up and down the tiny bow.

"How long did you get off this time?" she asked.

"I was a very good boy who did all his homework. Two days," he smiled wide.

"Two days? You know I have work to do during that time?" she gasped, even while silently excited for every potential minute together.

"So I'll sit there watching you do all that work people keep gushing to me about."

Lunet twisted back to shout, "You'll be sitting on the floor, all the chairs are claimed."

It warmed Reiss' heart how quickly Lunet came to accept the strange arrangement between King and city elf. As Lune put it, "If he's willing to sleep in rat infested apartments with nearly no heat and spitting distance to the alienage just to make you happy, then...who am I to hate him?" It moved from a begrudging respect to dare Reiss even think it, a friendship. At least Alistair gave back as good as Lunet did, which endeared them both to each other.

"People were talking about me?" Reiss asked, wanting to hear the latest gossip about her little group.

"Oh Maker, yes. Shiani was going on and on about that one you solved with the alienage underground nug fighting ring. Had to tell me all the details and I happily pretended I didn't already know them, but she kept smiling in her not really smiling way to say 'That woman's sure sharp.'"

"She's just happy that it turned out to be the work of the shem gangs. If I'd had to have pointed the finger at the elves instead..."

"Reiss," Alistair grabbed onto her hands and pinned them close, "you're doing good work, amazing work. I...I'm damn proud of you. Which I mean in a sincere way and not a 'I have no idea what you painted but you got most of it on the parchment so good job' way. Denerim's been changing, improving with your little group here toiling away. People don't say it, but there's trust in the air. And that's a very good thing to have."

She smiled, his words swaddling her like the fuzziest blankets, but she cocked an eyebrow up and smirked, "How long were you working on that speech?"

"Four days, pretty much since the last second I saw you. Oh," he yanked his hands away to go rifling in his pocket. "Here."

Alistair plopped what looked like a desiccated apple core nearly picked clean that someone then sewed a small kerchief too. Reiss let it rest in her palms, slightly terrified it was a new clue in a case involving cultists. At her confused look, he explained, "Spud's learned how to make dried apple dolls. Well, being four she thinks taking the time for someone to carve a face and wait for it to dry is boring, so she eats the apple, then insists one of us tack on a dress. I've got a good four in my office. She wanted you to have this one."

"That's sweet of her," Reiss smiled, happily placed the apple core doll down beside the vase on her desk. "And we should be going," she grabbed onto his arm, tugging him through the maze of desks. So much work waited for her, the city teeming with problems that used to get kicked under the rug. It was both exhilarating and exhausting at the same time. "I'm off, probably won't be back til nightfall."

"When we'll all be long gone, trust me," Lunet shouted for the others trying to politely not watch their boss and King make out.

"Lune, can you lock up?" Reiss asked, already knowing the answer. At her slow nod accompanied by two raised fingers, Reiss tugged Alistair to the door. Outside, Denerim bustled through the snow, the slush in the streets turning a dingy grey but white flecks cleared away the rot to reveal gleaming hope below.

She reached behind her to tug on the door, the damn thing always sticking, when her eyes caught a sign dangling above her head. It read "Solvers: Investigators Into Affairs and Crimes Thought Impossible" with the address for "221 on the street with the Baker" below that. Reiss turned over to Alistair who was trying to fish a scarf out of the folds of his layered clothing's pockets.

"Did you do this?" she asked, jabbing a finger at it.

"Nope," he admitted, which caused her to cross her arms, "I swear. I didn't think you were sold on the name. It must have been one of your other loyal fans."

"I..." Reiss gazed up at it, noticing that while the lettering wasn't perfectly crafted, the cheap paint flecking off already, it was just right. "I guess so."

"Told you, you're having an impact," Alistair bowed his arm out, which Reiss gladly took as they walked towards the alienage. "And, about Satinalia...Please say you'll come. I know, you're busy, but Bea's bringing her entire family. I think she's got a good five dozen sisters. I tried counting them all once, but I ran out of toes. I really need backup, an excuse to slip away before the constant clucking of how I'm failing my children by breathing wrong overwhelms me. You should know, I'm not above begging."

"Okay," she pressed tighter to him, savoring the warmth from his body that embraced her soul. "I'll come. It'd be nice to see the kids again."

"Spud's moved from despot tyrant to evil Empress, thank the Maker for four. I thought three would nearly kill me. But then Cailan..."

"Uh oh, what now?"

"Did I not tell you? He's finally figured out that those stumpy legs can do more than walk. I think Spud pretty much moved from rolling around to running without any stops in the middle, but that kid loved nothing more than to sit and watch. People feared maybe there was something wrong because he wasn't up and running."

"People like you?" Reiss prodded her elbow into him, and Alistair released his arm so he could curl it around her hip. They moved as one down the side of the street.

"I worry about everything, especially when it comes to my kids. But Bea was like 'It'll be fine, and even if it's not we'll find a solution.' Some solution. Kid gets up to his wobbly legs, takes a few steps, then out of nowhere bolts out the door. We're all in such shock, no one thinks to chase after him. He was damn near down the palace steps before anyone tries to stop the prince from rushing headlong under the horses. Now he's got every nanny and handmaiden in the palace chasing after him, and laughing at the top of his lungs at their misfortune."

"Sounds like a handful, that you wouldn't change for a thing," Reiss smiled.

Alistair slowed his steps so he could stare deep into her eyes, "Not a lick. Not Spud, not the speedy baby shattering every wobbly vase in the palace, and never you."

"I know it's not easy, my being out here instead of..." Reiss began. There were nights when she ached for him, days when she missed seeing him across her tiny table and she knew he felt the same.

His fingers smooshed against her lips, stopping her apology, "You're happy, and so am I. It's working. Maker take me, but somehow it is, and I am so grateful for it." Dipping to his knees, Alistair moved to kiss her, when his forehead banged into the rim of her hat.

Playfully, he tipped it back giving him the room to press his lips to hers, his hands swooping around her back. People shifted around the two idiots kissing with their whole hearts, no one giving a second glance at the King madly in love with an elf that couldn't imagine anyone else at her side. As Alistair broke away from her, a giddy smile in place, his fingers tugged Reiss' hat back in place. She laughed at the move but he kept running the tip of his finger back and forth over the brim.

"Oh for all the," Reiss yanked off her hat, the fabric tugging on her ears as it went, then plopped it onto Alistair's head. His face lit up in an instant, the man obsessed with hats. Which seemed particularly odd as he never wore one. "You know, I really thought it'd be the coat you'd want to wear instead? Did you see these pockets?"

He twisted his obsession around, the hat too small for his head, but Alistair wasn't about to give up. After gazing skyward at it for a moment, he stared down at Reiss. "I only want to see that coat on you," leaning closer to her ears, his warm breath washed over them as he whispered, "preferably with nothing else on."

"That..." the blush she should have gotten over but somehow never left her always butterflying stomach rampaged her cold cheeks. Touching her fingers to it to warm them, she smiled, "that can be arranged."

"Good," Alistair tucked her tight to him, "now, to dumplings because I am starving!"

In the years of her scrounging life, Reiss never thought she'd want to spend her days staring at knife wounds, asking dock workers if they saw anything shady the night in question, or telling a widow that she knew who killed his husband. But now she couldn't imagine doing anything else.

And after all those lonely nights, Reiss never imagined she could be with someone so sweet, kind, hilariously goofy, and...Maker, those shoulders. It may not be perfect, but it was right.

Hand in hand, the two of them walked down the street together to the promise of a warm future full of dumplings and whatever else may come.

# Miracle

_ _

_After the Hero of Ferelden thinks she stumbled into a way to cure the taint and shares it with King Alistair, neither of them took into account any unexpected side effects emerging 9 months later. Two unexpected pregnancies, two unplanned babies, two terrified fathers, hilarity ensues.  _

_This is for everyone who wanted to read Alistair as an about to be dad and for those who didn't ask for Cullen to worry himself to death over it._

_A follow up to Guarded Love and the rest of the My Love series._

## CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

#### Uh-Oh

A giant qunari lady's horn almost smacked right into Alistair's cheek. Luckily, he had just enough waning training in his blood to dodge first before asking questions. The woman in question was spinning on her feet, trying to wrestle with a dwarf that had no mind to pay for whatever crime he kept insisting he didn't commit. She groaned, her eyes rolling as the dwarf inched his manacled hands around a desk and drew forth a small letter opener to defend himself. Unaware of the King enjoying the show, the newest detective yanked up the dwarf by the waistband of his pants and dangled him high in the air.

"Hey, let me down!" he squirmed, those short legs paddling freely.

The Qunari snarled, "Not bloody likely," then she turned and caught the human flesh clogging up the door, "oh, hi your Majesty."

"Don't mind me," Alistair chuckled. "I'll keep far out of your way." He was used to the hustle and bustle of the Solver's agency by now. Voices shouted out questions from one end of the room to the other, the sound of quills scratching against vellum a constant background noise, and...sure enough there glittering in the back of the madness were the eyes he expected.

"Lunet," Alistair tipped his head to the elf that was both confusingly secretary and second in command at the same time. He paused and thought of Karelle. Actually, that wasn't so surprising. "Where's...?" he began, when a voice called from behind a giant stack of crates.

"I'm back here."

"Reiss," he finished first to Lunet -- who only shrugged, then got back to jabbing her pastry into a stein of coffee. Sliding through the office's maze of desks, always shifting thanks to evidence piling up at random, Alistair came to a seeming impenetrable wall made of stacks and stacks of boxes. Somewhere behind it was the woman he loved, the clear sound of her belabored breath breaking past the wooden barrier.

"Hello!" he shouted, a hand cupped to his mouth. "Excuse me, keeper of the boxes, but have you seen a lovely elf by any chance? About five foot seven with golden hair, eyes of summer, and the sharpest tongue you've ever faced?" Alistair felt a snicker from the dark haired elf behind him and he tipped his head in recognition.

"Oh for the..." Reiss growled, when her head shot out through a hole. Her cheeks were flushed bright red, and she'd doffed her hat to reveal that familiar bun, though the requisite dagger was nowhere to be seen.

"Hello," Alistair smiled before bending over and placing a soft kiss to her perturbed lips. Her hand lashed out from behind the wall, fingers tenting against his cheek for balance as she returned the affection. "Busy?"

"When aren't I?" Reiss volleyed back. Groaning, she slid half her body through the hole, slightly widening it. "If you maybe duck down you can get in through here." It took more than his ducking, Alistair having to suck in his gut which he'd always considered rather trim, as well as feeling the unfinished wood snag upon the backside of his trousers. But, after a bit of impossible bending of his body, he made it back to where her desk sat.

Walled off from the rest of the office, a strange silence fell, as if they were in a secret cave hiding from an oncoming storm. Reiss wiped her hands off on her tunic, oddly missing the scrap of plate metal she always wore. A few ink stains and whatever filth clung to the boxes trailed behind her hands, but Alistair didn't care.

"Maker's breath, you're beautiful," he murmured, entranced with the set in her glistening eyes and the turn to her smile.

"You always say that," she answered back, but a soft blush rose upon those cheeks.

With a curl of his fingers, he tipped a breakaway tendril of golden hair back behind her ears and whispered, "Because it's always true." This time Reiss crossed the distance, her hands wrapping tight around the back of his neck while her lips devoured his. She must have been famished, her tongue quickly finding its way in to resuscitate his. Pinning his palms around her waist, Alistair wished to shed every stitch of clothing off her.

"Oi, you two better not be snogging in there," Lunet's snarky voice managed to reach them through the barricade.

Breaking away from him with a sigh at being interrupted, Reiss smiled, "Hello, husband."

"Hello, wife," he whispered, always lighter when he could say those words to her. There was almost no one else in thedas who knew, but damn it, it meant something to him. "Let me guess," he gestured to the boxes, "there was a great estate sale and you simply had to buy everything in the place."

"Ha," Reiss laughed once, her body slotting against his side in a half hug. Pointing to each section of wall, she explained, "Let's see, Dixon Hill case, an Adrian's Ghost Monk, missing Miss Marples, and the Purloined Pussy."

"You're looking into someone's missing cat?" he asked, surprised she'd take on such a small matter.

Reiss blinked a moment, then blushed, "Not exactly, no."

"How are you surviving back here?" he stared around at this secret base where no one else entered or left. "How long have you been surviving in this?"

"Not very, a few days," she waved her hand as if it wasn't a problem, "I can slip out if the need arises and I trust my people to handle anything big that comes through the door." Reiss pressed her warm lips against his neck, obviously trying to distract him from her current predicament. Sadly, Alistair was a simple man and it was working perfectly for her.

Moaning in the back of his throat, he turned, prepared to do all the snogging he wanted with the boss. Reiss slipped away, those dangerously smart eyes sizing him up. "You got here rather quickly..."

"I had little to do today. Really. Pinkie swear," he extended it out and even under her scrutinizing stare, she returned the gesture with her own. "The castle's been recuperating from the huge birthday party."

Reiss smiled wide at that, "How'd it go?"

"Pretty good. Spud ushered in the big six with near on ten thousand of her cousins around. Maker's sake, I have no idea how many there are, it's just a sea of tiny hands and feet flapping around up there. Spent the day eating cake, opening up presents, drinking punch, eating more cake, then riding around on ponies."

She tipped her head at that, "You didn't ride a pony, right?" Slowly her eyes darted down his form that'd crush the poor thing.

"Had to, the birthday girl insisted. While all the kids were saddled up and squealing, I sort of waddled around over top the poor thing squished between my thighs."

The bright laughter echoing in Reiss' throat was enough to make up for his abject humiliation. In truth, it wasn't that bad, Spud clapping like mad every time the pony whinnied in annoyance. And he didn't get kicked, so that was good.

"How'd Cailan take it?"

"About as good as can be expected at three," Alistair admitted. "At first he was terrified of the thing. I couldn't blame him, the poor pony's bridle was festooned with ribbons. It looked like its head was being consumed by a cotton candy colored squid. Then he saw his sister wanted to ride and we couldn't stop the kid from leaping into a saddle."

Reiss slid out from hugging him in order to sit down upon her desk. Her eyes kept staring up at his face while she gripped onto the edge for balance.

"It's real fun when he's at that age to want to do everything his sister does and she's at the age where she doesn't want a damn thing to do with him. Near on everyday it's an utter conniption over 'Daddy, he's touching my things!' 'Daddy, I don't wanna take Caywen!' And of course my son's just crying 'Sissy' and chasing after her as if it's all a fun game."

Her sweet shoulders began to shake a little at a contained laugh from his misfortune. Reaching forward, her fingers skirted with his and she gripped to his hand. "They'll grow out of it."

"Maker's sake, I hope so. There was a near on meltdown right outside the chantry steps because 'Caywen touched my kerchief.' And Cailan's bawling because Spud's being mean and he's so very tender hearted about such things. I thought the Grand Cleric was going to have me excommunicated, then tossed into the stocks on the very spot for it," he paused to shake his head at the children that both filled and drained his life. It was a good day when it came to a wash. "At least Cailan's pretty much out of nappies."

She smiled at that, "I don't think Lorace got the idea until he was nearly five."

"And you never let your brother forget, I bet," Alistair smiled at her. Reiss only lifted a shoulder, but the ornery grin told him all he needed to know. "Anyway, castle's sleeping all that off when not pursuing hordes of children in various stages of sugar berserk rages. All I had was a meeting this morning with the Denerim crew and a few letters to answer. Oh and keeping up the diary for Lanny. Day 65 since I took your potion, still no dreams. Can't sense darkspawn, but there are very few in the city for some reason. Perhaps they're not impressed with the spring salons this year. The horrifically tainted are so fickle. All in all, seems to be working."

Reiss tugged their clasped hands together, drawing him away from his story telling gaze right to her eyes. A hint of tears brimmed in them as she whispered, "Good."

Cupping her cheek, Alistair bent over to press his forehead to hers. "I'm sticking around as long as I can," he promised her and moved to press his lips to hers and seal the deal.

Suddenly, Reiss yanked her head back, a hand flying up to her mouth. Her entire face knotted up in concern and panic as she whipped around searching for something, but after a moment it seemed to pass. "Sorry, I've been fighting this Maker awful stomach bug for the past few days. Because," she raised her voice to be heard through the boxes, "someone brought in tainted potato salad!"

Lunet's groan pierced through the barricade, "How long do you intend to blame me for that?"

"Until I stop vomiting comes to mind."

"I already swore I wouldn't get any lunch from that cart ever again. What more do you want from me? My blood?"

Reiss sighed, "Do not tempt me."

Softly, Alistair parted his fingers over her forehead, noticing how clammy it felt to his touch. "Are you pushing yourself? Should I go? I don't want you to get sicker for my sake."

Smiling, she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and tugged her head against his chest. "Please stay. I feel better when you're around."

"Okay," he sighed, dipping down to pull her fully into a hug, "but I'm guessing this means dinner is out."

That same seasick queasy face returned, Reiss shaking her head away. It passed just as quick as before and she snarled, "I'm going to kill Lunet."

"You say that every time I visit," Alistair chuckled. "Come on, you should probably take it easy. Bosses can take half days after all."

He expected her to argue, she always did whenever he showed up early, often leaving the King to prod around in her desk drawing things or sometimes questioning witnesses that strolled in. But this must have hit harder than she let on as Reiss nodded her head and slipped to her legs. With her arms still wrapped around him, she turned her head to shout, "Lunet, I'm heading upstairs to rest. You can handle lock up."

"Already figured I would," she shouted back as smug as ever.

Reiss rolled her eyes but curled tighter to him. Together they took the long stairs up to her private apartment where hopefully no one below would overhear their vigorous reunion.

***

She meant to rest, but when Alistair's fingers began to slide across her back undoing a stuck button to help her into her pajamas, well...

"You need a bigger bed," he complained, as he always did for every visit.

"Last I checked, there's only one of me," she sighed, snuggling tighter against his warm chest. Those fingers that'd teased and tempted her body carefully parted her fallen hair. Reiss stopped keeping anything in her bun on the days she knew Alistair would arrive. It was only going to wind up crashing to the ground anyway.

"What about Muse?" he pressed a kiss to her hair, as if sealing his job at combing it, letting those strong hands traipse down her naked back.

"The dog does not sleep in my bed," Reiss growled. "Maker's sake, there's barely enough room for me."

"Ah ha!" he cried, trying to sit up but it was impossible with all of her laying on top of him. "It is too small."

Struggling up to her elbows, she crawled higher to stare deep into those cocksure eyes. Muse didn't whine and wheedle as great as Alistair did, probably because it didn't work for the dog unlike the human. Brushing her swollen nose against the side of his, Reiss tasted those tender lips still flushed from their exertions. He seemed to abandon his thoughts on the bed, Alistair's hands skirting up around her waist to tug her tighter against his stomach.

_Maker's breath_ , she moaned in the back of her throat. The nights in her bed had felt particularly lonely as of late, their last encounter being of the official variety save a quick lunch together. It felt like weeks since he'd massaged the pads of his palms into her hips or rolled them back to cup her ass.

Reiss noticed that the potion the Hero created for the both of them seemed to be having another effect, age finally creeping up to take down his infamous appetite. But the small layer of fluff that turned mountains of abs into molehills didn't damper an inch of her desire. It was kinda fun to snuggle to a softer body and not worry about a bone prodding into her more tender flesh.

"I missed you," Alistair moaned, his fingers skirting off her hips to curl up her stomach. Ever so softly he graced those palms against her breasts, but it was pain instead of pleasure that seared against Reiss' skin. She sat up fast, her hands slipping over both to try and coddle them tight.

Wincing at the pain and concern in his eyes, she sighed, "Sorry, they've been temperamental lately."

"Oh," his hands barely drew against her naked thigh, those sweet brown eyes weighing her attempting to soothe her aching chest. "Reiss, did I hurt you before? I..."

"No, no," she raced to comfort him, "it comes and goes at random. Been doing it for a few days now."

"That's why no metal breastplate," Alistair mused, surprising her.

"You noticed that?" she turned to him, that investigator always on the lookout for new talent honing in on him.

He chuckled, both hands splaying against the pillow in a strange defeat, "Noticed, stared enraptured at your chest. Tomato, red orange." The cheeky smile caught her in a familiar loop, both of them grinning like idiots upon each other, when it suddenly fell. "You're not sick, are you?"

"You mean aside from whatever stomach knot Lunet put me under?" she groaned, glad it was fading. Perhaps she'd finally overcome the slippery thing. It felt like it'd been a good week she'd suffered this barely simmering flu, which wasn't entirely surprising. Reiss had a habit of pushing herself too hard for too long.

Exhausted, she curled up back on top of her husband, her fingers climbing up and down the feathery chest hair. "I doubt it's anything serious. It'll pass in time."

"I'm more worried about pains in your chest, that can be deadly," the usually sunny voice skipped deeper into a hole, his eyes burning through her dilapidated ceiling.

"Alistair," Reiss whispered his name which always seemed to calm him. "They're tender is all. It can happen. Maybe the breastplate is pinching too tight, or I laid on my stomach too long, or..."

A thought trickled through her mind.

No.

They'd already been down that road before. It wasn't possible, as she'd proven to herself over the years.

"Or...?" Alistair prompted, staggering up to stare into her eyes. But Reiss was too busy glaring through the air to look back at him.

Sixty five days since he was in theory clean of the taint. What if...?

_Oh Maker._

Reiss slid off him, her feet hitting the ground as she hunted for clothing. Most of hers was scattered to the four winds of her tiny apartment, Reiss not being one to cling to orderliness. She snagged on a pair of trousers, then slipped her hands through a robe. Far too large for her, she usually kept it around for Alistair in the event there were any surprises knocking upon her door and he had to clothe himself quickly.

The man sat up on her bed, "What are you doing?"

"Downstairs," she said, wadding up a pair of pants and hurling them at Alistair, "I think everyone's gone for the day, but just in case."

He held them up in utter confusion, those expressive eyebrows knotted together. "In case of what?"

Reiss yanked open the door, causing the oversized robe to expand and leave her sternum further exposed. Normally, she'd blush at so much of her skin being free but her mind was too busy broiling in concern. No, not again. Padding down the stairs, she emerged out into her desk area still swamped by the wall of evidence. Barely any light flickered from the fire beyond her mess, and she heard no noises out in the agency, but still she held her breath while yanking open drawers and digging through them.

"What are you doing?" Alistair asked, his voice hissing as he attempted to slide a shirt on over his head.

"Looking," Reiss answered back, not meaning to be smart, her brain too focused on the hunt. "I know it's here, somewhere."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you have the Sword of Mercy somehow lost in one of these boxes," Alistair mused, his fingers running over one of them.

Shuffling through sheafs of papers and upending ink bottles, Reiss ransacked her own desk about to give up hope when her prize rolled out from the back of the drawer. Leftover from a potion master case, they'd been using up the evidence as it became clear no one was going to collect the stock. A handful of the more useful but less necessary ones wound up under her eye. It was stupid, there was no reason for her to keep this one, but Lunet said it wasn't as if she'd ever need it, so it fell to the boss.

With a set in her shoulders, Reiss placed the bottle onto her desk. It drew Alistair's eye away from whatever had captured it. "Okay, I'm guessing you found whatever you needed."

"Not quite yet," she sighed. Glancing around her desk, she turned and spotted the ceremonial sword her lover gave her for saving his life. She scooped up the bottle off her desk and marched over to it. Steadying her finger, she plunged it against the point.

"What are you doing?" Alistair hissed, watching Reiss dribble a drop of blood into the bottle. It swirled with her scarlet life before fading back to crystal clear.

She held the bottle tight, her eyes hunting over it. "Blue and it's empty," she recited the mantra from what felt another lifetime ago. Alistair's fingers landed on her shoulders, kneading into the robe's neck as he must have felt her anxiety. "Red and..."

Reiss thought it'd take time, it had before, enough for her to unstick her tongue and voice the fear nibbling in her ear, but like flipping a switch the entire potion bottle turned bright red. Her fingers began to shake, the ruby liquid sloshing back and forth before she tucked it tight to her chest.

Holy shit.

"Red and...?" Alistair prompted. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I," Reiss swallowed her fears and turned to find him. He looked panic stricken, the same fear on his face he wore when he thought she'd been lost to the darkspawn. Gently she placed her fingers to his face and sighed, "Red and there's a baby. I'm pregnant."

"You..." his eyes darted down first to the bottle declaring for all to see, then to her queasy but flat stomach. "You're, there's a...but how...? Oh shit!" he groaned, "oh shit, shit, shit! I didn't think that it would. I mean, it's been years, and years ,and..." He gulped, sweat percolating on his brow as the pair of them absorbed the news.

Pregnant.

A baby.

They were going to have a baby together.

One half elf to one half king.

"Reiss," his face was blank, his fingers curling over her cheeks as he lifted her eyes to his. "What are you thinking? Feeling?"

"I hadn't considered," she blinked, listening deep within herself. There was fear cloaked in trepidation. She'd never had a baby before. What would happen to her body, her life? But... A smile skirted around her lips, her eyes closing in a few soft tears. "I'm happy," she admitted.

"Oh thank the Maker," a great smile enveloped Alistair's face, his fingers tugging that nearly white hair skyward. "I mean, I'm ecstatic. A baby! Another! To think..." he bent over, his face skirting near her stomach to whisper, "there's one growing inside of there. And with you."

Alistair staggered up to cup her cheeks, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips, "A child with the woman I love is, well, it's beyond anything I ever dreamed of. To tickle those tiny toes and have big green eyes staring up at me while I try to craftily change a nappy without getting pissed on." He laughed in obvious joy at the thought.

"The child could have your eyes," Reiss mused, her heart opening up to the possibility. A baby tucked inside of her at this very moment, getting bigger and stronger with her every breath. Her hand wrapped tighter around her stomach. She never really paused to think that being with Alistair meant there were no children on her horizon. It was enough to be with him, but a part of her on occasion regretted the loss with a small pang.

And now...

He curled his hand around the back of hers, the pair of them clinging to this miracle of Andraste herself. "I love you," Alistair whispered.

"I love you too," Reiss smiled, trying to shake off another round of queasiness rising in her gullet. Damn, she'd have to stop blaming Lunet for it.

A baby. Maker, no matter how many times she thought it, it still sounded impossible. Inside of her.

"What do we do? What do I do?" she mused to herself.

"For now," Alistair scooped her up into his arms as effortlessly as their first year together. She giggled, nuzzling tight to his neck, "we head upstairs and celebrate. Later, we'll argue and foot stomp over whether junior should attend a prestigious charter school in the Free Marches or be trained by the Avvar in strategic loincloth placement." It was silly, she had so much to plan but...there was a good nine months left to go. He was right, for now they had something magnificent to celebrate.

Alistair carried her up a handful of stairs, when he suddenly paused, and blanched white. "And first thing tomorrow I send a missive to Lanny. She'll want to know about this unexpected side effect."

## CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

#### And Baby Makes...

A bracing wind whipped away the sweat clinging to Cullen's brow. Alas, little could be done to the rest percolating across his back as he finished tacking up the last of the wet sheets still steaming from the boiling cauldron. They'd had help for laundry, but then the ditzy boy ran off and got married. He gave it a month before the kid returned tail between his legs and eyes casting back out of fear of a vengeful in-law.

Sounds of boots drawing up the path pulled Cullen's attention away from the lines of soggy bed linens to a man stepping proudly up the road. The sun's shadows cast his form in the dark, but Cullen would recognize that proud gait of a templar anywhere. Sliding away from his work, the ex-Knight Captain wiped off his hands against the towel knotted to his belt.

"Commander," the voice broke through the air.

Cullen glanced up to find him saluting, as he always did every trip out to the abbey. "Ser Barris," he smiled, reaching over and grasping the man's hand for a generous shake. "You know you need not call me that."

"You're due your respect, Ser, as are many sequestered here."

He rarely stayed long, but Cullen enjoyed the man's biannual visits. Barris was what one wanted in a templar, loyal but not blindly, kind but always aware, and he never talked back. Maker, after a week and a half with the squire rejects Lana hired off of Teagan, Cullen was grateful for a man who knew when to hold his tongue.

Cullen glanced back to the abbey cells, his eyes making quick note of the various colored swatches outside doors. This many years after the collapse of the order they didn't get any fresh cases, but a few were here permanently. Counting three from the left he spotted a green sign hanging off the knob. "Good timing, Ser Barris," he smiled, leading with his arm. The Knight waited until his superior took command, despite knowing exactly where he wished to go. "He is having a good day."

"Excellent, I'd hope the spring's thaw would do wonders for his constitution," Barris said, trailing behind the watchman of the refuge. A few of the harried help nodded at Cullen in deference, but they were all too busy with their work to properly salute. "How are you?"

"As well as can be expected. Winter did a number, as it always seems to in these parts of Ferelden. You're from further north, right?"

"Yes, my family at least. It feels as if I haven't been back in an age," he stared out towards the horizon with a world weary exhaustion Cullen knew far too well. Barris seemed to shake himself from it and smile, "And how is the Lady of the abbey?"

Cullen chuckled at that. "Lana's well. She's off doing something with potions at the moment, but I'm certain she'll be delighted to talk with you over dinner."

They paused outside the door to his friend's room, the Knight collapsing his hands behind him. "I shall look forward to it. She is a woman with a sharp mind."

"And a sharper tongue," Cullen sighed, rolling back and forth on his heels. "Feel free to head in, you know the drill."

"Thank you, Commander," Barris nodded before pausing. "Oh, I nearly forgot. My path crossed with a messenger bringing this note addressed to the Lady..." He passed over a folded sheet of vellum. Cullen's gut sank before he even caught the familiar seal of the Theirin family.

"Wonderful," he murmured, pocketing it to give to his wife later.

"Unwelcome news?"

"More unwelcome sender," Cullen groaned. They'd been writing near on constant, a lot of it on Lana's side as she prodded her friend and duplicate test subject to keep her informed at all costs. No doubt the King suffered a bout of heartburn and thought it imperative to inform her. On the plus side, at least he didn't arrive here with a retinue to tell her.

"Forgive me for impeding you. Please, head on in," Cullen stepped back, giving Barris enough room to prop open the door. The sound drew the attentions of a silver haired man who'd been perched upon the bed knitting a scarf that had surpassed twelve feet.

"Do you remember me, Derrik?" Barris asked, the door shutting before Cullen could overhear the answer.

He glanced down at the remaining sheets waiting to be strung up like bandits, but perhaps he should deliver this letter to Lana. Where was his wife, anyway? He prodded first into her potions room, where he'd last seen her this morning, but it sat empty and mostly clean. The kitchen staff only shrugged, no one having seen her since morning. She couldn't have gone off to pick herbs, nearly nothing had sprouted out of the ground and Honor was fast asleep in her kennel. Even with a muzzle of snow, she always followed Lana to protect her.

Cullen's question grew to concern as he began to peek his head into every room. Maker's sake, there weren't that many in the abbey. This shouldn't be so difficult. It wasn't until he debated if it was worth it to signal the Arl and see if Lana wandered off to the near hunting lodge that he thought to check their room. A slight tremor grew in his hand, the fear of losing her beating its fists upon his heart, as he grabbed onto the doorknob.

Thanks to a fresh oiling, the door opened smoothly to reveal a mass of curls perched over the back of a chair. Breath filled his body as the head whipped back and forth, Lana's hand reaching forward to match a quill jabbing into a book. She was fine, and working. Why was he even worried? She was always working.

Swallowing down the concern in his voice, Cullen slid into the room and tried to silently close the door. The tug of wind caused her candle's flame to dance forward, Lana whipping her head towards him. He smiled, "You're never going to guess who's back. It's..."

Lana rose to her feet quickly. Shuffling towards him without a cane, she grabbed onto Cullen's hand and placed it against her lower stomach. "Feel," she commanded.

"All right," he cupped tighter against the blue dress clinging to her soft belly. "I..." Cullen shook his head, "I'm not certain what I'm looking for." He thought it a strange game, certain she was about to laugh, until looking up into her eyes. Her face was stricken, nearly pale as ash, the bottom lip trembling.

"Not with your hand," she sneered, "with your mind."

"With my...what?" He was fully lost now, fearing this was all some prank but Lana looked spooked beyond measure.

"Please," she begged, a sliver of a tear welling up in her eye. Moved to action, Cullen tried to steady himself deeper inside to the abandoned templar skills. He had no idea what he was looking for, or supposed to be feeling. There was Lana, his wife, his reason for getting up in the morning. Her warm body pressed tight to his drew up memories to him of when it was her bare skin instead of the thick linen. He'd skirted his fingers to her stomach before dawn to hold her tight to him. Cullen thought he'd been quiet, but no, she woke and cuddled deeper to his body, entertained with his failed subtlety. Her laugh had rumbled up through his palm because she was so full of life.

Life.

His eyes flew open, Cullen's tongue falling slack as he mouthed the word again, "Life?" Barely more than a flutter of a butterfly's wings, this other life beat through her own, from inside her. "Lana..." he swallowed, "what is this? What's inside of you? Are you okay? Is there some, are you infested with a parasite?"

She cupped his cheeks with her hands, tugging him to her forehead. "In a manner of speaking..." More of her weight fell against his body, Cullen wrapping an arm around her waist while the other remained tight to her abdomen as if he could banish whatever was festering inside of her.

"Cullen, I...Maker's sake, I can't believe I'm about to say this." Lana gulped, the glistening tears dribbling off her cheek. "I still don't believe it, even after..."

"What? Please, tell me," he begged, the tremors beginning again.

"I'm pregnant," she said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug.

"You, you're...it's not a dangerous creature inside of you?" He clung to the other probable eventuality because that idea, that fact of a...was even more unimaginable than anything else to befall her.

"No, at least not until it's had a good thirteen years or so to grow," she chuckled once, but it was a solemn and uncertain laugh.

"What? How?" he stumbled through any word that he hoped would explain this impossibility, but none would suffice.

Lana brushed her fingers against his forehead, "I was checking potions, the validity and strength of the health ones. Simple. Distillation had been a bit...never mind. In order to do it, I had to dip into the fade, measure my life force such as it is. And that's when I felt it. Something."

She turned from him to swipe an arm across an array of bottles and scribbled notes. "I ran every test I could think of, cast every spell, even performed a few old wives tales because I was running out of ideas. And every single one came up the same."

"Pregnant?" Cullen swallowed hard, what felt like a thousand nails sliding down his throat. This was the exact possibility that was never supposed to happen in their lives. He'd accepted it, embraced it, almost reveled in it, and now...

"Maker's breath," he swooped up his wife, all but snuggling her in his arms, "are you, how are you feeling?"

"Confused, and more confused," she gasped, her hands curling up to cling to his back. "I didn't think, never suspected that removing the taint would. That many years I'd assumed there'd be deleterious effects upon my..." She pressed her face tight to his chest while Cullen parted her curls, "This wasn't supposed to happen."

A single laugh broke through his chest, his wife lifting away to stare into his eyes. He cupped her cheek and in a soft voice said, "Lana, the blight wasn't supposed to happen. Kirkwall wasn't supposed to happen. Maker knows Corypheus wasn't supposed to."

"We've survived a lot of the unexpected," she said, a smile flitting with her lush lips.

"Very much so."

"Cullen, I..." her eyes darted down, "I want to be happy, I think. Excited, but I'm scared. The very potion that allowed this is in its infantile stages, tested on a few blighted animals and then two humans. What if...?"

Her shoulders began to quiver, her lips falling slack as she sucked in a breath. He read her fears because the same scrawled upon his heart. "If," pressing her tight to his chest, he began to rock back and forth with her body in his arms, "if it doesn't take, then it's not meant to be. I will love you no matter what."

A smile lifted a moment and she pressed her face against his chest, responding in kind. Chuckling, she raised her head, "That explains why I've been so moody lately. Silliest little thing just sends my mind flailing."

_Maker's breath, a child?_ He was nearing his forties with every breath and they were going to have a baby. A little, fragile baby raised in this abbey full of sick, dying, and mind-addled Templars. Deep inside of Cullen the panic began, jerking its finger at every way this would fail, but he wouldn't let it catch. Lana needed him to be her rock.

She was trying to dab up her tears, shaking her head. "I never considered, I mean, I know how to deliver babies. I can feel when there's a breach, or if the child is in distress. But carrying one...what do I do? Is there something I should eat? Drink?"

"Food, you'll probably want food. I doubt any will blink an eye at your appetite returning to what it once was," he smiled, somehow being the calm one. She was filling with another soul growing inside of her, not him. Ever since he plucked her out of the Fade, Cullen felt as if Lana was another part of him, but perhaps for the first time he realized how foreign she truly was. A child becoming one half of her and one half of him, tucked away inside of her womb. It was terrifying and awe inspiring as well.

"There are books, probably. I should order some from Val Royeaux to read and..." Lana's eyes began to hunt around the room, searching for no doubt a quill or catalog.

"Lana," he cupped her cheeks, softly focusing her upon him, "we'll get it. You'll use your beautiful mind to no doubt prepare for any eventuality that could possibly occur."

"Me?" she scoffed, "says the man who approaches spring cleaning like he's leading an army through the mountains." The woman he loved returned, her panic ebbing away as she blinked her bottomless eyes up at him.

Cullen sighed, well aware of his faults. "I can get in contact with Mia. She's carried a few children, and I suspect will be a calming influence for us both."

"Wait," Lana's hand caught his as if afraid he was about to do just that. "We should wait a few months, until we're sure that...it could be lost, or washed away." Pain lanced through her eyes; she was scared to grow attached to the life inside of her for fear that the taint that once filled her veins would wipe it away.

Right. Cullen dipped down and scooped his wife into his arms. She gasped in surprise as he led her to their shared bed and placed her gently onto it. "What are you doing?"

"You're going to need your rest," he said.

"Maker's breath, it's not as if the baby's going to come popping out right this second," she chastised him.

It was meant as a joke, but the image caught in Cullen's throat. A child, his child...there could be a boy or girl of his blood in this world. Shaking off the enormity of the concept, he sat down onto the bed and twisted to roll his eyes right into hers.

Their noses bounced against each another, Cullen's hawk-like beak jabbing into her round one. Lana smiled at it, but the question was still there. What was he doing? Wrapping an arm over her side, he whispered to her beautiful brown eyes, "Let's lay here, together, just...talking. Worrying, fretting, laughing, I don't know. Being together..."

Her lips lifted in a quick smile, which she pressed against his mouth. Those pillowy lips softened, the warmth and taste of her overwhelming him. "Okay, together," she breathed against his cheek.

"Always," Cullen responded. He moved to snuggle her tight against him, when the memory struck. Rolling his eyes, his fingers pried out the short missive from the King, "I nearly forgot, you received a message."

She ran her fingers over it, seeming uninterested in the outside world for now, but then her eyes caught the seal and Lana sat up. Cracking it, she devoured quickly what looked like only a few sentences. Cullen followed, an arm wrapping around her shoulder as he asked, "What's the man want now?"

"He wrote to inform me that Reiss is with child," she said, the letter thudding to her lap. Lana twisted her head to him as she finished, "And that we should take precautions just in case."

"I wonder if that man has ever managed to accomplish anything properly?" Cullen sneered.

"Well, if she's really knocked up, there's at least once thing we know of," Lana laughed, earning a glare from her husband. She was quick to kiss it away, those soft fingers combing through his stubble as she guided him back to the bed with her. "I guess, no matter what happens, we're in this together. All four of us."

Not one but two babies, both with the potential to be tainted. And out of them, the only one with any experience in this matter was Alistair. The Maker has a real sense of humor sometimes.

## CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

#### If He Asks

12 weeks along...

Blade flying through the air, Reiss threw up her arm just in time to deflect it against her bracer. "So much for you innocence, Cedric," she hissed at the human she all but fished out of the sewers. Bedraggled and scrawnier than most elves, he was nothing but bones and skin...and, sadly, a few knives pressed into his palms she failed to take into account.

He shrieked, the first knife's blade sailing harmlessly by, but the second she had no easy way to block. Reiss tried to scurry back out of the culvert when she pressed tight to the wall. The knife's edge zipped back and forth through the air like a mad fly until slicing through her coat and sticking deep into her upper arm. Hissing in pain, she glanced over to find blood pooling across the not as well oiled hide of her signature coat.

"Fine, you want to do this the hard way," she sneered, drawing the sword off her belt. Cedric was little more than a two copper thug in Denerim, one she'd rather not cut down if only for the sake of whoever had to clean up the body. But something must have spooked him good. Was he worried about selling out a bigger boss?

Rolling her shoulders back into an instant soldier stance, Reiss' blade met first against one dagger, then the second. Striking hard enough to bend back Cedric's wrist, the dagger scattered to the shit filled swamp running below their feet. Even the bastard on his last leg wasn't stupid enough to go fishing for it. Still, he stared down in surprise before flipping his grip on the one remaining dagger. Good for going high, but it wasn't going to save him.

Reiss' foot lashed out, the steel tip of her boots crunching into a knee. With no fat or muscle to get in the way, the bone all but shattered from her force, Cedric plummeting down. Smoothly, Reiss slid in behind him, her blade drawing tight to the ropey neck. The man trembled, terrified of how easily she could snuff him out.

"Nice try," she mocked when a woosh of the stench of shit and urine collapsed off of Cedric's stringy hair. It kicked right into her tender stomach all but causing spots to burst in her eyes, but she hung on. "Now," Reiss coughed, trying to squelch her queasiness, "we're gonna do this again. Who paid you to slip the black lotus under Miss Simon's door?"

Cedric mouthed a few words, no doubt coming off whatever he snorted to go into a blood rage -- as if that gave any fighting advantage for a street bully to take on a soldier. She tipped her ear closer, the blade glittering by the haunting lantern lights put out by the forgotten souls surviving in the sewers, when a clattering of boots echoed down the culvert.

Her head snapped up to find another two of Cedric's group standing at the entrance. One carried a flail, most likely to do more damage to himself than anyone he attacked, and the other was clutching a crossbow. The criminal in her fingers began to chuckle, as if he had anyway out of this. Sadly, the arrival of his pals did change things, but not for his betterment.

"I'd hoped to avoid bloodshed this evening," Reiss groaned, not in the mood to blot out all the stains. The other two hopped back and forth, as twitchy as Cedric.

"Give 'em to us and we'll let you go, knife-ear," the taller one brayed.

With her face shadowed below her hat, giving her an even more demonic look, Reiss' attentions shifted from one man to the other making certain they were watching. "No deal," she snarled and drew the blade clean across Cedric's throat. Blood spurted through the air, a professional knowing how to scissor the artery to exsanguinate the body fast. Reiss kept a tight hold to the dead man's corpse in the off chance crossbow remembered he had it, but she needn't bother.

Faces stained white with terror, both men beat a hasty retreat. Loyalty that could be purchased only lasted when there wasn't a fear of death in the air. Hurling Cedric to the ground, Reiss whistled through the air and sheathed her blade. She made it a few feet out of the sewer to find one man cowering in the corner while Muse bared his teeth and snarled. The other was flat out on the ground, both dwarven twins digging into the criminal's spine while cuffing him.

"Boss," Jorel called while his brother finished cinching up the restraints. "What do you want done with 'em?"

"Take 'em to the guard house for now. They'll have to sober up before anyone's getting a word out," Reiss instructed.

"P...p-please, call off your war hound," the second man whimpered from behind his hands. She whistled again, drawing Muse off from the man. Like stepping on a trap, the snarling beast transformed into the lovable goof that often rolled in dead fish he found behind the agency. Jorel was quick to cuff the second assailant, but he needn't have bothered. After that scare, the man seemed incapable of standing due to his trembling legs.

"Not bad," Lunet said while stepping out of the shadows. She had a giant longbow slung over her shoulders in the event something went wrong. "You're gonna have that shit eating grin for a week, ain't ya?"

Reiss sighed, but not too deeply at the insubordination. One, because it came from perhaps her dearest friend, and two, Lunet had the same grin. They'd been pursuing these shits for weeks and it'd be nice to put a pin in it all. Turning to look over her shoulder, pain seized up her arm and Reiss cupped the wound still weeping blood.

"Maker's taint, you got stabbed?" Lunet reached over as if she could see the damage through her coat and large tunic.

"It's nothing, a scratch. Still, better get it cleaned up," she sighed. "Men," Reiss ordered, "take care of those two, and get paperwork from the guardhouse upon their release. No way we're letting Fettain take credit for our work. Detective Lunet and I will be back at the agency."

"Yes, Ser," both saluted before hauling up the men.

Reiss leaned down to the agency's pet mabari, "Stick with 'em Muse. They may need backup."

Muse woofed once and gave chase while Reiss and Lunet turned back to walk to their business. It didn't take long to find their sign teetering in the wind. The damn lock stuck, often leaving the door wedged slightly open, but no one even this close to the alienage was stupid enough to try and break in. You don't want to go robbing from people who are known for solving robberies. Reiss yanked off her hat, placing it upon the hook beside the door, then unfurled her coat.

"I think it stopped bleeding," she mused to herself, inspecting the jagged wound that shrieked pain across her brain when touching it. Refraining from that would probably be wise then. Lunet didn't say anything, only twisted a chair around and patted the seat.

"Let me take a look," she sighed, digging out their kit from a bottom drawer. A pair of bottles holding medicinal grade alcohol answered in kind but she left them behind.

As Reiss settled down, she began to roll up the tunic that billowed across her tiny form. No one said much about their boss suddenly wearing larger shirts from out of nowhere. She was glad not to have anyone pressing questions, but also disappointed. Their job was to notice things off from the norm and draw conclusions. Maybe they needed to have more training.

"Ah!" Reiss hissed, pain searing across her arm as Lunet drew back a cloth that stung. "That hurts!"

"No shit, getting stabbed'll do that," she mused, her dark eyes little more than pupils in the low light of the agency. Lunet unraveled a string of catgut and began to thread the needle. "I can stitch it up, but maybe you should get it looked at proper. By one o' them college mages."

"It's a little cut, Lune. I don't think it'll kill me," Reiss sighed, tipping her head back and trying to not jump every time the needle bit into her flesh.

"This ain't little. Paper cuts are little. It's pretty deep into the meat, Rat."

"So?" She wasn't leaving a trail of blood in her wake, nor about to pass out in a back alley. "We've cleaned up far worse off each other over the years."

"Maybe, but you weren't carrying an extra passenger at the time, neither."

Reiss blinked, her hand cupping against the stomach that finally calmed down. It'd been nearly six weeks of constant churning as if she couldn't escape from a ship. Most of her crew learned that when the boss said to get out of the way, you best dive for the sidelines.

"Just because there's a...I'm not exactly made out of egg shells, Lunet. I can handle myself just fine."

"Uh huh," her friend grunted, the sutures far tighter than they ever used as it wasted precious catgut, "and what if the knife hadn't been for your arm? What if it nicked through your belly instead?"

"Impossible," Reiss dismissed the thought, "Cedric's hands weren't capable of reaching far enough over to..." At her friend's look, Reiss paused. "What?"

Lunet slunk back into her chair, the bloody needle still poised in her fingers. "If it were just you full of some dockworker's brat, I wouldn't say nothing. Shit, I'd expect you to be out there walking the beat at eight months popped and counting." They both remembered the expectations of oncoming mothers in the watch. You either sucked it up, or you were replaced.

"Reiss, this ain't nothing. This is the King's," Lunet gestured to her womb as if a fabled jewel was jammed inside instead of a tiny fetus.

It wasn't the best conversation Reiss had ever had with Lunet when she told her, but it wasn't the worst either. Lunet at least got on with Alistair, to some extent, but she could read all the concerns in her friend's face. Unwed mother, squirreling away near an alienage, an elf filling with a human-blooded child. None of that would play well to the community. Perhaps it was Reiss' admitting she knew shit wouldn't be easy but stubbornly going ahead anyway that eased Lunet's fears. She'd been sworn to secrecy, nearly no one else made aware until Reiss felt it was time and there was less a chance of losing this miraculous surprise. After the first three months passed, she started to think she was really waiting until there was no more denying it.

"Plenty of women are walking around Denerim right now pregnant, and they're fine," Reiss said, shaking her head. She never thought she'd have to explain this to Lunet.

"And how many of them are about to birth a kid with royal blood? I mean, do you know how many he's been sniffing around since you went up the duff?" She tacked on, earning a sneer from Reiss.

"Lune..."

"Wha'? Men are fickle, so I hear," Lunet tied off the suture and snipped it free. She'd on occasion make light about the idea of Alistair being romantically involved with anything that moved, if only because the idea was so preposterous. Normally, Reiss would laugh along, but there was clearly something else weighing on her mind.

"Okay, what's going on?" Reiss asked, reaching over with her sutured up arm to grip onto Lunet's cold fingers.

"You ain't obvious now, so it's a fun little secret, but... Shit, Rat, have you thought about what'll come once you're waddling around with a bulging gut?"

"I'll take a few months off, that's a given," Reiss said.

"Right, then you'll have a baby. Kinda loud, demanding, known to keep people up at all hours. You really think you're gonna be able to head right back in to work once it slithers out from between your legs?"

Reiss shuddered, "You make birth sound so appealing. Maybe it'll take awhile to adjust, but..."

"Maybe? Rye, that's someone with a claim to riches and lands beyond any of our wild dreams squatting inside you. Don't tell me you're so deluded to think you can just pop back in here as if nothing's changed after it's emerged into the world."

"Lune..." Reiss scooted forward, trying to catch her friend's for once wandering eye.

"And for all the crap I give him, ain't no way the King's gonna let you drag your little baby down to this shit hole. He'll want you both perfumed and pillowed up at the palace. Safe like," she jerked her chin at the red and oozing wound, "where no bastard's daggers can hurt you."

"Look, I can't claim to see into the future. This whole thing is new and I'm making it up as I go, but Maker's sake...this is my life, Lunet. This agency, all of you. I've been building it for nearly three years, that's far longer than the baby. I'm not going to give it up just because there's a child in my life too. It can stretch to fit, we'll find a way."

Lunet stared at her hands, seeming in disbelief, but her lips lifted in a half smile, "Is that a promise?"

"For as little as my name is worth," Reiss admitted. She'd been so busy worried about her stomach not upending itself with every step she never stopped to think what this baby would mean to everyone else around her.

"Good enough, I suppose," Lunet chuckled. Then her eyes wandered over to the cut that was about to bruise terribly. "Gonna tell the King about that?"

Reiss drew her fingers softly against the sutures and sighed. Rolling her sleeve back down to hide it, she admitted, "Only if he asks."

## CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

#### A Little Rain

14 weeks along...

Don't even think about it!

Alistair glared at a dark cloud that went and gathered a good ten of its buddies together to crash what had been a very nice picnic he planned hard for. An elegant spread of cheeses once tucked inside the basket were now being slowly digested by the pair of them. He even snuck out the really good blanket off his bed, which -- considering the mess of grass stains and bugs -- may have not been such a wise idea. Ah, that's what washings were for.

Perched back on her elbows, this impossible woman stared down across the lonely hills. She'd wandered up them back when the sun was still able to hustle out the imposing clouds. Thanks to this gorgeous late-spring day, Reiss abandoned her fancy Solver coat and hat for little more than an old tunic that he swore was clinging tighter to certain parts of her anatomy he shouldn't speak of in polite company. Speaking of them in impolite company would cause Alistair to giggle like a gibbering nug and probably drool a little.

Reiss wiped a hand across her forehead and gazed over at him. "Tell me again, for the official record when Karelle or anyone else comes looking for you, why are we out here?"

Smiling, Alistair tipped back on his side to slide closer to her. He draped a hand down over her stomach -- still flat but give it time. "Because," he cupped his fingers up and down imagining them bulging with the baby inside of her. Catching her flash of verdant eyes, he melted, "I wanted to celebrate with you."

"That's..." Reiss began before Alistair caught her lips in a kiss. She tasted of the nutty brown cheese he snuck out that supposedly paired best with whatever wine was in your glass. As he pulled back, she hobbled herself onto one elbow to part her fingers down through his hair. "That's all we've been doing every time I see you."

"No, there's been other stuff. We, uh, we talked about...um," he blinked, his mind tumbling off a cliff. There had to have been more. Her casework, or whatever Lunet was up to, but somehow that all kept rolling back into baby things. How was she handling walking the streets while their little nub with limbs grew? What did Lunet think of it? Was she already on the line for babysitting?

Reiss roughed up the grey scruff along his jaw and she tugged him closer, "I know you're excited." As the kiss faded, Alistair let his forehead brush against hers. Skin so warm it drew him tighter, the very joy of spring radiating off of her. Reiss seemed to be wearing pregnancy well once the sickness part wound down. There was a glisten in her eyes, and whenever he caught her rubbing her stomach the apples of her cheeks would light up. She was excited too, even if she had to be the more practical one.

"Ooh, I know," Alistair scurried to the edge of the blanket and hefted up one of her boots. "I'll rub your feet."

"Why?" she lifted an eyebrow, but didn't stop him from unlacing her shoes to place to the side.

Digging in with the pads of his hand, Alistair shrugged, "That's what the father does, right? Rub feet, fetch weird foods in the middle of the night, and pass out little celebratory bottles of wine."

"You damn well better do more than..." Reiss' sentence trailed off as he pressed both thumbs hard against the ball of her foot. A groan and then a, "dear Maker" erupted instead, Alistair unable to shake the smile. "Okay, that's good. Keep doing that."

"As you command," he chuckled, grateful to be helping. It was a bit strange to be technically on his third impending child, but to never have really experienced pregnancy. At least not with the mother puking while he held her hair, or snuggled up to his chest while she regaled him with whatever freakish new thing her body did that day.

Switching to the other foot, Alistair expected Reiss to tip back, to lay down and gaze up at the tree branches above them, but she waved her fingers and snapped. "No, you give me your feet."

"What? Why?"

"Because I said so," a curious quirk twisted up her lips and he had to obey. Sliding in between her legs, Alistair stretched his celery stalks out beside her shoulders while he dug back in to his work. With determination, even as she groaned for more, Reiss undid the tight laces on his boots and, sure enough, began to massage his feet.

"Okay, now that's really pointless. I'm not even..." Alistair began before he felt the muscles in his ankle and his calf coming undone. The knot up half of his leg fell apart into a puddle of relaxation. "Sweet merciful Andraste," he gasped, "I had no idea you could do that."

She smirked, "You're telling me the King doesn't regularly have someone rub his feet? What about Charles?"

"No way, that man knows far too many secrets about my traitorous body to be reduced to foot rubber. He's probably paid the best of anyone in the castle just so he doesn't go blabbing."

"He knows more than me?" Reiss kept on digging in, both hands working through his toes while she pushed his ankles tighter against her chest. It caused her breasts to squish in, Alistair's brain clicking away at the bobbing and weaving.

"Huh? Uh, yeah, he knows what horrors can occur if I consume certain things. I want you to be able to look at me again without having to gouge your eyes out." He felt an awkward blush rising up his cheeks at that. It was rather foolish, not as if she hadn't seen him in varying stages due to illness, drink, or a dangerous case of idiocy. But he loved the way she stared at him, even when naked. No screaming, no running for the hills. Reiss always looked as if she was trying to chisel the view into her memory for all of eternity.

She paused in her massage and tapped her chin, "It's olives, isn't it?"

"By the void, how did you...?"

Shrugging, she pointed to her nonexistent hat. "My job." Unable to take anymore, Alistair yanked his legs back in order to crawl over top of her. Reiss' uncertainty turned into a great smile as he cupped her jaw with one hand and yanked out the bun with the other. In the middle of the kiss, she leaned back to laugh, then shook her golden hair free.

"Maker's breath, I love you," Alistair whispered, his fingers free to part through her hair that seemed to be getting shinier. The baby's doing or perhaps it was the promise of summer? During official meetings it took all his control to not pull it apart, comb it with his fingers, or lay it against his upper lip to make a mustache. Here, alone, he could do whatever he wanted.

"I love you too," Reiss smiled, "which is good seeing as how we made a baby together."

"Can it be called a baby yet? Isn't it more like a nuglet?"

"Nuglet? Maker, no, you are not calling this a nuglet. I refuse for my sake, and Karelle's poor eyesight. She's liable to go blind from rolling her eyes so hard at that."

Alistair guffawed at her certainty, and the fact she was probably right about Karelle. He reached down to run his fingers over the back of her neck and tug her closer, when a drop of water landed upon her exposed collar. It took a moment for his brain to figure it out, two more water droplets splattering upon her chest, when he finally felt the rain land on his back. Tipping his head back, Alistair stared into the grey sky just as the downpour began.

"Maker's bloody nails," he cursed, water quickly drenching his eyes. He had to wipe it away, more of the rain making it through their minimal leafy cover as the clouds of doom finally doomed all over them. "I swear this wasn't supposed to happen," he cursed again, staring down at the hill overlooking Denerim. Somewhere way at the bottom was where shelter would be. He groaned, prepared to make a run for it, when the sweetest sound caught him. Reiss had her head tipped back, her mouth open as the fresh rain dripped down her throat. After every catch she'd laugh before returning for more.

"Should we, uh," he jerked a thumb back down the hill, when his eyes wandered down from her face to the wet shirt suckered to her chest. The cold rainwater drew her nipples out, the linen drenched enough to provide nearly the entire tempting outline of her beautiful breasts. Alistair stuttered around a few more ums and uhs, hoping that she wouldn't notice he was locked up on her chest bouncing with her laughter.

Reiss reached forward, her fingers snagging through the back of his hair. It was enough to draw his eyes to hers and he nearly yelped from the lust burning inside them. "Should we what?" she purred before yanking him to her. Her rain splattered lips plied his apart, letting her tongue dip in to find his. It tasted even warmer than usual, Alistair sliding up to his knees to match her voracity. His hands cupped along her waist, slicking her soaked shirt tighter to that body he was aching to touch.

Seeming to have the same idea, Reiss began to unbutton his mud stained mess that was going to cause so much tongue clucking back at the palace. She refused to stop kissing him while yanking it down, his shirt snagging at the wrists, but all she wanted was to touch his bare shoulders. Fat, wet water drops plopped upon his exposed skin, one landing right into that clavicle crease. Moaning at it, Reiss dipped down to lap the rainwater off his shoulders, the warmth of her breath causing a noticeable strain to build in his pants.

"Are..." He should ask. He was an adult. It was chilly with the rain. And she was pregnant. Good to look out for her and all. "Are you sure...?" Alistair began again, when those mischievous green eyes snapped into his.

Fuck being the grown up.

Reiss yelped in surprise and joy as he dove with her back onto the blanket. A few drops plopped onto her face, one heading near her eye. She scrunched up her nose, the broken side crinkling even more than usual while trying to fend off the rain attack. At first Alistair tried waving his hands over her face to stop them, then he realized his fat head would serve as better cover. Rain dripped against the back of his skull as he kissed her with all the heat building up through the lower sections of his body. It moved from the loins section down his thighs and then up through his belly. He halfway expected to glance down and find his crotch glowing.

Shaking off the thought, his hands traipsed down her chest, even while his unbuttoned shirt tugged tight across his back. She was wearing this enticing dip to the shirt, where the laces cut off just before there was a swell of her newfound cleavage. Alistair tugged the edge of the neckline further down and placed his hot mouth against her glistening skin.

"Oh Maker," Reiss moaned as first his one hand, then the other cupped under her breasts. So soaked, it was almost as if she was wearing nothing. Alistair could nearly feel the softness of her skin below. Walking his fingers higher, he circled around her nipples -- Reiss chuckling below him -- when he gently knocked one then the other up.

That set off her buzzing. She tried to stuff her fingers in her mouth as if to stop it, but Alistair was quick to reach out and catch them. He loved when she did that buzzing. Sometimes to the point if he wasn't careful around the beehives, he could face some very pointed questions from the keepers. Reiss let her hand fall from her mouth, the buzzing increasing as she gripped onto his shoulders instead.

He wanted her naked.

But that wasn't smart.

Oh, sod smart.

Digging his fingers under her shirt, his knuckles glanced across Reiss' warm stomach as he yanked the clinging garment off of her. Alistair was about to toss it to the side, when he noticed how muddy the ground got. After carefully placing it on the blanket, he turned over and his breath fully caught in his throat.

Lain back, rain drops glistening upon her skin making her look even dewier than usual, Reiss was a fairy. An ethereal being plucked from the fade itself, given the perfect form to taunt him beyond his wildest dreams. Her golden hair circled her head, the rain beading in it like dew drops upon rose petals. More rain dripped down her breasts, the freed nipples calling for him to ravage both in kisses. But he was spellbound, a single hand glancing across her scarred stomach as the rainy colors drew forth even more of her freckles.

"Alistair?" He had no idea how many times she had to say his name before he snapped free of the spell.

"I want you," he breathed and Reiss laughed.

"No kidding," she drew her fingers down his naked stomach to cup the obvious bulge in his pants.

He gasped, lost in the rising thrum of her fingers circling for his dick straining against water drenched trousers. "You're so..."

Reiss unbuttoned the fly, quickly yanking his pants and anything else in the way down. With a quirk to her lips, she ordered, "Just do me already."

_Oh Maker!_

Alistair made quick work tugging her pants down, Reiss' water kissed lips plundering his skin for fresh rain. Even with the chill in the air, he could feel himself growing harder, his balls tightening in anticipation as her warm mouth drifted down to press against his nipple. Stumbling from excitement, he yanked off the rest of his offending trousers, no longer caring if they were banished to the muddy hill.

His dick in full salute, Alistair stood upon his knees staring down at her. Rain beaded up in her tuft of blonde pubic hair, each drop seeming to whisper a quick hello before rolling down towards where he ached for. Too lost in the view, Alistair didn't realize Reiss hooked her legs back around his ass, until she sat up to kiss him.

"Fuck me," Alistair gasped in shock as he tumbled back to land on his butt, Reiss taking the high ground.

Groaning, she rolled her eyes, "That's what I'm trying to do."

As his hands slid up to cover her breasts, she straddled his dick and slowly dropped down onto it. "Sweet merciful Andraste!" Alistair gasped, lost in every delectable twist and turn inside of her. Her very warm, so damn intoxicating inside bits.

Reiss smiled, her tongue lapping along her lips to lick up a raindrop as her eyes caught his. She was being daring, about to drive him wild, when Alistair softly pinched into her nipples. That threw his love off, her straining thighs shaking a moment as she almost tumbled forward. Her hot breath buffeted into his ear, gasping to come back, when she whispered, "Do it again."

Happy to oblige, Alistair gave into her wild whims as she rose up higher and began to thrust onto him. _Maker's balls_. Shit, his balls. It was slow at first, taking the time to enjoy every minute moment sliding deeper and shallower through this woman. His lips wandered, first to hers, then down her chest. When he kissed her nipple, she moaned.

Reiss gripped onto the nape of his neck and began to lean backwards. With her throat buzzing, her tempo increased dramatically, all that gorgeous flesh enveloping his. Alistair gripped onto her back with one hand and reached in between them with the other. Gently at first, he rubbed invigorating circles over the top of her clit.

"Dear Maker," Reiss moaned, her legs beginning to tremble on top of his. He dug his fingers into her spine, afraid she might suddenly slip while Alistair kept teasing her with his fingers. A breath caught in her throat, her eyelids fluttering as she rocked her hips back and forth over him. Gasping, her fingernails dug tight as he watched her face twist up into a joyous release. Her vagina pulsed around his dick, hugging it tighter as the orgasm walloped her body. When she began to pitch backwards, Alistair grabbed on with both arms.

Her eyes slid open and she had the goofiest smile on as if he told her the worst joke imaginable. Slowly, he tipped downward with her, making certain to not break anything. As her body touched down on the blanket, Alistair kissed the tip of her nose. Reiss wiggled it a bit, and with an envious dexterity tugged her leg up to her chest. The breath was about to pass out of his body from the visual, when she slid it in between his legs.

What was...? _Oh shit._

When her other leg joined the first, Alistair braced himself and thrusted his hips to delve deep inside. It was so tight, her wet warmth suckered against his dick and he swore it was tightening with every thrust. He screwed his eyes up, struggling to keep going even as white spots burned at the edges. Reiss' wandering hands gripped onto his shoulders, her voice crying for something as she tried to yank him deeper inside.

With one final push, Alistair thrusted as far as he could when the cascade began. "Dear ss...nakes!" his brain was incoherent, words tumbling from his mouth while he was lost in the tremors ransacking his body, his cum pumping up through his dick into her.

Reiss' eyes popped open and she smiled, "Snakes?"

"Can't think, too...thing," he waved a hand through the air, but had to replace it fast for fear he'd fall on top of her.

"Ridden hard and put away wet?" she snickered, an eyebrow quirked up.

"Maker's breath," he unhitched himself from the deadly Snow Dragon trap and then cuddled above her, "more than you can imagine." Her bright eyes stared up at him, Reiss' hair scattered across the blanket like a ball of golden thread the cat got into. Chuckling to himself at the idea, Alistair leaned down to kiss her when a shaft of sunlight illuminated the side of her face.

Sure enough, he twisted his head up to find the rain had not only stopped but those wicked clouds already blew on to ruin someone else's picnic. He was about to laugh, point out his terrible luck, when he stopped and sighed to himself. Maybe the rain was trying to do him a favor instead. Curling a hand along the beautiful and very naked woman's waist, Alistair smiled. It was a good favor.

"What's running through your mind, now?" Reiss asked, her eyebrows meeting in the middle.

"That I owe the rain my gratitude," he breathed before sliding onto his side. The blanket was soaked, as was the ground, and no doubt their clothes. He could, probably should hang them up to dry, but instead he cupped his body against Reiss'. She remained upon her back, her fingers flitting through his hair while Alistair wrapped one arm under her head and the other across her chest. It was tempting to bury his head in her chest but he settled for the shoulder instead.

They lay like that, silently breathing each other in, Reiss fingers tugging apart his hair, Alistair pressing his lips to the goosebumps rising up her skin. With the rains passed, the birds resumed their happy singing -- each one doing his best to find some lovely lady bird to settle down with and make a few cute eggs. Just as they had, just as they would.

"We're going to have a baby," Alistair whispered. He hated to admit it, but he kept pinching himself for fear this was all a trick of the fade. That it could vanish in the night if he wasn't careful. They hadn't told anyone, well, he hadn't. Which meant a lot of people in the castle would catch their King grinning stupidly while staring out the window and wonder if he'd finally lost what few marbles he began with.

His fingers skirted down past Reiss' cleavage to cup against her stomach that wasn't showing any signs save that she ate a good pile of cheese with him. A smile lifted up her cheeks and she cuddled her hand behind his. "Yup," she sighed, "it's in there doing whatever babies do at this stage."

"Eat, grow, eat some more," Alistair shrugged. "That's pretty much all they do for the first three months or so once they're out too." He felt her eye rolling towards him, and he smiled, "But they're cute while doing it."

Reiss settled back, her free hand cushioning her mess of hair, but the other clung to him holding her. "Are you at all worried about people stumbling across their King naked in the meadow with an elf?"

"Not really," he admitted. Maybe in his younger days he'd have scrabbled for pants, but as long as no swarm of angry hornets came for him, he didn't care. Alistair didn't want to leave this beautiful picture of his body wrapped around the woman he loved, fresh from rutting around in the wildflower strewn meadow, with skin dewey from rain.

Reiss snuggled closer, her cheek brushing up against his nose as she whispered, "Good. I suppose we should begin doing typical baby things. Weigh names and such?"

"Mordock the destroyer."

"Mordock...?"

"The destroyer, got to have the last bit otherwise what's the point?" Alistair said with dead certainty in his voice.

He could feel her eyes trying to peel away the sarcasm, but she merely shrugged, "Is this for a boy or...?"

"Doesn't matter. Boy or girl, destroying's rather universal."

"I guess I should start a list then," Reiss kept on playing with him, as if she considered his ramblings serious.

Sliding up to an elbow, Alistair stared down at her face. It took a moment before she opened her eyes, braving the sun to smile up at him. When Reiss drew her fingers against his cheek, a hint of a blush bloomed to turn his white whiskers rose colored. Alistair turned to try and hide the burst of emotion as he placed his lips against her palm.

"I love you," he murmured, feeling like a foolish twenty year old confessing things he barely understood.

Reiss lifted her head until their noses bounced into each other. Those vast green fields that never faded due to winter's touch danced across his face. Curling him to her, she whispered, "I love you too, Mordock the destroyer senior." Before he could laugh, she kissed him.

## CHAPTER SIXTY

#### Made in Love

15 weeks...

Lana steadied her steps, instantly drawing the attention of the woman beside her. It was a simple matter, her cane sliding into a divot in the floor, but... "Leliana," she breathed, rearranging the tie in her curls and casting an eye to the side, "you look as if you're about to catch me in a swan dive."

"That would be impressive," her old friend breathed in a chuckle before shaking it off. She'd abandoned the costume of the Divine, but the office never fully left her. While her visit was under the delusion that the chantry cared greatly about the backwater ministrations for their old templars, most saw through it. Leliana's trips into the wilds of the Hinterlands grew less and less over the years, leaving Lana to come to her. But, given her current state, traveling was out of the question.

"How are you feeling?" Leliana asked, switching tactics.

"Exhausted," they paced back and forth through the second floor overlooking the courtyard, Lana needing to walk and her friend following her. It was harder for ears to overhear if they kept moving. "I thought I was tired before, but now..." she gestured towards her midsection where an obvious bulge rounded out her robes. All of her dresses were far too tight now, a fact that seemed to occur overnight. One day she was normal, and the next her waist vanished and a balloon set up shop under her ribcage.

"Should I tell you you're beautiful to calm your nerves?" Leliana said, her bright blue eyes always sparkling with a whisper of mischief.

"No," Lana admitted, "I feel bloated like a ten day old corpse with feet that have already swollen beyond my slippers, but my ego remains more or less in tact. I've been consulting with a few others on what to expect but none could prepare me for how alien my body would feel to myself. Three decades in this skin and I had no concept it was capable of this!"

Leliana chuckled at her whining, the 'virginal' Divine shaking her bright red hair by afternoon light.

"Do not laugh at this, or you'll find yourself in the same boat. The Maker's cruel like that."

"That would be a true miracle," the Divine mused. "Though I wonder how the Grand Clerics would react to the voice of Andraste requiring her robes to be let out."

She mimicked her stomach expanding, but that wasn't Lana's current problem. A rounded gut she anticipated, but this... "That's far from my greater concern." Holding up her hands, she cupped those nourishing breasts that went from politely straining against her collar to all but ripping it off. "I had no Maker given idea that these things could grow so large. As if my back weren't killing me before."

Leliana's eyes darted down to the breasts that were now inside a door a good foot before Lana was. She coughed a moment, then said, "It must be a delight for Cullen, at least." Lana merely rolled her eyes. "How is he dealing with this?"

"He's being cautious, as he always acts when uncertain about things. Which means he won't let me in on how he really feels out of fear of disappointing me. I don't know, I think he fears the same as I do. There's a great chance that the taint's already passed to this child and...and even if it survives to the birthing process, it could," Lana sagged against the banister wall, the cold of the stone biting into her hip.

"Lanny," Leliana rubbed her arm up and down, concern marring that still porcelain visage.

Screwing her eyes up, she confessed, "I'm afraid of it dying in my arms. Of growing so attached that my heart breaks from so much hope dashed in an instant." Lana shook her head, trying to wick away the tears before the Spymaster noticed. "I have no idea what will come of this and it's...unnerving."

"It's a baby, your baby, made in love," Leliana, the romantic, said.

Love and also some complicated rope play, if Lana could guess the time of conception right. People tended to get all sentimental and weepy over the idea of a baby while conveniently forgetting the parts that went into making one. Being raised in the tower where sex carried little shame, it was a bit strange for her to try to delve into others experiences with birth. The language was far more flowery than the woman searching for concrete examples hoped for.

Lana started upon finding her palm swooped over her bulging abdomen. She was doing that often when a thought trailed off from her, as if on instinct. Shaking off her dreamy mind, Lana cut back with, "Love can't cure the taint. If it did Antiva would never have suffered under a blight."

That caused her friend to chuckle, "Quite. I dare say Zevran could have prevented ten or twelve outbreaks all on his own."

"How is he?" Lana glanced over, happy to turn the focus back on her friend.

"Why in Andraste's Grace would I know?" she feigned confusion, but Lana knew her too well.

"Because word is a certain dashing blonde elf was seen zipping in and out of Val Royeaux far more than seemed necessary. And always at night."

Leliana gruffed, her calm mask slipping, "There are plenty of things I can do with an assassin."

"Indeed," Lana agreed, "On top, below, from behind." As a hint of a blush ripened the ice white cheeks of the Divine, Lana nudged into her with her shoulder, "Are you certain you won't have to concern yourself with letting your robes out?"

"Yes, that matter is kept well in hand, thank you." She raced to change the subject quickly, "I imagine we won't be seeing you nor the Commander in society for sometime."

"Highly unlikely. He's been given a handy excuse to avoid it all and I'd prefer to not have to resign myself to chasing after a toddler through Celene's palaces," Lana chuckled at the image, then froze. Curling a hand tight to her stomach, she sighed, "There I go again, thinking this will all work out. That I'll somehow have a child of my own."

"Perhaps you will. After all, you're the luckiest woman I've ever known. Married to the luckiest man as well. How many thedas shattering catastrophes have you two walked away from?"

Lana glanced over the courtyard watching as her daily life shuffled on without her. She'd had to cut back more and more on work as the exhaustion of creating a new person took its toll on her already depleted body. Yes, both she and Cullen emerged from the heat of war but neither did it unscathed. It was hard to guess what an effect that would have upon her, or him, if the child even did survive.

"Lanny," Leliana circled her hand along her shoulders, cushioning her in a comforting hug. "What's truly getting to you? The baby, I understand, but I get the feeling there's more being buried below all that."

Spinning her fingers, blue flame erupted off the four tips pinched together. "I'm a mage."

"You're concerned the baby would be as well?" Leliana summarized.

"It's a good possibility. There's no magic in Cullen's line, though it never takes much. But that's not it." Lana shook off the spell and began to ease her way along the battlements. It felt good for her to move, as little as she could some days. Her legs felt wobbly and her hips like soggy pasta if she remained seated for too long.

"In the Circle, any mage that found herself in my same predicament had two options: flee and pray you get far enough before the templars track you down to birth your child, or know it would be taken from you the moment it emerged. It's foolish, I know the Circles are gone, but I am surrounded by many templars. Some fears don't easily fade," she folded in on herself, clinging tighter to this part of her and him she both feared and wanted to keep.

"Is that the part you're being 'cautious' about with Cullen?" Leliana asked.

It drove so quickly to the heart, Lana gasped, staring at her friend. "We don't talk about the Circles, the past. It...being on the opposite sides before doesn't help now. I'm not certain if I could even explain it."

She felt a fool every time it gripped tight to her. At first Lana was more or less indifferent to the life squatting inside of her. It caused some harm, smells in particular driving her up the wall, but was forgettable at times too. Then her stomach popped out; the baby going from an intellectual curiosity to a real possibility. She hadn't even considered what the templars surrounding them would think until every eye noticed the bulge under her robes. Would someone say something? Do something? They'd all been polite and respectful about her pretending to not be a mage, but many knew.

Maker's breath, it was stupid.

This isn't a Circle.

"You want it, don't you?" Leliana whispered, her sweet voice invading Lana's thoughts.

Softly she bobbed her head. "I do. I never imagined children, never wondered what kind of a mother I'd be because...all my life it was never going to happen, and now..." Lana's eyes trailed down to find her husband digging a pitchfork deep into the straw to try and freshen the horse's beds. A single baby goat was giving him pains, leaping about on its fresh legs like they were made of springs and bleating. Her husband looked annoyed beyond measure, an obvious flush to his forehead and cheeks from the exertion. But when the kid leaped onto the pile, Cullen -- her powerful and sometimes terrifying templar -- bent over and scratched the baby's floppy ears.

"You should tell him," Leliana said, "that you're excited. Be excited, enjoy this gift from the Maker. I know all children are called that, but in this case I'd say it was sent special delivery by Andraste herself."

Nodding at her friend, Lana returned to staring at her husband. He tried shooing the goat away, who bleated once more, kicked up its heels and then dashed to its mother's side. Barely shaking his head at the reunion, Cullen returned to the grueling work he'd been forced to pick up the slack on. Everything was going to change, one way or another. Perhaps it was time to embrace that fact.

With a hand securing her stomach, Lana nodded, "I think you're right."

***

A pot of 'we cleaned out the larder and called it surprise soup' bubbled over the hearth. Lana tried to not watch too closely as their cook occasionally fussed with it before returning to her book. It was less the not wanting to be caught hovering over her shoulder that drew Lana's attention away and more that she recognized the cover. The woman was engrossed in the erotic tales of the Hero of Ferelden as this mythical woman seemed to bed and fight everything across thedas. Funny enough, the description of her sounded more like Hawke if her cousin had red hair, pale skin and wasn't helplessly devoted to an abomination.

Placing down her knife, Lana turned from her plate of greens to catch her husband sliding into the kitchen. Cullen wiped the back of his hand off against his forehead and smiled, "Hello, love." Leaning towards her, he pecked a quick kiss to her cheek, a flush rising through Lana's body that had little to do with the fire.

After scooping up a chunk of bread, Cullen eased one leg over the bench and sat staring at the profile of his wife. "I'm surprised to see you here alone," he mused, chewing into what was most likely his afternoon meal. He'd been working himself to the bone trying to get the abbey back to life post spring thaw. It didn't pass Lana's notice that he was also taking up her slack.

Pawing back the hair that escaped out of her knot, she sighed, "Leliana had some _minor business_ to conduct in private in her room."

"Minor?" Cullen mouthed. "How many countries will the Exalted March be tearing through?"

She chuckled at his summation, the old friend that Lana knew always with her fingers on the pulse of terrifying matters, and no doubt her blade guiding many more. It was overwhelming to think upon, and she'd finished off a blight.

Cullen ripped off a piece of the bread, about to put it to his lips, when suddenly he paused and off the cuff said, "What do you think of Tabitha?"

Blinking madly, Lana tried to think through the stacks of letters she'd been poring over. She was going to have to train someone in potions before she grew too fat to reach over the counter. The college of magi wasn't ecstatic about sending anyone to a templar refuge, which left her sifting through various hamlet brewers that could probably be trained and if they were well watched.

"I'm not sure who that is," Lana admitted, fearing that she'd grown too aloof to remember the names of all their staff.

"No," Cullen smiled, "as a name." He drew his hand gently down her arm until cupping her fingers. "For the baby."

A bright smile broke upon her cheeks, Lana turning in her seat to stare deep into his eyes. He was clearly trying to play the taciturn Commander, stoic to all, but there was an impishness darting his cheeks into an easy smile. While Lana bandied back and forth between trepidation and outright fear, she had no idea how Cullen would deal with all of this. He had been both helpful and also distant, as if he was trying to assist in a matter beyond his job. There'd be the hand caressing against her back as she battled another round of morning, afternoon, and occasional evening sickness. He'd been the one to collect and carry a good dozen and a half books Lana on some wild whim ordered from the four corners of thedas. He did it all without offering up a complaint, but also never a note of joy, or excitement. She feared she'd pulled him into a mess he didn't wish for.

And now...

Curling her palm to his scruffy cheek, she smiled, "It's not bad as far as names go, though there's a good chance everyone would call her Tabby."

He sneered at that, Cullen doing his own part to battle against hated nicknames. "I hadn't considered that. Hm..." Those amber eyes darted downward in thought, but nothing could dampen the smile flirting with his lips. "Elena? I always liked that one."

Forgoing the distance, Lana slid across the bench into his straddling lap. At first he blinked, his eyes wandering over to the chef who was too enraptured with her book to care. Then, as no one seemed to appear out of the walls to chastise them, he cuddled one arm around her shoulders. Slowly, the other hand crept against her bulging stomach. He seemed in awe for a moment, his lips hanging slack while watching his fingers slide back and forth over the reminder Lana was quickly filling with a baby.

She drew her fingers over the back of his, pressing him tighter to her and what they created. Lost in her, Cullen placed his lips to her forehead in a soft pucker.

"Why only girl names?" Lana asked, shaking off the urge to slumber in his arms. It was barely past midday and work yet remained. Twisting her head back to stare into his eyes, she continued, "There's a good chance it could be a boy."

"Perhaps," he mused, the scruff of his chin scratching against her forehead as they pressed tighter together, "but I'd rather have a girl. The world needs more of you." A glimmer reflected in his eyes, which he was quick to blink away before focusing down upon her.

Lana scooped her hand along his cheek and sighed, "You're rather amazing too. A little version of you strutting around ordering armies of tin soldiers to march would be adorable."

A soft chuckle reverberated up through his glistening throat, her husband sighing. "You say that now, but the next time I am in one of my 'head butting moods...'"

"I still find them adorable, infuriating, but adorable," she admitted.

"That's good to know," Cullen whispered in his gravelly come hither voice. Curling her chin back, he placed a kiss sweeter than the meadow grass to her lips. Lana's hands pulled him tighter, her ever expanding breasts pressing against his chest. Her fingers trailed through his tight curls, softly tugging them back. The move caused Cullen to break away, a roll to his eye, but a pant in his breath. "That seems unwise," he chuckled, well aware of her signature plays to get him into bed.

Lana shrugged, "It's not as if I can become more pregnant."

"Maker's breath, I pray not," he gasped. "You'd eat us out of house and home."

"Arse," she chuckled, playfully slugging him in the shoulder but sliding back to give them breathing room. He was right. There was the Divine herself less than a few doors away. Refusing a meeting with her most Holy because you're too busy being carnal seemed like a most certain way to send yourself to the void.

Cullen drew a finger down her jaw, his eyes misty, "I love you."

"I know. I love you too," she smiled at him. There was so much in their future left up in the air, but knowing he was by her side made it feel survivable. Lana stared down at her half eaten pile of 'wholesome vegetables all expectant mothers must consume once a week.' She hated them with a passion, but her husband was reading the same books as she and he could cling to the advice with a death grip.

"I suppose I should finish this off," Lana groaned, stirring the mess. Maybe if she added some bacon grease. That might help to force it down.

He patted her thigh and then swung up off the bench. "And I have a roof to get to. Oh, I was weighing various cradle designs. Did you have your heart set on anything in particular?"

A cradle for their baby. Somewhere to let him or her sleep for the night. Such a little thing, one of many that they'd need to prepare, but the very fact he'd thought of it, began preparations without her asking, struck deep to Lana's heart. Grateful tears burst from her eyes. Cullen paused a moment looking stricken, then he spotted the smile on her lips. Gently, he wicked each up with his fingers, growing used to her emotions spinning on a copper.

"I have no idea," Lana blubbered.

"Well, you'll have some time to think on it. It's my first attempt so I'll probably need a few re-starts," he whispered, placing a goodbye kiss to her lips. Snagging a second hunk of bread off the tray, her husband slid to the door.

"Cullen," she called, turning to him. Those beautiful amber eyes smiled at her. "Are you happy about all of this?"

"Yes," he nodded, fingers cupping the bread to his stomach. "What about you?"

Lana smiled, "I am."

## CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

#### The Queen's Deal

19 weeks...

Reiss stared out the palatial windows alone. She'd been attending a meeting of all the guard captains across Denerim, a meeting it took her nearly a year to squeeze into. It was a way for her group to catch up on the latest buzz drifting through the streets, see where the murders were stacking up, and if any remarkable brigands had stepped through the city gates. At first the City Watch tolerated her existing, but as the Solvers kept butting noses into the Watch's fumbling business it was either let her in or keep being one step behind. None of them wanted to fess up to the King that it was the unofficial band of near-on vigilantes that kept solving all the crime in Denerim.

The rest had adjourned for the day, not much being decided, but enough information passed to keep her busy for a few weeks. With the summer heat bearing down across Ferelden, the city was quiet. Most crimes were committed in cool cellars or near the frost zones mages in the city established. It made them easy to catch as the watch were all sitting there too.

She tipped back her hat to watch a familiar flash of crimson as the royal guards marched through the palace gates. Either the King was returning or they were growing bored in the guardroom and all went on a walk together. Funny how that could have nearly been her life.

Sweat dribbled down Reiss' shoulder blades, the heat finding its way through the cold stones of the palace. Taking a quick glance behind her to make certain none of the gossiping watch remained, Reiss began to slither out of her coat. Wearing it to the meetings by the height of summer made some sense. It was her signature outfit, to the point most people talked to it and not the elf inside. But it also happened to be billowy enough to camouflage the protrusion that had once been her flat stomach.

Straight on, no one could tell. Even Reiss had troubles spotting a difference, but if she turned to the side... She'd been spending a lot of time carrying boxes and bags once this thing popped out to say hello. It was foolish. She was going to have to tell them all eventually and probably not while the kid's head was crowning.

But that was months away. Right now she was far more concerned with talk of a smuggling ring re-massing in the dwarven district. Surprising as they'd be butting up right next to the coaterie. Either they were working with the dwarves or she'd wind up having to protect the smugglers from a dozen battleaxes to the back. That was Denerim, things never stopped for a moment.

A flash of halberds wafting in the breeze caught her eye, and sure enough, the royal cavalcade trotted up the main gate. Perched upon a white and tan horse was the blonde head whipping back and forth as he kept waving to the few guards who were doing their best to not respond.

"Oh Alistair," she whispered to herself, her hand absently curling over her stomach.

"So the rumors are true."

Reiss whipped around, quickly draping the coat over her stomach, but it was too late. Her skin paled at the woman in a fine silk dress standing beside the conference table. "My Queen," she said in deference before bowing. Unfortunately, that caused her stomach to bulge out even more, ruining her one deniability that Reiss simply had a large breakfast that day.

Beatrice tapped her fingers together against a pearl belt circling her stomach. Her very thin and empty stomach. "I'd heard whispers that the King's known lover was rounding with child, but had waved it off as simple gossip mongering."

Reiss rarely talked to the woman married to Alistair. There was the occasional sentence or two regarding how swell a day it was, or if her children had done anything adorable recently, but they kept it civil. It wasn't as if Beatrice didn't have her own bed warmer. But this was a different woman entirely. Where before she'd shown a cautious warmth, now it was ice cold, her thoughts on the burgeoning matter crystal clear. Those sharp eyes cut like emeralds as the Queen glared at her subject that was also growing with a royal child.

"I..." Reiss glanced around as if somehow rescue would arrive. Alistair knew she'd be waiting for him, but he couldn't have anticipated that his wife would swoop in like this. He'd often describe the Queen as an overcooked pile of noodles rolled up in a wet blanket. Maker, he was lucky he'd never had to suffer this frozen anger before.

"Speak up," Beatrice commanded, her soft chin jutting out like the monarch she was.

"I thought you'd already been informed by Ali...by his Majesty," Reiss stuttered. A fresh kind of sweat percolated off her forehead, freezing her tongue.

"I see," Beatrice folded her arms tighter. On the plus side, at least she didn't suddenly draw a dagger and stab at Reiss' stomach. Maker, could she disarm a Queen without being tried for treason? "He has had many mistresses over the years." If that was meant to hurt Reiss, it missed the mark. She was regularly writing to his first love, after all. "And none of them ever fell into the family way."

Reiss blinked madly, trying to find any way out of this. Throwing her coat over the Queen's head and making a break for the door seemed the most logical choice at this point. Perhaps screaming something incoherent, dashing out the window, and climbing towards the roof?

"It is a curious question, so many years, so many...others, and it is your womb that finally takes," Beatrice snarled. She wasn't even pretending at the lie that the princess and prince were of the King's blood. She knew Reiss knew the truth. Alistair was sterile -- at least for a time -- as far as she was aware, and now...

The Queen stared down at Reiss with the same disgusted eye she'd felt in the refugee camps. Kirkwall guards and templars often scanned the area for hiding apostates or criminals, never caring there were real people suffering. They were just looking for their piece of flesh. Something snapped inside Reiss, and the animal backed into a corner hissed, "This child is the King's."

"You seem certain of that fact," Beatrice mocked.

Reiss gripped tighter to her stomach, and with a snarl to her lip said, "So is he."

That scattered the Queen. No doubt she'd been working up her plan to talk Reiss into admitting who she'd opened her legs to because it couldn't be the King. Not to get rid of the mistress, Beatrice cared nothing for that, but to secure her line of technical bastards. Reiss knew the truth as well, and how to strike back with it should the need arise.

"Hello, gorgeous," Alistair's sunny greeting whipped both women to him. He gulped at Beatrice's face and began to tug up his hair. "And, uh, you too, Bea. I see you were both having a little meet and greet alone... together?" He must have read the concern on Reiss' face as he dashed quickly into the room, bravely placing himself between them.

Beatrice's eyes slid over Reiss before she focused fully upon the King. "We were discussing the weather."

"It sure is hot out, but that's summer for you," Alistair quipped.

"Feels rather icy in here," Reiss muttered under her breath.

The Queen lifted her head, the elaborate headpiece of hers rattling the beaded pearls and jewels as she did. "If you will excuse me, I shall leave you to speak upon matters of the state." Reiss didn't breathe a sigh as the woman shifted to the door, she knew there was more coming. "Will you be visiting with your children later, my husband?"

There it was. Bea always called him 'My King' or 'Your Majesty.' She was grinding it into Reiss' face that as far as the chantry cared, the Queen and Alistair were married in the sight of the Maker. Of course the remark sailed straight over Alistair's head. He shrugged his shoulders and squinted his eyes, "Don't I always? Spud's finally gotten onto the good adventure books and Cailan's big into that duck taking a holiday. Boring, but not as disturbing as the 'Pat the Nug' one. Ugh, books shouldn't have skin in them."

Beatrice tipped her head in deference to him, but a smirk glittered in her eyes as if she'd won something. As far as Reiss knew, she'd never even agreed to the game much less lost. Though, she didn't take a proper breath or unlace her fists until the door closed behind the Queen. Alistair himself watched before turning to her.

"What in the Maker's name was that?"

"Nothing," Reiss spat out, needing to think and plan.

"Nothing?" he gasped, his hands clinging to her arms. "You look as if you're about to leap up off your heels and bite someone's throat out. Which, okay, is kinda hot, but not really the time or place."

She shook her head, snarling, "Why in the void did you not tell the Queen that I'm..." her voice died down to whisper the word, "pregnant?"

"Because she never asked?" Alistair threw out leaving Reiss to imagine biting his throat out. "Okay, that was a joke. I thought you didn't want to tell people."

"Yes, _my_ people in _my_ guardhouse. I don't need them fussing when they should be focused on the job right now. But this is different. For Andraste's sake, I've already told my brother and...sent a letter to my sister."

Reiss' raw anger faded at that, her eyes drifting down to the floor. Lorace took the news about as well as she expected. 'Ha, got yourself stuck up the pipe, eh?' It didn't sting seeing as how he'd done the same to his girlfriend, necessitating an overnight marriage lest her religious employers fire her on the spot. But Atisha, no one could bring the shame like her sister turned Sister, especially now that she was working in the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux. That was the hardest letter Reiss had to write.

Hands cupped up and down her arms, drawing her attention back to him. Alistair's eyes brimmed in sympathy, "Still haven't heard back from her?"

"Three weeks," Reiss sighed, "and nothing. I...knowing Atisha, she's probably lighting a candle every day for me and praying extra hard I'll cease my harlot ways." She meant to laugh at it, and normally would with Lunet, but after the Queen's daintily laced threats it stung harder.

"Reiss," he butted his forehead to hers, the heat of the ride passing through to hers, "it'll be okay. We are married."

She rolled her eyes at that. Married in the sense that they stood beside two other people and whispered their own made up vows. In the proper sense of documentation and the chantry being involved, that wedding was as illegitimate as the child swishing back and forth in her womb.

Alistair yanked off her hat, and she expected him to put it on his head, but he draped it onto the back of a chair and instead curled his hands through her messy hair. "I love you," he whispered.

"That doesn't fix everything," she grumbled back even while falling under his spell. How did he do that? Wrap his arms around her, make a few wisecracks and somehow it all felt better; convince her anything was possible.

Reiss' eyes darted down to her stomach. It was only going to get worse, the rumors growing to knowing nods and more. Closing her eyes, she said, "You have to tell the Queen."

"I, uh," he cupped his hands around under her stomach making the bulge even more pronounced, "I think she's figured it out."

"Not that," she grabbed onto his hands but didn't bat them away. Reiss needed them wrapped around her back, she needed him to hold her tight. "Tell her that nothing's changed between you two and your deal."

"Why would she even think that?" Alistair seemed lost.

Gripping onto his stupid face, she tipped it down to her and sighed, "Maker's breath, sometimes you are so dense, but I love you anyway." Rising up, she kissed him with the ache that somedays seemed to engulf her entire being. They saw each other a bit more often now, Alistair wanting to be as involved as the one without an extra passenger squatting inside his body could be. But it wasn't enough for her.

He moaned at her machinations, and Reiss was surprised to find her fingers tugging hard against his hair. This wasn't right, she was on duty and... Those impish brown eyes opened and every argument she had against performing what got her into this situation in the first place died. "Reiss?" he whispered, her set of rules somehow breaking through the rampaging lust between them.

Shaking her head, she gripped onto his hand and whispered, "Take me upstairs."

He glanced over at her coat and hat, both perched upon the chair, then nuzzled his face to her neck. "With pleasure," he cried, tugging her with him to their old bedroom.

***

"I spotted another one," Alistair crowed. He wiggled fully out from under his half thrown blanket and slid to place his face tight to the side of her hip. Reiss followed along, bending over as far as she could to watch his fingers trace against her naked skin.

"Wonderful," she muttered while he revealed a fresh set of stretch marks gaining ground along her hips. Over twenty something years they'd remained practically flat as a boy's, but she gets up the duff and suddenly they start thinking of putting on an expansion.

Smoothly, Alistair's palms followed the swoops and swirls of her skin racing to keep up with her bulging body. He seemed to find it all fascinating, and she, for whatever reason, found his reaction charming. "Are you going to make a map of them?" she snickered, trying to tug him back up to her. The afternoon sun beat down through the window, crashing his room in a bright glare that they rarely managed when seeing each other in the all together.

It was a bit disconcerting for Reiss, realizing her lover hadn't fully seen the changes to her body in a month. Then she tugged off the breast band, and all her trepidation vanished at the gobsmacked look to his cheeks. She hadn't had him play with her breasts so much since they first got together.

Abandoning his quest to try and read the future out of her stretchmarks, Alistair climbed up to slot in beside her on the bed. She lay stretched out on her back, those fascinating hips aching if she was on her side too long. Absently, his palm curled up her stomach, swooping through the glistening skin before resuming to cup a swelling breasts.

"I might have known," Reiss sighed, but snuggled her cheek to his neck.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his bright eyes shining as if he found a new toy.

"No," she admitted, "it feels good. It's nice to have good things happening to this meat sack for once instead of terrifying horrors."

His first two fingers knocked up against her nipple before threading it between the third. "I happen to find your meat sack enchanting," Alistair breathed. Leaning over her, he kissed her with a hunger they'd tried to quench earlier. The humming resumed in her throat, Reiss pinning his cheek in place while tasting the summer heat off his skin and hidden deep in his mouth.

She shifted on the bed, crawling upwards to press her advantage on him, when a rumbling began in her stomach. Breaking contact, Reiss quickly placed her hand to her flesh and felt what she was expecting.

"Reiss? Are you...?"

"Here," she grabbed his fingers off her breast and placed them tight. "The baby's kicking."

It took a few more beats, Alistair staring through space as if it would be difficult to feel them, when suddenly she felt a strong wallop from building muscles. "Whoa!" the King of Ferelden gasped at this common miracle. A giant grin stretched his lips and he placed his cheek against her stomach.

"Hello in there. Are you trying to register a complaint because your mum and dad are keeping you up late?"

Reiss fluffed his hair back and forth while watching him talk to her stomach as if the baby was not only an adult but could respond.

"You should know normal people sleep during the night, unless they're very important or very bored. Or mabari. Then you can sleep whenever you want. How are the accommodations? Good, I imagine." Another kick answered him. "Needs improvement?" Alistair joked back. "Yup, that's Theirin blood in there."

Laughing, he rolled his eyes to gaze right into Reiss. He looked serene with his face perched upon the growing stomach of an elven lover while their child walloped his cheek. "This one's got quite the temper it seems," she groaned at the internal tenderizing.

"Can't imagine where it gets that from," Alistair rolled his eyes before pressing a kiss to her stomach. "Is this the first time you've felt it?"

"No," she smiled, "the obvious kicking began a few days back." Reiss meant it light hearted, but a quietness fell over Alistair dampening down his smile.

"A few days..." he repeated.

"There'd been internal flutters before, but I couldn't feel them through my hand," she raced to explain.

Slowly he sat up, but he kept a palm cupped to the baby still registering complaints the only way it could. "I should have probably brought this up earlier, but...I've been thinking that," Alistair flinched a moment, then stared down at his hand. "Maybe it would be in your best interest, in both of your best interests, if you spend the first year here in the palace."

"What?" Reiss sat up fast, her stomach slipping away from his grasp. "You can't be serious. A month after the birth in the chance there's something...off, we agreed to, but this..." She bunched up her fist, wishing she wasn't fully naked for this conversation.

"Reiss, everything goes so fast in that first year. The baby's first smile, first laugh, first time it says mama or daddy," his warm eyes watered as an age seemed to wrap around the man who'd been down this road twice before. "I don't want to miss out on so much of those firsts because you're both down in the city."

She hadn't thought of that. For good or ill, Alistair was not an absentee father. He wanted to be there for all of it, loved sharing in the horror stories and changing the messy nappies. It gave him a strangely joyful purpose. But a year...

"This goes against our arrangement," she said. They'd worked together because his life was in the palace and hers was her agency. She wasn't reliant upon him which meant every kiss was hers to give freely, no strings attached.

Alistair scoffed and waved a hand through the room, "Haven't we already broken that? You're here on duty, but you wanted to come to my room. Were whispering incredibly naughty things in my ear to drive me mad on the walk up."

"It was a momentary..." she stuttered, stung at how right he was. They'd been getting sloppier about it, their lives commingling more with each passing year. Sometimes her ache won out over her conscience. "I can't leave my business for a year."

"You wouldn't be leaving them," Alistair sighed, having had the time to put in more thought and counter all her arguments. "You'd just be staying here, in the castle. Maker's sake, babies are a ton of work."

"I know that! I've read some of the books you gave me," Reiss said. "I have a plan."

"Reiss," he cupped his palm to her flushed cheek, "it's not weak to need help, not with this. Crying at all hours, feedings like mad, you'll be exhausted. You'll need breaks. Breaks which I and the various staff and others here can help with. Even washing filthy nappies is a continual drudge. Do you really think Lunet will try and deal with a colicky baby at 3 in the morning?"

"She'd probably try putting it in a pot and sending it down the river first," Reiss admitted to herself. She should be fighting his argument at every turn, but she had nothing in her arsenal. There was only the clinging fear that she had to fight or lose something of herself.

"Just...think about it, okay. I want to see my child, I want to see _you_ every chance I can. Being up here will make it easier for all of that, for you, for the baby to get to know its siblings."

Reiss' eyes darted up at him with that, shock in her face. "You're going to let our child be a part of the princess' and prince's lives?"

"Of course," he chuckled, "they're all my children. Okay, ignoring the technical bit at play here."

"I'd..." For some reason she assumed that their child would be kept a secret. Not a very good one, but certainly never allowed proper time with anyone important in court. That it'd be a whisper trailing its pram down the street as the King's bastard and nothing more. Spending time with the other children was important, and she didn't have the backing of an alienage looking out for its own behind her.

"What happens after the year is up?" Reiss asked, needing conformation.

Alistair snickered, "So that's a yes?"

"It's an I need more information," she said tight lipped.

"We'll see what you want, what the baby wants. And it's not as if you can't check in on the agency and keep running things. Denerim's not about to close its gates to you. It's just you'd be sleeping here with me close by. With help ready to take over if you need it."

Maker take her, but that idea did sound wonderful. To not have to wake early, cram breakfast in, and beat feet down the back alleys to beat the morning muggings. Nor to tousle him out of her tiny bed when she knew there were dignitaries waiting for him at the palace. Alistair was the worst riser she'd ever met.

"Reiss?" he pried, his arms wrapping around her shoulders and tugging her into a side hug.

"I will," she gave into the cuddle, his lips pressing against her neck, "consider it."

"That's all I ask," Alistair said. "Now, how about I connect your birthmarks into a constellation and have the astronomers make it official?" He giggled at his idea, already parting his fingers down her back to find a favorite mole before walking them forward around her hip.

She watched with peace in her soul as the man she loved snuggled and worshiped her body. It would make him happy if they were both under his roof, and blessed Andraste, it would make her happy to watch him with his child. What was a year?

## CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

#### Securing the Line

Fingers wrapped tighter around his neck, causing Alistair to drop his daughter's hand and reach back around to catch Cailan before he either hit the ground or strangled his father. Spud spun on her glittery pink heels to glare at him breaking contact. A fist plowed into her hip, a move she'd been picking up from somewhere, as she waggled a finger at him.

"Daddy, you have to hold on," the six year old chastised like a hardened advisor to a wayward King.

"I know, Spudkins," he said, "but your little toad of a brother is about to kill me." A giggle erupted behind his ear, the toad happy to be included in this story.

"No, Daddy! The griffins will. Hold my hand!" she was adamant he return to her protection. At one point Spud had a wooden sword to guard her father from the dreaded griffin attacks sweeping the pony meadow, but then she tried to hit her brother with it and that was the end of that. Alistair put a pin in getting her sword lessons and fast. Bea was against it, as were a dozen others who felt the future Queen shouldn't be waving metal around, but either his daughter would learn proper sword technique and rules or she'd wind up smacking out someone's teeth on accident.

"Daddy, daddy," she insisted, tugging on his shirt.

"Okay," he picked up her tiny hand in his. Spud was quick to wrap her fingers around his thumb, finding the ring fascinating. She wanted to wear it because her father said she couldn't take it off him. It wasn't anything special, he merely feared she'd put it down and then it'd go right into Cailan's mouth. The kid was worse than a mabari when it came to things going in his mouth. Of course, telling her no only drew Spud's curiosity stronger. Maker save whoever had to tell their future Queen something she couldn't do.

With her wayward father finally secure, Spud swiped back her long curls with her free hand and glared around the hallway as if monsters were really lurking down it. "What do you see?" Alistair asked, peering down at his daughter. Those bright emerald eyes were honed to a scary focus for her age. Cailan, unaware of the lurking danger in his own home, giggled and bounced up and down on his father's back.

"There's big ones here," Spud whispered, her voice drawn to an edge and nearly dampening out the small lisp she had.

Alistair whipped his head around as if he was trying to spot them. "Griffins? Where?"

"Not griffins," she turned to him in exasperation at the obvious, looking eerily like Eamon when he had to explain politics. "Dar'spawn. Don't worry, Daddy. I'll protect you." Waving her hand as if there was still a sword in it, Spud stabbed at the imaginary darkspawn hiding in the hallway. Mid-invisible mutilation, a servant prodded her head out of a door catching the three of them in peril. Alistair smiled and waved her away. He was fairly certain he'd survive this attack unscathed, unless Spud was back to her dying stage again. Then only the tears of a unicorn could save them.

"Ooh, ah, good one," she kept up a fairly accurate simulacrum of fight dialogue, though Alistair remembered a lot more cursing and some 'uh, is that one dead yet?' during real combat. Spud was fully into her role, her eyes glinting, when she threw back her head and cried, "For the Gwey Wawdens!"

It was so unexpected Alistair forgot to be charmed by the adorableness as she jabbed her make believe sword into some invisible enemy. Spud cackled in delight as Alistair asked, "Did you kill it?"

"I did. I'm a twue Gwey Wawden," she asserted before miming returning her sword back into its scabbard.

"Oh no," Alistair glanced up at the ceiling. Spud followed suit as Cailan continued to crawl higher, his fingers reaching to snatch up the sewn on knots around Alistair's biceps. Before the kid could try and pull them free, Alistair snapped up and shouted, "The griffins are returning!"

He began to slowly run down the hallway dragging Spud with. She got into it, her eyes trailing around the ceiling as she mimed slipping back a helmet's guard to watch. "Oh no!" she repeated before following him headlong through the door and straight into their nursery. Tucking down, Alistair belly flopped onto the cushioned rug, dragging his little girl with.

Maker it felt good to be stationary, which lasted all of two seconds before Cailan began to scramble off of him. "I Grey Ward," he insisted, reaching for one of a dozen stuffed animals scattered around the room. Alistair felt Spud begin to rise up from their fall, indignant at Cailan once again trying to hustle in on her territory, but he was ready for it. Lashing over with a hand, he pulled Spud in tight and trapped her below him.

"Daddy!" she squealed when the tickling began.

"What was that?" he asked before tickling her harder. On his knees, Spud could easily slide out from under his pathetic cage but she kept rolling back and forth on her back.

"Da-a-ddy," she tried again, before breaking into more laughs.

"Still not getting that," he said. Tiny hands plopped onto the back of his head and he glanced up to find Cailan patting his skull as he tried to get into the game. Snorting, Alistair butted his head against the kid's stomach eliciting boyish giggles.

Spud must have sensed them as she sat stock still and ordered, "No. This is vewy serious."

Sighing, Alistair flipped over to his side to let her out. "Everything with you is very serious. You're gonna get an ulcer from how serious you are," he said prodding at her belly. She laughed a moment at his silly words, then folded her arms in a tight cross, the pout rising.

"Spuddy," he warned even while scooping Cailan into his lap.

She looked like she wanted to order her brother out of the room. If it was up to her, she'd probably stick him on a ship to Tevinter, but she knew whining would only get her put in the naughty chair. Her eyes glanced over to the dreaded lime green thing in the corner, and she dropped her chin. "I want to draw," she announced, turning away towards the desk stuffed with quills, vellum, and what had once been important memos for the King. If there were any classified state secrets they were long obliterated by child scribbling.

Alistair wrapped his arms around Cailan while the boy fiddled with a wooden puzzle box in his lap. "What are you going to draw?" he asked.

"It's a secret," Spud held up a finger to her mouth and then blew hard enough spit splattered against her father's cheek.

"Thanks, Spuddy," he groaned, wiping it off. Unaware of causing any offense, she returned to the monumental task of uncorking the ink bottle. They'd devised a sort of trough to try and catch most of the runoff from a princess who was very into drawing and less into cleanliness. If she weren't destined to be Queen, he'd have put good odds at his daughter becoming a painter...who killed darkspawn on the side.

Sounds of footsteps drew Spud's attention, splattering ink into the trough. "Mummy!" she squealed, her plan fully abandoned as she raced to throw her arms around Bea. The Queen dipped an arm down to cuddle Spud to her legs. Wanting to see his mother as well, Cailan squirmed out of Alistair's lap. For her boy, Beatrice fell to her knees, wrapping both of her children in hugs and kisses to their cheeks.

"Have you been good today?"

"Yes 'em!" Spud shouted while Cailan nodded his head vehemently. Still, the knowing mother turned to look over at the only adult in the room.

"They were," Alistair said. "We had a minor meltdown as what happens when it's nearly noon and starvation sets in. But I'd say you were both on your second best behavior."

Beatrice's eyes stared through him, nary a word slipping from her lips but volumes hung in the look. Self consciously Alistair tugged up his hair and stared at the border along the nursery's walls. Her voice slipped down to honey sweet as she looked at her children, "Why don't you two play quietly in here? Your father and I have matters to discuss."

_Ah, shit._ He almost hoped for Spud to argue that she had to spend time with him, but his most trustworthy daughter shrugged, "'kay," and returned to her drawing. Cailan nodded his head, crawling hands and feet around the room like the mabari pups they visited earlier. Very aware of how much trouble he was in, Alistair staggered to limp legs and tried to hide away the blush.

It wasn't that he meant to keep putting off the talk, he simply didn't want to have it. And making certain Reiss was far away from the palace when he did seemed important too. Still...time to be an adult. Dropping a hand to Beatrice, she stared in surprise before taking it and letting him help her up.

"Where do you want to do this?" he asked.

"This way," she commanded, turning towards her chambers.

"Bye Daddy," Spud called out, those traitorous eyes not even glancing up once.

"Bye!" Cailan echoed, his dirty fingers waving through the air.

Trying to not imagine he was walking to his death, Alistair trailed behind Beatrice into her abode. She paused, her gloved hands pinned tight to her stomach as she glanced over at the handmaidens doing very little handing or maidening. Alistair was never certain what the full point of them was beyond filling a room and dresses. "Could you excuse us, Ladies?" Beatrice said in her sweet asking voice with just enough of a razor in it to be an order.

The women both exchanged a quick look before rising from their various lute and weaving strings to slide to the door while bowing to her Majesty. Alistair stuck a thumb out and laughed, "You have to teach me how to do that. I ask any of the various men trying to stuff my boots on to shoo and they sigh before knotting the laces."

Beatrice was unmoved by his quip, which wasn't too surprising. She never laughed at anything he said. After raising her neck even higher, the beleaguered Queen spun on her heels and said, "Talk."

"Right here?" Alistair glanced around the room. For a moment he thought the rug might be new, but catching Bea's eye he realized it wasn't worth mentioning. "Okay, so...Reiss is pregnant."

The Queen narrowed her eyes at that.

"Uh, due probably around Satinalia," he continued to give out what little information he had. Aside from she's going to have a baby and when, Alistair didn't have a lot.

Beatrice tipped her head to the side, "So soon? She's barely showing to be nearly five months along."

"Maybe it's an elf thing," Alistair shrugged. His experience with pregnant women was getting Reiss knocked up and then every time there after with her. It was a small sample to pool data from.

Once again his wife fell into a deathly silence, those sharp eyes trailing him as he began to pace like a caged animal. Maker, was this what she did to keep her ladies in waiting in line? Aware of the sweat dripping down his back, Alistair sputtered out, "I assume you have some questions..."

"How?" Beatrice asked.

The urge to launch into the birds and the bees withered on his tongue at her glare. "Well, turns out that potion I took to try and beat back the taint had some...unexpected consequences. We hadn't been doing anything to protect ourselves because there hadn't been much reason to and then, oops!"

The Queen's glower sliced him into various consecutive chunks, each one scattered onto her new rug for dissection later. "It was an accident?" she didn't seem to entirely believe him.

"Pretty much," he admitted, lost as to why this was such an issue for her. She was the one who all but encouraged him to go fully in with a lover and would even on occasion ask about his 'elven mistress toiling away in the slums.'

"When you told me of your little...pseudo-marriage ceremony I considered it a lark. You want to play having a normal life, you're far from the first noble to do it. Who was I to judge? But then to pull this stunt..." Beatrice shook her head, raw anger snorting out of her little nose.

"Stunt? It's a baby, not someone jumping a horse over a canyon."

"Do you expect me to believe after all this time, all these years, all the other women you'd taken to your bed only to have nothing emerge, this is when it finally sticks? You have your pretty little elf wife, though I use the term wife very loosely, now to make the family."

Alistair drew his tongue across his teeth, feeling a snarl in his gut as Beatrice danced around an assumption that if she voiced would set him off. "We weren't planning on it."

"People will talk," she said.

"People always talk, and if they don't have anything good to talk about, they make shit up. It's what people do."

Beatrice blinked at his shocking logic. He'd been aware of the whispers for years, most of the citizens coming to accept he slipped in and out of the agency down by the alienage. It was a funny story and good to pass around the fire, but in the end as there were no great arguments bellowed on the streets, it grew boring for them. People only cared when their own lives were too dull or diminutive to focus on. In time, the knowledge of his having a...another child out there would fade.

"How can you be certain this baby is in fact yours?" she voiced the question that'd been sitting on her tongue. Maker, if she'd said the same to Reiss...

Folding his arms, Alistair glared down at the floor out of fear staring at her would set him off. "Easy, I'm not the only one who took the potion and wound up in this situation." Beatrice gasped as her little house of cards shattered. She'd obviously been expecting him to pin his assurances on trust. "Maybe on top of clearing out the taint it makes us extra fertile, I don't know. I'll put the question to my mysterious benefactor." No doubt Lanny was already hard at work figuring that out if only to keep her preoccupied. She didn't seem to be having as great a time with this pregnancy thing.

"Then..." Beatrice sagged, seeming to finally accept that yes, he made a child with Reiss. "You will have one," she stuttered.

"Yeah, hopefully, I mean. Don't want to jinx it or anything."

"A true child of Theirin blood," she whispered seeming to fade deeper into herself.

Alistair scrunched his face up, "What? Sorta, but..."

The shock seemed to wear in an instant, the hawk-like stare winnowing down upon him. "What shall become of my children? Of me?"

Alistair blinked in surprise, his eyes darting around the room to see if there was someone hiding behind the curtains to leap out and shout this was all a prank. "Uh, you'd continue on as before. I mean, I figure the kids will play with the baby. Have to watch 'em, Cailan's a bit young and Spud gets excited easily, but...the baby will grow or be swaddled in padding."

Beatrice snorted at that, her tiny feet clipping back and forth across the rug, "You expect me to believe that? This will be your child, a child of your blood. Not some...other forced into your house under the guise of maintaining the line."

"Look," Alistair slapped his hand into his palm, sick and tired of having to explain this, "I'm not going to turn my back on Spud, or my little radish. She'll be Queen, she'll lead Ferelden once I'm ash and Cailan will, I don't know, do her maths or something. That kid's hard to pin down. Nothing's changed."

He expected that to soothe over Beatrice's worries, but when she slid up beside him with a tenderness in her eyes framed by fluttering lashes, Alistair reared back at how good it worked. "Perhaps..." she drew her gloved hand up his crossed arm and Alistair's tongue ran dry. No, she couldn't possibly be...

Her lidded eyes opened with a spark, "If you are truly free of the blight in its many forms, then it may be time for me to perform my wifely duty."

"What?" Alistair threw his hands up, staggering back from the woman all but pressing her body to his. "No! Are you insane? What about Cordell?"

"He's aware of our arrangement," she purred as if talk of contracts and negotiations was a turn on. Catching on that seducing him was going nowhere, she slapped her exhausted hand into her thigh and groaned, "Was I not chosen specifically to give you a child to continue the line of Calenhad?"

"Pretty sure you were chosen to sit around being liked by everyone while I mucked things up," Alistair admitted. He wasn't stupid, but he played it well in the throne room. "Maker's sake, Bea, you cannot be serious. You do not want to sleep with me."

"It..." she started, her lip jutting out, "it can't be that bad, given your history."

"Not sure if that's a compliment or an insult," he admitted. Beatrice groaned, aware she was losing this fight fast and Alistair felt a moment of pity for the woman trying to ransack his family jewels. "Look," he picked up her hand and patted it, "I get that this whole baby thing threw everyone for a curve. Maker, and here I thought I was nearly done with nappies. But I won't make another with you for the sake of appearances."

"Why?"

"One, I'm not going to hurt Reiss like that." Which it would, big time. "And two, you nearly died with Cailan. Even if, Maker protect me for entertaining this, Reiss gave her blessing. Which, trust me, no. And she's got a kick like...anyway. Bea, you don't need to risk your life, not when there are two kids already yelling and screaming in this world that need you."

She stared at his fingers locked around hers as he comforted her like an elderly aunt. "What about those children?" she asked. "Do you expect me to believe that once you have a child, a baby truly of your own, from a woman you love, that you will not turn from them?"

"Those children meaning the ones I just spent the day with while one stuffed grass down my pants and the other insisted I fling her through the air until I nearly dislocated my arm? The ones I cover in kisses and hugs until they ask me to stop because it's too slobbery?" Alistair slapped his hands to his knees in shock at her assumption. "I want to check you mean those that are my world and not some other children no one's told me about. Because, I don't think a little baby is going to up and erase six years of loving my kids."

Beatrice stuck her chin out and looked so startling much like Spud as she tried to protect her Daddy. "There are many men who have left their families after far more years of being together for fresher pastures."

"Maybe," Alistair said, "but those ones don't know what it's like to grow up without a mother or father. I'm not ignoring any of my children be they bastard by marriage, or bastard by blood."

Her eyes narrowed at his cold summation, but it was true -- technically Spud and Cailan's mother and father weren't married. It was a family of bastards all the way down. Folding her arms tight to her chest, Beatrice cooled as she glared at the floor. Maker's breath, they'd been married...far too long for him to remember, and he had no idea she had this bone shattering tenacity. It was like trying to play chess with a broodmother.

"Am I to take it on faith that you will not remove me from the palace or my position?"

Blinking a few times, Alistair tried to play back where this was coming from. "Wait, you think I'm going to run down to the Grand Cleric, demand a divorce, and then stick Reiss in your place?" She didn't answer, but the frost thickened at her glare.

"Maker's bloody anal polyps," he groaned, Beatrice scowling at the visceral curse, "you've been doing this politics shit far longer than me. How long do you think the Bannorn would accept an elf as Queen? Cause I'd put it at my head being cut clean off between the 'I' and 'do.'"

"You love her," Beatrice breathed, her eyes shut tight.

Since when did she give a nug's fart in winter about who had his heart? She knew about all the other mistresses before, would often speak to them at court civilly and not in that passive aggressive 'oh, aren't you darling while I poison your cake' way.  Just how bad had this baby spooked her?

Alistair reached out to grip onto his wife's arm, pity swirling in his gut, "And you love Cordell."

"That's up for debate," Beatrice admitted, knocking Alistair for a loop. He'd been noticing a wane in the Brother wandering around the castle, but it wasn't that surprising. It wasn't that often he'd cross the Queen's path much less her ex-tonsured lover. "You are lucky with her," Beatrice said, "there are not many who can stand remaining in the shadow."

"Bea, I had no idea," he said, feeling a fool.

"It would be impolite to inform the King of such matters," she didn't cry. Alistair realized he'd never actually seen his wife shed a tear, the patrician mask always slotting into place to hide any great emotion.

"Has he fully gone?" he asked, getting a slow nod followed by a shrug. It was impossible to keep continual track of someone unless you had their phylactery. "What about the kids? Surely he wouldn't abandon them..."

"There were promises made, but some of them have already been broken. I do not anticipate him to visit much, if at all," she stared through the air, her fingers flexing tight to her stomach.

"That stuff-shirted, proselytizing son of a bitch," Alistair snarled. Cordell wasn't the best at playing father to the kids, but he'd been in their lives. They were going to notice and wonder where he went. Perhaps even blame themselves. "I should send out a search party of well armed knights and drag him back..."

"Stop," Beatrice commanded, her eyes slicing through him and squelching his anger. "That will solve nothing beyond exacerbating the issue. You cannot force someone to be a parent."

"I dunno, I think if I leave a few of the royal guards alone with him and a tray full of pliers," Alistair half joked, tipping his head to the side.

"Not every man can embrace the idea of another raising his children," Beatrice whispered.

It took the bastard damn near long enough to decide that. Maybe it was the fact he didn't get instant riches and titles for being the secret lover of the Queen. Cordell was a wet fart stuffed inside a cassock, about as interesting as over-salted oatmeal that crusted to the table. No one in their right mind would happily give someone like that power unless it was afforded to him by birth.

And the second the real father skips town to try and find himself, Alistair goes and creates the miracle baby with the woman he loves. No wonder Beatrice transformed into a snarling mountain lion in an expensive dress. Feeling sheepish, he stepped away from his wife and sighed.

"I'll get in contact with the official bursars, and notaries, and clerks, and what not to declare our daughter the defacto future Queen of Ferelden. I should probably put that in my will too, just to make certain. That way, even if rumors swirl about the validity of who the throne passes to, I declared my choice. Can't go back on that. We can have a big party where everyone wears their shiniest tiara."

"You'd do that?" Beatrice stuttered, seeming to be in surprise as if they hadn't been grooming Spud to sit in the chair for six years.

Alistair shrugged, "It was never going to be anyone else. Maker's sake, the way you people keep flooding me in potential matches for my six year old daughter, as if that's not creepy. I'm not suffering meeting various Arl's and Bann's sticky palmed sons just to have the throne fall to another."

"What of Cailan?"

"He'd be considered second in line. In the event the Queen can't perform her duties, blah blah blah. Not sure if it's wise to go pinning Regent or Commander of the armies on him until he's fully mastered that we pull down our pants before peeing. Karelle will know, and I'm certain Eamon will throw his two cents in. Man retired a year ago and somehow he's still involved in everything."

Beatrice seemed to be soothed finally from her fears, her coifed head bobbing in acceptance of the promise. No doubt she was already planning the very important ritualistic parties that went along with such a thing. As long as there was cake, Alistair would put up with it. "Thank you," she said solemnly.

"You know I love them. That hasn't changed, it's not going to change. If I didn't stop loving them when Spud splattered paint across my shields or Cailan ripped up a dozen missives from Bann Cedric...actually, I should thank him for that one. Bea, I'm not going anywhere. I kinda can't, people notice that goofy face in the royal painting squatting at the bar beside them and call for the guards."

They shook once more, Alistair making the mental note to try and track down Karelle. He had yet to tell her about Reiss' impending move into the palace for awhile. Getting to gussy up a drafty old room into a nursery sounded like something right up the Chamberlain's alley. It could be a bonus from him.

He turned to the door to the kid's room, planning on giving them both goodbye hugs, when Beatrice spoke, "What of your child with Reiss? What shall it do in the future?"

His fingers drifted over the handle, Alistair sighing, "Whatever he or she wants. I'm going to give the baby the one thing I always wanted, freedom to never ever have to get anywhere near the throne."

## CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

#### One Day

25 weeks...

A crate landed outside the tiny storeroom's door, the sound tugging Lana's attention away from what she'd already been sorting through. "Don't tell me it's another one," she groaned to Melissa. The herbalist and also washerwoman shrugged her shoulder before cracking open the top with the crowbar. Lana scooted away from the box full of nappies she'd been going through to inspect the newest one.

Her fingers extracted a pair of tiny yellow knit booties with fuzzy ducks on the top and she tried to not sigh in agony. Of course it was baby stuff, that was all her life was anymore. Shaking off the annoyance, Lana smiled at the woman who brought it to her employer, "Thank you."

"My pleasure," she smiled, sliding out of the room that used to hold their excess mattresses and other linens. Now Lana was doing her best to clear it out for the baby. She also had to find a magical storage answer to somehow stack all these things babies apparently required inside little more than a glorified closet.

Melissa tried to close the door behind her, but it stuck open thanks to far too many boxes in such a tiny space. _Maker's sake_ , Lana groaned to herself. In trying to tug the box closer to her, her barely strapped in chest bounced into a shelf that once held her potion bottles. Emptied of anything breakable weeks ago, all that her breasts scattered to the ground were piles of mittens and gloves of varying hues. Seemed everyone was gravely concerned about the idea of a baby being born in early winter.

Cursing under her breath, Lana scurried back and bent over in an attempt to pick up the scattered cold wear, when her stomach flat out stopped her. Fingers hovering a good foot over the floor, she groaned and dipped to her knees. Just as she almost got a grip on them, the door opened.

"Blessed Andraste," Lana sighed, "please don't tell me it's anymore mittens, or socks, or tiny hats to wrap around the baby's head. We're completely out of room." Her near on panic faded as she glanced up into amber eyes.

Cullen smiled at her and using his greater reach managed to pluck the mittens up off the ground and then hold her elbow. Carefully steadying her, he helped Lana back to her feet. "I was about to ask how it's going," he said, returning the cursed mittens to the shelf, before placing a quick kiss to her cheek, "but I can see the answer."

Situating her stomach as best she could, Lana glared at the crates remaining to be unpacked before she could get off her cruel feet. "Look at all this," she groaned. "You'd think we were about to have triplets at the amount of clothing and other paraphernalia people sent us. In this box it's the old clothes from Teagan's little boy. Lots of pajamas, a damn near full rainbow of options, a few blankets, a handful of pants, and one tunic with a griffin on it."

"Sounds practical," Cullen said, eyeing it up.

"And over here, Mia's old clothes from her girls. A few dresses, more blankets, two skirts, one that's extra frilly, and these..." Lana snatched up a wad of what she'd first thought were lost garter belts to help sneak in daggers hidden under petticoats. "What are the bloody point of these?"

After picking a small blue one out of her fingers, Cullen stretched it and shrugged, "I don't know what it is."

"Headbands, which you put on the baby, as I learned after talking to one of the women. So people know you've got a girl, I guess."

"Seems as if it'd be quite a bit of work to put on a baby, or get it to stay on," Cullen began to stretch it to its limits, much as Lana had while trying to figure the things out.

"Oh, but we're not done yet. Courtesy of Leliana and the Divine, we have a christening gown made out of real silk and lace that will most likely be puked and then shat on. An honest to the Maker teeny tiny ballgown as well as a doublet in gold to match should a fancy dress party break out three months postpartum. And, of course, ruby encrusted shoes for the baby. The baby that won't be capable of walking."

Lana plopped the ruby slippers into Cullen's hands. His eyes opened wide while twisting them around, the soles of the shoes half the size of his palms. "They are rather adorable," he said diplomatically. That was all he'd been lately. Lana would complain about her body shifting and popping like some demon was trying to prod through her skin and he'd smile, rub her shoulders, and say 'it'd be okay.' She didn't want to be calmed down, she wanted to rant and rave.

"Wait, we're not done yet, because here's a box from the Seeker Cassandra. Not as large, thank the Maker, but..." Lana lifted up a tiny scrap of metal bent slightly inward with a teeny leather strap inside.

"Is that a shield?" Cullen shifted it back and forth, the shield slightly larger than the Divine's baby shoes. Sure enough, there was a symbol of the chantry painted on the outside to take on any micro-darkspawn. "Was that all?"

"Of course not, what's a shield without a tiny sword?" Lana extended the glorified letter opener that came with its own leather scabbard. How in the Maker's name the Seeker found anyone balmy enough to make weaponry for a baby she'd never comprehend. "There are also a few pink blankets with white hearts on them, so it's not a total loss."

Cullen returned the baby shield and sword to the box and scooped an arm around Lana's shoulders. As he tried to massage away the knots popping like mushrooms after a rainstorm, he asked, "I'm guessing that's not it."

"I haven't even gotten to Hawke's gifts," she rolled her eyes to him.

"Do I wish to ask?"

"Furs. Many, many furs," Lana screwed up her eyes, trying to keep calm.

"Fur blankets would..."

"No, not blankets. I'm pretty sure there's a fur nappy in there, somehow. Sweet Maker, I love our friends but I think they're going to kill me," she groaned. Deep down inside, Lana knew she shouldn't complain about their generosity. It kept her from having to attempt to sew baby clothes, and the ones who'd had children before did send useful articles, but... For the love of Andraste, where was she supposed to put all this?

Cullen stepped over the box of newest who-knew-what, and swept his arms fully around her. Exhausted, Lana draped her head to his chest and buried herself into his eternal embrace. Clearly at a loss for words, he merely curled his fingers through Lana's hair which was its own disaster. She hadn't had time to oil it in what felt like forever, half of it nothing but frizz.

Mumbling, she draped both her arms over his neck and cuddled deeper in. "I'm so tired of being pregnant," she groaned. "My body runs into everything now. If it's low, the stomach will sweep it like a rogue going for your legs, and if it's here..." she gestured to her chest, "no chance. I can't even walk into my potion room anymore without facing a floor littered with broken glass."

Cullen pressed his lips to her forehead, still not speaking as she kept ranting about her good misfortune. "I miss being free to walk around to the grotto. I miss being able to bend over to pick the herbs in the grotto. I really miss not having to pee every hour."

"It'll be over soon enough," he whispered to her skin.

"Fifteen weeks, give or take," she sighed. "That's nearly four months. How in the Maker's name did I get this huge this fast?" Lana's hands drifted across Cullen's shoulders, measuring his great stature. "You. It's all your doing. This is what I get for falling in love with you."

"Me?"

"You're gigantic!" she laughed, "compared to teeny, tiny me. And if this kid's anything like you then it's gonna come out six feet tall."

Cullen chuckled at her misfortune, "I don't think that's going to happen."

"Right, just you wait. I'm gonna have giant feet kicking into my brain before the end." Sure enough, another round of baby announcing to the world it existed and was rather unhappy with its cramped quarters erupted.

She reeled in her ranting tongue and slowly draped her hand down under her robes to feel the kicks beating up against her thinner tunic. Cullen watched, his cautious eyes surveying to see where it would be safe to cross. "Is there nothing about this you enjoy?"

"No," she gasped, tears prickling in her eyes at the hurt in his voice. Wrapping up his fingers, she pulled them in between her robe and tunic so he could feel his baby as well. "This is amazing, though maybe not at three in the morning," she tacked on, causing Cullen to roll his eyes.

He began to slide his hand away, but Lana held it tighter in place. "It's not that I don't cherish the idea of growing this piece of us inside of me," she whispered. "Maybe it's cheesy to think it's our love made real, but..." Lana felt a blush rising at the thought she'd never have the nerve to say to anyone else.

His weary eyes rolled down to her, an apology sitting in there. "Lana," Cullen brushed his cheek against hers, the scruff biting the acne that popped up overnight courtesy of her womb squatter. "I..." he glanced down, perturbations clinging to his tongue. They were both exhausted, both on pins and needles, and both scared to upset the other. This situation was both theirs and no one's fault which made it maddening during the bad days. Cullen sighed, "I suppose I shouldn't make this all about me."

"Honey eyes," she murmured, tugging him down to her for a kiss. "I want the baby, I really do. I want your baby, I just..." Sighing, Lana pinched the top of her nose and groaned, "I'm tired. I want one day when I don't have to think about it. Don't have to sort through hordes of baby things. Don't have to prep the potions room on overtime in preparation of my giving birth. Don't have to lose you for hours to work and the wood shop while you craft a cradle. For one day I, I want to forget I'm pregnant, and be me again."

Her head tipped down, her eyes drifting across the gifts she didn't deserve. "Maker's breath, I sound like a spoiled brat."

"No," Cullen cupped his hand to her chin, the other one breaking from her belly to curl around her back, "you don't." Placing a second kiss to her lips, Lana tried to find succor and also energy in his embrace. He was her panacea through this.

"I think you deserve a day," Cullen said, his forehead brushing against hers.

"Don't be silly. It's just whinging from me. We have far too much to do here," Lana shook it away, well aware she wasn't going to be able to escape her belly no matter how hard she tried.

But those amber eyes glinted with a dangerous plan taking root. "I'll need a few days to prep, but I think I can arrange something."

"Really?" It didn't need to be the opera, or even a fancy dinner, just somewhere without templars, or binkies, or books full of graphic drawings of what was happening to her insides. "What are you thinking?"

"Nope," Cullen planted a kiss to her nose and began to sidle over the box, "that will ruin the surprise. I best leave you to organizing all of this, while I...attend to things."

"You can't be serious," she called as her husband slid out the door with a smile on his lips. "I'm terrible at surprises!"

## CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

#### The Beginning

"Where are we?"

She could hear the sound of water sloshing, which wasn't too surprising as Lana knew they were on a boat. Cullen helped to get her seated upon it partially due to her distended stomach and mostly because of the blindfold. Then he took up the oar and began to tug them across the river or lake. It wasn't a matter of what she was sitting in but the question of where the boat was.

"Wait and see," he chuckled, a strain in his voice as he grunted and the oars crested above the water before making another splash.

"Is it a river?"

"Maker's breath," he sighed at her tenacity. She'd been guessing for days, Lana allowed to keep her vision until they drew near on a carriage. It'd been the talk of the abbey when what looked like a fancy royal one rolled up. Lana expected Ali to come tumbling out with some newest problem, but there was no one inside, only the driver who passed the reins to her husband.

For a few days they traveled the countryside, going far slower than was necessary while Lana sat perched up beside Cullen in the driver's seat. If she grew exhausted or needed a nap, there was the cab, but snuggling tight to her husband was a far more enjoyable way to pass through the summer forest. Every question of where they were going was met with a pursed lip and refusal. It went from being a small game to Lana desperately needing an answer.

The boat was a bit of surprise. Perhaps he was trying to throw her off in her guesses. They'd been traveling north, and there weren't a lot of rivers to the north. There was the Waking Sea, but it didn't stink of fish and salt, nor was there a very good reason for them to head so far away from Ferelden. That only left...

"Is this a lake?" Lana asked, "Lake Calenhad?"

"By all that is holy," Cullen groaned, "sit there and turn off your brain for a moment. We'll be arriving shortly so try to act surprised."

So it was Lake Calenhad. Were they heading into Redcliffe? Lana shifted in her seat. While she'd aged quite a bit since her last visit to the village, and her figure now was more or less four balls stacked on top of each other, there was a good chance she could be recognized. Surely Cullen knew that.

Trying to shake off the fear, Lana sat up higher in the boat when her body lurched forward. "We've arrived," Cullen announced, as if she couldn't feel the prow ramming into a dock. It took a few minutes for her landlocked husband to tie up the boat through its eyelets. Once it was all secure, he helped to guide Lana up onto the dock. She had to shuffle her feet, bending with the tilt of aging boards.

"Can I take off the blindfold?"

"No," he sighed, "just...a little more." Cullen slipped her cane into her fingers and then guided her arm to lock around his. "This way." Stepping slowly, and no doubt watching the ground like a hawk, her husband led Lana down this last path. She felt the wooden slats of the dock fade away to sandy grit and then gravel.

"Okay," he dropped her hand and then tugged off the blindfold.

Lana blinked against the low summer sun, white spots taking shape from the darkness, and then noticed she stood in a tall shadow. Staring up and up, her hand flew to her mouth in shock. "Kinloch?" she gasped. "But I..." she turned back to her husband who was knotting the blindfold around his hands like a garrote while he glared at what had once been their home.

"Cullen," she curled her fingers around his, calming the twitch in his jaw.

"You wanted a day where you didn't have to think about being pregnant and I. I don't know, I just couldn't stop thinking about the old tower. Our old tower," he explained.

Kinloch. She hadn't returned in ages, not since before the rebellion. Even then, Lana rarely dropped in once she joined the wardens. Perhaps a small part of her was worried that when it came time to depart, the templars would once again bar the doors to her. It loomed above them, birds circling through no doubt tiny holes in the roof made gargantuan with no one left to maintain them.

"Should we head inside to look around?" Cullen whispered, his voice fading lower. She turned back to him and spotted a familiar blush as if that eighteen year old, uncertain Knight-Recruit returned.

"Lets," Lana smiled, snatching up his hand and guiding it around her waist. The awkwardness faded from him and her husband/about-to-become-a-father placed a kiss to her forehead. It took little work to open the front door, the old locks long since shattered. What struck her first was the silence. The tower was never silent; mages gossiping, templar armor clanking, spells misfiring. It was a near on constant noise of life every second of which she'd known since the age of six, and now...

"I feel like I'm walking into a tomb," Lana whispered. The white marble was filthy -- time, bandits, and bored children scarring what had once been cleaned by the Tranquil.

Cullen clung tighter to her body while the other hand drifted towards his hip. "It's very quiet," he mused.

Spinning on her heel, Lana was startled to find no one standing beside the great doors. She gasped a moment and then laughed at her foolishness. Cullen stared a question and she explained, "I was surprised there wasn't anyone guarding the exit. It feels empty without a templar or two standing there."

"Mostly bored out of their skulls trying to count holes in the ceiling," he mused to himself, but the twitch had returned to his jaw.

"Cullen," she whispered, sliding closer to him, "if you don't want to be here..." It was sweet of him to plan something but not if it hurt.

He blanched a moment, then shook it off, his fingers falling limply to his sides. "No, I..." A sweet smile replaced the grit and he picked up Lana's hand, gently tugging her through the old doors into the place proper. "I wanted to come back to where it all began."

They passed a staircase covered in debris but surprisingly not buckled by time. Lana began to move past it, when Cullen suddenly stopped and glanced back. "I remember," he said, then began to pull her towards it. She eyed up the mess of stairs that looked like it'd be a death trap for her even if she wasn't so front heavy now. Chuckling, Cullen swooped his pregnant wife up into his arms and began to carefully ease up the stairs.

Lana pressed her hands tight against the back of his neck, her cane dangling off her fingers, as she giggled, "Bet you never thought you'd have to carry me up these things."

"Have to?" he chuckled once before the rarely seen mischievous amber rolled down to her. Perhaps something about returning to where he'd grown up, in many different ways, was bringing back the young adult from before. Lana felt it too. She remembered these stairs. After she'd been in the tower for a few years, the kids learned how to make static charge balls and in a bit of brilliance tried to roll them down these stairs. It went pretty well until the balls had to discharge against the wall, leaving a small burn mark.

Certain she was secure in Cullen's arms, Lana let her fingers reach to trail along the stone walls. Maker's breath, it felt familiar. Kinloch was made out of a stone not common to most Ferelden castles, being more porous than others. It was a wonder a good rain didn't knock it over, but somehow this place endured for centuries. She felt every divot in the rock, the kids making up stories that they were carved there specifically by old apprentices that were trying to warn them about what evil horrors lurked in the undercroft. Only no one could understand the code and every year another apprentice was eaten by the hideous monster.

At the top of the staircase, Cullen placed her feet down to the ground and let her get her bearings before he dashed over to stand where the bookcases had. They were obliterated beyond imagination, most of the wood having been chopped apart for fires and the tomes held in them either left to rot on the floor or torn apart for kindling. So much of her life was spent pressed between those cases, her nose buried in books while trying to find her purpose.

"Right here," Cullen stopped, an excitement clinging to his bright eyes.

Lana blinked her eyes and tried to shake away the pain of seeing her childhood home in ruins. "Right here what?"

"This is where you were standing when I first saw you," he announced, his arms waving around as if he'd performed a magic trick.

"The library," Lana chuckled. "Why am I not surprised?"

"I was there, in the stairwell, and you..." Cullen whipped his head back and forth from her to make certain he had the angles right. "You were carrying a stack of books." She sighed at that, remaining unsurprised. "And were arguing with that mage."

"Margie?"

"No, the other one," he shook his head.

"Oh, Jowan," that sounded right too, sadly. It was a wonder they were ever friends for how much they fought, or how he used her.

She didn't mean to frown but the thoughts of the man that betrayed her took her into a dark turn. Catching on, Cullen scooted away from this mythical spot to cup her fingers in his. "I was in a dour mood at the time," he confessed, "trying to break away from some celebration or other, and then you... Maker's breath, you stole my heart away in an instant."

A blush burned against her cheeks while the man gazed down upon her as if she was all of fresh faced 17 again instead of a hardened warrior broken and battered, and also swollen from wrist to ankle. Cullen cupped his fingers against her face, softly pushing back the mounds of curls. "There were quills inside here, and, Maker, how badly I wished to pluck one out. To run the feather over my fingers because...because it'd touched you."

"Cullen..." She was fully melting into the floor, her cheeks bright red in this adorable agony.

"Eighteen years old and I'd never seen anyone so beautiful in my life. I'd thought you were a messenger of Andraste herself, and never, in a hundred years, a thousand years, did I think I could do this." Curling his fingers against her soft jaw, he tipped her head back and placed a youthful kiss to her aching lips. All the exhaustion in her body, in her mind, the years that trailed them both like nightmares clinging to the waking brain, it all faded. Lana felt all of seventeen; that bookish, giggling apprentice who couldn't stop staring at the newest blonde templar blushing across the room.

The burn of being able to touch him, to taste him, drove her to wrap her free arm around the back of his neck. She devoured him, the ingénue fading to the experienced woman who wasn't shy to be with the man she loved. "Please," Lana panted as Cullen took a steadying breath, "tell me we're alone and there aren't about to be a dozen bandits bursting out from behind the barricaded bookcases?"

He staggered up to his full height, Lana cursing her love of tall men as those lips slipped too far away for her to bend them to her will. After playing with her curls, he smiled, "Do you really believe I would risk my pregnant wife anywhere near bandits?"

Shrugging, Lana answered, "Depended on how much fun you wanted me to have."

That earned her a chuckle, Cullen placing his lips to her forehead for a less lustful kiss. "How about after the baby is born? With me and Honor," he tacked on, no doubt fearing the second she was free of child, Lana would hop out of bed, snatch up her cane, and find the first bandit she could to fricassee.

"As you say," she sighed, "though it's been quite a few years since I used my spells for damage purposes."

"The darkspawn under the lodge," Cullen said without a second thought.

"Oh right, but do darkspawn even..." she was going to lose this argument before even beginning it. While Lana wasn't without her own defenses and skill, she couldn't exactly blame Cullen for worrying about her now. Running headlong into battle was something she'd have to leave to others unless there was really no other option.

Curling deeper into his arms, Lana buried her cheek to his strong chest. How many nights did it have to help carry her to bed? How many more did she lean against it either while fighting through the darkness or panting from joy? A smile wafted through her stomach bringing up an old memory. Snagging onto his fingers, Lana leaned back and said, "Come on."

"Where are we going now?" Cullen asked. Perturbations drifted in his tone, as if he feared she was about to stomp off to find bandits or darkspawn to slaughter.

"It's my turn," she didn't explain. Trailing across the library and back downstairs, they came out in one of the grander openings. It was an all purpose room, often the sight of apprentices learning how to throw greater area effect spells, the occasional mass meetings if there were many famous mages visiting, or a place for bored children to run around. Lana stopped and turned with her arms extended.

Ringed by twelve giant pillars, it was hard for her to remember the exact one as they all bore the same look. There used to be tapestries denoting the various mage fraternities, as well as some for Ferelden and the chantry hanging upon the pillars but they were all either torn down or eaten by moths. Only a handful of brass bars remained, tipped against their nails.

"There," Lana declared, somewhat certain she was right.

"There what?" Cullen asked, stepping towards where she seemed to be pointing at little more than a smudge on the floor between two pillars.

"Two children were playing with a ball, a special treat no doubt for learning spells. They were kicking it as hard as they could from one end to the other, when one gives it all the force he can. It scatters through the air, bounces on the pillar above, whacks into the back of a man, and becomes trapped behind the templar," Lana traced the memory ball's trajectory before landing back upon Cullen who seemed confused.

"The templar snatches up the ball while the kids are knock-kneed terrified. He extends it, shaking it for them to pluck it free, his voice rattling in the tin, when suddenly he sighs. With one hand he yanks off the helmet to reveal..." she sighed, plowing her curled fist into her cheek as if she was seeing it all again, "this golden face. Golden curls, golden eyes, golden smile that dashed about young lips while you tried to hand the ball back to the kids."

The same smile flitted through her husband's lip, lifting the scar, "Oh. I...I don't remember that."

"It was the first time I saw you, your face without the helmet in the way. Margie caught me staring and, of course, I denied it. But, blessed Andraste, I was gobsmacked. You were so adorable swiping back your mess of curls," Lana staggered up to reach over and part through his, "and a blush to your cheeks as you watched the kids trail off to play."

Cullen slid his arms around her waist, his warm lips breathing against her forehead, "Is that so?"

"Not many apprentices knew I was enthralled with the newest Knight-Recruit but a few did. I wasn't so good at keeping from staring," Lana admitted. Not that it was easy for her, the templars rarely taking off their helmets. But she'd gotten a good sense of his routine and knew when to expect the need to take it off for a breath of fresh air.

"Well," her husband chuckled with a dusky voice, "you're free to look all you wish now."

"I suppose I am," she smiled, her fingers brushing against his scruff before clasping behind those curls she adored.

Lana began to tug him down for another kiss, when Cullen spoke, "I thought you said we met during the, um, bathing incident."

Rolling her eyes, she sighed, "That's when we met, this was when I first saw you. Now shut up and let me kiss you."

"As you wish," he murmured, returning her need to circle back the memory. At seventeen she knew two things, that she'd never been so enthralled with another man before, and that she'd never be able to act upon it. By nineteen Lana realized that there were other men in the world to catch her eye, but that first one was the one worth waiting for.

Ghosts of the past trailed her vision, and she could almost see the old sconces lit with mage flame, the shadow of robes filtering through the doorway, all while she made out with a templar. Giggling and fanning her cheeks at the impropriety, Lana slid away as if there was a real threat she'd be pulled in front of the First Enchanter. Maker, that would have been her undoing before, and now... She'd walked the world of the Fade for two years and killed an archdemon. What would that crush-struck seventeen year old have thought of her life?

Lana's hand circled over her stomach, the baby resting. No doubt it would resume its dancing once she intended to sleep. It wasn't perturbations or exhaustion she felt in her soul at the thought but a satiety. Here in the tower there'd been no hope, not for her to ever love a templar, much less to wed and then birth a child with him. And now...

Unaware of Lana's inner turn, Cullen glanced around the space and he smiled, "I remember this area well."

"There were a lot of meetings and the like held here," Lana said, almost waving it away.

But Cullen didn't seem to be considering that. He smiled a moment and shook his head. "No, I was thinking upon all those dances the apprentices held."

"Ah," she felt the blush rising up. Awkward to a nearly debilitating degree, she suspected they were ordered by the Senior Enchanters who wanted to punish all the gangly apprentices. Most grew up in the tower with the very people they were suddenly supposed to dance closely with. "Did you have to guard many of them?"

"A few." Cullen's hand slid up behind the small of her back and he whispered down to her, "And it was torture to see you standing alone beside the wall, wishing I could pull you into my arms."

Most of the apprentices were the same as her, clinging to the edges and hounding the punch bowl on the assumption that if they were too busy holding a glass they couldn't dance. Of course there were a few of the involved mages that would dance so close together the chantry sisters were praying for the Maker's intervention. Lana remembered Anders in particular would often flit from arm to arm, that cocky smile stuck to his face. He reveled in the moment, happy to have something to break up the monotony of study. But not her, she only went because it was required.

"Well," she spun to face her husband and wafted her fingers across his shoulder to lock behind his neck, "there's nothing stopping us from dancing now?"

"I suppose not," Cullen smiled, leading her into a slow shuffle. Their clasped hands extended out in proper form, but they certainly weren't leaving any room for Andraste's spirit between them. Her stomach was about the only blockade, and even then Cullen bent over enough to adjust, those amber eyes honed in on hers. It was a quick dance without music, and her husband only risked one spin before returning her to his safe arms.

As they both slowed to a crawl, accepting it was over, Lana skirted her fingers tighter to the back of his neck in order to tousle those curls. "That was the most fun I've ever had at a tower dance."

Sliding closer, Cullen placed his forehead next to hers. She breathed in slowly, anticipating him to kiss her, when his hand slipped off the small of her back to caress her ass and give it a gentle pinch. "Very much so," he chuckled, a gleam in his eye at the bold move.

"I love you," she murmured, her cheek returning to his chest where it belonged.

"I..." Cullen gulped, his eyes darting around the room. Could he see the same ghosts she did in her memory's eye? So much life spent in this tower and it was all gone in a breath. "I've loved you since I first saw you."

"Love at first sight?" she scoffed, "What if I'd turned out to be an idiot? Or had a terribly squeaky voice? Or smelled of moldy cheese?"

He chuckled at her insolence, the mage always less schmaltzy than the templar. "I thank Andraste every day you do not."

"My Harrowing was...a very dark day for me, but," Lana slid back and blinked into his shrouded eyes, "I think upon what you told me."

"What? You mean when I stammered outside the First Enchanter's office and then ran out of fear of you...no, out of fear of me having no idea of what came next but taking some steps towards it?"

Lana laughed, in truth having forgotten that part. She had had a very involved day. "No," her fingers ruffled down his shirt exposing a scrap of chest hair as she dipped lower to rest her palm against his flat stomach. "When you helped me out of the Harrowing chamber to my bed. I was stunned and incapable of much beyond mumbling. But you guided me into my bed and whispered 'The worst of it is over.'"

Cullen grimaced at that. "Maker, I forgot how truly naive I was."

"No, it..." she shook her head, "I know, given everything that happened after with Jowan, and the Grey Wardens, and Uldred it seemed a poor guess at the future, but it strangely helped. I carried your words through a lot of the Blight. A reminder that I wasn't formed from clay, I'd taken on something in my lifetime and survived, and I could do it again. It wound up being quite a few somethings, but..."

Her husband fell silent, his eyes staring into the floor. Lana let a beat or two pass before she curled her fingers with his. Shaking his head, Cullen spoke. "I never thought you thought of me, not just in that way but in anyway. It was foolish to consider, to weigh the attentions of a mage upon a templar but...Maker, I wanted you to."

"When you left with the Wardens," he drew his fingers around her jaw, cupping her face as if protecting it, "I was crestfallen, but it felt idiotic. As if I fell in love with a character in a story after the book ended. I wanted so badly to love you, but the idea of you loving in return was impossible."

Lana smiled at him, "You should know by now I'm rather famous for the impossible."

"Quite," he laughed once, tears of sincerity glistening in his eyes. Tugging her face to his, they shared in a kiss that began to grow in ferocity. Lana's heart thundered in her chest, craving his fingers to touch more of her skin than her cheek and hands. An idea popped into her head and she slid back.

"Where did the templars sleep?" she asked, clearly upending Cullen.

He seemed to still be lost in the throes then rapid un-throes of passion. "Hm...why?"

"Well, you all knew where we slept. I was just curious. All the apprentices used to take guesses what the templar dormitories looked like. The prevailing theory was that you each had a golden basin and a full sized bed with silk sheets to stretch out upon."

"Ha," Cullen barked once. "Perhaps for the Knight-Commander, but Knight-Lieutenants were left with little better than the mages."

"Really?" she placed a hand to her hip, not believing him. "Prove it."

Cullen blinked madly a moment, trying to reassess where this suddenly went. "All right, but there is a good chance it's been long since ransacked." Taking the lead, he guided Lana through one of the old doorways she'd never entered before. Sure enough there was a small staircase that led up to the third floor. It didn't connect with the other enchanter's bedrooms, somehow being cut off. No doubt to keep mages who didn't appreciate templar intervention from causing a ruckus with their unmentionables.

They passed first through what looked like a simple sitting room, benches stacked along the walls and a cold fireplace stewing in the back. Absently, Lana drew forth flame of the veil into it to light their way. "We'd pass some time here," Cullen explained.

"Card games, gossip, and the like?" she asked, having seen much the same with her own soldiers.

"There was more prayer involved, but yes, the like," he sighed, his shoulders seeming to rise in a knot. Lana reached out and caught his fingers in hers, squeezing tight. She was here with him, it would be all right.

Cullen nodded his thanks for it, then opened the door. Darkness and dust pervaded what felt a wide space, until Lana lit the sconces remaining screwed into the stone. "Maker's breath," he gasped, "it barely looks touched."

The beds were single, no having to deal with someone's errant foot drifting down near your face the way mages did, but the templar dormitories did look much the same. Beds sat close to each other with just enough space for a rug, perhaps to pray upon, a small chest, and a stand for armor. Cullen's eyes opened wide and he stared around the room. Almost as if on instinct his steps quieted, like he was often required to pad through there to keep from waking other templars.

"Where was your bed?" Lana asked, her fingers locking tighter to his.

It took a moment for her words to reach him, his free hand swiping dust off an old board that might have held duty rosters. "What? Oh, it was..." tugging her with, they zipped down a few lines of beds before coming to a stop beside a mattress set into a hard wood frame. There was no design to the frame beyond holding up a mattress, the bed achingly close to the floor. "This one," he said. Cullen glanced around and a sigh reverberated in his throat. "There were so many people here once."

"So you'd come here after a day of work?" Lana asked, drawing him from the darker past. He nodded as she touched the chest, "strip off your armor, say your prayers," she smiled at that, knowing all too well the ones he'd recite before bed. Cullen nodded along as her hand continued to crawl towards his lower back, "Then climb into bed and..."

"And...?" he tipped his head, at a loss.

Lana sidled up right before him, the cane abandoned to the chest as she hooked both her hands under the hem of his shirt. Nails sliding against his warm skin, she whispered, "And did your best to not-not think about me."

"Ah," he gasped, his eyes shooting open wide. "Well, um...there were a few times that, uh," his adams apple shot up higher, the middle aged man struggling through this facet of young life, "Merciful Andraste."

"All those years, all those dances, that little swim suit," Lana's eyes flickered up to his and she caught the blush she expected, "and you never once imagined what it'd be like if I came to you here?"

"Perhaps, sometimes," he struggled, his hand trying to knead all the awkwardness out through the back of his neck.

With barely any force, Lana pushed Cullen towards the bed. He obeyed her fingers but the confusion seemed to have fully taken over his brain. Backed against the bed, his knees bent, causing him to sit down hard on where he'd spent so many nights aching for her.

"Would I pad softly around a dozen slumbering templars, barely making a noise like a cat?" she asked. With a grip to his shoulders, Lana leaned her face close to those stricken lips. He seemed to be teetering on the edge of admitting to the memory, those honey eyes staring past her as he tried to cling to what was once proper.

"I don't," Cullen struggled before she dipped lower on her weary knees.

Warm breath caressed his ear, causing the man to shiver. "Slide up onto your bed wearing nothing but a robe, which I'd tug apart while your hands are free to...explore everything?"

Swallowing deep, he tipped his head up to hers and the guilt of how well she knew him vanished in a heartbeat. Cullen read the ache and, yes, mischief in her eyes. Before she could whisper the next part of the young templar's fantasy, he gripped onto her jaw with those strong fingers, tugging her to him for a wet kiss. Lips lapped over top each other, the married couple devouring each other as if they'd never attempted it before.

Freed of the bonds of propriety, Cullen's hand cupped along her spreading hips and wound towards the same ass cheek he'd pinched earlier. His palm kneaded tighter against her flesh as if he wished to pull all her clothes off in one go, but something was holding him back.

Breaking the kiss, Cullen's hazy eyes honed back in on her as he murmured, "You know me too well."

"Lay down," she ordered.

"Wh...Lana, why should I...?"

"The Knight-Lieutenant asks too many questions," she purred, shoving his shoulder backwards to the dusty mattress. There were no blankets to cushion or provide warmth, but what she had planned wouldn't require them. Cullen obeyed, his legs sliding up to tuck into what had once been his bed, but his hands lay limply to the sides. Concern and uncertainty were obvious to read in his face, but a hint of lust lingered. Was it the same he'd try to wipe away after spotting her fresh from the bath or running through the tower halls in little clothing during summer heats?

Her occupied body made it difficult, but Lana reached in under her robes and managed to tug down the only scrap of clothing to get in the way. Perched upon the bed, she was able to snatch her pale blue panties off her swollen ankle. Amber eyes watched as if in fear he'd have to tackle her to stop this encroaching madness. Cullen hadn't been this on edge since before their first time together in the deep roads.

"Hold these," she ordered, placing her underwear into his grasp. The man who regularly hung up their laundry stared at her unmentionables as if they were some holy relic he just accidentally stole out of the chantry. Wadded into his fist, only a hint of the blue lace poked out of the edge as Lana undid the knot to her robe. Alas, they fell open to reveal, instead of bare flesh, her traveling clothes -- a light sweater with a knee high skirt, but she could make it work.

Gulping, and clearly trying to hang on to sanity with the edge of his nails, Cullen's free hand cupped against her side. "Lana?" he whispered.

"Shh..." she said, her voice following to his low level, "we should be quiet." Slowly she traced her fingers down his chest, all but tasting the excitement rising in his face, until she cupped against the growing erection straining his trousers. Cullen gasped at her impetuous move and Lana placed a finger to her lips, shushing him again.

There wasn't much room to work with, so she only undid the belt and unclasped the front of his pants. Maker bless that man for never letting any knickers get in the way.

Freed of the indignity of clothing, Lana's palm gently swooped from the head of his cock downward. Despite her orders to keep silent, Cullen groaned, his eyes flying shut while his nails dug into her blue lace. A stuttering breath responded as he staggered up to stare at her. Decades faded from her mind: the wear, the miles, even the concept of her pregnant belly -- she stared down at that young templar who caught her attentions from across the grand room. Maker, even as she tortured him about the idea she couldn't deny how often as a girl she wondered about finding him alone. Dragging him off to a back part of the library and savoring all those parts of theirs that were different but fit so deliciously together.

"Lana," he moaned, staring as if it was the first time they'd ever seen each other.

"Honey eyes," she whispered back, a smile flirting with his lips at the ache in her voice. Blessed Andraste, how she wanted him. Stretching upon her thighs, she straddled Cullen's waist, barely pausing to adjust for her stomach. Her fingers rolled around the bottom of his cock, extending it straight up.

Tipping down as far as her stomach would allow towards his face, Lana breathed, "I love you," as she thrust herself deep onto his hard erection.

"Dear Maker," Cullen groaned, his lips whiffling as he tried to remain motionless while the woman of his old fantasies rode him slow at first but gaining speed with every thrust.

"Tell me," she ordered, her body's desire driving his generous cock deeper with momentum. "Did you dream of this? Want it? Wrap your fingers around yourself while begging for me?"

He panted harder, his toes flexing to dig into the ancient mattress. His hips twisted higher, thrusting with her to drive right against her internal buttons. "Blessed Andraste, damn near every night!" Cullen cried.

The sheen of their little play snapped off, the man returning to devour her as he wished. Scooping up the hem of her sweater, Cullen's fingers cupped tight to her breasts. He shoved up everything in the way, allowing his warm skin to tease hers. _Sweet Maker!_ Kneading into her breasts with all the skills of a master, Cullen drew forth such a throbbing heat between her legs she began to rock her hips. Guiding her to find the perfect rhythm, his fingers circled up and down her nipples, Lana matching it with herself wrapped around his cock.

Her husband and lover, the man that was once so young to barely be called that upon meeting him, shut his eyes tight as he neared the abyss. Words of the chant dripped from his quivering lips. Was that what he'd do while he pleasured himself to thoughts of her? Maker's breath, why was that such a turn on?

With as deep a thrust down as her thighs could manage, Lana felt the stirrings first within her when a deep grunt and then a louder, "Merciful Andraste," gasped from Cullen's lips. He dropped her breasts, the sweater falling back into place, in order to pin her hips down. Bucking his own, he clung to the last vestiges of his orgasm while Lana watched the pleasure play across his face.

Taking a shuddering breath, those honey eyes opened and he stared up at her. A giddy laugh broke free, which he tried to shake off. Trapped between the here and the past, he seemed uncertain what to do beyond being amazed. Staring over at his fist, Cullen muttered in seeming shock, "I still have your underwear."

Lana laughed at the sincerity in his voice, "Yes, you do." She should climb off him, try to mop the mess up that'd spill out of her, and pluck her underwear free to slip back on. But this wasn't some quick tryst to work off tension fast before the other templars caught on. He was hers, and they had all the time they wished. Cullen seemed to blink through the euphoric haze settling on his brain to reach the same conclusion.

Bending those stomach muscles trapped behind far too much cloth, he sat up. Fingers wrapping back through her hair, Cullen sighed in contentment as he brushed his forehead against hers. Lana pulled him tight to her for the kisses her stomach made impossible before. She felt the lingering ache in between her thighs crying out for more, but Maker, all she wanted was to kiss him the way she never could in the tower before.

Sweet lips slipped from hers, Cullen whispering, "That wasn't supposed to happen. I mean, I very much enjoyed it, but I wanted this to be for you. A day devoted to you and not the..."

Circling the scruffy cheek, Lana's thumb ran down the small cleft in his chin as she smiled, "You really think you were the only one dreaming for that to happen when I was an apprentice?"

"I..." he stuttered, blinking rapidly as the blush returned. Cullen moved to wrap his hand through the back of his neck, but Lana caught it to thread through her fingers.

"While I may have been good at following the rules, I wouldn't say that my mind was perfectly pure all the time," she snickered, her lips trailing up to softly nibble upon his earlobe.

"Maker's...beloved," Cullen trembled, those honey eyes slipping closed as his adams apple rolled upward. "Then," he coughed, "I feel it is my duty to fulfill all your fantasies."

"All of them?" Lana lifted an eyebrow, daring him.

"Within reason," Cullen tacked on, causing her to laugh. Nuzzling his lips to her neck, he began to press kisses to her birthmark. Sweet Maker, she'd been happy to leave it at 0 and 1, but the throbbing ache returned as his warm mouth caressed her skin. Dipping lower near the top of her breasts swaddled in the sweater, Cullen whispered, "There's always your bed, Apprentice."

The bunk beds they'd clambered on as children, sometimes building forts much to templar consternation, broken like shattered ribs. Blankets stripped free, mattresses exploded and drenched in blood. So much blood. Lana began to shake, and it took a moment before Cullen realized it wasn't due to anticipation. This was her home for so long, but it was taken from her. Barely a Grey Warden and she returned to the halls where she knew every stone, every notch, to find her friends without faces, her teachers broken into pieces.

A hand cupped her cheek, the warmth pulling her from the dark memory. Lana tried to shake it off, forcing a smile on, but he must have known. Maybe he felt the same too. Cullen's arms wrapped tight to her in a hug and slowly he pulled her down to rest on top of him.

Laying together, apprentice and templar; bodies wound up, legs beside legs, hands clinging to backs, it had seemed so impossible for so long. He smoothed his fingers up and down her arm, the sweater clinging tighter as he did. "So much time," Lana breathed, not even certain what she was saying.

"Many people lived here, good people," Cullen said, his voice stripped. He seemed to be staring through the ceiling. Could he see all the way to the fourth floor where he'd been trapped for...far too long?

"It's all gone," she buried her cheek tighter to his chest, needing the safety of her husband. "The circles, the templars, everything we ever knew... I thought the tower was immutable, that my life would be lived trapped between these stones. I'd grow, I'd study, and I'd die here. There was little else. And now..."

"I have you," Cullen insisted, perhaps feeling as crushed by the weight of time marching forward as she did.

Lana tipped her head up, her fingers wandering over his scratchy cheek, "And I have you, even if I never ever thought... Maker's sake," she gasped, "we're going to have a baby."

He laughed once at that, struggling to sit up higher so he could watch her caress her stomach. Placing his hand beside hers, Cullen breathed against the top of her head, "Yes, we are."

"A family. I never imagined. Forget the Grey Wardens, even being a mage it seemed impossible..." Her eyes drifted around the fading room. A few tapestries remained in tatters, moths chewing chunks off the ends until most of the sword of mercy that bore the templar crest disappeared. Soon there would be nothing remaining but the empty bar. It was all going to vanish.

"Lana," Cullen whispered, drawing her to him.

"Hm?"

"What about Agatha?" he asked and she curdled her face.

"Maker, no. That's a hard pass. I thought you were set on Serena."

He shifted under her to denote a shrug, "It sounds far too close to the Orlesian empress and I'd rather not be reminded of her every time I gaze down at my daughter."

"You're gonna have to come up with a boy's name too. Just in case," she said. Together they snuggled back upon the bed, the soon-to-be father cuddling the weary soon-to-be mother close to his chest.

"Perhaps," he said, once again avoiding the fact there was a good chance it wasn't a girl inside her.

"Are you under the impression you can simply will what sex the child will be?" she snickered.

Lips pressed to her forehead whispered, "Consider it blind faith."

"Cullen," her voice shattered through the air, the thought that clung to her tongue but never slipped past her teeth finally growing wings. "Do you think our baby could be a mage?"

His arms stiffened, as she expected. He had to know it was highly likely, but she had no idea how he'd react or if he'd put any thought into it. _What if...?_

"It is possible," he said, his voice low.

"Do you," Lana swallowed the lump in her throat and continued, "do you worry that our child will be?"

"Lana, I..."

"Mages hurt you, I understand, and they -- we -- are dangerous. To see that same potential threat in your child's eye is..."

"Lana," he sat up, his hands keeping her held tight to his chest so she could look into his face. "I do worry, but only because of how the world views mages. How much more difficult life can be with magic. How cruel it is to have to fear possession. All the pain that comes with being a mage."

She snickered, her eyes darting down towards her stomach. "And yet, it doesn't stop us from being born." Maker only knew what was sleeping inside of there, growing bigger every day. The Maker only knew what would come of it.

"I thank Andraste every day that you were," he said.

Her watering vision darted up to the man who'd loved her for longer than seemed imaginable. "What if I was born without magic?"

"No, just the way you are," Cullen moved to place a kiss to her forehead, but she lifted up higher. Tears of both joy and fear dripped down her cheeks to land upon his while their lips melded.

"This, uh," Lana took a staggering breath to try and catch her bearings, "this probably wasn't your intentions for the day."

"You could say that," he smiled, his thumbs trying to wick away her tears. "Originally, I was going to lead up to the roof so we could have a picnic under the stars."

Her heart bloomed at the idea, "There's still time."

"I..." his smile dimmed as Cullen stared down at his hands, "I brought you here, back to Kinloch because they're going to tear the tower down."

"I know," she snuggled tighter to him. At his look of surprise, she added, "You think you're the only one who Arl Teagan talks to? I'm not surprised, the College has little use for it and the bandits have been a problem out here. It's...it makes sense."

"It's your home," he gasped, unable to shake off the shock at how she'd already moved on from the loss.

Lana knew every scratch in the floor, where the stone was broken and then carefully put back. Where a floorboard slid up to allow apprentices to stash secret letters and contraband. How to get across the library without making a sound. Exactly the pitch needed to rattle the windows in the atrium. She'd lived here for over 13 years. Grew here, learned how to read and write, cast spells, built friendships, met the man she loved. Had life snap back at her with the hard lesson that the world wasn't fair, that sometimes bad happened no matter how good one tried to be, and in the end, all you had was yourself to stand up against it.

Rubbing her hand across her husband's cheek, she smiled, "It was my home, but my home now is with you." Dragging his hand along her stomach, she added, "With both of you."

## CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

#### Baby Shower

31 weeks...

The lingering celebratory atmosphere drifted an inch above the floorboards. Reiss sat propped up upon a makeshift throne crafted out of their case files. While not comfortable, someone was kind enough to take the time to add a cushion below her expanding ass. In the chair to her right, perched like the evil Regent in all those courtly stories, was Lunet. Rather than twirling her mustache, she was tipping back the last of her beer. The crew had long drained the keg and were trying to finish off the last few drops between them all.

"Knock it off! I've had enough!" Jorel screeched from the only desk not covered in opened gifts, plates of remaining food, or nearly dozing detectives. He tried to wave his arms and pull the giant qunari lady off of him, but Qimat was too strong.

"Stop squirming," she ordered, yanking a diaper pin off of her horns and jabbing it towards Jorel's skin, "I nearly got this!" The dwarf was of sound enough mind to freeze as the pin mercifully went through white fabric and not his innards.

"You know, you can't exactly ask babies to stop moving while doing that," Reiss chuckled at what began as one of those foolish games done to try and teach the impending mother what fresh hell she stepped into. But, seeing as how her entire office was full of the child-less and often proud of it, it quickly devolved into seeing who could properly get a diaper onto Jorel.

"Babies don't have his grip," Qimat responded. She narrowed her eyes, honing in on a corner of fabric that shouldn't be poking out of the diaper. Rather than yank it out and restart, she tugged it forward and up, no doubt nestling Jorel's testicles higher than they'd been in years. He yelped at the indignity, but wouldn't fight back as the qunari pinned the errant corner in place and picked the dwarf up under his arms.

"There, all done!" she smiled. Qimat was a great asset to the Solvers. At first she was plucked up off the streets because she was very large and people didn't want to mess with someone who could crack their skull open one handed. But, after warming to the rest in the agency, she became a surprisingly wonderful good-cop, charming suspects and witnesses alike into revealing things they'd never intended to.

"I hate you," Jorel grumbled, his arms crossed below the braided beard as he kicked his legs helplessly above the ground. They'd let him keep his trousers on for this sudden game, but it was still disconcerting to see a grown man wearing a diaper, especially with a pin jabbed right into the area above his crotch. It was a wonder the grumbling and loud mouthed Jorel was chosen for this humiliation when the soft-spoken twin Kurt sat quietly to the side. But perhaps that was why. No one wanted to disappoint Kurt, but giving it back to Jorel was a typical Tuesday.

"Well," Qimat asked, still waving the poor dwarf back and forth like a toddler. Her eyes cut through to Reiss who sat up in confusion.

"You're supposed to judge who was the best at it," Lunet explained, the one who'd planned all of this trying to take the lead. She'd taken the vague idea of a typical baby announcement then added an office party on for good measure.

Sliding off her throne, Reiss gripped under her stomach as she walked towards the glowering dwarf. "I'm afraid you have it all lopsided. You don't want to jab any pins near the baby's, um...nether region like that," she explained, her eyes darting up to Qimat.

Qimat shrugged, "Not like there's much to nick down there."

"Enough to get the job done," Jorel fumed, then sneered as titters broke out through the office. "More than enough!" he insisted, already doomed for a good month.

Sighing, Reiss moved to yank the pins off of Jorel but the dwarf snarled like a mad mabari. Her mabari was currently dozing under a pile of sausage wrappers. Accepting the dwarf wasn't about to let her use him as an example, Reiss fumbled for one of the dolls that was supposed to be used for the game. "Here, like this." Folding the cloth, Reiss mused to herself, "Like a kite, then you take this bottom part forward and...tada, all pinned in place."

Qimat stared down at how quickly she'd managed to get the baby doll clothed, then back to Jorel. "How'd you do that so fast?"

"If you ever have to diaper a little boy you learn to fly or get pissed on," Reiss chuckled. "I'm certain you'll figure it out, just keep trying," she encouraged Qimat. The qunari grinned at Jorel, who growled, but let himself be placed back upon the desk to try again.

Strange. The dwarf suffered no one, always the first to run barrel headlong into danger much to his poor, suffering brother's consternation. Climbing onto her chair again, Reiss' voice drifted down as she spoke to Lunet, "I'm beginning to think Detectives Qimat and Jorel are a thing."

"No shit," Lunet snorted, "been going at it for a month or so. Though they ain't told anybody yet officially. The dangers of an office romance surrounded by all us investigators."

"What?" Reiss staggered up, staring down at her friend who was drifting into her preferred state of a boozy haze. "How did I not know that?" She scrutinized her two people, the ones she was supposed to watch and know inside and out. An entire month they'd been intimate? Her mind tried to play back the end of day lock ups of late, Jorel impatient but...had he been waiting for Qimat to finish up so they could leave together?

"Hey," Lunet interrupted, "it ain't that big a surprise you missed it. Been a little busy what with the Perp and all. Lots o' them trips up to the castle and back takes time away from staring at us trying to avoid work and ferreting out all our dark secrets."

She curled her fingers over her stomach, trying to shake off the painless flutters of her Perp doing the walk inside her womb. "Still..." Reiss felt a sting in the back of her head. She didn't want to miss out on their lives, even as her own became vastly more complicated.

"You know those two. Jorel'll say something stupid, probably curse in dwarven, Qimat will take great offense. There'll be a duel for honor. Assuming they both survive, loud makeup sex, then they break up," Lunet sized up the situation the same as Reiss would, though in more lewder terms. "Didn't seem like a big thing to worry you over."

Her friend paused and pulled the lip of the bottle away from her mouth, "Wasn't there some big todo up in Arlathan with the princess and a tiara or some junk? Didn't it need you there too?"

"I believe so," Reiss shrugged, "but it doesn't involve me."

"You sure about that?" Lunet asked, her foot knocking back and forth into the case files. "I mean, that'll be like your...what, step-daughter, kinda? Won't your Perp be expected to go to all the fancy birthday parties and garden lunches with its blue blood siblings?"

"I...I hadn't considered," she blinked.

"Well, best be considering it now. Hours surrounded by high-born humans politely clapping while babies shit their drawers. You'll go full out of your mind in boredom. Oh, and buy good dress shoes that don't pinch," Lunet offered up the only advice she had before returning to watching the qunari and dwarf battle for supremacy.

Reiss stared down at her stomach. As it expanded beyond means, she'd taken to wearing some of Alistair's tunics -- about the only clothing available to her that was long enough. But for the party, her friends all got together to knit her quite possibly the ugliest sweater imaginable. Everyone in the office threw in their own stitching pattern as well as ball of yarn leaving it to look as if a knitting basket vomited across her. Barely large enough to cover her widening flesh, it stretched and pulled in odd places with a gaping hole where her cleavage pressed together, it was both disturbingly ugly and the sweetest gift she'd received. They must have been working on it for awhile, long before she ever screwed up the courage to tell them. And they knit it all in secret without her knowing.

There had been many trips to the palace. Alistair insisted she meet with a healer there at least once a week because anyone in the alienage wouldn't be good enough. She scoffed at first until he pulled his eyebrows in together and whispered about the taint. For that Reiss had no argument, so she went even if most trips ended with 'You're fine, maybe a bit of heartburn, but fine.' Then there were other matters to handle, such as choosing a cradle which then required a vanity and changing table to match. Her brother was kept inside an apple crate for four months after being born. That was what she knew. Every mark of royalty struck her as superfluous. But, her trips to the palace weren't all baby business. Reiss wanted to see him, to watch his eyes light up as he babbled with her stomach. Maker, it was as if those two were already having conversations -- the Perp inside her waking and kicking whenever it heard Alistair.

But how much of her life here was she missing out on for those moments? How much kept passing on by with no one thinking it was worth mentioning to the boss?

"How'd you get so good at folding up the nappies? They pound it into your head in the castle? Or did one o' them in the Marches hire you on as a nanny?" Lunet placed down her mug and snatched up a sausage. For whatever reason she found it hilarious that the menu for this party was figs and sausage. Subtle wasn't Lunet's strong suit. A few of the other detectives were waving the tiny wieners on sticks near Jorel who snarled and knocked them all away.

"My parents," Reiss answered. "I started a bit with my sister, but a lot of it was Lorace. When he came along, my mother was too busy with work and a lot of it fell to me." She flinched, the familiar hollowness that came with the memories of her parents flooding back. Reiss ached for them to be happy, but every warm memory was tinged in blood and death. Her mother trusted her eldest to nurture her siblings, so much of the day to day drudgery of child rearing falling to Reiss. At the time, she'd complain in a whisper, well aware what doing it aloud would cost her, but in the end she needed it. Needed to know how to deal with her siblings when the blight took her parents from her. She'd cried and bled for her brother and sister, on occasion bitter at what was forced upon her, but refusing to give up.

"I wonder what my mother would think about all this. Me, having a baby...while unmarried. She'd be getting a grandchild, but a human-blooded one," Reiss worked her fingers back and forth, wishing she had a quill to jab at parchment.

"Round ears sure, but it's also one from a King. That's got to put a bigger notch in the plus column, eh?" Lunet jabbed her elbow into Reiss' side, trying to make her smile.

"You don't know my parents. They were...devout. I'm certain it'd be nothing but anger, ridicule, then shunning for my not only being knocked up outside of wedlock but with a married man."

Lunet grabbed onto her elbow, seeming to steady Reiss' twitching fingers. "Rat, that ain't the only possibility. Sometimes people say one thing in the street, but shit in the home's different. They may have loved that little bugger. Could still, from, ya know, the Maker's side. Or wherever."

"What about you?" Reiss blinked trying to hide the tears Lunet's kindness birthed, "What would your father say if you were pregnant?"

"'Holy shit, she finally learned to love the dick.'" Lunet cocked one eyebrow up, then broke into laughter. "He'd probably throw a parade if I walked back into his shit hovel as round as you without any ring on my finger. You know the worst bit about it, he wasn't so bad a father before. Not as strict as others, never beat me or nothing. But I went and didn't accept his future, didn't want it, and it's as if I spat upon his ashes or something."

Steadying her breath, Lunet stared down at her hands. Knotted against her wrist was a golden threaded bracelet done up in a lace pattern. She twisted it about and a sad smile flitted against her lips. "As I said, they say one thing in the streets but it's different in the home."

Reiss didn't know what to say. Reaching over, she tried to catch Lunet's hand to comfort her, but the always composed woman already shook off any lingering pain from her old scars. "My life may not be perfect, or what's expected, but at least I ain't gonna face shit filled drawers and crying all hours of the night." Her smile cracked wider and she jabbed her elbow gently into Reiss' stomach. The Perp took the invasion poorly, rolling its feet around as if trying to fend it off.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Reiss groaned.

"Your life, not mine," she snickered, as if proud that she never need worry about falling into this situation.  Lunet swiped up an old bottle from her secret stash and before drinking asked, "Whatcha gonna do with your haul here?"

Reiss stared around at the gifts from people who she both employed and considered friends. They were given from a place of kindness if not a lagging comprehension of what babies entirely were. Mixed in with a few baskets of nappies and clothes was a serving tray minus anything that went on it, three cloves of garlic -- unexplained -- and a spoon. Kurt insisted that all the fancy babies got a spoon when they were born, though Reiss doubted it was usually made of wood and slotted. Still, everything could probably be used by her and her child, eventually.

"Take them upstairs, I guess. As if my place isn't crowded enough."

"Not to the palace, then?" Lunet asked, one eye drifting over to her boss. Reiss had expected her old friend to put up a fight about her decision to move on up for a year, but she only sighed and said 'Aye, not surprising.' Still, even with Lunet's blessing, it felt as if she didn't really want her to go.

"They've got lots of things up there already, I think. I'll need stuff here too, ya know."

"For when you return," Lunet agreed, bobbing her head like a stork caught in a windstorm.

"Yes," Reiss turned to her, catching the sarcasm in her voice. "For when I come back."

"In a year," Lunet added, "or more, depending on how long that kid takes to scurry out of ya."

"I will be visiting too," Reiss caught her other employees holding their breaths as they listened in, "often, to check in and see how things are progressing."

"Sure ya will boss, sure ya will," Lunet nodded her head, silencing her sour lips with more liquor. As she popped it away, she wiped off her caustic tongue then glanced to the side. "Ah, right, slipped my mind, there's another present here for ya."

"Unsurprising in this chaos that I'd miss one," Reiss muttered, accepting the brown package from Lunet's fingers. Strange, it was clearly brought in by carrier or messenger. As her fingers drew across the address she moved a section of twine to find a stamp from Val Royeaux upon it. Turning it over, the seal of the Grand Cathedral itself glistened in golden wax.

Lunet read the trepidation as Reiss glared down in terror at the gift. "What's the matter? Worried it's another kidney or some guy's left toe?"

"I think it's from my sister," Reiss breathed. Six months and she finally thought to pick up a quill and condemn her to the void. Lunet shifted at that, already prepared to snatch away whatever was about to offend or attack her friend and boss.

Shaking off the fear, Reiss slit open the string and wrenched free the paper. A wooden box marked for potion bottles sat in her hands, causing Lunet to snort, "Maybe she sent you her errands by mistake."

It was too light to be full of glass and didn't clink. Something was inside, for certain, but not what was marked on the box. Slowly, Reiss drew back the lid until it fell out of her shaking fingers. Sitting in a nest of straw was a small book and a folded scrap of ivory colored fabric. She picked up the book first, slightly larger than the one she took out into the field with a soft, pinkish-red leather cover. It fell open to reveal her name written in gold ink, below it was a place for the father and their eventual child. 'Baby's First Chant of Light.'

Embedded into the paper was the phrase, "A learned child is a blessing upon his parents and onto the Maker."

Reiss passed the book over to Lunet who was staring as if it were a poisonous snake. Plucking up the fabric, it unfolded to reveal itself to be a dress for a baby. It was tied in the back for easy access with tight sleeves to keep the child warm. A single card was tucked inside the dress, which fell into Reiss' palm.

"'Please forgive the lateness, it seems my sewing and embroidering skills are not what they once were,'" she read aloud, twisting the card holding her sister's words back and forth. "She...embroidery?"

Lifting the dress up higher, Reiss spotted the words sewn in a beautiful looping script along the hem, "No matter what, you're family." _Maker's breath!_ Tears burst from her eyes as she clasped a hand to her mouth.

Lunet tugged the dress up, inspecting the words herself and shaking her head. "What's it mean?"

"It's..." Reiss blubbered through the tears, "it's something our mother used to say. When we'd do wrong, really wrong. Atisha thought that she was going to be sold to someone for a misdeed, slavers, a circus. I can't remember. Mom, she, she grabbed her arm and said that. Meant it. Even when at odds we were in this together. Sweet Andraste," she tried to wipe away at the tears on a full downpour.

Some of that was courtesy of her body teeming with life, but so much was thanks to her sister. How could she even fear that Atisha'd turn on her? After everything they did, the struggles to survive, to keep in contact even with countries between them? "I have to, uh, I should..." Reiss glanced around, barely able to see through the waterfall dripping across her eyes.

"Hey," Lunet caught her, "you can write to her later. There's plenty of time. This is a party, right. Got to celebrate and all."

Reiss nodded. Carefully, she folded up the dress and placed it into the box before gripping it tight against the top of her stomach. "You think I'll put down something completely out of character to my sister and that'll worry her, don't you?"

Her friend shrugged, "You've been getting as sappy as the damn Vhenedhal tree in fall. If I knew filling with a Perp could do that I'd, well, I'd stick with the ladies."

Shoving her shoulder into Lunet, Reiss chuckled as she was pulled back to reality. "There is a lot left to do still, the Hanson case for starters."

"Ugh," Lunet groaned before lifting her voice to warn the others, "I think that's the longest the boss has gone before returning to 'hey, people are still getting murdered out there. Let's get back to work' mode."

"Well, people are still being murdered. They don't stop just because babies are being born," Reiss muttered. "Though, that would be nice." Her fingers crested over her stomach.

She had so much left here to do. There were a good three cases on her docket as well as some follow ups she promised scattered around the office. Her people were good but another set of eyes always helped. And, Maker take her, she hadn't done a thing to prepare her apartment for the baby. Every time she began to put thought into getting a crib or even just putting her knives and other weapons out of reach, another crisis would arrive, or she'd stumble into bed exhausted, or she'd be needed up at the palace.

Was there any chance the Perp could remain inside of her for another good six or seven months? Reiss should have everything together by then. As if reading her thoughts, Lunet passed the Hanson file over, then asked, "How long until you think you'll be leaving us for good?"

"We've got a few months left." She paused, remembering how near Satinalia was, "A month, at least. Perhaps more. I don't see a reason for me to hide up at the palace until it's really close."

"You're not moving up there until the kid's head's sticking out between your thighs," Lunet laughed at the absurdity, but a hope seemed to glimmer inside of it at the infamous Sayer stubbornness. She didn't want Reiss to leave.

"The way this case is going it may not be until the child can cut off their own umbilical cord," she groaned, flipping through the file. Maker, this was a mess of a head scratcher. A butcher, a baker, and a candlestick maker all found beheaded down by the docks. All they had to go on was some shady mention of a Jack and a knocked over candlestick.

Reiss was too absorbed in the evidence to look up at the sound of the door opening, until she heard a voice say, "Awe, don't tell me I missed the party."

Alistair smiled at her, then he glanced over at Qimat and Jorel, "And the dwarf diapering contest as well...?" Jorel sneered but didn't respond to the King. Instead, he sniped at his lover who began to bicker back. Perhaps that duel of honor would be coming quicker than Lunet surmised.

Sliding in around the desks, Alistair beamed down at Reiss before placing a kiss to her cheek, "There's the woman of the hour."

"I saved you some cake," she said, gesturing towards the few plates Reiss managed to barricade off from her sugar starved crew.

"This is why I love you," he mused, returning to her for a proper kiss. "Well, there are a lot of other reasons, but cake procurement is up there. Where's Muse?" he wondered aloud.

"Under the desk, sleeping."

Dropping to a knee, Alistair found the agency's dreaded guard dog covered in ribbons and bows in varying shades of blue and pink. He had to rub Muse's head, the dog happy at the attention, before snatching up a piece of cake. From her perch by the window, Sylaise glanced a single cautious yellow eye at the king before deciding the nap was better.

Slowly, her people began to filter back to their desks accepting the party was over and work remained. Reiss followed suit, rising off of her throne and waddling back towards her own desk.

Alistair trailed behind, his wide eyes glancing around at the mess, "How'd it go?"

"Good," Reiss answered. "It was fun and sweet, so many presents. And..." she felt her throat tighten at Atisha's gift.

Alistair sensed the change, his fingers covered in frosting gripping onto her arm, "Reiss?"

She turned back and smiled at him, "I heard from my sister. It's good, she's good, okay with it. I mean."

"Thank the Maker," Alistair breathed. As Reiss sat on her chair, he slid across the desk and stared down at her. "I know it was weighing on you and all, so...one more problem down."

"Yep," she smiled, grateful for that weight to be lifted.

"All that's left is getting to your due date, and getting that baby out of you."

"You make it sound so easy," Reiss stared up at him, the father of two scooping his sticky fingers against her cheek. He noticed his mess and after wincing at the mistake, tried to wipe it off with his hand. Finding it all hilarious, Reiss licked the frosting off his fingers. She hadn't meant it to be sensuous, but Alistair's breathing slowed and they both shared in the same flush.

"Well, uh, I know the whole birthing part isn't a walk in the park, but...we'll have a baby at the end of it. You and me, together," he bent down, placing his lips to hers. She kissed the man who always tasted of sprinkles and sunshine.

Her heart felt lighter being near him, knowing that she was about to be a mother, but...as her eyes drifted away from him she caught Lunet staring forlornly at the torn paper scattered upon her desk. "Soon," Reiss whispered to herself, her hand dropping away from her work to caress her stomach, "It'll all happen soon."

## CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

#### It's Time

36 weeks...

Howls, unnaturally sharp for the deep roads, echoed off the stone crumbling around Lana. Dust, there was always too much dust. Dipping down to her knees, she tried to wipe the dust off of her shoes only to draw her hand back coated in blood.

_What the...?_

A piercing cry broke the air.

Whipping her head up, she broke into a run down the ancient road in pursuit of the sound. Her Grey Warden robes swished around her ankles while she unsheathed the staff off her back. In the distance, across from the crumbling ground, a gang of hurlocks glanced back towards whatever was crying while scampering in fear away from it. Strange, there were darkspawn around her but she couldn't sense them.

It was a problem to solve later. Lana redoubled her efforts, pursuing the tears because her body told her to. Someone was in pain. That was it. It was a cry of pain, or fear, as if a terrifying darkness was encroaching upon the poor soul. Shadows erupted out from below her feet, clouding the cavern. Lana twisted around trying to find her exit or even where she came from, but it all vanished into the void. There was nothing here but the sound of her breath and heartbeat.

No. There was another. Below her more experienced throbbing heart was a smaller flutter, barely strong enough to strike the air, but it existed. The noise called to her, pulling her further along out of the void. As darkness faded she stepped into the light of day brighter than staring into the sun.

Lana threw her hand up to block it, only to be met by the sounds of battle. Yanking her blinder away, she stared in shock to find herself atop the tower of Fort Drakon. Darkspawn swarmed in the multitude; soldiers, mages, elves, and dwarves all fighting for their lives and their cause. She tried to make sense of what was happening, how she could get from the deep roads to here, when the cry began again.

By daylight, her ears recognized the wails of an infant. It tugged at her soul, the baby in a shrill panic as if it'd been starving for days. Turning around, she spotted a pile of blankets sitting in the middle of a ring of soldiers trying to fight off darkspawn. A hurlock corpse tumbled right beside the baby, its black blood dribbling near the pile of blue and silver blankets.

Swords and bodies shifted, trying to block Lana from the child. Gritting her teeth, she barely broke the veil to send both soldier and darkspawn flying. Below her feet the blankets rustled, the baby waving its arms and legs in pain. She had no idea how to help, but she had to try. Dipping to a knee, Lana scooped up the bundle. Her fingers moved to draw back the blanket that fell over the child's head, when a roar that nearly cracked Ferelden in half shattered the air.

A black spot circled the sky, its shadow lengthening over the ground to swallow it whole, until the archdemon landed upon the top of the tower. Stretching out its tail, a cry erupted from the horned head that knocked every body back. All the soldiers turned from their darkspawn and ran headlong at the creature, their swords waving as a cry of "For Ferelden" rang from each throat. Lana was too far from it for her spells to even reach, but she spotted a familiar tuft of blonde hair dodging a swipe of the dragon's claws.

She blinked, and suddenly Lana stood before the weakened and bloody archdemon. A greatsword weighed down her exhausted arms, but the knowledge she had to finish this gifted her the strength. _But how? She'd just been over...?_ The baby forgotten, Lana lifted the sword high and moved to stab it right through the archdemon's throat.

As the blade was about to make contact, the dragon's head flipped around and a great yellow eye stared into hers. Its slit of a pupil constricted, power wafting off the creature while it seemed to be studying Lana as if weighing her heart. She tried to shake it off and finish the job, when the eye went milky white. A voice pounded in her head, inscrutable, but the depths of its baritone rumbled through her veins.

The tower lit up around her, every darkspawn body screaming through her head as she felt them all. Every voice. Every tooth. Every song.

A feral scream ripped apart Lana's throat, the pain agonizing. She tried to claw apart her burning flesh to free herself, but a hand caught her wrist to stop her.

"Lana?" a terrified voice whispered out of the darkness. "Lana, what is it?"

As soon as the pain struck it faded, allowing Lana to open up her eyes to find Cullen staring down at her. He'd cupped tight to her cheek, his eyes wide in panic. It was a dream, she tried to assure herself, nothing more than a darkspawn dream. But she knew that pain, she remembered it better than any other in her life.

"Was it a nightmare?" her husband asked. He didn't seem to want to let her go, but she sat up, letting her feet hit the floor, needing to see it was their abbey and not the deep roads. Bad dreams happened to them both, the past rearing up from where it should stay, causing one to wake and try to talk the other down. She'd often come to from visions of blood streaking down her arms to find herself curled up in Cullen's. All those bad turns, all those nights and she'd never seen him so stricken white before.

Hands curled against her shoulders, trying to massage away the pain as he rolled the strap of her nightgown back and forth. She wanted to fall into him, to let his touch soothe her as it always did, but it nibbled at the back of her brain. A tiny voice, almost imperceptible if she wasn't listening for it, sang for them all.

"Darkspawn," Lana gasped, her fingers curling tight to the bed.

"I feared as such," Cullen said.

"No," she shook her head, the tears dripping down her cheeks as she turned to face him, "it's...Cullen, it's back."

"What is?"

She wanted to be wrong. She begged to be wrong. But she knew in her soul she wasn't.

Screwing her eyes up tight, she breathed, "The taint."

"What are you talking about? The taint, but it's been...over a year. How can it be back?" He was panicking too, one hand digging into his neck while the other remained tight to her arm.

"I don't know," Lana shook her head, "I don't understand. Maybe I, I could have only knocked it down, and it was still there in my blood lurking. Waiting to resurge. I don't know," she gasped, her face folding into her lap.

"You're wrong," he insisted, "it was a bad dream. You dreamed about being a Warden and..."

"For the love the Maker," she spat, "I know what the taint is! I know what it feels like to have it swirling inside of me!" Her shout rang through their bedroom, Lana's wrath landing fast against her husband's insistent wall. He crumbled at her raw anger, Cullen drifting inward as she was struck back by it. Their one hope stolen from them. She'd been so cocky, so certain that she'd been the one to solve the curse.

"What if...?" Cullen blinked through the start of tears, "You can take it again. Give yourself another year, and then another, and..."

"That's assuming it'd even work again, or be as effective with each dose. I need to..." She shuffled off the bed and attempted to rise to her feet when pain walloped up her stomach. Gasping, Lana tumbled to a knee. It felt as if her intestines were set on fire and then tried to flee in terror. She attempted to knead the flaming pain away, her knuckles rolling across her lower stomach not swollen with child.

"Lana..." Cullen dashed off the bed and fell to the ground beside her.

She took in a steadying breath, shaking her head, "It's, they said it could happen. That there'd be..." Lana moved to wrap her hand around her husband to help her rise, when another one hit, stronger and deeper inside. "Maker's breath," she groaned, trying to escape the pain coming from within her.

"Oh no," Lana felt something wet sliding between her legs. As she drew back her fingers, she blanched at the blood that'd begun.

Cullen gasped, his face in a near panic as she tried to rise, "Lana, you're hurt."

His words were so simple it drew a perverted laugh to her throat. Trying to bury it, she gritted out, "The baby's coming."

"So soon?" he tried to scoop his hand under her stomach as if he could tell his child to calm down, "Is it too soon?"

"I have no idea," she admitted, tears springing forward. "I fear my body's rejecting the child, because of the taint."

"What...?" Cullen gulped, the panic she wished she could have found adorable gripping tight. The about to be father's bumbling should be quaint and something to laugh at later. Instead, her own heart was racing as the pain of both impeding childbirth and the blight wracked her body. Her own fear threatened to engulf her pounding heart. "What do we do?"

"Help me up," she ordered, her husband guiding his arms around her back, "then, you'll have to send for Misha."

"The local midwife?" he sneered while sliding her back to bed. She groped down to find the blood pooling between her crotch wasn't as much as she feared. "I thought you hated her. What about using Mia's..."

Lana dipped into the fade to feel her baby's life strong, its little heart thumping but growing more urgent as if in fear or running from danger. Shaking it away, she gripped onto Cullen's hand, "We don't have a choice. This kid's coming fast."

"Okay," he nodded, "I'll, I'll send someone to collect her...just," Cullen moved to slide away, but he kept his hand knotted around hers. As their tether reached the end, he gasped, "Tell me you'll be okay. Tell me you'll survive this and not, just promise me."

She was walking a fine tightrope across the unknown. A single wobble of her ankle or a blast of wind and Lana would topple into the void. In the process she'd lose not only her life, but her child's as well. Putting on a fake smile, she lied to Cullen, "I'll be okay."

Wiping away the tears, he snatched up a pair of pants and dressed quickly. "Once I find whoever's awake and send them, I'll come right back. How many of the healing draughts should I bring? All of them? And towels. There was something about boiling towels..." He spoke to himself, needing to have something to do while Lana lay her hand against her stomach.

Please be okay, little one.

Please don't let my blood have poisoned you.

* * *

By the time Misha arrived the contractions had slowed along with the pain from the taint re-surging across her body. Lana was trying to keep focused away from the fear and abdomen wracking cramps by pacing back and forth in their room. Unaware she was doing it, her fingers kept snapping a single flame on and off from the candle upon her desk. It wasn't until Amber announced the arrival of the midwife that Cullen grabbed onto her hand to get her to stop.

She blanched at the foolish move, about to apologize for letting her magic nearly slip out, when he cupped his hands around her cheeks and moved to kiss her.

"You sent for me," Misha interrupted, trying to fill the doorway. There was truly no love lost between the local midwife who relied as much upon folk legends as common sense, and the sudden healer in the woods who seemed to mend people as if by magic. At first, Lana only interrupted into a birth if it was nearing a death even the glorified midwife couldn't handle. But as people came to trust the little woman in the abbey, no doubt in part thanks to their national love of her husband, Lana became requested by expectant mothers more than Misha.

The midwife was dressed in the typical delivery apron, dingy from use with a few stains that'd never come out. Her greying and dusky hair was rolled back tight into a knot, the fringe of bangs making her appear younger than she was. Twisting her pinched face around the room she spotted her nemesis clinging tight to her stomach, then nodded her head to Cullen. "Commander."

"Lana's in labor," he explained, speaking up first.

"And the miracle worker requires my services?" Misha chuckled harshly once, "Excuse me while I inspect the sky for flying nugs."

Cullen looked about to growl at her, but Lana gripped onto his arm and tugged him back. After sucking in a breath courtesy of the last round knocking through her spine, she stared up into Misha's hard blue eyes. "Please," she begged, "it's coming too early."

"How early?" the woman uncrossed her arms and began to slide into their bedroom.

"Four weeks, I think, perhaps three. The date wasn't the easiest to pin down," Lana confessed as Misha's cold fingers parted down her stomach.

"Hopefully the father was easier to determine," she muttered to herself, clearly enjoying having the upper hand. "Has the baby flipped yet?"

"No," Lana admitted, though out of everything going wrong somehow a breach was the least of her concerns.

Misha's eyes narrowed and she gazed at her, "But it's not a problem because you have some secret way of flipping 'em around, right?"

It was surprisingly easy for Lana to slip into the homes of people who'd never seen a mage in their life and cast spells. As long as she kept the fancy lights to a minimum they had no idea what was going on beyond suddenly feeling better. But the midwife who'd been through hundreds of births knew one couldn't just wave their fingers and roll a baby onto its head from inside the womb. At least no normal woman.

Hissing, a strong contraction seized up her lower half, sending Lana towards the ground. Cullen grabbed onto her hand while Misha, surprisingly, took the other. Together they guided her back to the bed as Lana tried to suck in breaths and steady herself. It took a few more before she felt she could speak.

"How far apart are the contractions?" Misha asked. She'd thrown aside her indifference as she helped Lana slide back onto the bed. Her palms slid across Lana's roiling stomach, palpating it to find the baby's head right where it shouldn't be.

"Once every two or three minutes," Lana said.

"Hm," Misha tapped a finger to her lips, "I know of a few herbs that can stop contractions. Perhaps buy you some more days..."

"No," Lana sat up, grabbing onto her hand in a blind panic. "It has to come out, now. I can't...I can't wait."

"Missing four weeks of growing time? Look, I'm not a fan of yours. Believe me, I'd be ecstatic if you up and left, along with your little abbey of healing so the rest of us can get back to what we know here. But I'd think even you know the baby needs to stay in there as long as possible."

Lana had no way to tell her that the taint could kill her baby, was probably trying to right now. Her eyes stared over at Cullen who looked white as a ghost, his lips pulled back into a sort of forced smile that came across as a skull's rictus. Taken together it enhanced his undead facade.

Catching on that her patient wasn't about to give in, Misha sighed, "What about your water. Has it broke?"

"No, but there was blood. Enough to be noticeable," Lana confessed. She felt a failure at everything. How many children had she delivered? Perfectly healthy and happy babies that she left suckling on their mothers, and her first time out it was turning into a disaster.

Misha followed Lana's eyes to spot the underwear and towel that mopped up the mess. True to her profession she didn't bat an eye at the gore, maintaining an aloof facade, but Lana knew it wasn't a good sign. "Perhaps you're right. It is doubtful the herbs will work."

"Maker's balls," Lana cried, her hand snapping out to grip anything as a fresh contraction pulverized her already tender hips. This one felt as if someone placed white hot spikes into her pelvis and tried to jam it open. Cullen dashed forward, knotting his fingers around her clamped ones as he whispered something of encouragement. She couldn't make it out through the pain.

Silently, Misha watched the performance, no doubt ticking her tongue at how Lana cracked from the pressure. She felt tears building in the sides of her eyes at the level of agony twisting through her body from a second joining to birthing a baby in the span of hours. Life was too cruel sometimes.

"Breathe," Misha said. "In and out, you know how to do it. Think of something distracting. Many recite the Chant of Light."

Dripping from Lana's lips came the first and last thing she wanted to think upon. "In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. Oh Maker," she shuddered, the acute pain fading away to leave behind only her typical background level. As she returned to herself, she glanced up into Cullen's amber eyes, her mouth already finishing the phrase, "In death, sacrifice."

"That wasn't what I was expecting, but it worked," Misha said. "All right, I'll need to check you over, see how things are getting on down there. But, I need to speak with the Commander first. Are you okay on your own?"

Lana nodded, her teeth biting into her lip. The Grey Warden motto rattled around in her mouth like a bitter draught. It was why she was giving birth a month early, why she feared with every contraction pang what would come out of her, and also a reminder that she failed to finish it. Her victory against the archdemon, her vigilance in rebuilding the order, did none of it matter as she fled from the sacrifice?

It took a few more grips of his hand before Cullen staggered away from her. They didn't get far enough away from her for Lana to not overhear Misha explain what was most likely going to happen. Most of it was typical birthing stuff, the mess, the time it'd take, the noises, but then she paused and crossed her arms.

"Commander, I will not lie to you, the chances of your child surviving at this young of a stage are...slim. If you have anyone you can contact who is capable of great healing, I would do it now."

"I..." he nodded, and for a moment glanced over at the woman trying to pretend she wasn't listening in, "I will do that. Lana, I'll return shortly."

She waved meekly at that, unable to answer. This was her fault. All of it. She wouldn't be pregnant if she'd thought to plan for this possibility. She wouldn't be risking the life of an innocent if she'd not taken that stupid potion in the first place. And...Maker, damn it all, she wouldn't be facing holding its cold, little body in her hands if she'd gotten it right.

The tears wouldn't stop, Lana trying to hide away as the only one left in the room was the woman who hated her. Misha watched a moment, her head pulling out of her medicine bag, while Lana shrieked in fear and shame against the fist she wadded into her mouth. Everything. She doomed herself, Cullen, their baby. It was all her fault.

"It will be okay," Misha said. She unearthed a kerchief from her pocket and passed it to Lana, who tried to mop up her tears. "We take it one breath at a time. Luckily, you have the best midwife in Ferelden here with you."

"Thank you," Lana gasped, snot dribbling into the hankie along with her dignity. None of it mattered as long as... One breath. Then another. They could do this.

She could do this.

After all, she killed an archdemon and stopped a blight.

Anything was possible.

Taking a deep breath, Lana drew her fingers across her stomach and felt her baby's heartbeat. It was still with her.

* * *

For nearly thirty hours Lana screamed in agony as the contractions ripped apart her already depleted body while Cullen watched helplessly. He wanted to rush in and do something to free her of it, but it was all beyond him. The only thing he was capable of was giving her sips of water and holding her hand. Early on, during some of the time between contractions, Lana would pace, but then the increasing barrage wore upon her legs and she was stuck in bed.

"Andraste's prolapsed colon," she cursed, the last of the contraction fading away as her eyes darted up to her husband. "Well?"

He had to shake off the fear clinging to his heart to answer, "That's thirty two new curses." The game was meant to take their minds off the agony, but when she turned right to medical maladies, Cullen couldn't stop imagining every single one happening to her.

The midwife flitted between Lana's extended legs, always prodding into the intimate areas. He felt white hot both rage and bashfulness watching, but his wife seemed to take it all as normal. On occasion the pair would get into an argument about the best way to birth a baby, in particular over how dilated her cervix was, but Lana was willing to give in to Misha's wisdom. The pain must have been excruciating for her.

"I don't think it'll be long now," Misha said. Someone brought a small plate of chicken up for them all. Lana was unable to eat a thing, of course, and Cullen refused to leave her side. Only the midwife took the time, enjoying the simple meal before returning back to the birth at hand.

"How dilated?" Lana asked, restarting the same argument.

"Here we go again," Cullen whispered to himself. He thought it was far too soft for her to hear, but even as she panted in a breath, she snapped her head up at him for not taking her side.

"Dilated enough," Misha answered diplomatically.

"Enough is a unit of measurement now? Yes please, I'd like enough apples. Oh wait, I was going to make a pie as well. Make that enough and a half!" Her sarcasm faded as she gripped tight to Cullen's fingers. Maker's sake for being such a tiny woman she had the bone crushing grasp of a qunari.

"I really hate you right now," Lana breathed, her eyes screwed up so tight tears sprung from them.

"I know," Cullen answered, trying to wipe away the sweat and wishing it worked for her pain.

"Really, really, really hate you," she cried, the last of the contraction ebbing as she dug in to prepare for the next wave.

"I'm sorry," Cullen breathed, dropping his lips to her forehead.

Lana blinked, letting the last of the tears fall, and her bottomless eyes stared up into his. "I love you," she whispered, free of the pain for a breath.

"I know that too," he said.

"Maker's sake!" Lana screamed, "Not again!"

Misha sat up at that, her bird-like head whipping back as she peered down between Lana's legs. "That's way too fast. It's time to push."

"You think?" Lana gasped, clinging tight to her certainty and sarcasm. "Damn, damn, damning damn it!" Her game flooded away as Lana tried to bear down on herself.

"You're doing great," Cullen called, causing her to glare at him and make a motion with her head as if he should be the one being split open by their child. Maker take him, but Lana's angry sense of humor made him feel better.

"Hold a moment," Misha ordered.

"What...?" Lana stopped pushing, all but flopping back onto the bed. "What is it?"

Misha didn't answer, her fingers drifting deeper inside of his wife as she must have been reaching for their baby. _Sweet Maker, what now?_ They were both exhausted beyond measure, Lana barely clinging to the waking world after the torture her body put her under. Please, just let this be easy.

"Stop pushing!" Misha cried, startling both.

"I'm not!" Lana shouted back indignant, but under her breath he could hear the worry. She'd been careful to never use her magic save flipping the baby around while Cullen showed Misha where their privies were located. But now there may not be any option.

"Lana," Cullen skirted his forehead across hers to whisper in her ear, "heal yourself."

"I can't."

"We will deal with the fallout of her learning the truth later. Right now..."

"No, Cullen, I mean I can't do it. The pain, it's too much. I'm...gah!" She flinched hard, twisting her body to try and match whatever Misha was doing down below. Tears rattled in her eyes and she blubbered, "Middle of fights, torn apart by hurlocks and ogres, and now I'm...I can't even save my baby."

"Shh," Sweet Maker, what did he do to her? "It's okay, it'll be okay, we'll..."

"Boss?"

He whipped his head up to spot one of their hands, a good one whose name slipped from him in his panic, standing in the doorway. She was worrying her apron while staring at Lana twisting in pain. "What is it?" he prompted, shaking the girl away from his wife.

"It's Ser Derrik, he's having a fit."

"So calm him down," he tried to keep his voice level and not scream at her to do her job, but his skin was itching at how helpless he was to protect and save his wife. Someone had to pay.

The girl danced back and forth on her feet, "He won't, no one else can get him to. Please, there was an accident."

"Cullen," Lana drew her sweat soaked fingers against his cheek. "It's okay, I'm not going anywhere." A small laugh echoed in her words as she glanced down at her spread legs, "Go help him."

"Maker's sake, I..." He'd watched his wife all but raise mountains from the ground itself. Blights, darkspawn, demons, blood mages -- nothing slowed her down. But in this moment, with her normally dewy brown skin an ashen grey from over a day of pain as her tiny body clenched to finish this, Lana had never looked so frail to him.

"You can do it, Honey eyes. I have faith in you," Lana whispered. She foolishly guided his hand up to her lips and placed a kiss to it.

She was right. They gave of themselves to the people here and it was their job to help them. Cullen brushed his forehead against hers, and with shut tight eyes whispered, "I love you. And Maker's sake, stay safe." Her head nodded with his attached, when another contraction drove her to crumple up.

"Sweet Andraste," Misha sat up, grabbing onto Lana's arms, "not yet! Hold tight and don't push!"

"Ser?" the girl tugged on Cullen's sleeve as he stood slack watching the two women struggle against Lana's own body.

He had to turn away from her or he'd never leave, "Stay here, help where you can, Sam." The name came back to him once his vision wasn't filled with Lana in pain.

"I..." poor Sam blanched, the girl not one for blood. But she wasn't about to let down the heroic Commander of the Inquisition. "Yes, Ser. I will." Sliding around, Sam picked up Lana's hand and gave it a soft squeeze. Lana glanced over at the addition and smiled ironically at the slip of a girl telling her to breathe.

Cullen made it to the door when the midwife suddenly staggered up and bumped into his elbow. "Commander," Misha whispered, "if things do not progress well... There is a chance there may need to be a, well, choice."

"Lana," he made it without a second thought, turning back to watch his wife crumpling back into a ball while poor Sam tried to keep her from pushing. "Save my wife first."

Having issued the order, he turned and left the three women alone. _Maker, please don't let that be the last time I look upon her._ Outside the closed door, Cullen stared up at the afternoon sky. The last time he stepped away from her it was night. It felt as if both months and only moments passed since the labor began. Shaking off the terrified husband as best he could, Cullen marched to Derrik's room with a set to his jaw. Two of their male assistants stood outside, both speaking in the commanding but calm manner to try and talk down the old templar. He, sadly, was having none of it.

Derrik's haggard shoulder slammed into one of the strapping twenty something men from a local village, nearly laying the lad flat out. Luckily, Cullen was quick to catch him before there was any real damage. The move drew Derrik's eye and he snapped to attention. "Knight-Captain, Ser! These traitors were trying to impede me from my duty."

"It's all right, Ser Derrik," Cullen sighed. He patted the one boy's arm then tugged on Derrik's to drag him back into his room. The place was a disaster. It looked as if someone kicked apart the small bookcase in rage and then shattered a teacup. Slivers of broken clay and glass littered the floor. Cullen tried to step Derrik around it to help him to his bed.

"You need to rest," Cullen ordered.

"There's no time for that. The apostates are mounting a new defense off of the western district near the marketplace!" Derrik insisted. He tried to shake Cullen off, but the office he once held had more weight for the old templar.

"Derrik, there are no apostates here. You're safe. It's over," he tried to assure him. The man's eyes dipped down, the sparkle in them fading as a hint of reality slipped in over the lyrium's influence.

"Safe? But what about...? There was an attack on the chantry."

"The chantry is fine, it's okay. We handled it. You're okay," Cullen said, then his eyes wandered over to the side of Derrik's face. He'd been badly burned in an attack during the Kirkwall rebellion, leaving half of his face scarred, the flesh slopped and molded back onto the bones like half baked clay. Dripping across the cheek was a line of blood which the old templar seemed unaware of.

"Did you hurt yourself, Derrik?" he asked, turning around to find a small bandage kit in the end table drawer.

"I..." his fingers drifted up to his cheek and Cullen watched the sorrow return as he cupped the mutilated skin. It was hard to escape the memories of what created it, as hard as some templars tried. "I don't remember," Derrik whispered.

"It's all right, I can help." Focusing fully on the man staring wide eyed up at him, Cullen dabbed away the blood, cleaned the skin, and added a little blue bandage. "There," Cullen tried to smile at him, "good as new."

"Ser," the old templar's shaking hands reached over to grip Cullen's. He started at the realization his own were trembling the bloody washcloth. Derrik's striking blue eyes honed in on Cullen, "Are you injured?"

"No, Derrik. I'm fine."

"Then why are you crying?"

_Maker's sake!_ He swiped at his cheeks to clear out the tears. This wasn't the time to be worrying about...

"Did the mages hurt you too?" Derrik whispered.

"They..."

Not again. He couldn't do this again. After all these years, everything they built together, their life. No. She was his heart, and to have her die because of... "They didn't," Cullen gasped out, trying to shake away his emotions, "There are no mages here, remember?"

"Right," the man nodded, "this is the abbey, with my old friends."

"Yes, now you should get some rest," Cullen said rising off the bed. The man nodded his head, swinging his legs up onto his mattress and stretching out. "I'll clean this up."

"We can get it, boss," one of the two men spoke up. "You should return to...um," they shared a look, both seeming to be scared to mention Lana by name. How many more whispered about the potential death of his wife? How many wondered if he was going to snap because of it?

He nodded his thanks, even as he felt his body slide away from him while he rose to his numb legs. The shell was the Commander who valiantly protected Haven and led the forces in the Arbor Wilds, but deep inside he was the trembling barely adult trapped in a tower full of demons. A hand snaked out from under the blankets and Derrik grabbed onto his. Blue eyes danced as he smiled, "Knight-Captain, may the Maker turn his gaze on you."

"And on you, Ser Derrik," he smiled, patting their clasped hands before letting go and walking back into their abbey.

It was his job to tend to the old templars clinging to life here. Cullen had the idea, but Lana...she was the one to make it work. Not only to acquire the land and brew up healing potions, but she taught him to be calmer. To cool his anger so he could help soothe the templars who'd lost too much of themselves to the song. He was the face, the old Commander who somehow became the emblem of what good the templars can do. But Lana, she was the heart here. Without her, nothing would work.

Without her, he wouldn't work.

Staggering outside their shared door, Cullen expected to hear screams of pain and shouts for her to either push or not push. Yet, nothing but the sweet song of birds cut through the air. Was this abbey that well insulated to be soundproof or...

Was he too late?

His hand froze upon the door handle, his body coming to a halt while his mind shattered. Maker, no. No, you cannot. Not after... Blessed Andraste, please, you're supposed to watch out for her, to...to save her.

The chance for a child was a foolish one, but Maker take him, he'd bought into it. He let himself hope for a little joy. But that wasn't Cullen's lot in this world. Every step he took towards happiness, the Maker's plan knocked him back another ten. The world bled him dry, wringing everything from him, as it took its thousand cuts but left him alive. Maker's sake, it already stole Lana once from him.

Please, don't do this.

Keep her here, where she belongs.

Damn the taint! Damn the Grey Wardens for filling her veins with that poison! Damn that curse of the Tevinter Magisters! If it weren't for their egotistical madness...

If it weren't for him. Lana accepted her fate, she sighed on occasion about the voices or missing a night of sleep, but faced the lone walk of the Calling head on. He was the one to push her, unable to imagine living out his end years here alone. If he hadn't been so selfish she never would have strived to solve it. She wouldn't have accidentally fallen pregnant and he'd have another ten years with her instead of...

No.

"Blessed Maker, I beg of you," Cullen folded to his knees, palms clasped as he turned his words beyond Andraste to the only power he thought could help, "give her your strength. You have before, you've let her work the impossible odds, miracles. She is your arm, a force for good upon this world. Please...please don't take her from me. I love her with everything inside of me, and I can't...I can't do it alone."

He felt the door begin to move, and Cullen scattered backwards, rising fast to his feet. Barely wiping away the tears in time, he stared down into the midwife's set face. Misha breathed slowly a moment, and then smiled, "Commander, you have a son."

"Lana?" he began to barrel past the woman with the news, praying for a miracle. Misha scrabbled to the side, her lips moving but the noise faded away as he stared over at the bed. Their bed, the one he'd made with his two hands for the only woman he dared love. Sitting propped up in it -- Lana's skin glistening with sweat and eyelids gently closed, curls of ebony hair tufted around her head like a halo -- she looked like an angel. A perfectly preserved angel.

Slowly, her eyes opened and a smile dawned on her face. _Sweet Maker!_ Cullen clasped a hand to his mouth, stumbling towards the woman who could never stop surprising him. "We have a boy," she whispered as he picked up her weary fingers. Warm, she was warm because she was alive. Cullen cupped her cheek next, then kissed those speaking lips. Alive and with him.

"Are you...?" he stuttered, afraid that she was clinging to life by a thread.

"I am well enough. Exhausted."

"Of course you are," he gasped, unable to stop the happy tears, "after all of that, and..."

"Commander," Misha's voice broke through his babbling and he turned over to her, "would you like to meet your son?" She stood beside the cradle he'd broken down and remade three times until it was just right. But it was further across the room and he didn't want to stop holding Lana tight, reminding himself she was alive.

His wife seemed to read his reluctance as she pressed her fingers against his cheek and sighed, "Go on."

Stumbling to shaking legs, Cullen stepped over towards the cradle. Perched inside of it was a small drawer he now recognized as having been yanked from their wardrobe. At his confused glare, Misha explained. "The child is too small for such a large bed. He'll have to sleep in there for awhile."

Cullen nodded dumbly as he watched the tiny baby stretched out upon its back cushioned by a thin throw pillow set inside the drawer. He'd never seen an infant that small before, it looked as if he could fit inside his palm. The skin was taut to fragile bones, stretched so tight he feared he could see the ribs through the mottled flesh. It was far lighter than Lana's beautiful shade, but darker than his. She'd assured him there was a good chance their baby would darken with time, but it was the spots covering the baby's stomach and his legs that drew great concern to him.

"Lana," he stuttered, staring down at the tiny thing barely kicking a leg. "Is he...?" Cullen turned back, "Can you feel...?"

"No," she shook her head, the happy sheen of recent motherhood fading at the fear in the air, "I sense no corruption."

"Thank the Maker," he gasped. Slowly, Cullen began to reach his fingers down to scoop his son up to his chest, but Misha snatched them away.

"The child is far too fragile right now. If you want him to survive, you're best off only handling him when strictly necessary."

"I..." He stared down at this being formed of their flesh inside of his wife, its tiny limbs rattling around in a new world, and in his heart he felt nothing. Shouldn't it be overflowing with love, or happiness? All he felt was gratefulness at Lana's survival and trepidation at what was to come next. What was wrong with him? The baby's mouth opened a bit, trying to suckle the air, and for a twinge Cullen wanted to run his finger over the tiny cheeks. But at a look from Misha he held himself back.

"We did it," Lana smiled at him. Maker she looked happy. As happy as the day they married. No, as happy as the day he plucked her out of the Grey Warden prison and brought her back into his life.

"You did it," Cullen said, "I was only here for support."

"Not to be interrupting," Misha said, "but the baby will need more blankets and clothing." At the moment all he had was one of Cullen's tunics swaddled around to keep from freezing to death.

"They're all in the...I'll go get them," he said, staggering out towards the door. Without the man in the way, Misha scooped up the drawer and hauled their son over to Lana. The gentle mother dipped down to her son and began to draw him closer to her breast.

A dark thought struck Cullen, a vision of Lana weeping openly as their far too small son's cold body pressed against her chest. He may not survive. He was so early. And it would kill her to lose him.

Barely aware of where he was going, Cullen left the door to their room open as he stumbled backwards from the horrifying thought. He didn't stop until a hand wearing very expensive rings clattered to his back. Turning around, Cullen blinked in shock for a moment at the familiar face before him.

"Good evening, Commander. I am here to help save your baby."

## CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

#### Help

1 week old...

Her fingers paused above the thin chest as desperate cries erupted out of the far too tiny throat. Barely audible at first, after every session they grew stronger until they began to break against Cullen's mind. It felt like claws gouging his skin at how the baby wailed, reminding him with each shriek what little he had to offer in soothing the child. Vivienne tipped her coiffed head at the boy's wailing, then began again, white light warping around the drawer.

They set up shop in the nicest room in the abbey. After every feeding Lana was capable of, he'd bring the child to Vivienne and she'd cast some spell to help him grow stronger outside of the womb the way he should have in. The first night was the worst, both parents terrified that at any moment their baby would stop breathing. It took everything within Cullen to keep Lana from spending every moment drifting her fingers above her son's lips and nose to make certain he was still with them.

Vivienne waved off her magic and the jangle of her rings, or perhaps the lack of white light, caused the baby to stop crying. He seemed to be trying to stare up at this mystery woman beyond his narrow vision. "Your child began at nearly four pounds and thanks to my efforts is breathing normally and approaching a full five pounds. I'd say I've done all I can to help him reach what he should have inside his mother."

"Thank you, Madam de Fer," Cullen reached over grasping her hand and shaking it.

"Of course, Darling. I'm happy to assist," she stared down at the tiny baby. To Cullen's bleary eyes it didn't look as if the child had grown much at all. His skin was splotchy, though the ash gave way to a warm tan, his chest reedy, and the head shaped almost conical. Cullen was growing uncertain how anyone could find babies adorable.

"I admit, when I sent for assistance from the Circle I never anticipated you would be the one to answer it." Cullen tried both the Circle she established in Val Royeaux and the College. He knew the answer he'd get from the College, most angry that they didn't pith all the templars in their abbey, but he figured he'd give them a chance to surprise him. The Circle was his only hope.

Vivienne shifted her golden staff to her other hand and deftly smoothed down her silk dress. Deep into the Ferelden backwoods and she looked as if she belonged on an Orlesian ballroom, pressed and primed for it as always. "Dear Commander, after everything you did for thedas who else but the best would do for protecting and reviving your first born?"

"Yes," he sighed. Lana tried, he'd sense her magic dipping out of the fade for her son but Cullen insisted that she only focus on herself. The last thing they needed was her falling ill as well. Not that his logic would fully stop her, the mother secretly healing her child while also nursing him with her milk. Somehow her stubbornness lightened Cullen's heart; it meant she was still Lana.

"It is surprising how much of a resemblance the baby already bears to you," Vivienne said offhand. It threw him off. Either she was trying to be kind or cruel; it was always impossible to tell with her.

"Oh?"

"Forgoing the skin tone and lack of hair, which I imagine will come out black, that nose is clearly yours and I dare say the cheekbones as well as chin."

He couldn't see himself in the child, though he couldn't see Lana either. It was a baby, a very sick baby that he had to do all he could to keep alive. Sadly, it seemed even Cullen's meager usefulness was coming to an end if Vivienne truly considered her help no longer required. The child opened his eyes and waved his bunched fists around when another piercing wail erupted.

The mage shirked from it, digging her little finger into her ear at the noise. "It seems it is time to return him for dinner."

"I think you're right," Cullen agreed. Bending over, he hefted up the entire drawer in his arms. Maybe one day the baby could sleep in his cradle. "Let me drop him off with his mother and then I can see you to the gate. Give you my heartfelt gratitude once again."

He began to leave the guest room when Vivienne's fingers gripped to his strained arm. "I find myself curious if the mother doesn't require any magical assistance as well."

"Ah," Cullen blanched, "no, she's...she's healing well, just tired and...exhausted."

"Quite," Vivienne's eyes carved up and down Cullen, no doubt plumbing him for the lie but she released her grip. Carting his infant son about like the child was a roast stuffed into a drawer, he made it to the door, when the Enchanter remarked, "I am glad to hear that our dear Solona Amell is recovering from the birth. At her age it can be quite an ordeal."

Cullen froze, his shoulders tightening as he felt the threat rising in the air. Anyone else, even while clinging to his son, he'd have tossed out on their ass, but Vivienne was smart and crafty. If she was tipping her hand it was either because she wanted something or was going to in the future. "How...?"

"Commander," she touched her hand to her breast, "not all of us are fooled by longer hair, a slower gait, and avoiding a title. I may have only met the Hero of Ferelden once, but it's enough to stick. We mages don't all look alike."

At her little joke Vivienne's always on point sneer dropped and she dipped her head, "You are doing much for the order, after what was taken from them. As I understand it, you both are, the Lady Amell included. I have no intentions of dishonoring you, nor your wife's good work. As some of the lesser cretins who ran in our menagerie of accomplices in the Inquisition would say, 'my lips are sealed.'"

"Thank you," he breathed, tipping his head down to her.

He began to close the door, but Vivienne of course had to have the last word. "It is rather humorous though. Out of all the mages in southern thedas, the only one surrounded day after day by templars is the Hero of Ferelden."

Trying to shake off the fear that Lana's secret was spoiled beyond measure, Cullen carried their son into their bedroom. If it became an issue it was one they could solve later. She had a child now, it wasn't as if...

Cullen blanched at the memory of how many babies had been taken from mothers in the towers. Unexpected, considered unwanted, they passed to Sisters and Mothers in the chantry, no one knowing if the children made it past their first night. He'd forgotten that part, few turning to the Knight-Captain to handle such matters. But when Lana would wake from a nap in a fury to get back her baby from the templar that took him, the shame fell harder upon Cullen. No, as much as he wanted to pretend it was so, as long as Lana was a mage she was never truly safe, nor their family.

He shook off the dour thoughts and put on a smile while walking into their room. Sorting through a series of far too large pajamas upon the table beside the window, Lana looked up at the sound. "Good morning," she called in her breathy voice, her fingers waving softly to her baby. She kissed tightly to Cullen's cheek as he returned the drawer to the cradle, then she carefully scooped the baby into her arms.

While the crying shushed a moment against his mother's warm skin, Cullen said, "I have good news. Vivienne's given him a clean bill of health."

"Did you hear that?" Lana cooed to the baby trying to suck upon her shoulder. "You're so strong, getting stronger every day."

"Just like his mother," Cullen whispered, placing a kiss to her forehead.

She smiled warmly at that, then the motherly cocoon snapped off in an instant, "Did Madam de Fer say anything else? I imagine the Circle's sniffing around here hoping to scoop up some templars. I swear to the Maker if they try to put them back on the lyrium leash..."

"Lana," he soothed, "I kept her far from the templars. She preferred the solitude of her room for the trip."

"Good," she nodded, then flinched as their son began a fresh round of crying. "I think someone's getting hungry."

"I'll go help to see Vivienne off," Cullen slid away as she let down the strap on her nightgown.

She was fumbling to get the baby lined up, the exhaustion evident in her movements. He wanted to rush over and help her to a chair or the bed, but...he had no idea if that was what was needed. Shaking his head, he retreated to the door.

"Cullen," Lana called out, looking up from the tiny mouth sliding across her nipple, "it'll be okay."

"I know," he nodded.

The baby was getting healthier, Lana was on the road to recovery. They'd survived it. Everything went well and he should be ecstatic.

Why did he feel nothing but dread nestling in his heart?

***

It didn't take him long to get Vivienne secured with her caravan. She seemed as eager to remain in the 'rustic backwoods' as much as Lana wanted her here. Cullen thanked her again, truly meaning it. Without her, he doubted he could have stopped Lana from overexerting herself over what could have been a lost cause. If he'd lost both of them in the same night...

Dust trailed down the road away from the abbey traveling with Vivienne's departure and he stood enraptured watching it. The rising eastern sun caught so it glittered like flecks of gold through the amber sky. Soon the entire abbey would be humming with people, and he'd have to take control to make certain medicines were doled out, chores finished, and the other day to day problems handled. He had an infant son, barely a week into this world, clinging to his mother, and yet Cullen couldn't stop staring at the horizon.

Why was it so fascinating to him? He'd stared out through these woods hundreds of times before, often while dumping off garbage, or facing a long road of traveling. It's not as if... He blinked, then rubbed his eyes and tried again. Vivienne's dust wasn't fading into the sunlight. In fact, it seemed to be picking up speed and heading back to where it began. Cullen barely had time to slide back in, much less shout out, "We have company incoming," when a horse clattered up the base of the hill.

He didn't recognize the bay, and there was no banner flying. Cullen was at a loss until he spotted the far too familiar and far too long scarf knotted tight around white, once blonde hair. "Mia!" he cried, dashing forward for his sister before she even had time to stop her horse much less dismount.

"Whoa, stop you bucket of oats. I swear to the... Baby brother!" she called, sliding down off the horse and catching him in a hug.

"How in Andraste's name did you get out here so quickly?" he asked, grateful to see his sister here.

"Maker's sake, you two do make life a challenge. I was all ready to be heading out in two weeks time and here comes this little birdie flitting through my window." Her easy smile faded as she stared into Cullen's eyes, "How is...?"

"We have a boy," he filled in quickly.

"Sweet Andraste, you know you should open with that. Hi, hi, we have a baby boy, and he's..."

"Healthy," Cullen caught on again, causing Mia to sigh and pat her chest, "small, very small."

"That early it's no surprise. How's Lana?" She reached up towards her bag across the saddle, but the taller Cullen snatched it off first.

"Tired, it...things didn't quite go as planned," he turned deeper into himself, thinking back upon the torturous hours raising up the fear of losing her.

"No kidding, a month early isn't exactly planned. But, you have a baby boy, and they're both doing well, so it's..." His sister's jubilation paused as she caught the tremble in Cullen's hands. "What is it? There's something else, isn't there?"

He hadn't been able to tell anyone else. No one in the abbey knew about Lana's past, nor would they truly understand the implications of her being a Warden. And she was under enough strain, dwelling upon it with her would be cruel. Sucking in a hard breath, he said, "It's returned. The taint."

"Oh no," Mia placed her hand to her mouth.

"More than likely that was what triggered the birthing process, her body saving the baby from it."

"And the boy...?" She dug her fingers into his arm, trying to wring the truth quickly from him.

Cullen shook his head, "Lana says he's clean of it. I believe her because I think she tests every second he's in her arms. But she's..." He was going to lose her. One day the vile corruptness in her veins would turn upon her, drain her life until she was little more than a thinking ghoul, and he'd lose her to the deep.

"Cullen," Mia swiped her hands around his side and tugged him to her for a half hug, "it'll be okay. She'll find a solution again. You know how wicked smart your wife is."

"Right," he nodded, not feeling the darkness lift off his heart, "smart."

"Now, tell me how cute your son is. I assume adorable and the spitting image of his mother."

"He's a...a baby?" Cullen shrugged, uncertain how to answer.

Luckily he had Mia here to correct him, "No, no, anytime someone asks or tells you your child is cute you say yes, thank you, he gets it from his mother."

"What if the child isn't adorable?"

She glared hard at him, "Are you saying your son isn't cute?"

"No! I...I'm only wondering what to do in the even that..."

His terrified babble faded at Mia's laughter, "Don't worry, brother. I'll get it beaten into your head a few days into this trip that every baby is cute, especially yours."

"Wonderful," he sighed, rolling his eyes. Chuckling at her baby brother's misfortune, Mia playfully punched into his arm. "Mi," he whispered, "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too, I wouldn't miss watching you change a diaper for anything."

***

As Cullen vanished out the door, Lana tried to reposition her son. He kept getting close to latching on but at the last moment would abandon sucking in order to cry. Every tiny wail dug deeper into her skin. "Come on," she groaned. Her legs were barely functional, her hips jelly after the birth. She managed to slide a few feet here and there but was confined to this tiny room. Glancing at the chair beside the window, Lana shook her head and sat down upon the bed.

It sunk in deeper from her weight, the surprise causing her to juggle the baby further away from her breast. Not that it mattered much as, despite his empty stomach, he seemed to be of no mood to eat.

"Don't be that way," Lana chastised, trying once again. She watched the tiny lips that would one day become nearly as plump as hers suckle upon her for a moment. "There you go," she sighed, thankful to have the pressure lifting from her groaning chest. It was going to be okay. Everything would be...

The baby sputtered, his mouth slipping off as her milk sprayed first across his cheek then dribbled down into the blanket. Unhappy at the mess he made, he began to wail even harder. "Maker's sake!" Lana cried back. "You have to eat!" She tried to take a calming breath, but it wasn't taking.

All she could see was her son, her far too fragile and tiny son screaming at her for letting him starve. Tiny tears dribbled against his cheeks which she matched in kind. "I'm sorry," she pleaded, trying to get him to latch but he was having none of it now. Far too emotional and raw, all Lana could do was hold him up and cry, "You're too small. You need food to...it's my fault. It's all my fault."

He cried along with her, the tears washing away all of her milk he refused. And why shouldn't he refuse her? Her body nearly killed him. All the poison in her blood could have choked his tiny body out. Was it any wonder he hated her?

"I'm sorry, I never thought that'd happen. It's my doing. My fault. Please..." She was begging and pleading with a one week old baby, but he held all the cards. "Please, eat. Get stronger. I need you to..."

Tears streaming down her cheeks, the sobs racking up her throat, she glanced away from the baby at the sound of the door opening. Cullen walked in first, "You'll never guess who...Lana?"

"Oh," she spotted the familiar face of his sister sliding in behind. Throwing on a smile, she tried to wipe away her tears while juggling the still screaming infant. "Mia, you, um, came at a..."

The mother of three stared over once, shoved her bag at her brother, then dashed to the bedside. "Troubles latching?" She sized up the problem in an instant.

Lana nodded her head, shame burning her cheeks. "He doesn't always but, but sometimes..."

"Shh," Mia waved away another round of tears. "They get little minds of their own. I know a few tricks. Here," she grabbled onto Lana's fingers and slowly drew them higher up under her son's head. "Sometimes they like to be up like this. My middle child, truly demon-sent, would only suckle like she was standing. Maker only knows."

"I should leave you two to it," Cullen interrupted. "You'll get it well in hand." He stood uncertain in the doorway, the bag in his arms.

Mia shot a questioning glare at her brother, but Lana smiled at him, "There's a lot to do today."

He softened a moment, then smiled, "Isn't there always? I'll be back soon." Closing the door behind him, Cullen left the two women to try and find just right the position to appease their picky boy.

It took a few more jabs into her son's cheeks before the screaming mouth caught on that it should try suckling instead. Lana held her breath, hoping he wouldn't turn his head and spit it out, but it seemed to be taking.

"There ya go, seems he's got the hang of it now," Mia encouraged. She sat back onto the chair beside the bed and crossed her legs.

"Yeah," Lana gulped, her eyes burning from the salt that kept streaking down her cheeks. "No matter how badly I fail, he..."

"Hey, hey," Mia drew her hand down Lana's arm, trying to soothe her. "You're doing great here. None of it's easy, but it can be good. Fun sometimes."

She turned over to her sister-in-law and tried to smile. While her heart sang with joy, especially as her son's belly filled with her milk, a cloud kept creeping over her thoughts.

Happy. She was supposed to be happy. She was happy. Her son lived, she lived. It was a good turn of events, even if...

"That one's quite the gorger, huh?" Mia smiled, her eyes upon the child suckling like no tomorrow. His tiny fist wrapped safely inside a pair of pajama mittens landed upon Lana's breast as if he wished to pump even more into his growing belly.

With a finger curling down his warm cheek, she sighed, "He has a lot to make up for."

"How are you doing?" Mia turned the tables on her.

Cullen's sister was close enough like him that they'd often find themselves at odds, but different enough they didn't fall into all out war. She was the leader of the family, stern but kind, with an unbendable will. He'd joke that if Mia and Lana ever came to different sides of a cause all of thedas would sunder in half. Funny enough, it hadn't happened yet.

"Tired," Lana admitted, "but happy."

"Feel like an ogre ripped you in half?" Mia laughed, a shine glinting off her smile. She had a rare streak of orneriness in her soul that seemed to pass by most other Rutherfords.

"Maker, yes. Sitting is...cumbersome. And I fear in those first few days I changed my diaper as often as his," Lana groaned, grateful that the blood and chunks dripping out of her had slowed. Her little boy released off her nipple and he smacked his lips as if to give gratitude to the chef for a fine meal. For a brief window he opened his eyes, a flare of thick black eyelashes highlighting a burst of amber.

"Good morning to you, too," Lana cooed, her son falling quickly to sleep with a warm meal inside him. He only managed to stare a few times at nothing before fading back down.

"Maker's breath," Mia shifted closer, "he's adorable. And, fair warning, but I fear he's going to be the spitting image of his father."

"Oh?" Lana lifted an eyebrow as if she was surprised, but in truth, she began to suspect.

"Every Rutherford baby I've seen starts out like that. Tiny and thin, but those fat rolls will come in in a few months along with the curls. Then out pops the nose and no doubt he'll be lecturing you with his chubby little arms crossed."

Lana laughed at the vision, "I was more or less prepared for that eventuality." She circled her hands under her son's warm back and bent over to brush her lips to his forehead. Smooth and soft, she barely touched it while whispering, "I was hoping for it."

A little copy of Cullen, duskier mind you. Her blood always had some say in those matters. But with that serious turn, and those blazing eyes, and sense of doing what was right even if it cost him, was there any reason to hope for something else?

Blinking away her motherly haze, she glanced over at Mia. "Would you like to hold the baby?"

"I hoped you'd ask," she smiled wide, greedy to swoop an infant into her arms. "Maker, I forgot how this felt. Hits ya right in the...well, everywhere. You never want to leave them." Her fingers shifted away the blanket covered in rounded mabari to stare down at the boy's face. Exhausted, his little bow lips whiffled a breath in sleep, the eyelashes so long they skirted over the tops of his cheeks.

"Figured out what you're going to call him?" Mia asked.

"There's tradition," Lana shifted on her haunches. While she'd not cared much for it, given the circumstances of his birth and the fact Cullen didn't seem to want to actively discuss it, she fell back to that.

"Oh, tradition. Sure," Mia nodded. People scared of growing attached to a child not bound long for the world turned that into a game, a special day. No one named the child until it'd been a few weeks, or a month, or they were certain it would survive. Not everyone followed it, though name-days were still celebrated across Ferelden because traditions had to be honored and cake needed no real reason.

"But," Mia continued, the boy easily cradled in her arms. "I always had a secret name I called mine before it was the big day. You can't not. Callin' 'em baby and boy all the time's weird. Especially if you have a much bigger baby stomping around."

Lana caught on that she was referring to her husband and by proxy Lana's husband as well. "Cullen's not acting up, he's...very busy. We hadn't planned on this coming so soon and there were a lot of matters in the abbey left to attend to."

"Alright," Mia nodded her head to the exhausted mother, "but if he steps out of line for a moment."

"I'm certain his big sister will knock him back into place," Lana smiled. Leaning back, she felt the allure of sleep calling to her. Would it be so bad to close her eyes for a moment?

As if reading her thoughts, Mia's voice dropped to a whisper, "Go on ahead and rest up. I can keep track of this little one for you. They don't move very far at this age."

"Thank you. And thank you for coming out here to help."

Before closing her eyes for a nap, Lana watched Mia cup her nephew's cheek and smile in return. "You're family, family looks out for family. And, don't worry, Lana. You're a good mother."

Maker, how she wished that were true.

## CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

#### The Whole World

Ten days old...

Cullen was glad to have Mia out to help Lana as she adjusted to this new life of being a mother. He was, however, less than thrilled to have his eldest sister poking her nose into matters that didn't concern her. She was a professional in such things, the family busybody who knew everyone's business whether they wished her to or not. Even his leaving for templar training didn't stop Mia from learning secrets about Cullen's rather secluded life he didn't want a soul to know. In retrospect, it was rather amazing how long he kept his love of Lana out of Mia's all seeing eye.

For the past few days she'd been at Lana's side, often helping to change the baby and assist in feedings. The pair of them seemed to have a good handle on things, leaving Cullen even more uncertain of what to do. He made it a priority to check on his wife and son during the day, always getting a smile from Lana. The boy's reaction tended to depend upon if he'd eaten recently or not. And all the while there was this glare from Mia. He doubted Lana caught it, she was far too busy and hadn't grown up with the woman.

Whatever was eating up his sister, he knew he'd hear about it sooner or later. If Cullen had it his way, she'd shout it while on the horse ride back to her home near South Reach. Shaking off the thoughts, he dug the shovel deeper into the ground. They'd been putting off digging a new latrine hole for far too long. It felt good to be outside doing something even as the winter winds chilled his skin. The exercise warmed his bones back up while he took a crack at breaking into somewhat frozen earth.

Honor huffed from beside him. The old girl did not approve of this newest mewling thing in her home. Luckily, she knew how to bat her eyes and find comfort in the other warm beds around the abbey. Last he heard she was sharing a room with one of the old templars from Nevarra who adored dogs. "You know you should be over here helping," Cullen said to his dog. She didn't rise from her position upon a blanket she swiped off a bed, but the stub of a tail wagged at the attention. "Aren't dogs supposed to be excellent diggers?"

"Cullen!" A voice shattered the frost bitten air and he turned over his shoulder to catch what he'd feared was coming. Mia looked as if she could spit fire, her face knotted into true Rutherford rage.

"Here it comes," he groaned, turning back to the hole as he plunged the shovel head deeper in.

"Will you blighted look at me...?!" Her fury was cut short by the sound of a tiny voice yawning in chirps from her arms.

At that he spun on his heels and glared down at the peek of brown flesh hidden between piles of furs. "For the Maker's sake, what are you doing with him out here?! It's freezing!"

"What are you doing out here?" she turned on him.

Cullen gripped tighter to the shovel, more aware of the cold than he had been for the past two hours. "Working," he grumbled, a mix of shame burning up his gut.

"Working? That's your excuse. The middle of winter and you suddenly have to dig a hole. By Andraste's grace, this is your son. Your baby boy," she jostled the child as if he suddenly forgot that fact.

"I'm well aware," he said, both hands wringing tight around the shovel's staff.

"Three days and I haven't seen you pick him up once. Carry him. Hold him. Not even talk to him!" She all but batted the shovel out of Cullen's hands and then dropped the baby into them.

_Maker's sake!_ He scrambled quickly, trying to tuck the pile of blankets and somewhere in there his infant son tight into his arms. "Are you mad?" he gasped, terror clinging to his tongue.

"Yes, white-hot spitting mad. What in the void is wrong with you?" She reached over and flicked a finger against his head. "This is your child. Yours! You made him, but you walk around as if he just got dropped off on your doorstep by a kindly old mama wolf."

"I..." He heard a little squeal not of pain but not exactly happy either from deep within the blankets. Like carrying a load of towels, Cullen locked his hands tight under the baby and stood at attention. He had no idea what he was doing, but prayed he didn't do any damage.

"Your wife needs you, your son needs you." Mia was a good head shorter than him, but in her rage she browbeat Cullen down until he was staring up at her. "But no, all you do is smile at her, then vanish off for the day to dig holes into frozen dirt."

"Mi, you don't understand," he struggled around the words lodged in his throat. The ones he knew he should never speak aloud but couldn't escape.

"Understand what? That all of a sudden my baby brother's become a lazy arsehole? Cause that ain't what Mom raised you to be, I know that much. Dad would skin you alive for the shit you're pulling right now."

A sliver of tears bounded in his eyes at the memory of their long gone parents while he held his own progeny in his hands. "It's not that. I can't take care of him, okay."

"Why? Why in all of thedas can't the father take care of the son he created?"

"Because I don't love him," Cullen whispered, his breath spurting out in puffs of smoke on the wind. Each one shook, revealing his failures as a father, as a husband, and as a man.

Mia's mouth dropped open in shock, but then she rolled her eyes and shouted, "So the fuck what? This isn't about love, it's responsibilities! It's duty to your kin, and that's your kin right there in your arms."

The baby began to coo and Cullen tugged back the flap of a blanket to reveal a bit more of his cheek. For the first time, he dared to let his finger slide against the tiny nub. It was so warm and soft. A blast of winter air erupted through the stones, causing the baby to switch to wailing from the cold.

_Maker's breath. See!_ He wasn't meant for this. He failed at every turn. All he could do was reap misery.

He began to hand the baby back to Mia to soothe, but she folded her arms tight and shook her head, "No. You figure it out."

"I...fine!" He had no idea what to do beyond a few memories of the other recent mothers who'd paced around the abbey. It wasn't as if templars had a lot of children running around in the Circle. The baby was cold so cover him. He slipped the blanket back over but that only increased the wailing. Blighted hell, what did this kid want? Feeling another chill dancing up his hand, Cullen had an idea. Perhaps it was stupid, most likely it was, but he wiggled his hand in between the blanket and pressed it against his son's chilled face.

It took a few more wailing cries but as his warmth passed to his son, they slowed until the baby began to coo once again. "That tiny they don't _need_ love right now. They need to be kept warm, they need food, and they need safety," Mia said. "You can do that. It's pretty much what you do for everyone else around here."

"I'm sorry," he breathed to the boy he wished was in his heart. Was Cullen so truly broken he couldn't let another in? "Why," he tried to shake away the shame on his head. "Why don't I...?"

His sister sighed and shook her head, "I don't know why right now. But it'll happen. Most likely you will come to love your son. It might take a few days, or could be years. You might not like him until he's talking or swinging a sword. Things ain't...it doesn't always go in a straight line. For the love of the Maker, what am I doing comforting you? You're a right pain in the ass sometimes, you know that."

"I'm far from the only one in the family," Cullen chuckled.

Mia ignored the barb, his sister clearly having more on her mind. "Take over, before Lana gets any worse."

"Worse?" Panic gripped tight to Cullen's negligent throat, "What do you mean? I thought she was healing well. The draughts and spells..."

"Her body maybe, but her soul... Do you ever look at her smile? Her eyes? How much she's crying when no one's looking?"

_Oh no._ Cullen drew the baby tighter to his arms as he dashed across the yard and up the stairs. The darkness. He'd not considered its return a possibility. While he'd been laboring under the strain of feigning love for the baby it was obvious that Lana was deliriously enraptured with their son. She cared beyond words for him, but... Maker's sake, man, you know love doesn't cure _that_.

Rather than politely knock, he barreled through their bedroom door. Lana sat in the darkness of the drawn curtains perched upon the bed. Her head was hanging down as she clung white knuckled to the rumpled blanket. The first sob struck Cullen harder than any shield to the nose could.

"Lana," he whispered her name, easing slowly into the room.

She tried to mop the tears away, all the ones he chose to not see, then turned back with the fake smile. "There you are," her voice wandered until nearly ending in a question mark. "Both of you, I see," the smile lifted a bit at the sight of her son trying to peer out from the blankets, but it wasn't enough.

Cullen scooted onto the bed, one hand clinging tight to the baby while the other drew back her hair. His palm skidded across salt crusted to her cheeks. How many tears had she been shedding in private?

"How bad?" he asked.

"No, it..." she instantly tried to shake him away, her lips knocking about like waves on the sea while she tried to pin a smile on. It wasn't going to take. "I'm fine."

"Lana, please. You have to tell me. I...I should know." He cursed at himself for missing so many obvious signs, "Is it as bad as the night at my sisters?"

"No," she shook her head and clung tighter to her arms. He noticed the welts rising off the skin where she'd been digging in deeper and deeper as a distraction. "Worse."

Softly he cupped his hand against her cheek and she pressed into it much the same as their boy had. "Is it worse than when you twisted your ankle?"

His beautiful wife struggled to speak, but the tears returned. All she could do was nod. Worse than her being laid up in bed for two weeks? The physical pain always made the darkness more pronounced, but this...

A fear squeezed against his throat and Cullen's lips breathlessly moved. He had to ask it, had to know, but Maker did he not want to. "Lana..." He scooted closer to her and her fingers reached over as if to take their baby, but Cullen didn't let go, he was focused fully on her. "Is this as bad as when you," he swallowed and began again, "as when you took the Calling?"

Her head tried to shake it away like a buzzing in her ear, but after a few rounds she gasped and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I'm so sorry. I don't..."

"Shh," he guided his arm around her head and tugged it tight to his shoulder. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I do, I'm wrong. Terrible. It shouldn't be," tears dripped through her words, her fingers clinging tight to his collar while the other hand rolled across her son.

"No, you're not," Cullen insisted in a whisper. He turned his head and bellowed out, "Mia! Come here."

It didn't take long for his sister to appear, her face white as she spotted Lana's crumbling. "Take the baby," he instructed. She pursed her lips and folded her arms, until he groaned, "I have to sit with Lana, okay. I'll come and take him back from you after she's better."

Mia stared over at the woman burying her soaking face into Cullen's shoulder. "Alright," the stern lecturer faded into gooey aunt as she scooped the baby into her arms. "I'll be waiting in that done up sitting room you have."

He nodded his thanks and, as the door closed behind, turned to wrap both arms around his wife. After a few more cascades of sobs dripped down his chest, he asked softly, "Did you hurt yourself?"

"No," she said. There was a chance she was lying from the pain but he couldn't see any evidence and it seemed as if the facade was peeled off. Lana was a pro at hiding her turns from the others in their refuge, but he begged her to always let him see everything.

"Come here," Cullen scooped her into his arms and slowly pulled her down to lay together side by side upon the bed. It felt like ages since he'd had her in his arms like this. For her sake and the baby's he'd been dozing in open beds when necessary, letting the two of them get their sleep uninterrupted. Andraste, he was an ass.

"I'm...I should be happy. That's what good mothers are. Happy. Why am I not? I want him. So bad it hurts. But..."

He stared into her red rimmed eyes running over with more tears. It was a soul crushing sight, and all of his doing. He should have been there for her. Really looked at her and known. For the love of the Maker, he was her husband. It was his duty to keep her safe. "Lana, we can beat this back. It's not your fault you're not happy right now."

"I want to be," she gasped. "Why can't I be happy?"

Cullen pulled her to his chest hoping it would soothe her as he ran his hands back through her piles of hair. There were so many snarls and knots it was going to take hours to get them out with their pick. How much did he let rot away from his lagging care? Nestled deep to him, Lana's sobs slowed and her hands tugged tight to his back.

He placed a kiss to the top of her head and promised, "You'll be happy again. I swear it to you."

It was an hour or so of Lana sobbing and Cullen reassuring her before she fell into the rest she desperately needed. Mia glared at him for taking so long, but when he picked up his son she lightened a bit. "Lana's sleeping right now, but please stay with her. Watch her. Right now she can't be alone long."

"Why?"

"It's..." She wouldn't understand. Sometimes it was hard for Cullen to voice it even as he felt the same dark forces tug upon the strings in his head. They never plucked hard enough to drive him to end his life but the reverberations were there. "It's good for her to have a friend. And after her nap, I'll come in with the baby and we can all sit together."

"You swear?" Mia glared.

"On great gulf cavern," he said, thinking back to what was little more than a hole in the ground on their old farm the Rutherford children considered sacred.

His sister took that oath seriously and dipped her head. "Very well. But if you break it...!"

"I will be ripped apart by darkspawn and have my bones ground up to make their evil stews. I know, I know. Please, go sit with Lana," he shooed his sister out trying to appear certain in everything. When Mia vanished he collapsed to the chair.

With his infant son perched in his lap, Cullen sucked in a breath of air that was made of broken glass. Every pang jabbed deeper inside of him as he felt the failure of what he was erupt off his skin. Come and read across his flesh the charges written in his own blood of the man who could not face his infant son, who nearly drove his wife to the darkness. Who in thinking he could have it all, nearly lost everything because he was too weak to open his heart.

A soft cry erupted from the blankets, and Cullen rose out of his lean. He sponged off a handful of the tears sheeting across his vision in order to see his son properly. Eyes the same soulful shade as the ones who'd begged him to make her happy blinked up at him. They couldn't focus yet but they seemed to be trying to find him. Gently, Cullen curled his hand to the boy's cheek.

"I'm here. Your father's here."

* * *

Flurries of never ending work, from one problem to the next, on occasion broke to the realization that an entire day had passed. Cullen was barely able to count the hours as he dashed from tending to Lana to taking over with the baby. There was sleep; the man sometimes starting out of a dream in terror that he'd passed out while holding his son in his arms. But glancing over, he'd find the boy curled up in his little drawer, his eyes shut tight in sleep. With this little life resting upon his hands Cullen felt the overbearing need to protect his son, but...

While he soothed Lana's cheek and insisted there was nothing wrong with her, he couldn't stop turning the question back upon himself. Why was his heart cold? It wasn't as if he was incapable of love. It nearly destroyed him when he lost Lana, the pain unimaginable and the joy of her return brighter than anything he'd ever thought possible. How was it easy for him to love this other woman outside of him, a mage no less, but his own son eluded him?

It didn't matter, Mia was correct. Love or no, the baby needed him and with some minor corrections and the occasional biting of her tongue Cullen began to assemble the skills necessary. While Lana nursed their son to satiety, he'd sit quietly beside her tugging back her hair or sometimes holding her book until the baby got positioned right. After that, when she needed a break to rest and rebuild strength, Cullen would rock the baby back to sleep as best he could. There were diaper changes, so many it became a blur.

Once, when he reached the end of the clean basket, bleary eyed and twitching from the crying, he gave up on sanity and folded one of his own tunics around the baby's bottom. Mia naturally found it hilarious, his sister taking the load down to their launders which was something he should have thought of before. Perhaps exhaustion was finally breaking him too.

Cullen only took a reprieve from his son in order to tend to the templars that responded to the old Knight-Captain and no other. It was strangely refreshing to ask someone to stop fidgeting or crying and have them comply. They'd been having issues with one woman, whom he remembered being strict and ice cold even before the lyrium rot took hold. Now she brooked no truck with anyone, making certain none could ever like her and reveling in it.

That was what he left behind, a thousand tongue lashings clinging to his skin, as he walked exhausted back to the room. He barely opened the door when the ever increasingly powerful wail of his son walloped his weary ears.

"Here!" The body full of five pounds of human wrath dropped into his hands and Mia shrieked, "You take him."

"What's the matter?" he asked, trying to rock his boy back and forth but the screams wouldn't stop. Great tears rose up from those amber eyes to streak down sienna cheeks.

"I have no blighted idea. He's fed, he's changed. He's angry. He's been angry for nigh on an hour now and nothing's changed it."

"Lana?" he asked, glancing around to see his wife was missing.

"Is off in her potion's room," Mia assured him. "Had something to brew up or think upon. I don't know, she rattled off a lot of fancy words then dropped this banshee into my arms."

Even with the screams shredding apart his eardrums, Cullen chuckled at the description of his wife. "What should I do?" he asked the only experienced one, but even hardened Mia looked frazzled after a week with the newborn.

"Go, take him somewhere and wait for it to pass!" she cried back, her fingers rubbing tight to her temples. "This headache will never leave me," she grumbled and Cullen did as commanded.

The night's crisp air struck him as he passed out into the open winter. Pressing his son tighter to his chest, he was rewarded from protecting him against the cold by wails reverberating up through his ribs. "And to think we worried you would be too frail," Cullen chuckled to himself, but it was a mirthless laugh. If this wore away his sister, what chance did he have? Swallowing down both the fear and rising annoyance that wasn't truly the baby's fault, he slipped into the guest room that accidentally became the baby's room.

It was never meant to be. They'd had plans to keep him in theirs until such a time another opened up and he could have a proper nursery. But with Lana needing sleep to recuperate and the boy requiring healing, this quickly became the place for the child. Blankets, diapers, and little pajamas were left in piles upon what had been finely crafted tables meant to hold fruit baskets. The fire in the hearth never died down, every hand in the place always checking to chuck another log on, even if no one was using it. They all knew eventually someone would wind up in there with the squealing and unhappy baby.

"Shh..." Cullen groaned, beginning to feel the same pinch Mia did. He twisted his boy around until the tiny chest pressed against his. With one hand cupping the back of his head, Cullen began to gently pat his butt while swaying back and forth. It was pretty much all he had and, of course, it wasn't working. The tears came faster, his son's tiny throat sounding rawer with every cry, but nothing could stop it.

This too shall pass.

Maker, how many times did he have to recite that while staring down the dead eyed sneer of an apostate? Grumble it to himself as he wiped off a mud ball and struggle to not drag the apprentice to the dungeon for a slight offense? Press it against his clasped palms as the demon's fingers crawled through his mind in the middle of the night?

There was always tomorrow. He was someone who made certain of it with every breath, but... Maker, the darkness before the dawn was often impenetrable. They hadn't talked about his anger much, not in any recent years. Lana knew of it certainly, knew of how sharp it became when he was pressed. But he thought it'd cooled over the years; time, distance, and perhaps age allowing him to walk back from the tortured man of his past. How wrong he was.

Every cry etched across his mind like a nail slicing his eyeball. He flinched, trying to wash it all away clean with a soft prayer but his son would sputter and then wail even louder.

Sweet Andraste, make the baby stop!

Suddenly, the cries halted, and -- in a spray of good fortune -- a cascade of spit-up splattered against his shoulder. His son urped a few more times, Cullen realizing he should have tried to catch it all before it dribbled down his chest, but what did it matter? His shirt was already stained.

"For the love of..." he growled, all but snapping at anything in his way. The baby's wet, sticky vomit crawled further down his shoulder leaving a disgusting trail upon his skin. Abandoning any hope he had, Cullen placed his son down into the second drawer they'd made up for him and began to unbutton his shirt.

He got down a few when the baby's cries renewed. "What?" he shouted. "This is your doing. I will pick you back up when I have...Fine!" Despite the insanity of it all, he scooped his son into one arm and with the other pried apart his shirt. It was even more maddening to try and wiggle the stained thing off his arms while switching the baby from one to the other.

But, blessed Andraste, at least he stopped crying.

Heaving his shirt into the basket along with the continual rash of filthy laundry, Cullen slipped his hands around his son's waist and pulled the baby up to his eyes. The bobbing head rested back upon his fingertips while he stared into his boy's face. When the toothless mouth opened, Cullen braced for more screaming, but a series of adorable chirps broke instead. With the agony of an unhappy dinner in his stomach past, he seemed fine.

"Thank the Maker," he sighed, grateful that the break seemed to be holding. Cullen began to slide his son back down to a more comfortable position when suddenly those always vaguely uncertain eyes narrowed right down upon him. He blinked, certain he'd imagined it, but with a curious determination his son's eyes crossed as if they were focusing right upon the end of his father's nose.

"Do you find that funny?" he asked, chuckling at the idea. "That's the Rutherford nose, you know." Tucking his son's face against his naked shoulder, Cullen let the warmth of his body pass to his boy. While the fleece pajamas covered in little fluffy griffins were doing wonderful at keeping the boy protected from winter, something in his father's body heat did a greater job of bringing on sleep. Those cheeks rounding with every day stretched wide as his little mouth opened for a great yawn.

Cullen's fingers pressed against the back of his boy's head, careful to avoid denting the soft spot, as he felt the beginnings of what was likely to be curly hair. That was certain to be in his son's future. "I'm sorry to say but you're most likely going to be stuck with this nose. We all are. It's a family tradition, along with great stubbornness."

Taking the prophetic words in stride, his son's pajama covered hand thudded against Cullen's shoulders. He wiggled his little feet in their footed pajamas as if trying to dance away the oncoming nap. "That's not going to work either," he said, swaying with the baby tight to him. "I used to pace back and forth on my feet to keep awake during rounds. They called it the Cullen hop, because the moment I stopped moving..."

His son's feet slowed and like clockwork, the little cheek plowed into his skin, tiny snores echoing from the boy.

He was adorable, as if anything created of Lana wouldn't be in spite of Cullen's numerous additions. Those great round eyes, when not rimmed in tears, would flash bright and all but have every girl in their abbey cooing. Asleep, his son drew even more attention. The few times when winter's wrath faded, Cullen would take him on a little walk around the yard curled up in his father's arms and every single person in the abbey stopped to comment. Even the old templars would smile at the baby passed out in a pile of blankets.

"I'm sorry that you're trapped with so much of me in you," Cullen whispered, his lips drifting near the fine fuzz of his baby's head. "I'd hoped..." He thought with a girl that she'd be of Lana: smart, disciplined and bearing almost nothing like her father. But a child with his anger, his snarling certainty, his fear of letting any draw close, it was a cruel curse from the Maker.

"Maybe you'll come out the better for it," he guessed in a strange hope. "Lana, she, I don't know how she is capable of it, but she can calm me down. When I'm walking the line that so easily tips into tyranny she's the only one with the cool breath of logic to take me back. Maybe you'll get that too, to balance out the fire."

Glancing up from his baby, he stared out the window across the forest behind their abbey. Little moved through the stripped trees, every branch waiting in anticipation for snow. With one hand protecting his son, Cullen stepped near the glass to gaze up at the night's sky. "I can't imagine losing her. She's very special to me," a laugh broke from his maudlin thought, "I suppose you're the only one to feel the same. To understand how important she is."

He'd blamed the baby. There was no reason for it, his anger making as much sense as it did when he rendered every mage a potential malifecar. The child couldn't control how he entered the world or if he hurt anyone on the way out. And yet...

Nuzzling his cheek against his baby, Cullen whispered, "Forgive me."

The boy yawned, that Rutherford nose crinkling up as his bright amber eyes opened. They seemed to stare in rapture up at his father a moment before the baby found sucking on Cullen's shoulder far more entertaining. With his pinkie finger, Cullen excised his boy's tight fist up, gently circling around the warm ball of fleece.

Would he be a mage? It was impossible to imagine any ice storms or fireballs erupting from something so tiny. So helpless and gentle. Cullen blinked away a sting in his eyes. He didn't care if his son was to be a mage. If it came to it, Lana would teach him, she would protect him the way she knew how and Cullen would... He'd teach him too, how to shield himself from those that would turn on a mage. People who were once like his father.

"I tried," Cullen began, then shook his head. "I wanted to be more than I am. Too many wild stories of knights as a child filling my head with the foolish notion that I could...fix things. Help people. Save the world, I suppose."

Unaware of the confession lifting off Cullen's chest, his son continued to drool upon him. He seemed to find gnawing upon his father relaxing, another small yawn breaking before the chewing recommenced. "I was wrong in so many matters for far too long. But..." Turning away from his boy he glanced out at the stars glistening in a winter sky. "If I hadn't joined the templars I'd never have met your mother. And for every wrong decision lurking in my past, that's the one bright one to blot so many out."

"You see that star," he turned to the side and tried to pivot the boy to gaze out across the sleeping landscape. Above the horizon, just peeking where the treetops would rustle it in summer, was their star. "That's Fenrir. She taught me to find it, and no matter where I wound up in thedas I...I always could. We would sit under it often, kissing and, um..."

Cullen shifted uncomfortably even as he held the fruit of one of those unions tight to his skin. The baby boy cooed and gurgled, both fists flailing against his father. He wanted the story to continue. "When you're older, I'll teach you how to find it. How to read all the stars. We can..."

Visions of his boy, perhaps four or five years old, perched upon his shoulders while they both gazed up at the stars flitted through his mind. It was the first time he ever saw him not as a baby to be tended to but a person, a child, his son. Someone to love. "I, uh..." The emotions battered against Cullen. For a brief window shame at his taking so long to reach this point threatened to engulf it all, but a widening sense of satiety cleansed him. Maybe he did always love his son, he just took awhile to realize that's who this was.

"Hello there," he called down to the baby as if seeing him for the first time, properly. Without fear clogging his heart or incompetency his limbs, he pressed a kiss to his son's cheek. The boy's head tipped back a moment at that, Cullen quick to catch it, before his son's lips returned to gumming his father.

_Did he say hello back too?_

"There are my boys." Lana's voice drew him away from the window to find her standing framed beside the door. She had her potion apron on over a coat and fuzzy slippers upon her feet to survive the cold, but a bright smile warmed her body. Hobbling over to them with her cane, Cullen met her halfway and scooped his arm around her body.

Her beautiful lips pressed to his, breathing into him hope. After smiling at Cullen, Lana turned to her boy, her fingers drawing down his back to hold him close to his father. "I missed you," she whispered. "Both of you."

"We missed you too," he sighed, meaning every word.

"Is he hungry or...just chewing. There seems to be a lot of that," Lana chuckled at her boy who knew what he liked and didn't seem to be easily swayed from it. Maker's breath, they were right. This was a copy resting in his arms. "Mia seemed near a breakdown when I found her."

There was an obvious question of how he was able to calm their son down where the mythical baby whisperer could not. "I'll have you know I'm quite capable of making him happy," Cullen stuck up for himself. He was going to taunt his sister with this one for awhile.

"You're good at helping me too," she nestled her cheek to the other side of his chest, mother and son staring at each other against him.

"Are you...?"

Lana sighed. She grew tired of talking about it, never a fan of discussing her shortcomings in detail, but he had to know. "It is receding but not entirely gone. I can see the dawn, and that's all that matters."

"Good," he buried his face in her hair, breathing in the love of his life. If he'd lost her... "What were you doing in the potion room?"

It took her a moment to speak before Lana's voice danced around, "There was some talk that stocks were low and I..."

"Maker's sake, Lana. Isn't that why we hired and you trained up a perfectly fine distiller?"

"She's okay, but these required very precise measurements to--"

Cullen pressed his lips to hers, silencing her excuse. That's what it was. He knew she in her perfectionist mood couldn't let anyone else take over her domain and had to intercede. But he didn't care. She needed it, needed to be in charge of something and the fact she wanted to do it warmed him. It was his Lana.

Their kiss broke as their son began to wiggle his legs more, flailing them to try and stave off the nap. "Our little boy," she cooed to him, her fingers massaging up and down his waist. "We should really pick a name for him."

"You have some thoughts already on that," Cullen said. He didn't ask because he knew the answer.

"Perhaps, a few, to run by you. Seeing as how someone was _so certain_ we'd have a girl," she drew her teeth across her lip, all but inviting him to kiss his wife again.

Cullen felt as if his heart might burst from all of this, but Maker's breath was it a wonderful feeling to have. "I love you," he said, "and I know you. You've already got your heart set on what you want."

"That..." she frowned, then wrinkled her nose the same way their son did before yawning. "Ma-a-ybe," the word stretched with her own exhaustion. "Why am I always so tired?"

"Because you made that," he tipped his head over to the baby that was already slipping back to sleep.

"Seems a lousy excuse," Lana murmured. "Walked the deep roads for weeks, took down a brood mother, then a crazy dwarf with a bunch of golems. Did it all on four hours of sleep a night." Her rant faded as she pressed her cheek tighter to his chest.  "I suppose I should head back to the room."

Cullen shifted and glanced behind him. "Why? We have a bed right there. Come here." With one hand around her waist, he guided his wife back towards the bed. He lay down first, their son cuddled up in his left arm while Lana claimed the right side. Against his skin he could feel her smile as she softly touched the tip of their boy's nose.

"Do you want me to hold him?"

"No," he sighed, holding the entire world in his arms. "There's enough room for you both."

## CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

#### Moving On Up

39 weeks...

Everything was pristine white. Not painted white -- when left to her own devices Reiss defaulted yellow while Alistair kept insisting on green -- but it felt white. Crisper than chantry robes that never set foot outside their hallowed halls. Her first time into the nursery Reiss jammed her hands into her pockets out of fear of smudging up anything.

While the legitimate children's rooms were on the west side of the palace, this rested on the east closer to the King's room. It wasn't chosen right next to his which told Reiss that there'd no doubt been many arguments over just where to stick the elven mistress who spawned her way back to the palace. At least it wasn't a broom closet, Reiss mused.

But no, the father would have kicked up a major fuss if she or their child were jammed into a forgotten corner of the palace and given only scraps to eat. Still, she didn't expect this kind of expense given to the bastard child of a King.

Soft light lanced through a rose stained glass window, casting a cherry wood rocking chair in a heavenly light. A long, plump cushion rested upon the seat and back, beckoning any and all to fall into its embrace. Various tapestries of animals hung upon the grey stone walls. Not so much of the fuzzy and happy variety, but there weren't too many beheadings to traumatize a child. Nestled along the cozier walls were chests of drawers jammed with all the clothing any child would need seemingly from age zero to fifteen.

When exploring on her own Reiss first unearthed a dress she suspected would have fit her pre-pregnancy. Just how long did they plan on using this room for her kid? The thought turned to an icy fear until she began to dig through the drawers and realized there was a highly detailed system for the clothing. No doubt it was Karelle who came up with it, running off of vague suggestions from the King and not Alistair himself who expected her to remain here until their baby was old enough to squire.

While all the clothes were of a fine make, some almost bearing glints of gold and she feared a jewel here or there, it was the crib that caused Reiss to gasp. Carved from iron bark and darker than mahogany, it had a great headboard to the front which bore the Theirin crest. No doubt to remind anyone who stumbled upon the little baby sleeping inside that this was the King's child. She assumed it was the same crib used for the other two children, until Reiss drew nearer to spot the etchings dug deep into the crib's railing and bars.

Running down and across it were words in elvish. She recognized the old lullaby her mother often sung, as well as a blessing that the other elves in the refugee camp would pass around the fire. Some of it she had no clue of, which Alistair did his best to translate. Seemed it was a gift from the Dalish, the people never forgetting the King who nearly risked his life to save their child. Given that they were rather happy on their land, he figured the words weren't a curse upon him and his house. Hoped, at least.

In an ingenious elven fashion, the crib was designed to rock like a cradle, while later be locked in place by a mechanism for when the child grew. She'd never seen anything so well crafted or so beautiful in her life. Nearly everything in the room was far too good for the woman terrified to touch it. Maker, how was she going to keep it clean and away from a baby?

"Hello, gorgeous," Alistair's sunny voice called from the door. She turned slowly, feeling as if an entire moon was orbiting around her stomach while doing so. A bright smile beamed upon Alistair's face as he stared at her. "Maker, I love having you around so I can do that."

"Do what?" Reiss asked.

Sliding into the nursery, Alistair wrapped one arm around her expanding waist and kissed her cheek. "Say hello whenever I feel like," he whispered to her.

She couldn't respond, already feeling a return of the blush. It was taking her some time to adjust to the idea of being out in the open in the palace. It's not as if people weren't well aware the two of them were having an affair, in particular when her stomach entered a room long before she managed. And they'd been nice so far, Karelle chuckling at some of Reiss' good natured grumbling and Renata offering to save her the better leftovers. Maybe this wouldn't be such a long year after all.

"Ugh," Alistair groaned, then twisted his overloaded arm around to drag Cailan's face up to his. "You are a squirmy worm, you know that?" The boy giggled ferociously, his fingers stuck inside a pair of gauntlets far too big for him. He kept waving the fingers then laughing.

"Where's your daughter?" Reiss asked. It was rare to find him with one and not the other.

"She's off at her princess lessons. You know, don't eat your soup with the salad fork. Don't spit on the floor. Don't finish a sentence with a preposition. The real boring and pointless stuff. So..." He hauled Cailan up into his arms and bonked his forehead into the boy's. That got another brash of laughter from the child. "It's just me and him for a little while. Isn't that right?"

Reiss expected a tiny yes from her presence, or a blast of agreement because he forgot she was there. Instead the boy merely giggled more then twisted in his father's arms. Despite the strain, Alistair hung on, the rising bicep bulging up through his royal tunic drawing Reiss' attentions.

"Little pipsqueak," he groaned at his son, "he's up and decided to not talk today. No idea why. Just thinks it's more fun to giggle at everyone, don't you?"

Another hard laugh echoed from Cailan's wide mouth as his father tickled against the boy's sides. "Are you gonna talk now? What if I do this...?" Twisting him quickly, Alistair managed to catch both of Cailan's ankles together in one hand and dangled the boy upside down.

The gauntlets slid off with a heavy thud, but the child found it all hilarious. His laughter was so infectious, Reiss felt her cheeks splitting in joy. Alistair let the boy dangle closer to the floor, Cailan's jet black locks sweeping across the rug. Still he laughed, even as his father gently lowered him to the floor until Cailan rested upon his back.

"Maker's sake," Alistair groaned, trying to massage his overexerted bicep. "When did you get so heavy? I swear, last I checked you were all of ten pounds. Eh," he softly nudged the tip of his boot into the boy, "where's all this extra weight coming from?"

Shaking off the laughter from his son grabbing onto his shoe and promptly untying the laces, Alistair glanced over at Reiss. She knew there was a blush to her cheeks from how easily she was pulled into his web. Sweet Andraste, he was deliriously sexy while playing with his kids. Reiss didn't see the two often, but enough to know that...it may be hard for her to keep her hands off of Alistair once he held their child.

Her hand drifted across her stomach, getting a solid kick in response. Catching on, perhaps because the kid's limbs were evident even through her widening maternity dress, Alistair scooped a hand around her waist and asked, "How are you doing?"

"Feeling very, very fat," Reiss groaned.

"You're not fat. It doesn't count as fat when it's nothing but baby in your stomach," he chuckled, his fingers drifting back to dig through her hair. She let down the bun, but kept half of it pinned back in a low ponytail. It was enough to make Alistair happy while also keeping the hair out of her face.

"What if I ate a baby? Would that still count as not fat?" Reiss prodded as she tipped her head to his shoulder. When not exhausted she felt useless. It'd only been a few days since she moved up to the palace, and already she was out of anything to do. Alistair offered her the chance to sit in on court, and aside from being wildly inappropriate, she'd rather eat rusty glass than join him.

"You've got me there," Alistair admitted. "If you plan on eating babies for constant five course meals I guess I can't ever call you fat."

His other hand drifted across her always widening stomach. Reiss thought she was large before when it prodded a bit out and none of her old pants fit. Maker was she an idiot. Now she drifted through life like one of those river barges used to cart around livestock, barely mobile and liable to barrel through anything in the way. Lunet all but hauled her ass up to the palace district after Reiss accidentally knocked over her stack of files for the fifth time.

"Feeling tired? Need a nap?" he asked her softly, before glancing down at the boy that was now attempting to tie the shoes he undid. "What about you? It's nearly time for your nap."

Cailan, true to whatever vow he took, shook his head a giant negative but didn't voice it. His bright blue eyes shone while he tried to figure out how to make those little loops and knots all the other shoes had. She hadn't run into Beatrice yet, though Alistair assured her ever since the pre-crowning ceremony with the princess the Queen's wrath had cooled to polite indifference. Still... Maybe Reiss could stick to one side of the castle for a year without anyone noticing.

Pinching away a round of 'everything in her body not feeling normal' Reiss shook her head and then tripped into Alistair's fawning eyes. He twiddled a finger through her hair, curling it back behind her ears before trailing up the edge to caress the tip. Still an elf. Always an elf. Blushing, Reiss felt an urge to grab onto this man who was no doubt meant to be in a national meeting and take him to bed. Not for anything romantic, she doubted she'd be up for that for months for how she despised her body, but to lay upon, to nap beside him. He made for the best pillow.

"Sire!" A short man dashed into the room and bowed. Alistair turned from Reiss but didn't release his hand off her waist. _It's okay, Rat. They all know you two are a thing. Don't panic over it._

"That'd be me," Alistair chuckled, then wiggled the toes in his boot at Cailan to add, "right sired?"

The man yanked off his messenger cap to reveal a set of pointy ears. Tipping lower, he tugged a small letter from the back pocket and pressed it into Alistair's hand. "Just arrived, Sire. Thought it looked like something you'd want."

"Thanks, it's..." he twisted it around in boredom, then smiled wider. "This is just what I needed." Alistair clasped the man on the shoulder and a great grin broke over the elf's lips.

Placing back on his hat, he nodded once to his King then turned to go. But, for a brief second his eyes lingered on Reiss. It was so fast she easily could have convinced herself that she imagined the look of disgust that curdled his lip before the elf turned to leave out the door. She wanted to point it out to Alistair, but he was too busy yanking open the letter to read it. While his eyes slid up and down, his face went from ecstatic, to concerned, back to overjoyed, and finally blank.

"Well..." Reiss prompted.

"It's Lanny, she's had her baby! A boy, much to the templar's chagrin," Alistair snickered.

"Already?" Reiss groaned. They hadn't been perfectly synched up but Reiss had hoped she'd be the one to go first, if only to cut down on the agony of waiting.

At that Alistair's eyebrows pinched together, "Over two weeks ago, he came early. Really early, barely even four pounds."

"Maker's breath!" Reiss gasped, "Are they...?"

"They're doing okay, looks like. Lanny's good, and the baby's getting bigger, eating lots she says. But..." His voice trailed off as the far too short letter wafted in his hands.

Reiss drew her fingers over the back of his, cupping his hands tight as she tried to scrounge the contents of the letter through Alistair's eyes. He blinked, aware that he was being stupid and whispered, "She says the taint's back." No! "It's why the baby came so early. Then Lanny assures me that she'll work on another answer, get this licked. The usual stubborn bits I'd come to expect from her."

Not again. Reiss had done her best to not think about the curse of the Grey Wardens when he first told her and what it would mean to him, to them both. So little time remained in comparison to what they could have had and the thought of it stung her. All those missing years. She'd been so overjoyed when this potion seemed to work and now... "Alistair," Reiss drew her hands around his back, and he followed suit, the pair of them falling into a hug.

"There's probably gonna be another joining on my horizon soonish. That'll be fun because the first was nothing but fluffy bunnies and candy colored rainbows. I'm..." he shook it off, the smile she expected slapping into place. "This is a problem later. There's a baby. A baby she says looks just like his father. Poor kid. But a baby! That's celebrating time."

"Are you...?" She knew when he was dodging, but also that sometimes he had to.

His breathing slowed as the hands behind Reiss tightened. Taking in the enormity of his looming mortality, Alistair placed his lips against her forehead and began to place wandering kisses. "Lanny's alive. Her baby's alive. It's a good day, even if..."

"It is a good day," Reiss assured him, those sweet brown eyes honing in on hers, "and I'm almost jealous that she's done with having to cart around a giant stomach."

Alistair smiled painfully, the lift of his lips sliding quickly down but he cupped a hand against Reiss' stomach and whispered, "Don't listen to her, little one. You take all the time you need in there."

"Fine," Reiss groaned, "but next one you're carrying."

He chuckled at that and moved to kiss her lips when a blur suddenly popped up and grabbed his hand away from her belly. Cailan's expectant eyes stared up at his father the way a mabari's would. "What do you want?" Alistair asked.

"Sissy!" Cailan shrieked, breaking his vow of silence.

"Of course," Alistair groaned while lifting the boy up into his arms. "Out of every single thing I tried to get him to say, Spud's the only one he cares about. Couldn't even get cake from him."

Cailan laughed at that, his busy fingers fiddling with something else upon Alistair's busy shirt. "You sure do love your sister, which I guess is better than you two hating each other. Last thing Ferelden needs is another civil war because 'He ripped the head off my dolly when I was six!'"

Without Alistair to hold it, Reiss' fingers drifted back to her stomach trying to calm the flutters from within. Every day they'd start up giving her hope that proper labor would begin, and every day they'd recede back to nothing. What if this kid didn't come out, ever? What if she was cursed to be forever pregnant?

"I'd better take this little critter back to his nanny, then it's to the mines. Karelle had something about a tax increase levied to..." Alistair let his head slump forward, fake snores reverberating out of his nose. Shaking it off with a laugh, he cupped Reiss' cheek and kissed her quick on the lips.

"Good luck," she said while Alistair, holding tight to his son, slowly shuffled his feet. He couldn't properly walk because the child had managed to fully tie his laces across the shoes into an unbreakable knot.

"You two stay safe, and comfortable," he called behind him, "I'll check in on you later. Hopefully before dinner but you know how exciting tax codes are."

As the King and also father of her child left the little nursery, Reiss ran her hand over the elven etchings into the crib. She had no idea what the future would bring but, by the Maker, she wanted to face it head on already. This waiting was killing her.

* * *

## CHAPTER SEVENTY

#### O Holy Night

41 weeks...

"Daddy!" The princess' high pitched squeal of excitement echoed around the grand hall as she snatched onto a ribbon and began to peel out between trees. A near on dozen of the saplings sat in decorated buckets lining one side of the room. The other was filling with stacks of gifts and also plates of nuts. While the piles of children staying in the palace for Satinalia pawed and prodded at the gifts, it was the trees that enraptured their future Queen.

She was in high spirits doing her best to help the other servants decorate the trees in time for the festivities tomorrow. Karelle kept glancing over at the nanny, Marn too busy with the multitude of cousins to care, then back to the child who blew a full bucket of glitter at the once gold and silver trees. And, of course, the entire time her father kept secretly encouraging her.

"Looking good, Spuddy!" Alistair called while sticking up a thumb. He'd snatched up one of the red and white helmets traditionally worn by the marching armies of Andraste and perched it upon his head. Normally they decorated the statues set about, or were left upon the trees as part of the old diversionary tactic. But there was barely a hat in thedas that didn't beckon to the King of Ferelden.

Dashing between him were all the piles of servants racing to make this a wonderful Satinalia tomorrow. The Queen directed from the dais, her opinion taken as law and usually overriding whatever suggestion Alistair threw out. It was probably for the best as he seemed to only concern himself with the dessert table's placement.

At the back and doing her best to not be caught out in it stood Reiss. She was miserable. Surprisingly, it wasn't due to her feeling put out as the lone stranger in a sea of family and friends working towards a holiday. In fact, Philipe talked to her for a good hour before Renata caught wind of his hiding and drug him back to the kitchens to help out. And a few of Queen Beatrice's sisters were polite if not highly uncertain about the pregnant elf.

No, her problems all lied within her belly. Three days she'd been waffling with near on labor. Twice she woke Alistair from her bed, dead certain it was time, only to have the trembling fade. For the love of the Maker, the baby flipped over nearly a month ago. She was swollen in every joint that could swell, exhausted, hadn't seen her feet in a month, couldn't lay on her stomach, couldn't squat, could barely move unless given probable cause. It had to end or there was a good chance Reiss would go mad.

Spinning away from his daughter attempting to add cottony snow to the tree branches, Alistair left his perch as the master of ceremonies to slide an arm around Reiss. "What do you think?" he asked, tipping his head towards the lone tree his daughter was making all her childlike own.

"It's very lively," Reiss said diplomatically.

"Caywin, no!" the girl shouted, waving her hand at her brother who was trying to add his own red ball to the mess.

"Spud..." Alistair warned, barely looking back to see if she complied. Growling, with her little arms crossed, she stepped back to let her ecstatic brother shove the ornament upon a branch. Seeing as he was three, he didn't realize it needed to be hung upon a wire and the ball rolled off the branch and smashed to the ground. The child didn't cry at his failure, but clapped his hands. It seemed to catch his sister's eye as well, the pair of them shoving the mercifully unbroken ball further down the great hall.

"Should you stop them?" Reiss asked, watching the pair dart in and out around the pots with their new toy.

"They're happy and not currently breaking anything," Alistair said, "I'm not saying a word. So..." He stopped watching his children as his voice grew husky, his lips waffling against the skin of her neck, "you've been very good this year. What are you hoping for from our dear Andraste?"

Reiss wished she could give in to his moves, but the heartburn that never went away flared back up. Groaning, she spat out, "All I want for Satinalia is to be free of this nightmare and have a baby in my arms." He paused at that, those puppy eyes blinking in concern at her bitter tongue. Rolling her hand across his cheeks, she tacked on, "Baring that, a pony."

The smile she wanted lifted on him, "I don't know if an army is in the habit of dropping off ponies before it marches, but..." His mischievous eyes darted back and forth as he leaned closer to her ear, "I've heard talk of one way to get a baby out quickly?"

Dear Maker, she'd tried them all. Every blighted old wives tale from drinking felandris oil to eating five hot peppers, no doubt contributing to her heartburn. There'd even been a ride in a carriage with Lunet, which began as a way to try to induce labor but turned into her spying an attempted murder on the street and having to send her friend after it. At least Reiss hadn't fully lost her touch even as this baby was pushing every button inside of her but the eject.

She turned to Alistair, anticipating his answer to be something she had to eat, or drink, or rub all over her body for five hours a day. His eyebrows undulated and a great grin answered, "It's the same thing that made the baby in the first place."

"That..." He had to be kidding. Then again, she'd try anything to get this thing out of her. "Really?"

"Heard it from a few people. Granted, it was more when Bea was big enough to pop and I had no say in that matter, but..." Alistair circled his hand up and down her arm, his eyes so impishly adorable she'd have given in even if it wouldn't get this labor party started. Too bad there were other problems.

"That's nice in theory, but..." Reiss shook her head. "You can't mean now." There were dozens of people crowded around them, too busy to listen in, while Alistair was being father to the country.

He let his mouth inch close to her ear to whisper, "I rather doubt they'll notice my disappearance for an hour or so."

"An hour?" Reiss scoffed. "You'll get ten minutes, tops, before I either have to pee or lay down."

Maker, that should have shaken him off, but he seemed enthralled with the idea. "Challenge accepted," Alistair grinned, his hand sliding in behind her back.

"Alistair, that..." Reiss began, but he interrupted her.

"Karelle?" The dutiful chamberlain looked over. "I'm gonna help Reiss up to her room for a nap. Think you can keep an eye on my two terrors 'til then?"

"Aye Sire..." she smiled at him, the woman in a festive mood. Then the sound of breaking glass followed by hyperactive giggling caused her to groan, "I shall do my best."

"Wait until there's another one wreaking havoc with them," Alistair said to her, earning an even louder groan. Before Karelle could go back on her word, or pummel him with her clipboard, he began to guide Reiss towards the stairs.

This was foolish, silly, to be leaving a crowded ballroom in order to have sex with the King in some attempt to get his child to come out faster. Reiss pinched up her nose and shook off the crown. Her eyes glanced over to the man with his arm wrapped around her, a gorgeous and sweet man that'd often wash her pots while naked because she forgot to make room. It wasn't a King's child she was carrying but Alistair's.

Calmed by that, Reiss let her head drop to his shoulder as they walked up the stairs, and her hand pinched his tight ass.

* * *

A dozen heavenly voices sang to the prophet Andraste, as well as the King's court and family gathered in the hall. They'd left the meal behind to all stand around the interior decorated forest and the dais before it. Reiss did her best to sample all of Renata's hard work while eating as little as possible. It was good, the best she'd ever had for the holiday, but her stomach was rumbling worse than before. Every breath brought up a pinch from deep inside, perhaps the baby unhappy with their afternoon eviction attempt.

While Alistair had sat perched upon the host chair beside the Queen with an elderly Eamon and Isolde to the left, Reiss took up a chair near the middle of the table. It surprised her she wasn't down at the bottom with the rest of the not-nobles, but every once in awhile Alistair would look up from his meal and flash her a cheeky grin. No doubt he was mentally playing back his attempt at the best quickie he could manage, the man putting a lot of pride in his work. Which did deserve accolades, Reiss had to admit. Even while she was frustrated and in pain, he was amazing at distracting her to orgasm.

Maker's sake, Rat! She tried to fan her cheeks as she realized she was thinking about...that, while surrounded by the castle's children and most of the chantry. The Grand Cleric stood less than a stone's throw away from her, her arms folded into her robes as she watched the proceedings with an amused smile. Amazingly, few drew attention to the unwed, about to be mother standing in their midst. Karelle spoke to her for a bit, and the Bann who sat across from Reiss at the table struck up a polite conversation about her work. But otherwise, they treated her as if she wasn't special, but not a threat either. Just another body in their midst.

Alistair stood in front of the group closest to the choir fanned out before the glittering forests. He had Cailan perched on his shoulders, the boy dressed in a fine green velvet suit coat, while the princess kept trying to tug the tiara out of her hair. The girl stood beside her father, one gloved hand holding onto his and the other fluffing her golden skirt back and forth. Every once in awhile the Queen would lean over and tell her daughter to stand up straight.

They looked like a happy family watching the festivities for the holiday.

Reiss would always skip this, leaving him to the palace and his children for holidays while she toiled away at work. Of course, Alistair would insist they still celebrate whatever day they skipped later, often decorating her tiny apartment in eggs or pages of the chant to do it. She never much minded missing out, the holidays were incidental to an elf that went from farm girl, to refugee, to migrant worker. Only the very devout Andrastian would insist their workers get the day off to bask in her glory. Most preferred to leave the elves out in the field while they all dressed in their best to head to the chantry.

_What did you get yourself into?_

Her hand drifted over her stomach, trying to calm the constant twitching from inside. Was Lunet right? Would Reiss be standing behind the royal family clinging to their child while the Grand Cleric droned on about civility and purity of heart? How many of these things did Alistair grit his teeth through, seeming to only survive because of the grace of his children? And how many would he expect their baby to attend?

A little late to be worrying about that now, isn't it Ress?

Taking a steadying breath, she caught the concerned eye of Karelle. The chamberlain with a giant red bow perched upon the small of her back scooted through the throngs to dip down to Reiss. "Are you well?"

"Yes," she gritted her teeth in a forced smile.

"You look as if you have a bobcat inside you," Karelle whispered.

"It..." Reiss shook off another round of the kid's punches and kicks. Maker's sake, this baby never seemed to stop. That's what she got for carrying the child of two warriors. "That sounds accurate somedays."

"Should I get you a chair?" Karelle asked, waving her hand out towards one.

Reiss gripped the woman's hand and shook her head. "No, I'm..." She didn't want to be out of place. Everyone else was standing. She could suck it up too. "It'll pass. It always does."

"Very well," Karelle said, "but if..."

Her words drowned out as the Grand Cleric stepped up to the small dais while the choir shifted further to the back in deference. She had on her best robes, starched and pressed until nearly blinding and tipped her great hat. "Ladies, Gentlemen, my Lord," she bowed a bit at Alistair who gave a cheery wave before gripping back onto his son, "we stand here tonight in remembrance of our brave Andraste and her struggle to rise up against the mage oppression. Magic should serve man and never rule over him. These are the words of our fair Maker as told to his Bride and imparted to us. We often forget what oaths we swore, letting time erode promises made to our offices, our friends, our wives and husbands."

_Ah crap_ , Reiss tried to not groan. She was talking at her. Great, fantastic. Was the woman going to point out, "And look, we have our own example of a whore right here?" Yes, she kept on this life. Yes, she was sleeping with a married man. Fine, she was carrying his child. Let's all gawk and maybe throw stones, that will fix things. Starving children in the street a problem? How about we burn an adulterer? That ought to work.

"It is our duty to do what was right, not always what is easy," the Grand Cleric continued, somehow managing to not jab wildly at Reiss in the crowd. "And on this day as we sit in honor of the brave souls who plucked tree from root and carried a forest across enemy lines to free us all out of magic's tyranny, think upon their sacrifice."

Funny how all those souls were considered to be human. Every statue done up for Satinalia was always of the same three faces with nary a pointy ear in sight despite it being Shartan who marched Andraste's armies. Reiss didn't even think a thing of it until she walked past the alienage that had an elven statue carrying a tree. History was written by the ones who needed to make sure they looked the best in it.

"Let us bow our heads and pray," the Grand Cleric continued. Every head tipped down, hands clasping while the woman stretched her arms out to try and hug her flock. "Maker, creator of all, from You we came, and to Your side we shall return. To us You sent Your most beloved Andraste to usher us from the chains and break off the collar of mage oppression. On this day of her decisive victory over the ancient Imperium we give thanks to You, to Your Bride, and to our blessed Divine Victoria."

That last part got a few rumblings through the crowd, some mouths unhappy with just how many poor and enslaved souls the Divine was bringing into the chantry. Maker, was this what Atisha was putting up with in the Grand Cathedral? Or did everyone have to play even nicer there? Reiss' thoughts were thrown off as a new twist seized up her stomach. _Calm down, kid._ It'll be over soon and she could fall into a chair.

"In Andraste's name we pray," the Grand Cleric smiled, her eyes shining at the attention. "May the gaze of the Maker and of his Bride turn upon you always."

"Holy shit!" Reiss screamed, buckling to a knee as her curse reverberated through the deathly silent hall. Her curse tainted the pure air, every folded palm yanking apart in shock. She should have felt embarrassed as all the tongues moved to cluck her to death for such a crass interruption but it felt as if her insides were trying to rip in half. "Owe, owe, owe," she groaned, her head tipping to her chest to face another oncoming storm of pain. A hand grabbed onto hers and she squeezed tight, trying to will everything knotting her up through it.

As it passed, she lifted her eyes to find it was Karelle holding her hand, a perturbed look upon her lips. A great space formed around Reiss, everyone doing their best to get away from the blaspheming woman, when Alistair bounded through a few feathered Banns.

"Reiss?" he called, dropping to a knee and taking her entire arm in his. "What is it?"

She shook her head, spots darting against her vision. "Don't know. Lot of pain real fast and hard."

"Contractions?" the Queen's voice drifted above her, and both Reiss and Alistair turned to it. Beatrice held Cailan in her arms, her emerald eyes darting down to the mistress gasping in pain.

"Maybe, it's... Damn it, not another one," Reiss reached out and clasped tight to Alistair's shoulder. Digging in tight, she let another wave of pain pass before starting into his eyes.

"Okay," he looked ghostly white, stricken from her pain. Damn it, he's already been through this before. He was supposed to be her expert. Carefully, Alistair helped Reiss to her feet. He had one hand around her back as if afraid she might buckle again.

"Seems there's going to be a baby soon. I'm gonna help her up to the room, you all carry on with the celebration," Alistair called to the mob. He nodded at Karelle who was gripping tight to her clipboard. It took a moment before she glanced up and nodded dumbly.

As Alistair and Reiss slowly limped towards the stairs, guests scattering from her like she carried the blight, Beatrice asked, "Do you...require any help?"

Alistair's confused eyes met Reiss and all she could do was shrug. "I think we've got it now. You stay with the kids," he said to his wife and Queen.

"Very well," Beatrice cuddled tight to her son as Alistair and Reiss scurried away from every judgmental eye and no doubt clucking tongue.

"Maker's fucking hemorrhoids," Reiss groaned, tumbling to the bed they'd been preparing for this eventuality.

"Another contraction?" Alistair asked. He began to strip off his fancy shirt which Reiss eyed up as she rolled over onto her back.

"No, me, making a total ass out of myself in front of...pretty much every single important person in Denerim."

"It wasn't that bad," Alistair laughed, tossing his shirt to the desk and then rubbing her arm.

"No, you're right, every important person in Ferelden. Good thing I never go to the chantry because I sure as shit can't stick my head in there ever again," Reiss wallowed, feeling her life shatter in an instant.

"Reiss," Alistair circled his hands around her cheeks, tugging her face up to his, "You're going to have a baby. A little cursing's allowed. Pretty sure everyone in that room knows how it goes."

"Old crusty Mothers who haven't seen a dick in decades?" she shot back, her normally held in check crassness snapping out. Reiss was trained to bite her tongue in the presence of her betters, but with pain jarring her every breath she wanted to curse worse than Lunet walking on a rusty nail.

Alistair found it hilarious, a laugh stretching his lips until he planted them to her forehead. She folded her arms across her aching chest, and sniped, "This isn't funny."

"It's... Okay, right now, with you in pain, it's not funny. But in a few weeks, or months, or when the kid's bringing a significant other to meet the parents..."

Maker take her, but he looked so damn cute while trying to appease her. No, that was what got you into this mess in the first place! Reiss pushed her palm against his cheek as much to try and tell him he was being an idiot as to keep herself distracted. Alistair took it all in stride, which didn't surprise her much.

"Milord, we came as soon as we could," a twin pair of midwives appeared along with the silent healer who barely spoke two words, wasn't exactly wild about sitting in on a birth, but agreed because otherwise he'd get shipped back to the College.

"Here's your patient," Alistair chuckled, stepping back to reveal Reiss stretched out upon the bed. "But I should warn you, she's feisty."

"I swear to the Maker, I will..." Reiss waved her fist at him, which he caught and then pressed a kiss to.

While the midwives smiled politely and prepped Reiss for what was to come, Alistair kept ahold of her fist. He wouldn't even let her unclench her fingers, just clung tight to her as if afraid she might suddenly vanish. It wasn't until one of the twins, Maker she was never going to be able to tell the difference, stuck her head down between Reiss' legs that Alistair shifted.

"Careful or I may have to challenge you to a duel of honor," Alistair joked.

"Milord?" the poor girl's rosy cheeks faded to fear.

"He's kidding. He does it a lot," Reiss raced to reassure the woman that should be assuring her. "What's the...what'll happen?"

"Labor has begun, but I fear we are in for quite a wait yet," she announced, turning back to smile at her sister who was slowly laying out at first towels and now various metal instruments of torture.

"Blighted void, of course we are," Reiss cursed at herself. "What about this won't take forever?" She shook off her whining to glance over at the man who had his grand ballroom full of fancy people no doubt doing their best to pretend to celebrate. "You should head back to the party."

"What? You need me here," Alistair insisted, wrapping both hands around hers.

"It will be many hours, your Majesty," the second twin, the torture one piped up.

"Go," Reiss tugged him close, his forehead butting into hers, "go spend the time with your kids. Open presents and sing songs and gorge on treats. I'll be up here waiting, as I always am."

She spotted the tug in his eyes. He wanted to be in two places at once, both playing with his children that were already on the ground while also here with her watching for the next one. But it was foolish of him to waste that time sitting here bored out of his mind. "Are you certain? I don't want to miss anything," he'd been oddly excited about being there for the great emergence, having been kept far from Beatrice for her births.

"I swear, if I think the kid's gonna pop out I'll cross my legs really hard until someone gets you," Reiss promised to his beautiful brown eyes.

"That isn't recommended," one of the midwives popped up, but the lovers ignored her.

"Okay," Alistair agreed, brushing his lips against hers for a kiss. "It'll be an hour at most and then I'll come back. I promise."

He began to regretfully sidle to the door, the midwives trying to shoo him out of the way as they continued their preparations. "Don't worry," Reiss called, "I'll be sure to describe every bone breaking pain and gooey bodily fluid that leaks out of me on your return."

His face scrunched up in disgust, but she knew it was for dramatic effect. Blowing her another kiss, he turned to leave, when Reiss shouted, "Alistair! Your shirt!"

"Oh, right," he grabbed onto the one he'd abandoned as if thinking he'd be yanking their baby out with his bare hands. Sliding one arm on, he paused and soulful eyes few ever saw in their King stared over at her, "Good luck."

"I love you too," Reiss called out. As the father vanished to be with his other children, Reiss prepared herself to bring the newest one screaming into the world. "If a corpse is found dead beside the river, make certain to ascertain if it's..."

## CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

#### Hello There

"I'll give you a pony, two ponies, you can have the crown right now and order every person in Ferelden to give you your dessert if you'd just. Go. To. Sleep!" Alistair clasped his hands together on his knees while pleading with his daughter to close her eyes.

Cailan passed out in the middle of the forest dance, his little head listing back and forth as Alistair trundled him off to bed. Now all he had to do was get Spud down and he could check on Reiss. There hadn't been word from anyone in an hour and while everyone kept assuring him babies took time, he refused to be patient. Maker only knew there was no chance Reiss was being it.

His daughter sat with Mr. Tibbles under her arm and gazed down at her broken father. Three separate glasses of water sat perched beside her bed because the first was too warm, the second too cold, and the third 'he was going to lock her in the dungeon if she didn't drink it.' Spud crossed her arms and muttered, "I'm not tired."

"Spuddy, you have to sleep. It's Satinalia tomorrow and it'll come even faster if you go to sleep."

"I wanna stay up with you," she launched forward, almost sliding out of bed to latch her arms around his neck.

Alistair was quick to catch her hands, "Oh no, that's not going to work. Daddy's...I'm gonna be busy tonight. Be good and go to sleep. When you wake up you might have a new brother or sister to play with."

That caused her lip to pucker out, Spud's normally chubby cheeks tucking back into a scowl. "I don't want another brother."

"It could be a sister," he was trying anything to bribe her short of letting her order a few executions. "You could do her hair, or put her in funny dresses, or challenge her to duels. I don't know!" Exhaustion and desperation were ransacking Alistair's brain.

"Humph," Spud tucked Mr Tibbles tighter into her crossed arms and glared at nothing, "I don't want it. I don't want Caywen."

"Well too bad. He's here and there's gonna be another one too. You know, you used to like your brother," Maker take him, he was trying to argue logic with a six year old. Alistair was truly screwed.

"Did not. You're lying. I never liked Caywen. He's a stinky head."

Admittedly, it was a fleeting perhaps year where the baby was cute, and adorable, and didn't keep getting into Spud's way. Then he started walking and the sister turned quickly upon her brother. Alistair already girded himself for when Cailan would turn on whoever was inside Reiss, the gap in years the same.

"Look, you are going to go to sleep because I...I have to sit at my desk doing boring King things that you hate," Alistair tried a new tactic, but the kid was far too bright.

Spud stuck out her tongue and sneered, "Nu uh, you never do that on Satinalia. You go off to play with Weiss."

Damn. He blinked in surprise at the fact she knew that. Alistair did his best to stretch his time evenly between the two lives, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made. "Spuddy, I..."

He trailed off as the nursery door opened to reveal Bea standing in it. She'd slipped on her night robe and looked far more relaxed than the man remaining in his fancy dress clothes save the tight collar he popped open. "Little lady," Beatrice spoke to Spud, "you should be asleep. It's long past your bedtime."

"But Daddy..." Spud whined, her fingers reaching over to snuggle to his neck. Now that he was her only chance to stay awake she suddenly wasn't mad at him.

"Has other business to attend to. Say goodnight, you'll see him in the morning," Beatrice commanded.

Spud's bright eyes sized up her unbendable mother, then she dashed forward and placed a kiss to Alistair's cheek. "Night, Daddy," she spat out quickly before releasing her hold then twisting over to lay away from them to make her wrath well known and no doubt forgotten come the morning.

"Sleep tight, Spudkins," he said, gently patting her back and staggering up to his feet. To Bea, he said, "Thank you."

She tipped her head, the fancy coif having been dismantled into soft ebony waves. "You are needed elsewhere," Beatrice was tightlipped. They'd been on not the best talking terms since she learned Reiss was going to be in her house for a little while. Alistair scurried to the door, his mind already shifting away from his child mode to let free all the worry he'd kept bottled away during the festivities.

"Alistair?" He froze dumbfounded; she never used his name. "I pray that everything will go well for you both."

He smiled at that and nodded, "Me too. Good evening, Beatrice."

"And to you as well, my King."

When he yanked open the door to Reiss' room he expected to see her laying on her back screaming at some hapless servant's face while the midwives bustled around. Instead he found her bottomless and pacing back and forth through the room. A small book was clutched in her hand which, as she kept walking, he recognized as being one of her old case files.

"Maker's breath, you're doing work while in labor?" he gasped.

She turned from whatever world she drifted off to when examining evidence and her eyes shined a moment along with a grateful smile at his reappearance. "This thing is taking forever, so I thought I'd walk around a bit while thinking through some cold files."

Shrugging off his shirt for real this time, Alistair scooped a hand along her waist. "How are you doing?"

"Contractions once every fifteen or so minutes. Some not bad, others painful enough I want to crack open a tal-vashoth skull. So, typical child labor I think," Reiss shrugged as if she was waiting for her horse to finish being shod. How was she not in some sort of panic? Oh right, because she was amazing and sometimes he suspected an ancient elf out of legend.

Running his palm across her cheek, Alistair tried to smooth back her hair behind her ears. He leaned in for a kiss, then realized they were truly alone. "Where are the midwives?"

"Rutting around with that silent healer would be my best guess," Reiss threw out before kissing his slack lips.

"What? Together? At the same time? Aren't they sisters?" Alistair's face pinched up at the thought, uncertain which way to take the idea.

Reiss laughed, "In truth, I think they're taking turns. Perhaps unaware they're both interested in the same man. It seemed a strange dance to watch both flirting with him and the mage giving away nothing, but deciphering it did keep me distracted."

"You are something else," he meant it as a compliment, but Reiss gritted her teeth and loudly closed her book.

"I really want this kid out of me," she sighed, her hand rustling up and down her stomach. "Why is this taking so long?"

"Babies take..."

She drew her hand up against his throat, and he saw the same glint in her eye Cade no doubt did before he swung off the gallows, "Finish that thought and so help me!"

"I give!" Alistair held up his hands in surrender before scooping them both around the restless mother to be. She relented in her agitation to hug him back, at first it was sweet but then her hand began to cling tight to him. "Reiss?"

"Another one," she gasped. "Really strong." Alistair was quick to work her around into his arms, trying to hold her upright as she crumbled in from the pain. When it passed, she shook her head as if she took a strong shot, "I don't know why anyone does this."

"Babies are kinda cute and the steps to making them are a lot of fun," he shrugged and the woman glared murder at the man incapable of knowing this pain.

"The fun isn't worth this," she began to crab walk to the bed, her butt falling onto the mattress. As her legs lifted up she tipped her head back and sighed, "All right, maybe some of it is worth it. The tongue stuff."

Reiss rested on the bed while Alistair fell to the chair beside her. He tried to wipe away the sweat dotting her forehead. "I love you," he began.

"Sweet talking me now will get you nowhere," she bit back with but there was no malice. Instead, she was laughing with him as they so often did. Blessed Andraste but she did seem to be Maker sent for him.

Sliding forward, Alistair butted his forehead against hers, wiping his oily skin over all his hard work. "And, I can't wait to meet our baby."

Reiss' hands slid out to grip his and she grunted, "We're in this together."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

"One more push, I think."

She despised that voice. That singsong, aren't I so cute butterflies should fly out of my mouth when I talk voice. Reiss dreamed of grabbing onto the midwife's perky little throat and ripping her vocal cords out even as she bared down to get this damn thing out of her.

"Am I too late?" Alistair's head appeared in the doorway as it had been for the past however long she'd been trapped in this hell. He blanched at the sight a moment, but dashed quickly to her side. Reiss dug her fingers into him, unable to speak a word as she tried to squeeze her entire insides out of a quarter sized hole.

For the entire night he'd watched by her side, trying to soothe some of the pains away and generally being hapless but sweet. With dawn came no baby and the rising problem of a King who had to attend to Satinalia matters in a castle unimpressed about an elf in labor. He kept vanishing, running off to open presents, return to hold her hand and tell her to breathe. Dash to start breakfast and give a traditional toast, back to wipe off her forehead and tell her he was proud. Then off to lead the parade of trees only to come jogging back with a crown of branches perched on his head in time to tell Reiss to push.

The last time he ran out to deal with some civic matter that flew in and out of the ear of the woman in tremendous pain, she figured he wouldn't make it back. Once this kid finally got it in its head to get out, there was no stopping it.

"I can see the head," the midwife who'd spent most of the time between Reiss' legs called out. The other twin stood by the ready with towels in her hands while the silent healer only grumped. Okay, first she was going to garrote the perky sisters, then disembowel the healer. Perhaps use his entrails to make blood sausage; at least then he'd be good for something.

"You're doing great," Alistair cheered, his hands gripping tighter to hers. She gave him a withering look of rage and he glanced down, causing the branch crown to teeter, "I believe in you?"

"One more push," the woman cheered.

"If I have to fucking hear 'push' one more Maker damn time," Reiss growled but she did as ordered. At the end of this they were going to have to scoop up her intestines and stomach to shove back inside her from the force she was shoving down. "Get out, get out, get out!" she babbled, tears of pain and exhaustion springing from her eyes.

Alistair stared at her gritting face, a hand wrapping around behind her shoulders as he tried to help as best he could. She was on the edge of giving up, of deciding that keeping the kid inside her for a few more weeks wouldn't be so bad when the mounting pressure popped and the baby slid out. The towel woman was quick to catch it, rubbing the baby clean of all the internal viscera while tears of freedom from the pain percolated in Reiss' eyes. It was out. She was free...

"Is it...?" the uncertain fear struck her and she staggered to sit up.

A little cry erupted from the towels, and she spotted a very red and angry face crying at the manhandling going on with its tiny body. The midwife smiled, "Congratulations, you have a little girl."

"Oh, thank the Maker," Reiss' head collapsed back onto the pillow and she turned to catch Alistair's eyes wide in joy. He was so enthralled with watching the baby get scrubbed clean he didn't notice her brush her fingers against his cheek. After nearly jumping out of his socks at the touch, he turned and smiled at her.

Placing a kiss to her fingers, he said, "I knew you could do it."

"All right, my Lady. Now to deal with the afterbirth."

While Reiss got the rest of the mess out of her, the mage checked over their baby. A clean bill of health the man snorted, annoyed at how he wasn't needed for any of it. She began to laugh at the absurdity of making the mage stand around for a day, when this tiny pink body was lain upon her naked chest.

Maker's breath...

"Look at that hair," Alistair cooed. Nearly a full head of dark blonde hair stood straight up courtesy of the toweling off. "She looks like wheat. Hello there, little wheaty," he quickly nicknamed his daughter, his fingers cupping down her back bearing acne spots.

Reiss couldn't say anything. She was laying in shock at this perfect little body stretched upon her. Soft, and warm, and so fragile; she felt a rising urge to shield her baby girl with everything in her body. Unable to help himself, Alistair drew up her curled fists, letting each one fall back onto Reiss while he laughed at the simplicity of it all. A baby. Their own baby.

"I'm your Daddy. I will also accept Dad, Da, and Waa, my pants are wet," he babbled, both parents fingers unable to stop touching their baby. For a brief second his eyes broke from the miracle resting upon Reiss' chest to stare at her, "And this is your Mom. Though you probably already knew that one."

"Hi," Reiss felt silly introducing herself to the baby that rested inside of her for ten months. But as she spoke, those fine little eyelids rose to beam a pair of beautiful, bright green eyes on her.

"Just like her mother," Alistair smiled at the sight before burrowing his nose into Reiss' neck as he tried to hug his family tight.

With a close view, Reiss spotted within the field of green a few dribbles of brown. There was some of her father in there, no doubt. Certainly more would begin to show itself with time. Slowly, she drew her fingers around the baby's head, smoothing down the 'wheat' hair before coming to rest upon her tiny ears. She couldn't deny the small frown at feeling round nubs where her heart told her points should be.

"Reiss?"

"Even with...I thought maybe given your, uh," she glanced around at the people surrounding them who didn't need to know about Alistair's dubious parentage, "I'd hoped for pointy ears."

"Oh," he brushed his face closer to their baby, pecking his lips to her warm head and smiling. "You know, I think I see a little bump here. It's not much, but..."

She drew her fingers around the shell of her baby's ear, careful to gently tease it around and felt what could have been nothing more than a pimple. It was silly. It didn't matter what her ears looked like, or if she had green or brown eyes. She was healthy, she was here. She was theirs.

"I love you, Reiss," Alistair whispered first to her, and then to their baby, "And I love you too, little one."

"Myra," she said, gently smoothing down her little girl's hair. Alistair blinked in confusion at her. "Her name is Myra."

"So we're not doing the naming tradition then?" he asked.

Reiss chuckled, remembering back to how they met, "I'd rather skip the assassins if it's all the same."

That caused him to laugh. Alistair moved to scoop Myra off her chest, then paused and looked to the mother. Reiss nodded that of course he could. With the practiced hand of a now thrice-over father, Alistair cuddled the baby close in his arms and whispered to her, "Myra Sayer Theirin."

At that Reiss sat up, "Theirin? Is that wise."

"She's my daughter. Might as well get stuck with the family name."

People would hate it. They'd rail against it. A bastard was a child with two names, a motherless bastard with one. To give her three would be considered legitimizing her and to have the King do it would draw her into the line of secession. Reiss sighed, exhaustion quickly overtaking the burst of energy from joy. She could talk him out of it later. For now, let him love his daughter.

"She's so warm. Maker I forgot how warm they are. And the smell," Alistair smiled. He'd unbuttoned the first few on his shirt in order to tuck his baby girl tight to his skin. Flesh of my flesh. Reiss reached over to caress down Myra's back. "My little Wheaty," he chuckled again.

Myra's bright greens opened a moment at her father's words and then the crying commenced.

* * *

The new family took a few hours to get cleaned up, as rested as one can with a newborn, and for Reiss to get some milk into Myra's belly before Alistair went to tell everyone the good news. He was sitting in the chair holding Myra while Reiss lay in bed when the Queen appeared with her children in tow. Cailan was in her arms, his exhausted head laying upon her chest as he must have been roused from a nap or perhaps sleep itself.

Reiss wasn't certain what time it was, or even what day.

"Congratulations," Beatrice tipped her head to the mistress while acting as civil as possible. "Satinalia is an auspicious day to be born. There are no doubt great things in this child's life."

"No," Reiss groaned, "she did not come out on..."

"Yup, biggest holiday of the year. Bet she's gonna love you for choosing it," Alistair leaned over to Reiss and pecked a kiss on her cheek.

"As if I had any say in the matter," Reiss groaned to herself.

The princess clutched tight to her mother's skirt, her rarely pacified thumb suckered into her mouth. She peered first over at Reiss in bed, then at her father holding onto the baby. Slowly, the girl risked inching nearer to Alistair. When nothing deadly shot out of the blankets in his hand, she removed her thumb and gripped onto his knee.

"See Spuddy," Alistair tipped Myra towards her, "a new little sister." The girl eyed up the baby with cautious disinterest before popping her thumb back in her mouth. "Oh, come here," Alistair slid Myra over to one arm then scooped the other around his first daughter. She fully abandoned her mother's skirt in order to hug around her father's neck, the princess laughing at the kisses he peppered her in.

"You know I love you, Spud. All three of you. Even you, sleeping beauty," he chuckled and jerked his chin to Cailan who seemed to be slowly rousing from his nap.

The boy took a few more blinks before he caught sight of his sister in his father's arms then began to slide out of Beatrice's. As Cailan rushed over for a hug, the princess slipped away, her little emerald eyes rolling wide. When Cailan received his requisite kiss to the forehead, he gripped onto the edge of Alistair's arm under the blanket and peered in at Myra's bright pink face.

"Baby?"

"Yep, another sister for you too."

"I wanna hold!" Cailan insisted extending his hands out as if the newborn was about to be plopped into them.

"Cailan, that's..." Beatrice reached over, but Alistair waved it off.

"I got this." He smoothly lifted Myra up into the air, the baby gurgling from the move but not crying, then he patted his lap. Cailan was quick to scurry up into it. "Okay, hold your hands out like this," Alistair commanded and he slowly settled Myra into the boy's arms while still maintaining his steady grip below.

"Baby!" Cailan squealed, entertained with the tiny child he stared down at.

"This is Myra," Alistair said, his nose bonking into the back of his son's head after.

"Then you..." Beatrice glanced over at Reiss, "have forgone the tradition."

"There didn't seem to be much point," Reiss admitted. "Not as if the chantry wants to get involved."

The Queen flinched at her laying out the facts so succinctly, then nodded, "I suppose that is true." Reiss wasn't delusional enough to think her child would be welcomed by everyone just because Alistair wished it to be. Besides, she wasn't about to call her child 'baby' for a good month in order to appease some old rule to keep her from getting attached.

Cailan began to kick his legs in excitement, one plowing into Alistair's shin as he cried, "I want a baby!"

"A baby? You're a little young for that," he laughed to hide the pain. "How about a doll instead?"

"If Caywen gets a doll, then I get a sword! A real one too!" the princess spun fast towards her father, quick to cut in on this deal.

"Spud, we've been over this. You can't have a real sword until you're how old?"

She gripped onto the bedspread below Reiss and groaned, "Ten."

"And how old are you now?" Alistair continued questioning her.

"Six," she shot out through clenched teeth.

"Which means there are how many more years remaining until you can hit people with a metal sword?"

The girl grumbled into her hands, not wanting to relent. It was Cailan who spoke up in his happy, singsong voice, "Four."

That caused all the adults to whip their heads over at the boy who was still enthralled with the idea of his own baby. "You're right," Alistair breathed against him, "and scare me sometimes. We know you didn't get your smarts from me," he chuckled to the kid meaning it as a compliment to the boy's mother, but a deafening silence fell. Every adult in that room knew the truth, that Cailan got nothing from his father. The only child who did wasn't even a day old.

Reiss tried to not look over at Beatrice, but she felt the glare increasing tenfold. Maker's sake, was this how it was always going to be? Reiss didn't want her daughter anywhere near the throne. Alistair didn't want Myra on it either. The Queen had nothing to fear and yet...

"Where'd the baby come from?" The princess' voice shattered the rising tension to replace it with a new awkward one.

"Wh...?" Alistair coughed and sputtered, his face turning as pink as their baby daughter's. "What do you mean?"

"First it was in there," she pointed at Reiss deflated stomach, then turned to her father, "now it's there. How?"

"Oh sweet merciful Maker," Alistair gasped as the other two women sighed in relief at not having to explain reproduction to the six year old at that moment. The girl, however, wanted an explanation for this parlor trick. She folded her arms tight to her chest and glowered at her father.

Alistair began, "Well, you know when your tummy hurts really bad, Spud?" He couldn't be serious. Reiss shook her head, catching Beatrice's eye a moment. He was serious. The girl nodded in agreement as the man continued, "And then you go to the bathroom and you feel better. That's kinda how it works."

She fell silent, digesting her father's words with a seriousness only a young child was capable of. It seemed to work to satiate her curiosity when the girl suddenly spat out in an accusatory fashion at Reiss, "You pooed a baby out?"

"That, uh... Bloody hell, Alistair," Reiss spat at the man who was shrugging his shoulders and trying to bury the embarrassment into the baby and the back of his son's head. The Queen politely palmed her face at the idiocy then beckoned her daughter to her. Sliding over, Reiss whispered in Alistair's ear, "I know who's not having the birds and bees talk with our daughter now."

He chuckled at that, his come-what-may shrug lapping across those gorgeous eyes. Unable to take it, Reiss cupped her fingers against his jaw for a sweet kiss. Even feeling like someone jammed a flaming hot sword up her Abyssal Reach she couldn't stop loving this giant goof.

"Come along, son," Beatrice suddenly spoke up, breaking the two lovebirds apart. "We should let them alone to rest."

Cailan stuck out his lip, not wanting to give up on his baby, but at his mother's look he sighed and began to wiggle out. Would Reiss get that same skill? She could barely get her cat to stay off the counter. Maker's breath, how was she going to control a toddler?

The Queen scooped her hands around her son and moved to tug her daughter away when Reiss suddenly sat up with a thought, "Beatrice?" She flinched at using the woman's given name and not title, but the Queen didn't react. "Would you like to hold the baby?"

"I..." she glanced down at her pair of children, then her eyes began to water as Alistair slid up to his legs. "I would, please." As the father left his daughter in the Queen's arms Beatrice snuggled Myra tighter to her breast. Alistair sat down on the bed beside Reiss, the pair of them locking hands together.

For awhile Beatrice stood in silence staring down at the tiny creature asleep in her arms. She seemed as much in awe of her as the ones who created Myra. Reiss often wondered if the woman didn't wish she could have had more children, but the Maker was cruel and cut her off as soon as she got going.

"You know," Alistair spoke up, "she's gonna need some help and hands to hold her. If you want to take the baby for a bit, show her how to be as lady-like as our daughter who's sticking her finger into the placenta we need to burn..." At the sudden attention of her parents the princess snaked her fingers away and began to stare at the ceiling.

"I," Beatrice tipped her head in gratitude, "it would be my pleasure." She shuffled forward, Cailan clinging tight to her skirt as she moved to deposit Myra back in Reiss' arms. "You are very blessed. She is a beautiful baby."

"Thank you," Reiss said.

"Let's go children. I believe we can have one quick slice of cake before bed," Beatrice smiled.

"Weally?" the princess gasped, her lisp snapping back as joy overflowed off her face. Cailan tugged up and down on Beatrice's gown to register his own excitement.

"Yes," she smiled, wrapping both kids with her arms, "We have reason to celebrate your new sister." All joys and laughter, the three of them left the room to go ransack the larder.

Alistair snuggled against Reiss in the bed, both of them watching Myra stretched out upon her chest. There were so many what ifs ahead for the little girl. What would the court think? How would she be accepted not only here but within the streets of Denerim? Would she begin to look more elven with each year or always pass as human?

"I love you," Alistair breathed beside her. "If I was any happier rainbows would burst out of my belly button."

With one hand wrapped around her daughter, who would become whatever she wanted to be and whom Reiss would protect her regardless, she cupped her sort-of husband's cheek. "I love you too."

## CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

#### Penance

5 weeks old...

Her voice hummed softly above the crackle of the fire, her boy's head twisting around to try and follow the sound while those amber eyes honed in on his mother. He got so into it, he kicked his little feet and twisted an arm, causing the blanket to slip off his stomach. Lana tried to pick back up the song as she tucked her wiggly son up into the warm wool. As winter loomed colder than they thought possible, Lana would often sit in the kitchen by the great hearth to keep both herself and her son warm.

Cullen noticed her trekking down there, sometimes in the middle of the night thanks to their boy deciding play time was best by moonlight, and moved the comfier chair into the kitchen. A few of the servants drifted in and out, nodding at the mother and trying to catch a glimpse of the bright eyed baby before sadly having to get back to work. Even as she was enraptured with the bundle in her arms, she'd on occasion stir a pot or yank a potentially burning pan out of the fire.

A little gurgle broke from the boy and she glanced down to catch a very tiny lift of his lips. "Are you smiling?" she asked, her own stretching wide from the possibility. At the attention of his mother, he smacked his lips together and then blew a giant bubble. Lana laughed at the antics and tried to wipe his messy face off.

"Well, you'll get it next time," she said, lifting her boy up to her lips to kiss him on the cheek.

The kitchen door blew open and a giant's silhouette nearly crammed the entryway shut. Lana's breath caught, her fingers almost dipping into the veil, when a very familiar and very loud voice shouted, "Where's the baby?!"

Hawke stepped into the light, looking far more wild than she had in recent years. Her hair had returned to a few random jagged cuts, then knotted back to try and tame it, and she wore tight but padded armor. The last time Lana saw her she was in a Maker given dress of all things.

The Champion stared around the room in a tizzy, then honed in on the baby in Lana's arms. "Is that...?" she gasped.

"There aren't any other babies around so I certainly hope so," Lana smiled at her cousin.

Falling to her knees, Hawke bunched her face up closer to the infant that was carefully eyeing up this stranger. Her finger slowly drifted out towards the baby as if she thought he might try to bite it off, when another pair of silhouettes appeared in the door -- both male. Lana caught the pinched face of her husband as he was no doubt trying to catch his breath after failing to catch a runaway Hawke. After wiping the sweat of a winter sprint from his forehead, Cullen smiled at his wife, then his eyes drifted over to the other person that joined their little party. In the line of people her husband would let live but only because his wife asked, this man probably sat at the top.

Anders looked like shit. She probably shouldn't think it and certainly wouldn't say it, but it was the truth. Time, or perhaps his lifestyle choice, had worn down what had once been a lithe, debonair attitude to gaunt leeriness. His head pivoted around, searching for anyone or anything about to clap him back in irons. While the eyes seemed to have faded to a duller brown, and he'd abandoned his feathery coat for something with fur, he still kept that same small blonde ponytail.

"Look, it's a baby!" Hawke shouted in pure ecstasy.

"Gavin," Lana said, her face full of soft smiles at the joy in her cousin. Cullen slid closer to his wife, his hands trying to wring out the knots in her shoulders as he stared down at their named son. The ceremony was simple but beautiful, performed in the small village chantry that could at most seat ten people. Mia stood there on the last day before she returned home, grinning wide and proud of her nephew and brother, along with all the people who worked in the abbey that could manage to get away. She'd never thought much of the tradition, but Cullen cared, and standing before Andraste declaring to the world that this was their child was a moment she'd treasure forever.

Hawke scuttled nearer, her single finger reaching over to boop the baby on the nose. Gavin giggled at that, his hands swiping over to try and get her to do it again. Of course, the mighty Champion and slayer of Qunari giggled in response. She stared wide eyed at this tiny thing in complete awe.

"He's got his momma's smile," she observed.

"Does he?" Lana tried to tip her boy around to face her, but he was having too much fun with this new plaything.

"Course, look at that. It's all teeth, would be teeth if there were any. Thank the Maker too. No offense and all Curly," she snickered, easily throwing around Varric's nickname for Cullen. "But you are Captain Dour when it comes to smiling."

He tipped his head, his fingers curling around their son's cheek. The attention of his father drew those amber eyes right up to Cullen who gave his beautiful, hard-fought smile in response, "None taken. I'd much rather he grin like his mother. Laugh like her."

"Bet he gets the sneer though," Hawke chuckled. Then she paled, "Oh Maker, do you think he'll get...everything with the sneer?"

At that the father glowered, and both women broke into laughter. "Honey eyes," Lana snickered while cupping his whiskery cheek. "You can't stop the march of time, nor that..."

"I can burn every blighted copy of that sketch I find, however," Cullen grumbled to himself, his hands crossing against his chest. Maker, she shouldn't prod him but he should stop being so adorable while stewing over it.

After pressing a quick kiss to her husband's sneering lips, Lana's eyes wandered over to the vagabond standing limply in the doorway. "You may come over and see," she said to Anders.

"That..." He bounced up a moment, as curious as Hawke looked, but Cullen's eagle glare winnowed down on the mage who set the world on fire and Anders shrunk back, "I'm fine here. Someone's got to keep the doorframe from collapsing." Lana knew it wouldn't be easy having Anders here, but she didn't think it'd be this hard right out of the gate.

"Look," Hawke shouted, breaking the two mages and templar from glaring around each other, "he's got tiny little fingers!"

"Yes, he does," Lana chuckled. "Ten, in fact."

"How are they so teeny? Look at them!" she fanned out the boy's hand, letting it grip onto her finger to inspect the razor sharp nails better. "Gavin Amell Rutherford," Hawke mused.

"Ah, it's Gavin Grayson Rutherford," Lana corrected quickly, her eyes dashing around the kitchen to make certain no one else was there.

"What?" The goofy aunt fell away to reveal the terrifying woman who stopped an invasion, and all her vitriol was aimed at Cullen. "What happened to Amell? Mother's name, it's important." Her voice dropped lower into what some would probably call the pants-wetting range.

"Hawke," Lana tugged on her arm, trying to get the giantess to break away from her husband before things got messy. "I can't use it, remember. In hiding."

She blinked a moment then sighed and ran her hand through her shaved section of hair. "Right, hiding. Shame though. Amell's a good name to have."

Lana reached around to hold onto her cousin, the only one in her family she ever really got to know outside of moldy memories. "He'll know who he is and where he comes from."

"Comes from?" Hawke twisted her head around, "Yer gonna give 'em the this bit goes into that bit and out pops a baby talk now? Ain't he a little young?"

"For the love of..." Lana cupped her forehead, feeling the familiar headache that came from her spending too much time with her cousin.

That drew such a great enough laugh to Hawke that she slapped her knee and turned back to face Anders. "I forgot how squeamish my cousin is about the dirty bits."

"I am not," Lana rose up to defend herself, but there was little point in it. Switching gears, she shifted in her seat, "Hawke, would you like to hold the baby?"

"M-m-me...? You, you trust me to-to carry something that fragile?" Her cocksure grin flopped into a terror grimace, the Champion's skin paling to a stricken grey as she stared at the rather happy baby.

"He's full, been changed fairly recently, and seems to think you're funny." Lana tried to shift the bundle over, but Hawke kept her arms crossed.

"What if I...I drop him, or-or pinch something, or try to use him to pick up something hot?!" the panic in her face was almost adorable. Lana'd walked the deep roads for weeks with only Hawke and Anders facing every manner of darkspawn those tainted creatures could throw at them and she'd never seen her so terrified. Gavin, unaware of the pressure he could produce, was smiling like mad and gurgling more spit bubbles.

"Try to refrain from doing any of those things, in particular picking up hot things with a baby, and you'll be fine." Lana rose to her feet, and before Hawke could argue, dropped Gavin into her arms.

She locked her hands in tight, but Lana moved them, "He's not a greatsword, you don't need a death grip to keep him from falling, just... There ya go. Hold the head, support his bottom and you're good."

Hawke took a few more breaths, her arms softly bouncing with the weight of the boy. "Good, good, you're good?" She risked staring down at Gavin who was enraptured with his mother being so close. Those little hands that just began grasping for things tried to reach over at her face. Lana laughed at her curious boy and blew a gentle raspberry against his cheek. That got even more happy gurgles, his lips stretching wide in a joyful smile. Hawke was right, there was no way that was Cullen's.

"Hey," the Champion whipped her head over at Anders, "look, I'm holding a baby. And no one's crying yet."

The man slid closer to his love, a hand skirting over her back as he dared to let himself get nearer to the boy. "You are, and it is a true miracle of Andraste."

"He really is," Hawke cooed, all her focus on the baby as Anders watched her. They hadn't spoken much while traveling the deep roads, Lana still spitting hot tacks at his betrayal and Anders seeming to regret it. That fact threw her so much, she wasn't certain what to do. Old Anders she knew. He'd have laughed it off, claimed that a dragon can't change its scales and if she were a better Commander she'd have known he'd run off. But this one was quieter, the brashness brushed down to only an occasional prick. It bothered Lana then and unnerved her now how much he changed from Justice.

Lana reached over and cupped Anders' elbow, a small move, but the mage jumped a moment as if he feared the tiny woman would hurl him to the wall. Technically she could, but she'd need to rip apart the veil first. "We should talk," Lana whispered to him, "I have something to show you."

"That..." his wild eyes darted over to the templar in the room, then back to his lover who was enraptured in adorable baby land.

"It won't be more than a minute," Lana assured him.

Anders remained wary, his fingers all but scratching against the veil out of habit. It was so distracting to the mage who felt his tugging, she wanted to reach over and bundle his hands up to get it to stop. Sighing once, he nodded his head, "All right, but you might want to be careful that Hawke doesn't abscond with your baby."

"She'll be..." Lana smiled, when Gavin kicked his leg, dropping a bootie to reveal his naked foot.

"Sweet Maker!" Hawke cried, her fingers lifting the baby's foot higher, "He has tiny toes!"

"Okay," Lana shifted, visions of a distracted Champion wandering off with their child drifting through her thoughts. "Cullen, you can stop Hawke from stealing our baby."

He picked up the lost bootie and moved to add it back before Gavin got cold. Smiling at his son, he whispered, "Of course." Then he drew back and eyed up the muscles prodding out from the Champion's far too open winter wear. Gulping, Cullen softly tacked on, "I hope so."

After kissing a quick goodbye to her son and then husband, who was flocking around Hawke like a dedicated herding dog, Lana shifted out of the kitchen into the bitter cold of a southern winter. So many years out here she'd grown used to it, quick to wrap her cloak tight with one hand while the other clutched her cane, but Anders... The poor man had been up north too long. He blinked against the ice stinging on the wind then huddled his face deeper into his pauldrons, as if that would help.

Taking as quick a step as she could manage, Lana led the man up to her potions room. It'd been quiet as of late. With an infant she barely had time to sneak in and get the cruets bubbling. And sometimes when she tried, Cullen would stand in the doorway and sigh about how they had other hirelings to do the work. The first few times he couldn't get her to give up on her idea so he used the dirty trick of bringing their son along. An adorable, cooing baby pulled her from it every time.

The light rose as she parted fire against each candle and then turned to watch Anders cautiously close the door. His cornered eyes darted around the tiny room once again hunting for anyone that was in hiding to capture or attack him. Lana folded her arms and sighed, "You have nothing to fear here."

"In a place surrounded by templars, I have nothing to fear?" he mirthlessly laughed and then snorted. "Do you also place meat upon the dog's snout and assume it won't be eaten?"

"If the dog's been told and trained not to, it's not really a problem," she cut back with, already exhausted from Anders. "Maker's sake, why would I go to the bother of having brought you here just to have you hauled off and killed?"

He lifted a shoulder, the man who'd been on the run his entire life sighing, "Anything's possible, Commander. Though, you'd have to get through me and Hawke first."

Something in his cocky tone struck her and Lana spun her hands, the veil parting as if she breathed it, "You really think you can over power me?"

"Hard to say. Hawke kept stopping us before we ever found out," he struck back with and she spotted their old friend cracking out of his skin.

"Blessed Andraste, Anders. Call off Justice. It was a joke," Lana shook off her limp spell that would have only curled his hair. She was almost sad to give it up, he'd look rather hilarious with golden ringlets.

"Why am I here, then?"

She didn't remember that chip on his shoulder. They didn't quite run in the same circles in the Circle, especially with Anders pulling a runner all the time. She was the sweet, devoted to chantry law type, while he was more or less forced through his Harrowing at age 16 because the templars wanted him to fail to get rid of him. Oops. But even as Anders bedded and charmed his way into and out of the Tower, he was never conceited about it. Back then everything ran off his back like water and now it seemed as if everything stuck instead.

"For this," Lana reached into her steel box and extracted out the potion she'd been working on for a week since receiving Hawke's note about a visit.

Anders stared the nondescript clear bottle up and down before he folded his arms, "For your sake I hope that's not a love potion. I know I'm irresistible, but Hawke can get a bit clingy and then very punchy. Sometimes kicky too."

She glared at him, not saying a word, but inside Lana was surprised. This was the first sign of old Anders she'd seen in years. Maybe there was some hope still. Tipping her chin at the bottle she said, "When I took over in Amaranthine, I didn't realize what I was agreeing to. The burden I had to fill everyone's blood with, the weight of it. I regret what I had to do, to all of them. To you."

Anders' eyes opened wide, his mouth falling slightly open in surprise. The bastard was always so certain he knew everything about everyone at a glance, but he never once thought Lana might regret her choices made in the heat of battle?

"This is my apology, I suppose. Your freedom from the taint. Though its effectivity seems to only last a year or so."

He blinked rapidly, eyeing with caution the bottle that would clear away the nightmares and the looming lone walk at the end. Anders stared over at her, his lips popping in thought before he spoke, "Only a year? Is this your way to keep me tethered to you, Commander? Always coming back so I don't die from the taint, giving you the perfect opportunity to keep tabs on me?"

Snorting, Lana rolled her eyes, "Well, I imagine Hawke's going to want to see her baby nephew grow up, and the way I hear it you're rather tethered to her now."

At that Anders shrunk, his fingers wiping across the stubble of his chin. Even with the hair obscuring it, Lana could make out a great scar below that didn't look like it healed well. She knew the promise he made Hawke, and that if he ever broke it and left her again, Anders had a lot more to fear than some old templars chasing after him.

"I'm working to make the potion last longer, which you will also receive if that happens. For the time being I'm afraid we're all tethered to this if we want to survive to see...our children grow." She tried to shake away the tears in her eyes quickly, but Anders had to see.

He spotted them once when they were in Amaranthine, the freshly appointed scary Warden Commander suffering a breakdown in the armory. It was over something foolish and unimportant. No, it was because she'd had the entire mess of a failing arling and talking darkspawn dropped on her head with nary a friend in sight. It broke her, as sad as that was, and who should stroll in to find her weeping on the ground but the smart-ass mage? He'd made a few biting comments, which reminded her a bit of Alistair funny enough, then slugged her in the shoulder and told her it'd be okay. Either they'd get out of this mess or all wind up dead. It wasn't any reason to go crying over.

"Why are you giving this to me?" Anders whispered, dragging Lana from her memory. "I...there didn't seem to be much love lost between us."

She was angry with him, his abandoning her and their cause the second it grew rocky. And, in some ways, even more angry when she learned that he'd stayed by Hawke's side. What was it about her cousin that was so much better than Lana? Meeting Hawke helped answer that question a bit, but the fact of it still stung.

"I don't hate you Anders," Lana confessed. He scoffed a moment, his eyes rolling. "Do not take that as saying I forgive your choices. But I know you. I knew you'd run because that's what you do, what you've always done. I tried to not take it personally. Didn't you ever wonder why no Grey Wardens tried to come and collect you?"

Anders shrugged, "As if Grey Wardens were going to let an abomination into their ranks."

"We had a few for a time, actually. It didn't end well, but...there was an avvar mage with a spirit of wisdom in her head. That was an interesting year," she confessed, the man gasping in greater shock. Did he really think none of them would have understood? They knew him, knew Justice, and Lana had a habit of forging her own path regardless of what the First Warden thought. "I let you go. I gave you your freedom. Granted, then you turned around and started a holy war upon the mages, so..."

"I did it for the mages," he spat back, "for people like us, who could be free to fall in love with whomever they want, have children to raise without the chantry stealing them away. Maker's breath, how do you not fear every day that one of the templars here won't rip your baby out of your arms?"

Anders was clearly looking for a fight, but Lana didn't rise to it. She shuddered in a breath and admitted, "Who says I don't? It doesn't change what you did, the innocents you slaughtered for your means."

"Innocents," he snickered. "What of your husband, father of your child, imprisoner of mages and Maker knows what else?" That earned him a snarl, Lana well aware of what Anders wasn't saying with his implications. "Do you know how many innocents he harmed with his devotion to the chantry?"

"Yes," Lana breathed, causing Anders to blink. The certainty in his eyes faded at that as if he was so certain that she'd ignored everything in Cullen's past for her own needs. "We all have blood on our hands: you, Cullen, me, even Hawke. None of us are clean."

"So this is..." He clasped a hand to his forehead, seeming to lose his trail of thought. Justice's influence or too much time barely surviving in the wilds? "Then why? Why bring this up?"

"To tell you that I don't approve of what you did, of the choice you stole from Kirkwall, eliminating a chance for peace, but..." Lana sucked in a breath, "I am in someways no better. I stole from you your life, your future. Even if in doing so I saved it. That's what this is. A way to try and make up for my damage."

Anders mouth dropped open, breath whistling through his teeth as his palm skirted around the bottle. "Then, it really will cure the taint?"

"Of course. Did you think it was poison or something?" Lana rolled her eyes, "If I intended to poison you I could come up with ten better ways off hand that wouldn't require you to willingly drink it." She stared down at the liquid that gifted her her son, Alistair his daughter, and a whole lot of questions on their horizon. They could fight back, but it may take all of her strength to keep going.

"It's funny, but your running away from the Wardens," she drummed her fingers on her counter, terrified of the thought that often rattled in her head, "it was the only thing that wound up saving your life. All of them, lost." She failed them all, every man and woman Lana took under her wing either flocked to Corypheus' side for his mad plans or was turned by Clarel. "I was the worst leader you could have been stuck with."

"Sigurin," Anders spoke, his head bowed. Lana narrowed her eyes, suddenly aware that she'd let a tear slip free. He licked his lips and then turned to her, "She's still alive, or was a few years ago. I bumped into her in the deep roads, still as chipper and death happy as ever."

Lana smiled at the memory of the dead dwarf that kept somehow surviving much to her chagrin. There'd been no one on her return from Seheron, no hint that Sigruin must have taken to the deep roads on her own before Corypheus took them all.

"Commander," Anders reached over and picked up her hand. He felt cool to the touch, but began to warm rapidly in her grip.

Snickering at his patronizing name for her, Lana sighed, "You can stop calling me that. I gave up the foolish mantle long ago."

"I don't call you Commander to poke fun," Anders swallowed, the man looking more uncomfortable with every word. "You deserve it. The title, the prestige. Whatever comes with all that. I know I'm not a joy to deal with, even before I merged a spirit with my soul. But you took a chance on me, gave me my freedom with only a verbal promise to remain, which I broke. I didn't regret leaving the Wardens, and I'd do it over again and again, but I did wish I hadn't hurt you in the process."

Lana stared into his deep brown eyes expecting to find Justice's sense of duty shimmering from within but all she could see was Anders. Was it age that finally caught up to him or the pain of watching the entire world flounder from his actions? "Thank you," she shook their conjoined hands.

"You're welcome, and you swear none of the templars here are going to drag me out back and try to string me up by the neck?" For a brief window the old Anders spark glittered in his eyes.

"Well, no one knows you're here, save Cullen whom you must have taunted often in the Gallows because I think he hates you more than Ali, and that's impressive. Still, I wouldn't go running around screaming about mage oppression at the top of your lungs unless you want to start a fight." She meant it as a laugh but then leaned close to him and in her Commander voice hissed, "Do not start a fight."

"Got it," Anders nodded, cowed by the tiny woman who hobbled to get around. He picked up the bottle and twisted it around. "Does it hurt when you take it?"

"There's a light headed feeling, you may lose a day sleeping it off, but then freedom. No more nightmares or hunger. However, be careful to avoid any, um, unexpected accidents."

He blinked a moment, then lifted up a smile at the idea, "Commander, did they fail to tell you about the birds & the bees in the Circle? I swear, I thought we all got the same harrowing tale of disease and ruin from that man who was nothing but fat rolls."

"Ha ha," she rolled her eyes, "but I'm serious. Something in it makes people extra fertile."

Anders laughed, "I doubt that will be a problem seeing as how Hawke's got a good five or so years on you." He shook his damn cocksure head again, then blinked, the idea finally striking his airy head, "How long did you wind up pregnant after taking it?"

"Four months for me, but with Reiss she was knocked up in under one. So..."

That gave him pause again. So many years of nothing and then two women with full wombs in a narrow timeframe was rather terrifying. Lana had no clue what ignited their fertility but it must be powerful. Shaking his head, Anders chuckled, "No, not Hawke. With her life, she would never..."

Suddenly, the potions door threw open and Hawke shrieked at the top of her lungs, "Did you know babies can sneeze?!" Little Gavin blinked in concern while trapped in the loud woman's arms, but seemed generally content.

Chuckling at her, Lana slid forward and tried to mop up the line of snot her son sprayed out of his nose. "Yes, they can do everything people can, within some reason." He was so beautiful, those amber eyes focusing on his mother and the thick lips lifting into a great smile at her nearness. It surprised her nearly every time she stared at her baby. How can the Maker create something this adorable?

"Maker's sake," Cullen gasped, skidding in behind Hawke and clutching to his side. "How in the void do you move so fast?"

"Long legs," Hawke said with total sincerity before glancing down at them. "Are you gonna have long legs?" she returned to the baby. "Oh, shit," her voice lifted so fast from its baby talking nasally tone to crushing seriousness nearly everyone snapped to attention, "does he have the Amell birthmark too?"

"Amell...?" Cullen asked, trying to squeeze his hands down below Hawke's arms in the off chance she suddenly dropped their son.

"You know," she tipped her head back and forth, "Lana's got hers on her neck, mine's right across my..." Hawke moved to point at her ass, but Anders cut her off.

"I don't think they need to know about that."

"What? Cuz here's seen it," she elbowed Lana in the ribs, Gavin giggling as he undulated in the Champion's arms. "Remember the thorn patch."

That earned a deep groan from Lana, memories of her wild year with her new found cousin flashing back. "Far too well."

"And Bethy's mark. She got hers on her..."

"Hawke!"

"On her arm, right underneath kinda near her armpit," the woman blinked in confusion at the people rounding on her. "What'd you think I was gonna say?"

Lana waved her hand then shifted closer to her boy, "Never mind. He does have a mark, not as large as mine. I didn't realize it was a family trait." She unbuttoned a small section of pajama directly over Gavin's stomach. "Right beside his belly button." The baby giggled at his mother smoothing her fingers over the dark patch of skin that could almost be confused for a larger mole.

"Does that look like a crown to anyone?" Hawke asked, her eyes squinting.

"What?" Cullen dashed forward staring at his son's belly as if he'd never seen him before.

"Nope, that's a cactus. Had it upside down," the woman smiled at the mother before glancing back at Cullen's panicked face. "Don't go telling me you think there's some fancy prophecy with these? Ain't like Lana here became known for raising flowers. I think that's what that is."

"That..." his honey eyes softened a beat while staring at Lana's, but she knew the fear in his heart. The idea of his son having anything to do with the crown or the Theirin family put him in a tizzy. She suspected in Cullen's mind their boy would become the farmer he never was. A simple, quiet life with few chances of torment and demons. She didn't have it in her to voice that with their blood, it was highly unlikely their child would live anything simple.

Nestled in his aunt's arms, Gavin made a few more gurgles, his hands slapping together in what might one day be considered a clap. "Oh," Hawke buried her nose tight to that little tummy and cooed, "whatza matter? You want to become some great hero and you're worried your dad'll stop you? Just call on ol' auntie Hawke. I'll get you the really big sword."

"There is a chance the child will be a mage," Anders spoke up. He stared defiantly at Cullen, as if daring the ex-templar to insist no son of his would ever be a dangerous, impure mage.

Cullen cupped his hand around Gavin's head, smoothing down the strings of dark hair that kept appearing with every day. "A very powerful mage, indeed," he smiled at his son before turning to Lana. She knew he'd always love his son no matter what came, but trusting him with that kind of power might be a challenge. Still, it did her heart good to watch Cullen easily accept the possibility, and to turn and catch Anders crumbling as his little barb failed to hurt.

"So," Hawke glanced around, "a sword staff then? Your cane staff's pretty sweet too. No one sees it coming." Gavin lifted his lips into a big smile, a focus rising to his eyes. "You like that? A shiny cane like your Mommy to take down bad guys and...Oh."

Hawke began to dangle the baby off her extended arms, Gavin kicking his legs in the ain as a tell tale odor wafted from his backside. "I think he made a little stinky. Big stinky. Maker's sake, what are you feeding him?"

"Here," Cullen scooped up his son out of Hawke's arms, "I'll handle it."

While he tipped his head up to get a not feces scented breath of air, Lana called out, "The clean nappies are..."

"By the fire, I know," Cullen nodded and then vanished out the door with their main source of entertainment.

"Too damn cute," Hawke muttered to herself as father and son dashed down the stairs to find a change of pants, "aside from the other end, but not many are lucky enough to get that part to be cute."

"A few do," Anders cut in, sliding his arm around Hawke's back.

The Champion laughed with her full spirit as she did with everything, then bonked her forehead to Anders. They'd been loving but distant when Lana first ran into them in the deep roads. Something had changed, Hawke more willing to wrap Anders up in her arms and the man happier to give it back. Fearing the one you loved had died or was beyond your reach was an eye opener. One she knew far too well.

After she finished staring in rapture at her gaunt mage, Hawke glanced over and in a slightly colder voice asked, "Did you two have a good talk up here, or..."

"Yes, love," Anders cut in first. He turned from her to stare at Lana and a tender smile broke against his face. "It was a good one."

"Got everything out in the open like? Now we can all be best friends forever?"

Lana coughed at the idea, "Let's not go that far."

"She's nowhere near as bad as the elf," Anders said under his breath. Lana had no idea who he meant, but his avoidance of a name and all but spitting the placeholder told her enough.

Hawke laughed at that, "Good, 'cause I want to see my little Gavin when I can and last thing I need to deal with is you two threatening to fist each other."

"I, uh..." Lana blanched, whipping her head first to Hawke who meant every word, then to Anders who was angrily blushing, "Do the what?"

"Forget it," Anders waved his hand. The sneer broke as his eyes turned over to the bottle Lana gifted him, the one that could change his future in ways he'd never thought possible. "Hawke?" She stared down at him, waiting for Anders to work up the nerve to ask what seemed blisteringly obvious. "Do you...want children?"

"Are you kidding me?" Hawke gasped. "I've got Varric to take care of, and he's like having triplets inside of one body. No thank you." A breath of relief escaped from Anders, the man all but folding in half at not facing the yoke of progeny. "Nah, all I want is to tickle 'em, give raspberries on tummies, then hand 'em over to Dad when they fill their drawers."

At that pronouncement, Hawke beamed a wide smile at Lana. She was ecstatic to be the somewhat eccentric Aunt for Gavin, and Lana was grateful for it. The Champion was the last family Lana ever expected to find or want, but she was blessed for having her in her life. Suddenly, the smile dimmed and an almost sheepish Hawke butted her forehead against the side of Anders' cheek to whisper, "What about...? You don't want to, um...?"

"No, I'm content with you. And on occasion seeing your nephew," he added, tipping his head to Lana. As she accepted his gratitude, Anders scooped the bottle into his hands off the counter and placed it safely into his pocket. So many of her people she failed. It felt uplifting to save even just one of them.

"Now that that's settled, there's a baby that I have to tickle and then teach how to swing a sword," Hawke rubbed her hands together then began to stomp out the door to find Cullen and Gavin.

"That, uh..." Lana tried to race after, but the woman's great gait made it hard, "he's not capable of holding anything yet!"

"Give it up, Commander. When Hawke's got her heart set on something..."

Lana ducked her head down and laughed, "The fade itself shifts to make it so. Come on, you and Cullen can trade glares about the plight of mages over dinner."

The man who started the rebellion, who destroyed a chantry, and had a spirit of justice merged into his soul smiled at her. She should hate him, she could, but he was one of hers and always would be. "What are we having?"

"Stew," she admitted, "Oh, and those little cookies that they used to serve in the tower for dessert."

Anders laughed at that, "You know, that may be the only thing I liked about the Circle."

## CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

#### Legitimate

3 weeks old...

Normally, he'd pace about the room while people bickered over vitally important things like the proper configuration for tying their shoes but the quiet bundle in his arms required Alistair to plop into his throne. He did keep one leg up on the arm rest though; there was still that reputation of his to maintain.

"So, you and Bann Gillian were both promised the same strip of land?" Alistair spoke to the court. He'd managed to avoid all the crown stuff for a little while officially on account of the holiday, but more because people didn't trust their King with any important decisions while running on so little sleep. Alas, even the leader of the country couldn't hide from work forever. He was too big to fit inside the cupboard.

"That's correct, Your Majesty," Bann Rian tipped lower. "Our Arl had entrusted to me and my holdings any land upon the west bank of the river in the year 7:97."

"Which is a load of horse shit and you know it, Rian," Gillian shouted from her little stand. A throng of people flocked both, the underlings passing up information and generally trying to look as intimidating as one could in those stupid little red hats that were all the rage. "This was before the occupation, which renders everything null and void under the articles of..."

Her voice faded away to background as Alistair caught a tiny flash of green prodding up from below the blankets. Myra'd been asleep for the entire ass crushing proceedings, only the occasional smack of her toothless lips letting on that he held a baby in his arms and not stolen laundry. Now she peered up in curiosity watching her Daddy do the thing he hated but was apparently the only person in thedas that could manage to do it.

"Sire...Sire?" Gillian shrieked louder, her hands flapping to get his attention.

"Unless a bee just flew up your sleeve, I think you can lower your arms," Alistair snickered.

The Bann sneered but did as commanded. He nodded his thanks then shifted Myra to the other arm in order to get blood flow back. That set Gillian off, the woman fuming and trying to whisper to the people behind her, but in her rage and thanks the acoustics of the hall everyone heard her groan, "Unbelievable!"

Alistair sat up higher at that, "What was that?"

She dug her pale hands into the pillar behind her, no doubt wishing it was his neck, but spat out, "Nothing, your Majesty."

"Are you sure, because it seems like you really want to tell me something that's weighing on your mind," he tipped Wheaty up to his shoulder and let her cute little face begin to gnaw all over the royal finery. The blanket slipped away revealing her soft head and the wash of blonde hair. Nearly every eye in the place suddenly peered close at the baby. It wasn't until he took to patting her back that he realized they weren't trying to see how adorable she was but to get a look at her ears.

Yup, human-ish. Her eyes were gigantic, but Alistair figured that'd work to her advantage. It sure did melt his heart every time he slipped in to walk her around the castle. The rest of her was all baby; teeny, tiny, precious, and very pink. He forgot just how pink they got.

"Sire, I..." Bann Rian stepped forward, the calmer of the two who'd been arguing for the past hour over a scrap of land that couldn't even feed one cow. "Perhaps it is in everyone's best interest if you, um..."

"If I what?" Alistair sounded perfectly innocent, his hand patting into his daughter's little butt to bounce her up and down against his chest.

"It's only that the distraction in your, that is, I mean," the guy danced around not saying what he was clearly aching too.

Bann Gillian spun around and spat out, "Have you even listened to a word anyone's said?!"

Alistair paused in soothing his little Wheaty and glared over at the pair of them. "You, Gillian, are upset because Rian, your neighbor for Maker as long as Calenhad got everyone to stop fighting with each other in order to form this country, has suddenly lain claim to a piece of land you couldn't give two shits about. Which is why you're here fighting tooth and nail to get it back, because he suddenly wants it. So the only question really being unspoken here is what's on it; gold, ore, precious jewels, or was it some ancient ritual site where blood mages sacrificed demons?"

The two Bann's eyes shot open wide at his not only paying attention but getting right at their problem. As if he hadn't seen this kind of shit over and over before. "And you better not be raising any blighted dead out there Rian because we're low on templars and the knights are not fans of dealing with revenants."

"No, your Majesty," Rian all but fell to the floor to beg for forgiveness, "I swear, there is no...nothing of the sort."

"Right, good," Alistair nodded. "Then the Treaty of River Dane only negates any holdings transferred by Orlesian houses of power. Seeing as how both of you lay claim to Fereldens and those who cozied up to the occupiers the original deal still stands."

It took a moment before Gillian sneered at her loss, she was still trying to hide the shame of her grandparents being on the side of the Orlesians, same as Rian. As the fact he won struck, the man smiled wide. "Thank you, your Majesty, for your fair ruling."

"And," Alistair cut him off, returning to bouncing his baby girl, "with the rumors swirling of dark magics on the land, I don't think you'll mind if the crown takes a little look-see around just to make sure. Without the templar order, it's our job to protect you from any potential undead and demons."

"That, um," Rian gulped, his eyes drifting to the side where the real brains behind his new operation sat.

"Of course, should the knights stumble across any new and previously undiscovered valuables they'll be certain to secure away the fair amount for any taxes you may owe." Alistair grinned right at his crumbling face, then he turned his focus fully upon the bright green eyes staring at her little fist, "Isn't that right, Wheaty? I think it is."

The baby made a little crinkle of her nose and then returned to dripping her personal brand of drool down the front of his shirt. Maker take him, but he missed that feeling. "Well, I think we're done here," Alistair looked up and caught Karelle's eye. She waved towards the guards to helpfully guide both a distraught Gillian and Rian out the door. "Who's next?" he asked towards Karelle, just as the absolute last person Alistair wanted to see edged up to the complaining podium.

It had some fancy and ancient name in Tevene with lots of extra secret letters, but that's what it really was. His various citizens would walk up to the thing, cough, then proceed to blame him for everything that ever went wrong in their lives up to and including the boil on their ass. It almost made Alistair wish he had the power to grant boils; there'd be a lot more people unable to sit down. This man in particular came for every court and always with the same three complaints: His neighbor was far too loud (which was impressive as he lived near the blighted cemetery). He tried to purchase some good from some store (the details rotated by the week) and either found it rotten or broken. And, finally, he really hated all the young people. Why couldn't the King have a war or something to clear them out?

The man shuffled up and banged his hand on the podium when the doors opened and the only person Alistair wanted to see came streaking past the court. Reiss had on one of his tunics, barely belted so it almost looked as if she still had the baby inside her. She cast a quick glance at the complaining man who glared at the elf (Oh yes, he often complained about the elves doing elfy things as well), then dashed down the aisle towards the King. About midway towards him, Reiss' cheeks lit up in a blush as she must have realized how it looked and the woman turned towards Karelle.

The Chamberlain feigned listening as the elf shouted at the King through her, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Being yelled at by my citizens, pretty typical Wednesday," Alistair shot back with a smile.

He expected a laugh but Reiss gritted her teeth, "Why is Myra here?"

"To see Daddy at work," Alistair chuckled before placing a soft kiss to her little forehead. He couldn't wait for when she started smiling. Making his kids giggle was often the only reason Alistair got out of bed.

"For all the...and you let him?" Reiss turned on Karelle, who hadn't said much about the King sitting down with his child.

Karelle eyed up the audience, then whispered, "This is not really the proper place for you two to be having a discussion. Any discussion."

"She's right," Reiss deflated even if she looked like she wanted to have a few go's at Alistair right there in the throne room.

Cupping Wheaty closer to his chest, Alistair rose from the chair and announced, "I'm taking a quick break. There are refreshments in the lobby, might be a good time to take a visit to the bushes if you have to. Bye."

"Sire..." Karelle tried to wave him off, but he was already trailing towards the little side chamber. Quick on his heels was Reiss, the woman scowling deeper with every step.

Inside, Alistair found a couple clerks who were trying to toss quills up into the ceiling. "Could you excuse us?" he asked, making no mention of the dozen or so feathers jammed up in the rafters. As the clerks scuttled away, he buried his face against Myra's while Reiss slammed the door and glared.

"What in the blighted void of the Maker's ass cheek do you think you're doing?" He bit down on the sarcastic response because when Reiss reached such a swear level that they weren't even making sense he knew it was bad. "I wake up to discover my baby's gone. I think, oh, maybe one of the girls took her for a little walk, or she was crying and annoyed someone. Then I find out her father carried her into the throne room, sat down in it, and proceeded to parade her about in front of every Bann and Arl in Denerim!"

"Am I missing something? What's the big deal?" Alistair shook his head.

"The big deal? The big deal?! Blessed Andraste, give me strength." Reiss prayed to the wall with a stuffed bobcat head on it before whipping back to him, "You keep trying to legitimize her. You can't do that."

"Why not?" he blinked, fully lost beyond measure while his baby slipped down to be rocked in his arms.

"She's..." Reiss rose up on her toes in order to glare into his eyes, "You're not this stupid. Are you playing with me? Is this one of your pretending to be dumb so people go away things, or...?"

Her anger abated a moment and he cupped her cheek. Sighing, Reiss stared down at their baby girl who was warm and happy next to her father. Alistair groaned, "I don't understand why it's a problem. She's my daughter."

"She's not the King's daughter," Reiss whispered. They'd had a rather easy time of it all things considered, Myra getting onto a schedule fast -- her mother's influence, no doubt -- and the castle chipping in when needed. Alistair adored stumbling across Reiss with their baby pressed to her breast while she tipped back and forth in the rocking chair. Or letting her nap in the day bed while he walked their baby back to sleep. It was bliss for him even if there was some serious sleep deprivation at times.

It wasn't until a few nobby noses started poking into their business that things began to fray. Eamon rolled out of retirement long enough to stop in and see the child. That must have set off some long dormant beehive as more people kept appearing outside the nursery just to see. See if the baby was real. See if she really did look so damn much like her father. See if she was an elf or not. See if it wasn't all some trick pulled by an elf trying to get back into the royal circle.

Now there were clucks trailing Reiss, which the woman shrugged off as she did so much more. They shut up when Alistair was with her, but he knew it was probably even worse when she was alone with their baby. Why did it all have to be so blighted complicated?

"Why does it matter?" he groaned to himself. "Spud will be Queen. We did all the fancy paperwork needed to cement that fact. Cailan after that. All the T's dotted, all the I's are crossed. It's set in stone for the Maker's sake. Not literally, though Spuddy wanted to stick a sword in one for some reason."

Reiss' hands curled up his neck, her touch slowing his babble. He blinked at her beautiful face, then leaned forward to kiss her. She returned it a moment before whispering, "Myra's not just your daughter, she's your bastard."

"So what? Am I supposed to toss her out to the wolves? Make her sleep in the kennels? Forget she exists until she's eighteen and suddenly we need her? I'm not doing it!"

"I know, Alistair," Reiss said. She pressed herself tighter to him for a hug. One hand skirted around their baby's back, the mother gently rubbing Wheaty's soft dress, while the other caressed him. "She's your baby girl. There's no changing that, no denying it. Look at that face."

"All I see is her breathtaking mother," he smiled, trying to fight through the pit in his stomach.

"That's because you're blinded by her eyes. That bone structure, that's all you."

"Poor kid," he muttered, tucking Myra up to plant a kiss to her forehead.

"She's beautiful," Reiss insisted through his grumping, though she was right. He was blessed with three beautiful children, not a weirdly shaped head or third arm in the bunch. "And she's a bastard."

"I hate that," Alistair sneered. Hated that it mattered. Hated that people cared. Hated how easily it was thrown around as if it was all this tiny baby's fault in how she came out.

"It doesn't have to sting if you don't let it," Reiss reached over to hold Myra and Alistair released his hold. She scooped her daughter into her arms, both proud parents gazing down at the vibrant eyes watching them. "So she's a bastard, so what? I don't care. You don't care. Only let into her life the people who don't care."

"Reiss..." he began.

"Don't," she shuddered in a breath, "Don't take her to court. Don't let them burn into her so early how wrong she is."

Alistair drew his fingers down that swath of thick blonde hair, "I wanted to hold her, to be with her. It's hard to leave her for even a second sometimes."

The woman who was his wife regardless of what any chantry said burrowed her nose into his neck. She sighed, a few tears dripping off her cheeks from the stress of a new baby plus having to deal with him. "I understand. And I get that too. Maybe, to a few meetings. If she's not being fussy and they don't mind. The Denerim ones, they're all used to me and her. But not court. Please. Let her, let her be Myra without the bastard tacked on the front, for a few months anyway."

"Okay," Alistair nodded, "I'll try. How are you doing?"

"Good. Up walking, eating normal. I don't have to face a massacre in my pants every time I go to the bathroom, so that's nice," she smiled through the pains her body endured while trying to return to normal.

He scooped his free hands around her, snuggling his face tight to her shoulder while his eyes peered down at the baby. All he could see in her was Reiss because all he could see was how damn beautiful she was. His little Wheaty. "I meant more about all of this stuff," he waved his hand to try and circle around the bureaucracy but it looked more like he was blaming books for attacking her.

"People are...I have a few friends here, and that's enough."

"Wasn't your agency group going to visit soon to pick at the new baby and probably use all their freaky mind tricks to determine what position we used to make her?"

Reiss blushed a moment at the idea, then a heart warming smile lifted her lips. "Tomorrow. I don't know how many are going to show, but..."

"I bet it'll be a packed house," Alistair grinned at her.

He curled tighter to her, his whole world expanding to let a new face in. Why did everyone have to make it so hard? For some reason he was able to tamp down on feeling like an imposter bastard on the throne with Spud and Radish in his arsenal. Perhaps it was because everyone accepted them as legitimate thanks to not knowing the truth and a good dash of willful ignorance. But his Wheaty, they didn't see a cute little baby, only a problem, a rock in the road to succession. Well, too bad for them. This was his daughter and she was going to be in his life even if it pissed off every Bann and Arl in Ferelden.

"I love you, both of you," Alistair whispered to them.

"I love you too," Reiss twisted in his grasp, about to kiss him, when she froze and sighed, "And I believe Myra shows her love by shitting in her drawers. If you'll excuse me..." She sighed, trying to shift the soggy bottom away from anything too expensive while Alistair laughed.

"Sire," Karelle dipped her head in to watch Reiss slipping out the back exit, "you're needed in court."

Honestly, he'd rather deal with a pile of baby poo than the walking turds out in the grand room. Sighing, he nodded, "Fine." Alistair paused and snickered, "Duty calls."

## CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

#### Happy

Lunet glowered at the baby cuddled in Reiss' arms as if she feared Myra was about to sprout tentacles and begin to slap her about the room. The rest of the group were far more supportive, the entire office filing into the nursery to get a good look at her baby. They appeared in the middle of Myra's nap, Reiss threatening to have them all disemboweled if anyone woke her. But at the sound of her mother's whispered threats, she stirred, her little fists pounding against the crib's pillow and Reiss lifted her for the entire agency to coo over.

Well, almost all.

"That's some fancy duds," Lunet eyed up the red dress with little blue buttons down the front, "for a baby that's gonna shit all over it."

"Spit up's the bigger problem," Reiss admitted. She sat down in her rocking chair and spun it around to face everyone. Hooking her hands under Myra's armpits, she let the little socked feet brush against her legs while showing off her pride and joy.

"Is that real silk?" Jorel asked, reaching out for the hem of Myra's outfit.

"What? Of blighted course it isn't. It's...I think linen, maybe cotton. I'm not a weaver," she groaned.

"This," Jorel tipped his bull-head towards a blanket that dangled off the crib, "this is made of silk?"

"Will someone tell me what's wrong with the dwarf?" Reiss asked, glaring around at her crew. Qimat glanced up from her knees; she'd been enraptured with the baby, the glint to her horns often catching Myra's eye. Whenever the flash of green trailed Qimat, the woman would clap and laugh.

"He's been working on his textile studies," the qunari woman didn't explain.

"Very poorly, I see," Reiss grumbled. She wished she could fold her arms to glare but they were still full of a baby that was dribbling down her little chin. Dabbing at it with the starry blanket, Reiss sighed, "Okay, what's really going on?"

Lunet rubbed her nose, "He thinks there has to be some great riches in here he can knick and sell off, what with this being the castle and all."

"For the love of," Reiss tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling. "There are no golden dipped booties, there aren't even any brass ones. All you'll find are some old baby clothes, a giant pile of nappies, an even bigger pile of soiled ones, and half of a mobile."

"Half?" Kurt spoke up, the first word he'd said beyond "hi."

Reiss chuckled at the memory, "Alistair tried to put it up but things didn't go according to plan. There's only about half of a dragon circling over Myra's head while she sleeps."

Every eye shifted over to see, sure enough, the front half of a dragon pivoting around in an elliptical oval off a wire while three stars instead of six trailed it. Reiss figured she'd fix the problem and get the back half up once she had a proper sleep and time to study the instructions. Breaking them away from the King's half failure, Reiss smiled, "So, who wants to hold the baby?"

She guided Myra into Qimat's arms first, the tiny infant not even the length of her forearm. The poor woman looked like she was carrying a primed grenade from how wide her eyes opened in fear and how gently she clung to the baby. Give her a few minutes, she'd get it down.

"I want to see her," Jorel tried to tug Myra down to his level, suddenly interested in the reason they came now that there were no secret jewels to be ferreted out hidden behind ancient passageways.

While the rest of her crew wandered around Qimat to stare down at that beautiful sunny face, Lunet nudged a shoulder into Reiss. "How's the rat doing up here?"

"Good, Lune. We're both doing good," Reiss smiled, trying to wave away her friend's concern. It was very misplaced. Despite her minor freak out about finding Myra in the middle of court, everyone had treated her well. She didn't move too much around the palace, but Karelle would swing by -- usually to try and corral the King, but she'd stay and talk with Reiss. And Renata was often sending finger foods up that could be eaten one handed while holding a fussy baby. For as strange as the situation was, the castle seemed to be rolling with it.

Only Lunet eyed her up cooly, her lip jutting out as she stared over at the baby. "Not even a hint of the point to her, is there? Think she'll pass?"

Reiss blinked, trying to shake off the indignation that her baby looking like an elf would in anyway be bad while also secretly hoping she did look more human than not. "I don't know. She looks an awful lot like her father."

"That don't worry you?"

"Just because you don't understand what I see in him doesn't mean that..." Reiss rolled her eyes at her friend and the teasing faded at the stricken look in Lunet's eye. "What is it?"

The woman who'd curse the Divine to her face -- though mercifully was never gifted the opportunity -- opened her mouth and then paused. Shaking her head she sighed, "Never mind." A smile raised up Lunet's lips, "You did good. As far as baby's go, that one's pretty cute."

"What, you thought I'd make something with three heads that spit fire?"

"I seen you when you're mad. Fire if we're lucky," Lunet snickered bringing a laugh to Reiss. She wanted to wrap an arm around her old friend, around all of them in a great hug. But that would be a bit awkward, especially with Jorel, so she maintained her boss distance.

Lunet unwrapped a lolly and stuck it into her mouth. She shifted it in her jaw a few times before asking, "You had any chance to take a peek at the case I sent up?"

At that Reiss laughed, "I'm lucky if I have time to pee, never mind pry into work matters."

"Fair enough," her friend nodded as if she expected that answer, but didn't want to hear it.

Reiss side eyed her, then asked, "How are things going in the agency? I haven't heard any..."

At that moment Myra's little mouth opened wide in a desperate cry for someone familiar to rescue her. "It wasn't me!" Jorel shouted, throwing both of his arms wide. Poor Qimat looked distraught as the baby she'd been entrusted with kept making a Maker awful noise.

"Here," Reiss reached over and scooped Myra into her arms. "She can get a bit fussy at times," she began to coddle Myra to her chest the same way Alistair would. Maker save her, but it seemed to work, the baby preferring to be vertical as often as possible. "Don't say anything smart, Lunet," Reiss shot over at her friend, well aware of what was about to come.

"I wasn't thinking nothing," Lunet swore but Reiss knew her far too well.

Settling into the chair, Reiss pried her baby off her shoulder to stare into those great green eyes and the abandoned tears clinging to her cheeks. "Oh, it's not so bad," she cooed, drying them off with the corner of the blanket. "We're all friends here." Myra's nose crinkled up, almost as if she was attempting a smile but couldn't get her lips to go. Or it might be the start of a sneeze, or a sign of pooping; she couldn't tell.

A head of shaggy black hair darted in through the room and a familiar sight dashed around the piles of legs to stop in front of Reiss. "Baby!" Cailan cried, already reaching out to cup Myra's stomach. For some reason he found her belly hilarious, in particular when the umbilical cord took its sweet time in falling off. He thought she was pooing out of her stomach, a fact endorsed by his sister that Alistair failed to stop. At this point the entire royal family was going to think Reiss did nothing but poop out of every one of her orifices.

"Is that...?" Jorel asked, suddenly shifting further away. His wild eyes glanced up at the others and they all seemed to come to the same conclusion, everyone taking a few steps back.

Reiss watched them a minute, shaking her head at acting as if the three year old had the plague. "Hello Cailan," she greeted the boy.

"Baby," he giggled, finding Myra endlessly fascinating. Often he'd curl up in Alistair's lap while the pair held her, both rocking away slowly. After Reiss would extract Myra, Alistair would increase the speed, getting even more laughs from his son. The princess was another matter entirely.

"That's the prince? Prince prince, as in prince of Ferelden?" Jorel continued, seeming to have troubles grasping that simple concept.

Reiss turned away from the boy poking a finger into Myra's belly to stare at her friends. At that moment, Beatrice entered and their wide eyed stares gave way to a near faint from the appearance of their Queen.

"My Lady," Kurt bowed first, and the rest began to follow suit. Even Lunet dipped her head down to Beatrice, but she shot her eyes over at Reiss with some accusation in them.

"Here you are," Beatrice honed in on her boy first. "I should have known. Oh, forgive me, I didn't realize you had guests. And so many interesting characters." The Queen's eyes landed upon Qimat who was having trouble getting her head anywhere near lower than the short woman. "Please stand, you need not go to such back breaking troubles on my account."

"These are my fellow Solvers," Reiss said, proud of her people.

"Ah, a visit to see the baby, which I assume is what my wayward son came to do as well."

"Mummy," Cailan tugged on her droopy sleeve, his mother leaning down. He grabbed onto her cheeks and whispered in her ear, "That's a baby."

"I know darling," she chuckled. "You require a doll quickly, you cannot keep disturbing Reiss like this."

"It's all right," Reiss shifted, not wanting to be the cause of the boy's pain, "I don't mind and Myra seems to enjoy it." She had to often remind Cailan to be gentle, but beyond that, her baby's eyes would open wide while watching this other smaller human laugh and dance around her.

"You are too kind," Beatrice tipped her head at Reiss then spun to her son, "Regardless, you are due for your nap. No, do not try to wheedle out of this. Say goodbye to everyone because we are off."

She had a good grip on her boy's hand. It took a moment for Cailan to realize there were people other than his mother, Reiss, and the baby in the room. Sheepishly, he dug his chin deep into the collar of his shirt and mumbled out a, "Bye." Then his eyes honed in on the baby and he demanded, "Have to give kiss bye bye!"

Beatrice looked exhausted but she acquiesced, "Very well."

After planting a slobbery kiss to Myra's cheek, Cailan skipped out on his mother's arm, singing a song about inch worms much to Beatrice's delight. In the wake of the Queen's retreat her group bowed their heads again and murmured more, "Your Majesties."

It wasn't until the door closed tight that all the heads snapped up and honed in on Reiss. "Was that the Queen queen?"

"Maker's sake. No, Jorel. There are a good dozen copies running around the palace grounds pretending to be Beatrice."

"She's not as tall as I would have expected," Qimat mused to herself.

"Never met a Queen before. Met a man who claimed to be the Queen of Antiva, but that was only on Thursday nights at the Pearl," Kurt whispered more to himself than anyone else.

It was Lunet who folded her arms and sighed, "Not like we all didn't know who the father was."

"Yeah, but...whenever A's in the agency he's just so not royal, you know," Jorel argued with Lunet.

"A man who can't find his mount with the bridle tied to his hands," Qimat agreed.

Reiss' arms began to give out and she snuggled Myra back into them. Her baby gave a bit of a fuss at missing out on all those funny shapes in front of her, but the kicking legs faded as sleep snuck back in. She'd had a big day.

"We should leave you be," Lunet said, catching on that the baby was going down for a nap.

"Nonsense," Reiss shook her head. "Let me put Myra to bed and then we can all get caught up in the solarium down the hall." She settled her baby onto her back, trying to trap her in place with a few stuffed griffins and pillows. Barely out and the kid was already doing everything she could to flip over onto her stomach.

"Is that smart?" Jorel asked, "Leaving her alone, I mean. What if something happens?"

"Trust me, she's got a powerful wail that can travel nearly across the castle. And I don't think she's old enough to get into the poison and dagger box yet," Reiss snickered. Her crew gathered around the crib, every eye watching her beautiful girl yawn before those bright green eyes slid away under her thin lids. To speed up the process, Reiss rocked the ingenious crib a bit, the cradle part swaying her baby off to the fade.

"Well," Lunet wrapped an arm around her shoulder, "we know one thing for sure, Rat. You certainly gave birth to the King's brat."

"I did," Reiss sighed.

* * *

She wasn't certain if it was the dribbles of water or the soft cry that shattered her sleep. Reiss stumbled to her feet off the small bed, wrapping a robe around her arms. She was to the door before she realized the baby's cry had already stopped. It took a few more fuzzy blinks until it dawned on her that the cries didn't come from the cradle beside her bed.

Tiptoeing out into the nursery proper, she spotted Myra propped up in a low metal bucket. Water streaked down her head, splattering that fine blonde hair tight to her scalp. Alistair was careful to tip her back to prevent any from getting into those big green eyes. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" he whispered to his daughter.

She bounced a bit, either agreeing or disagreeing with her father; it was often hard to tell. They wound up on the floor, Alistair's legs wrapped around the bucket while he used one arm to keep Myra in position as the other kept dribbling small bits of water onto her from a glass. As it glittered against the firelight, Reiss realized the man was using a crystal goblet to bathe his infant daughter. Of course he was.

Unaware of the luxury being spent upon her, Myra began to cry. "Shh," he tried to softly rock her back and forth but she wasn't having any of that, "you're going to wake your Mom."

"Too late," Reiss spoke up, sliding out of the shadows.

Alistair glanced over his shoulder and a sheepish apology clung to his smile, "Sorry about that. Seems this one's anti-water."

"I could have told you that," Reiss chuckled, her fingers curling around the back of Alistair's neck. She could pluck up their daughter and dry and clothe her, but he clearly wanted to. Sometimes she thought he needed to.

The proud papa washed off the last bit of soap clinging to baby elbows then picked up a towel to swaddle Myra up tight. She gurgled at being free of the water, her tears stopping as soon as they began. "Oh, you are going to be fun when you're a toddler. Mom's handling all your baths then," Alistair murmured to the girl.

Reiss sighed, shaking her head while Alistair roughed up the baby's wet hair until it once again stood up straight. His little Wheaty. "Last I remember you two were going for a little look around the castle," she said. The drying paused and Alistair picked up a far happier baby to place upon the changing area while he hunted for a nappy.

"We did, isn't that right Wheaters?" he cooed to Myra. After securing her diaper, he waved her tiny arms up and down as if she was cheering.

"What part of walking around indoors suddenly requires a bath late at night?" Reiss stepped closer to them both, trying to avoid the obvious water spills across the floor. She glanced down at her baby but there didn't seem to be any major stains upon her pink skin. Whatever happened at least Alistair was skilled enough to get it off.

"There were a few, uh, complications." He waved his hand around, then tried to wiggle open a drawer, "Where are the cute pajamas?"

"Second drawer to the left," Reiss said. "What sort of complications?"

"You know of the, um, Daddy gets hungry, snatches up something one handed while the baby's in the other, goes to rock her and then has it dribble onto her face variety," he winced at the end, then shot a concerned look over at Reiss.

She wafted back and forth on her feet, a finger to her lips before she spoke, "Gravy or jam?"

Alistair's impish smile returned bright as ever, "Gravy, good guess."

"It's what I do," she said drawing her arms across his shoulders and laying her head against that warm back. They rarely saw each other much, and when they did it was while tending to a squealing or screaming infant. Maker she missed curling into those arms.

"Ah, here they are!" Alistair exclaimed as if he'd just routed out Andraste's Sacred Ashes. Bypassing piles of perfectly good pajamas he removed a small pair of dark grey ones in a fluffy fleece. They weren't particularly special nor fancy, one solid color save the grey warden emblem embroidered to the chest and back. "Spuddy loved these as an infant, I bet you will too," he whispered to Myra while bundling her up.

Reiss suspected she'd like them because they were warm and being unable to talk she couldn't exactly voice her opinion much. But he grinned wider as his daughter slipped into the old life he nearly had. The one that would have kept him from having a wife and children. Myra's legs waved, her tiny feet popping out of the pants that were a bit too short. Her baby came out long and lean, though everyone kept assuring her the chubby baby rolls would appear in time. Reiss pursed her lips to that, elven babies never really gaining as many rolls, but this wasn't an elven baby. She was human, as human as her father.

"Who's a happy little Wheaty? I bet it's you," Alistair booped her nose, Myra rolling back and forth at that. He scooped her up into his arms and placed her right to his chest. Maker's sake, he barely had to dip his knees before her little eyes shut tight in sleep.

"I don't know if I should be jealous that you can manage that or grateful because it knocks her out," Reiss sighed. While he cuddled their daughter, she scooped her hands tighter around his waist. Alistair looked up from a content Myra and then wrapped one arm around Reiss.

"Be jealous. You're crazy hot when jealous," he chuckled, his hands swirling against the small of her back.

Reiss rolled her eyes up at him, no doubt a little fire in there, "Jealous? You've never seen me jealous."

"Uh, that mage," he laughed causing her to scowl. "Don't think I didn't notice your eyes got a little greener when you looked at her. It's a good thing you don't have any magic powers or she'd have combusted on the spot."

"Oh yeah," Reiss blinked, trying to shake off the foolish notion she cared about that mage from when they first met. Linaya was off in the College doing Maker knew what, while Alistair held their child in his arms. A cruel smile twisted up her lips and she turned on him, "What about Liam?"

"So not fair," Alistair gritted his teeth. He was never quite as good at taking what he dished out.

"I tell you, repeatedly, that he's a client. But do you believe me? No. You're so dead certain he's trying to court me, what do you do?"

Alistair's eyes darted around the room, trying to find anyway out of this problem of his own making, "I'm not at liberty to talk about that."

"You send your newest Spymaster after him, only to find..."

"Fine, yes, I have the absolute worst sense of when a man isn't into women. Congratulations. You've sussed me out," the fake anger faded and he melted into his usual sugar sweet smile. Placing a kiss to her forehead Alistair murmured, "And I will never be jealous of you ever again."

"You can be jealous, just don't do anything stupid."

"Now you're asking for the moon, love," he snickered, Reiss laughing with him. A comfortable silence fell between the young family, Alistair clinging tight to their daughter while Reiss drew her fingers through the damp hair. To think when she first set foot in this place, Reiss thought they were going to have her killed for dishonoring Arl Teagan. She never imagined she'd be offered a job, fall madly in love with the King, and eventually create this breathtaking baby with him.

Alistair's head knocked into hers, a slight sting radiating from the clumsy move, but then he breathed warmly against her cheek to whisper, "I adore you."

He spoke with everything in his heart, no holding back with a cautionary tongue for fear of looking the fool. As if acting foolish ever stopped Alistair. Reiss tipped her head up to stare deep into those eyes overflowing in happiness. "You're wonderful," she murmured before pressing her lips to his for a tender kiss. Soft and succulent, Reiss could taste the lingering hints of the gravy that'd dotted Myra's head upon him. Somehow that foolish little moment drove her to love him even more. He cared so damn much it almost hurt.

As she broke away, Myra stirred. "Oh dear," Reiss reached over instantly, "I don't think she's happy about being stuck between us." Alistair gave in to the mother's hands snuggling their baby in her arms, his palms swooping down to caress her hips while he watched Myra slip back to sleep. After Reiss was certain she was down, she looked up into his eyes. "Why don't we sit together?"

He smiled wide, and guiding Reiss, he plopped onto the rug beside the fire. With his assistance she curled up in his lap while Myra snoozed away in her arms. Alistair perched his chin upon Reiss' shoulder, peering down at their creation while his hands swooped up her stomach to pin her tight. By the shifting pops of orange and yellow light, they watched their baby's little eyelids flutter in dreams. She should probably be sleeping in anticipation of the oncoming feeding but Reiss couldn't stop staring at Myra nor feeling secure in Alistair's warm arms.

"Thank you," he breathed beside her cheek.

"Are you going to be thanking me for giving birth to her until Myra's eighteen?" Reiss snickered.

"There's a good possibility it'll be until she's thirty, but I meant more..." he buried his lips into her collar bone, something weighing upon his heart. "With Spud and Cailan, people didn't like the idea of me being too involved. I could hold them sometimes, read them books, play, but when they were this tiny I think they all feared I'd accidentally drop the baby then kick it under the dresser."

Reiss laughed at the foolish image. While dropping was possible, babies could bounce. And she knew Alistair's reflexes were good enough he'd probably catch her on the rebound.

"I never got to bathe them before, Marn being of the opinion that it was beneath her employers I guess." Alistair sighed deeper in contentment, "This is perfect."

"Even if she squealed about getting wet?"

"Even better, because, I don't know. I really don't get it. Maybe it's stupid to be this happy, to be this excited to clean gravy off my baby daughter, but..."

Reiss glanced over her shoulder, one eye watching Alistair struggle through his mess of emotions. She couldn't blame him, she'd been fighting through the never ending cascade since Myra came into existence. Now that she was here in her arms they made a bit more sense if not still just as unhelpful as before.

"Alistair," she hefted up their sleeping girl until he could press a kiss to Myra's cheek. "She's your daughter. Meaning everything that comes with that is as much a part of your life as mine."

"Really?" he gasped as if surprised she'd want his help.

"I wouldn't get too excited. She's a little warm slug right now, but the second that kid's crawling..."

Alistair laughed in glee at the thought, "I shall have to cover every staircase with boxes and stuff cotton in the various bear rug's mouths."

"You've thought of everything," Reiss sighed, the warmth of his body beginning to overtake her as well. Alistair scooted closer, his chest supporting her as he always would. His hands drifted under Myra, keeping her safe as well. How did everything in her life wind up so perfect?

"Reiss?" he whispered in her ear. She shook off the cotton swaddling her brain to focus on him. "Are you happy here?"

Leaning back to smile at her husband, she whispered, "Happier than I ever thought possible."

## CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

#### Guarded Heart

15 weeks old...

Blowing against the wood, sawdust scattered off his work to coat the bench. Cullen spotted a knot and reached back for a tool only to have his elbow slip against a bit of scrap wood. It clattered to the ground, bouncing upon the stones in a hollow almost hypnotic rhythm. He'd have ignored it, if not for the gurgling cry of fascination from behind.

Unable to stop the smile, he placed the board down and turned to his son laying stomach first upon a blanket. His bright eyes beamed at where the wood fell, fingers struggling to reach out towards it while his legs kicked as if he were attempting to swim through air. "Did you see this?" Cullen asked, dipping down to scoop up the three inches of excess 2X4 he no longer needed.

Gavin's eyes opened wide, the legs kicking faster as a string of babble erupted from his chubby cheeks. "What do you think of it?" Cullen sat upon the floor and extended the piece closer to his son. Tiny fingers reached out, trying to swipe at it. They weren't quite able to grab at things, but when his hand made contact a great laugh erupted from the boy.

"It's real cherry wood. Lana wasn't happy about losing the tree but it was about to fall down and rather than risk it destroying others in a storm, I thought it might make a lovely crib for you." He kept the trophy out of the baby's inquisitive fingers and reached over to tousle his son's hair. It was already curling at the ends, knotting back in on itself as even more of the mahogany locks appeared. There was going to be a lot of it, the boy inheriting his mother's thick hair with a slight dash of his father's coloring on the ends in the right light.

A different grump erupted from the end of the room and Cullen turned to catch Honor watching over the two of them with a careful eye. "What about you, girl? Do you want this scrap?" he chuckled.

Honor woofed and with a great dog sigh rose to her weary bones. She placed her teeth upon the edge of the scrap, plucking it from Cullen's fingers. He expected her to take it back to her corner of the shop away from the baby and chew on it, but the dog placed two paws upon Gavin's blanket, tipped downward, and dropped her soggy prize beside the baby. Cooing, Gavin tried to wiggle to find the doggy, but he hadn't quite gotten spinning down yet. With one hand rubbing Honor's head, Cullen twisted his boy to face the doggy.

Baby hands swatted out of the air, a few landing near Honor's nose, but that fearsome mabari warrior who'd stand against any and all attacks, slid closer to the boy. She lapped her tongue against the soft skin, taking each tiny blow as a game. Gavin scooted harder on his stomach, laughing like mad at the puppy that kept slobbering on his head.

"And here I was worried you two wouldn't get along," Cullen mused. The boy gurgled more, the increasing babble lapping as if he was trying to tell Honor all of his secrets. For her part, the dog sat and listened with rapt attention.

The small shop's door opened to Lana standing huddled in her cloak. She stepped onto the higher wooden floor and shook off the hood. "Here my boys are," she smiled at both. "And Honor too, glad to see you're all free of this cold."

Cullen moved to stagger up to his feet, but she skirted her hand over his shoulders and bent down to kiss him. Pressing his palm to her cheek, he started at how cold she felt, "Maker's breath, how long were you out in this?"

"Not very," she sighed, "A few quick rounds, nothing strenuous. Just wanted to say hi. Seems all our residents were rather unhappy I didn't have the cute baby with me as I went." Lana broke from explaining away her day in order to struggle lower to her knees. Cullen gripped her hand, taking her weight as she buffed up their son's hair and caressed his back. "And how are you doing with your father? Enjoying tummy time?"

Gavin lifted his head even higher than before, his amber eyes shining at the touch and sound of his mother. Legs kicking against the air, he tried to scoot closer to her and she laughed. "I take it that's a yes. When did you get so big?"

"The very moment you turned around," Cullen mused, his hands plying through Lana's curls. "I fear I missed it as well."

"Well, we have a few years until he's running around in the back woods chasing goblins," she smiled.

"I certainly hope so. I need a couple more weeks at least until the crib's finished. If he grows out of his cradle before then..." Cullen grimaced, turning back to the project he foolishly thought he'd have plenty of time to accomplish once their baby was born. There'd been a waning lack of good wood and he got it in his head that personalizing it to his child would somehow be better. Not to mention the always weighing fear that there was a great chance they may not require it. Cullen had been prepared to tear apart the cradle for firewood if something terrible happened to their baby, but to do it to both cradle and crib would...

It didn't matter. His son was here and growing stronger every day. It did seem like just yesterday he could only lift his head a few inches off the ground before tumbling back to the fuzzy blanket. Now he was staring around at this big, wide world in awe.

"How goes it?" Lana asked, rising unsteady to her feet.

"About as well as can be expected with found wood. We're lucky to have that saw mill so close."

"Not to mention the dozen or so favors they owe us for patching up their workers," she mused. Lana was less than kind with the owners after the last few men rolled in with injuries that should have been prevented. Many dismissed his wife due to her small stature and rounded features, but when she was angry -- truly, deeply scorned -- the Hero appeared. Even not knowing who she was, the owners all but ran out of the room like she'd set them on fire, swearing to fix their broken equipment.

"We'll have to think of what to do with the cradle once he's grown out of it," Lana mused to herself.

"It could serve some use here later," Cullen said, his hands reaching over towards his abandoned planer. A noise almost like a startled sob erupted from his wife and he froze. "Lana...?" he reached over to her, turning away from his work to find her eyes hooded.

She was glaring at nothing, though it could be through the fade itself. No magic erupted and she didn't cry about a darkspawn attack, but her lips lay flaccid in an impenetrable thought. "I know we haven't spoken of it, but...the idea of, um," Lana's speech vanished as she glanced over to watch their boy babbling to his hand and trying to chew off the fingers with no teeth.

"Lana?" he dropped everything, his hands skirting along her waist to try and catch her eye. "What is it?"

A sliver of tears dribbled in her eyes but she tried to shake them off, "Maybe it's not fair of me to make the choice, for you or for Gavin, but... Given the questionable nature of the potion and the threat of the taint, I don't think it's in anyone's best interest if I... I mean." She gulped, the tears falling faster.

_Maker's sake, what did he do?_

Cullen shook off any anger at himself for failing her as he scooped his wife tight into his arms. "Whatever's the matter you don't have to..." Oh Andraste. That was it. "Lana, no, I didn't mean for," Cullen swallowed, feeling a laugh at her conclusion in his throat. "I only thought to keep the cradle around for when others give birth here. The local women or if one of the servants should go into labor."

Her lush lips opened into a surprised, "Oh."

"Maker," he buried his face into her hair, "after everything that nearly happened." The fear still fresh in his mind, Cullen had to squeeze tighter to his living, breathing wife to stave off the tears of almost losing her. "I would never want you to risk yourself for another child. Not out of some duty to me, or for Gavin to have a playmate. I love you and I don't want to lose you ever again."

She shook off the tears, a bright smile dawning across her cheeks. Cullen bumped his forehead to hers, his greater height all but engulfing his wife to try and keep her safe. Keep her with him. "I love you too, both of you." A grump broke from their dog and Lana laughed, "And you as well, Honor. Forgive the exclusion."

"What brought this on?" Cullen asked, always trying to get the bottom of things.

His wife shrugged, "I'm not certain. I hadn't even weighed the idea until the cradle, but there are already infant clothes Gavin can't wear I need to find a place for. A new home. If I didn't intend to have another then there was no reason to keep them here."

Snuggling tighter into Cullen's arms she sighed, "Maybe it's all the letters from Ali about his kids getting along, then not getting along. Or your sister."

"What'd Mia do now?" he grumbled. She could be very stubborn on what was the proper way to raise a child.

"Nothing," Lana laughed, brushing up and down his stubble with her fingers, "merely the fact she is your sister. Your family that you love, that you look to for comfort."

"There's plenty of family right here. And who knows, with your cavalcade of friends, no doubt Gavin will inherit a constant parade of interesting aunts and uncles drifting in and out of his life."

Lana pursed her lips at the thought, Hawke having only left a few weeks prior and promising she'd be back before the kid was walking. "I don't think any of my friends are of the propagating type. He'll need friends his own age, stability and..."

Chuckling, Cullen placed a kiss to her forehead and murmured, "You're worrying too much."

"Mmm," she snuggled tighter to him, "of course I am. I'm a mother now. I fear it's made me nearly as bad as you."

"Nearly?"

Her beautiful, soulful eyes rolled open into his and she smiled, "It takes real work to worry as much as his father does." By every blessing of Andraste, she was gorgeous. Cullen tipped his head, his nose bumping her soft cheek as his lips cupped against hers. She closed her eyes, deepening the kiss with her hands pressing ever tighter against him. It'd been too long since they'd been able to kiss for longer than a brief second.

Too long.

Cullen broke away, trying to bury the flush of embarrassment from how quickly his body reacted to her touch. She could have died, and it was not his place to make any demands. Unaware of his fresh string of concerns, Lana lazily opened her eyes and roughed up his scruff.

"What about the grey warden potion?" he switched gears on her. Her caressing palm didn't stop but she pursed her lips in a controlled regret. "Do you think you're ready to try again?"

"Not quite," she said. "It needs more testing. I don't want to wait an entire year, if only for what I could lose, but..." Her eyes closed and she wrapped her arms tight around herself. "I'd really rather avoid the agony of yet another joining if I can."

"Oh Lana," he wrapped his arms over top of hers, rubbing into her shoulders as he stared deep into the top of her head. She refused to lift her eyes, the woman who suffered so much pain he couldn't get rid of now facing even worse on the horizon. "Tell me what I can do?"

Her lips lifted in a half smile, "You've been wonderful. With me and the baby. He's a handful and a half, and you... I'll find a solution, Cullen. I swear it."

Bundling her hands together, he kissed both. Those stained and callused fingers that were often burned or maimed in her experiments. The same ones that soothed feverish templars foreheads and his own erratic heartbeat. It seemed a cruel twist of the Maker that as Lana was emerging from her darkness he was struck down by a Wednesday. No doubt all the fear he'd buried inside at her near loss exploded once Cullen risked taking a breath. But she was there, holding him and their son in those thin fingers.

"I know you will, you can do anything you put yourself to," he whispered, cupping his hands to her cheeks and returning for another kiss.

"Ah, boss, er, um..."

Cullen and Lana both turned to find Sam standing awkwardly in the doorway. Her skin was as flush as a sunburn and she kept twisting her toe into the floor while attempting to yank her apron over her face. Despite having a baby, it seemed the fact the two of them enjoyed each others company was a relatively surprising fact for their workers.

"What is it, Sam?" Lana asked. She drifted back down to her toes, her lips slipping away from his, but she kept a close grip to his arm.

"I was wondering, we we're wondering if we could, um... If you'd be against us, that is..."

"Before we're all ash," Cullen groaned. His wife glanced over at him with her lips pursed. He was prepared to apologize when he felt a gentle pinch against his backside. It surprised him so much he failed to hide the reaction and nearly spun back to see if there was a crab on his workbench.

Sam watched a moment, her blue eyes widening beyond her face. Then she swallowed and pointed at Gavin who was trying to get that wood scrap again. "Can we play with the baby?"

Cullen began, "That isn't..."

"That's a wonderful idea," Lana interrupted.

"Really?" the girl's face beamed bright in joy.

He tried to shoot the question of if this was advisable to his wife, but she was already scooping Gavin up into her arms. That baby's head he'd been getting good at balancing began to make a move to smack into his mother's. Cullen lashed a hand out and caught it before Lana had to suffer another bruise. "He gets that from you," she muttered before passing the giggling baby over to Sam.

The girl lit up like a lyrium vein from the wiggly worm trying to get back to the floor. "You're just the cutest widdle...um, Lord knight baby, I've ever seen."

Lana let Gavin grip to her finger as she stared down at him in love before she honed in on Sam. "Where will you be keeping him?"

"The dining room. We were all gonna get together and, ya know...Ralph brought in his old rattle. Made it out of a bladder with some seeds and then, uh..."

"Good," the mother nodded. "Keep him warm, make sure the socks stay on no matter how hard he kicks. No taking the baby out of the dining room under any circumstances without getting me first."

Sam nodded her head solemnly, Gavin trying to inch his way up her chest while he reached for her apron's strap. "Yes, Milady."

"If he makes a mess, the extra nappies are in the hamper on the bottom shelf of the closet," Lana continued to issue orders. "He's getting better at reaching for things but can't quite grab them. I hope. He may surprise you so be careful to keep anything small out of his reach just in case." The militant woman paused and a bright smile took over, "And have fun."

"Oh, I will, ma'am. We will, right baby?"

Gavin cooed a bit at the attention, the baby always lighting up when anyone looked at him. A few would nudge Cullen at how many women and girls kept flocking to his son. He swallowed every jibe down like bitter lemon juice, hoping to be able to put off those discussions far, far into the future. Not that he was much of a treasure trove when it came to courting advice.

Sam picked up Gavin's little hand and waved it up and down. "Say bye bye to your mum and da." The boy gurgled, spit dribbling down his chin along with some bubbles before Sam wrapped him tight and disappeared through the door.

To Cullen's surprise Honor went with, the dog trailing behind with the same look he felt. 'I'm watching you to make certain you do nothing to hurt that baby.'

"You trust them to look after our son?" he asked Lana after the door closed.

"We trust them to look after our charges. A baby should be easy compared to a raging 200 pound templar," she shrugged then turned to Cullen. "He'll be fine. It's only for a little while, and, Maker's breath, don't you want to savor the break?"

He'd twisted around to return to sanding, but at her comment he paused and glanced up. "It is nice to trust someone else. While I rather enjoy Hawke at times, she can be...well."

"Easily excitable and prone to forgetting there's a baby in her arms?" Lana laughed, her arms sliding in under his. He felt her face bury into the back of his padded shirt while the warmth of her body took over.

"Let's just say that I will be more calm if at her next visit Gavin is capable of walking and talking."

His wife chuckled, her cheek burrowing tighter, "Which is when Hawke will teach him how to use a sword."

"Of blighted course she will," Cullen let the tools clatter from his hands again, accepting that this crib wouldn't be built until the boy was walking. Turning in Lana's grasp, he wrapped his hands around her waist. She was always curvy, even her time trapped in the fade didn't fully drain away the squeezable soft figure that taunted his every waking moment. Motherhood shifted it around a bit, her soft stomach dangling lower after the expansion then expulsion. Her thighs, always stout and hearty, curled outward more at the top. Whenever Cullen caught sight of her naked body, slipping into or out of clothing or a bath, he felt an urge to grip onto the extra flesh. To pad his palms up and down it while she pressed her heaving chest against him.

He couldn't hide his body's betrayal while she curled so tight to him. It prodded into her lower belly, begging for any kind of release. He ached to touch her, but that was hardly new.

"Mmm," Lana purred into his chest, her head nuzzling against him, "been missing me?"

"You know I have," he whispered, his voice dipping lower to match the want in his blood.

She lifted her head enough he watched her little teeth press against her juicy bottom lip. "How many times have you thought about missing me?"

"Well, I haven't exactly kept count," he tried to play off the rising embarrassment with a joke. They had a newborn, she was walking through the darkness, there was still their half farm plus charges. He was far from being in a position to waste such time on frippery.

Lana darted her fingers down his chest, pressing the lambswool tighter to his skin. Her beaming brown eyes turned enigmatic as that brain was no doubt churning through a hundred thoughts. "You must have," she whispered, her hand sliding lower across his stomach, "some idea?" To finish, that cruel palm twisted around his erection growing harder with every breath.

"Sweet Maker," Cullen groaned, far too aware of how long it had been. He grew so busy there was a fear of a return of nocturnal emissions if he didn't take care of things soon. His sweet wife brushed her hot lips against his neck, that mischievous hand sliding his pants up and down his cock. "Why," he tried to shake away the buzzing in his ears, "why does that fascinate you so?"

Her fingers paused and she blinked a moment, staring up at him. "You, taking matters into your capable hands? Driving yourself to the brink so slowly you cry out for Andraste upon release? Yes, I can't imagine why that 'fascinates me' so."

"It..." Cullen gulped, trying to shake off the shame of how well his own wife knew about that.

"Tell me," Lana's nuzzling returned, though her fingers broke from his cock to rifle up and down his waist. "Do you ever imagine me seeking release on my own?"

Why did he feel like he was on trial and, no matter what he said, he'd be found guilty? "Sometimes," Cullen gasped, "And others I think of you with me, you finishing me, and...Maker's breath." He lost the ability to speak, the flush of embarrassment winning over. Sure, they had intimate moments, but this was even more private and not something to be discussed in his wood shop.

"Cullen?" Lana whispered his name in her dusky voice all but damning him to reveal every dirty thought he'd ever had in his lifetime. "What would you have of me?"

His eyes shot open and then crinkled down in confusion, "Excuse me?"

Lana shrugged her shoulder and then hopped up on her toes to kiss him. He expected it to be a distraction from whatever game she was playing, but as her tongue trailed along with his, the want inside of him rampaged through. Tasting his wife's sweetness, lapping up her lips and then diving back more for, his hands moved of their own accord. One curled around her breast, struggling to take in the greater size, while the other swooped to her backside. Wrapping the arm under her ass, Cullen tugged her even closer, his fingers swirling over her dress to tease out the nipple.

When it hardened below him, she shivered, breaking the haze over Cullen's eyes. "Maker's breath," Lana panted. She kept tight up on her toes, her breath wafting beside his ear while gasping for breath. "How do you want me? On my back? On my knees? On my hands and knees?"

"Lana..." the worry erupted up his spine, concern over her well being, of him pushing her too hard curbing his lust.

"I want you," she breathed into his ear before licking along the lobe. "Now, how do you want me?"

Every hunger roared to life, puncturing his waning attempts at chastity. Glancing once over his bench, Cullen scattered the tools to the side before scooping up his wife and placing her upon it. She laughed once, eyeing up how far her feet dangled off the floor upon the waist heigh counter, "I don't think this will quite work..."

Her words and fears of the height differential faded as he returned to kissing her, those lips nibbling upon his while his hands skirted apart her dress enough to dip down the front. She groaned in the back of her throat, no doubt matched by him as Cullen gently squeezed her full breasts. With each kneading, Lana began to pant harder, obliterating Cullen's control as he tugged and warped the collar of her dress. He shouldn't destroy her few clothes, but...

Seeming to rise back from her island of bliss, Lana reached inside and undid a few secret clasps. Her dress fell open, letting both of her breasts tumble free. "Nursing mother," she chuckled. "It's a bit like stripper in how quickly you can get your top off when the need arises."

"Maker's breath, I love you," Cullen muttered, diving back to her witty tongue. She wasn't a coy one either, despite giving him the reins. Perched within easy reach, her legs wrapped around his waist tugging him tighter to the bench. He gave in until those wily fingers went right back to his belt and all the parts underneath.

Her wrist knocked against the edge of the table struggling to make the distance. Shaking her head at it, the pedantic rose back up, "Seriously, how is this supposed to work?" She gestured to how much higher she was to his straining cock. "Do you have a box to stand on?"

Andraste preserve him, but he loved that. She was so dead certain on helping him live out his fantasies she couldn't stop focusing on how to make it happen. "Lana," Cullen whispered in her ear. His voice was so dusky her perturbations died down and she shuddered. "This is where I want you."

"Okay...?"

He heard the question of "what are you doing?" as he tugged her forward towards the edge. Slowly his fingers skirted down her waist, trailing the thick fabric that protected her sweet skin from the cold. She began to rotate back and forth on her glorious ass, wanting him to get a move on. That drew a laugh to the old, stodgy templar, who slid his fingers up her legs. Calves, once so strong to carry her across Ferelden, they now required his healing massage often. Her thighs, soft to the gentle touch, but rock hard when she flexed them. The muscle hid deep below her cushioning. His thumbs circled around the top of her thighs, following the crease that led down to the part he dreamed of while touching himself.

"What are you...?" she shifted a moment when he grabbed onto her smalls and yanked them downward. It was fast enough they didn't have a chance to snag against his less than refined woodworking table. Cullen moved to toss them to the side when he paused and bundled them into her hand.

"Keep them safe," he whispered to her confused eyes. She was still focused on the height differential and the fact he kept his pants on. It wasn't until he took to a knee, that Lana's lips fell open first in understanding, then desire.

"This is what you want? After so long?" she sputtered. He didn't answer, his fingers gently teasing the skin up and down her inner thighs. It'd been so long that simple touch caused her to shiver. Bunching up her dress at the front, Cullen slowly bundled it together until he was face to face with her mound, slit, folds, dwarven beard. He'd heard them all and often worse but despite all the intervening years and the trials together he'd always thought of it as her perfection. Maker take him, Lana'd probably groan, then take the piss out of him for it.

He parted his fingers through her pubic hair, knotting those ebony curls tight in his fist as he would with the ones sprouting from her head. Lana rolled her fingers through his hair, then grabbed onto her dress, giving him free access. Barely a finger glancing against her plump lower lips, she shuddered and placed her legs upon his shoulders. Opening up wider, Cullen dove tongue first into her.

The smell was pure Lana, the one he cherished through all their times apart. At first he lightly lapped against her clitoris, taking the time to softly suckle upon her inner lips before returning back to the main event. When the tempo increased, Lana slid her legs further along his shoulders, rolling her hips to match his rhythm. Rubbing a hand back along her leg, Cullen felt the rise of goosebumps against her skin, his wife muttering something incoherent above him.

She leaned back upon her elbows, giving fully in to his machinations which made him smile against her. Out of every possible position she could manage, this was what he missed most. The others he could pretend to mimic on his own, but not this. Feeling her melt below his tongue and fingers, watching her tremble when the release hit, hearing her shriek gibberish because her taut brain unwound -- that was what he loved and ached for.

"Cu-u-l..." his name faded to panting as she drove herself harder against his tongue, all but riding it. He moved to part her lips, ready to slide a finger in, when Lana knotted up tight around him. Her thighs clenched around his head and she sat up until her fingers gripped onto his hair. The wave of pleasure bore down hard through her, only a few grunts and the occasional curse slipping free until she released her hold and lay back upon the bench.

"That was quick," he remarked, wiping off his chin and rising up off his knees.

"Yeah," Lana gasped, a hand laying upon her bare bosom. "Real quick, been a while and you..." She sat up suddenly, snagging his cheeks in her hands. "You're blighted amazing," she shouted as if for the whole world to hear. Tugging him to her for a kiss, she all but mimicked his tongue moves in his mouth.

Gasping in a breath, Cullen reached for her smalls while trying to shake off the tremble in his spine, "Here, let me help you put them back on."

"Oh no, by the void, no," Lana shook her head wildly. "No, no, I don't care where, but you are sticking your cock in me."

"That..." the blush was in full force at her brash certainty.

She grabbed his hands and tugged them tight around her back. That gave her enough room to part her hands down his shirt before reaching for the belt again. "I've been waking from so many dreams where you ravage me until I can't walk straight. I can't take it anymore." Her ferocity drove her to whip his belt off and expose the part of him Lana would always control. She circled her fingers up and down it, barely a whisper of a touch, but it burned away the lingering trepidation of hurting her.

"Okay," Cullen nodded, regretting he didn't have a step stool in place for him to stand on.

Lana smirked and slipped off the bench to land upon her feet. With one hand keeping his cock warm, she began to dip down to her knees when Cullen stopped her. She shot him a questioning look, but he had to fight through his mouth clogged with lust first to talk. "No, not that, I...I want inside you."

"Pretty sure that counts as..." she smiled, then eyed up the answer. Spinning in place, she gripped onto the bench, her beautiful ass hidden behind the dress bumping into him.

"You're a little bit short still," Cullen explained. Maybe if they put down a blanket or...

"Grab my legs," she instructed, bumping it into him and enflaming his erection even more.

"Um," he wasn't so certain about this, but Maker, he had to try. Tugging up her skirt, Cullen wrapped it tight around her waist and then knotted the ends together. His wife laughed at the ingenuity, until his hand skirted across her ass, as plump as ever. The moan huffed out of her lips as she tipped her head down to glance across the table. That was certainly promising.

Enjoying the leisurely pace, Cullen scooped his hands forward around her waist while Lana slid her legs further apart. She wanted him, begged for him. Taking care, he parted her inner lips and began to slide a finger inside when Cullen paused. There was some lubrication but nowhere near what he expected.

"Lana," he blinked, concerned that she was only pretending for his sake. "Do you wish to do this?"

"What?" she whipped her head over her shoulder. "Of blighted course I do! I...ah, right. I'm not very wet because," taking in a slow breath, she murmured as if it was a failing, "my body's still figuring itself back out after the birth and that hasn't flipped on yet."

"I don't want to hurt you," he muttered, a hand sliding against the crest of her ass.

Lana turned from her hold, cupping a palm to his cheek, "You never do." Kissing her, Cullen accepted that this would happen another day, when he tasted the veil splitting open. It wasn't much of a spell but as her hand slid up and down his cock, lubrication coated it.

"Grease spell," she laughed, "all the mages learn it, though boys seem far more interested for _some_ reason."

Spinning back around, she gripped onto the table and spread her legs. Cullen ran his fingers over her hips, trying to catch his breath. He hadn't lifted her like this in some time. Always impatient, his wife bumped her ass against his cock. Greased up, it slid between her cheeks and Cullen could take no more. Digging in tight, he tugged her legs clean off the ground, taking almost all her weight in his arms. Working his hips back, Cullen guided his greased up cock down across her taint until the head brushed upon the perfection it yearned for.

He meant to go slow, to be gentle with the woman who only a few months prior expelled a baby, but the grease and his eagerness slid him deep into Lana. A groan erupted from her as she tossed her head back, Cullen freezing in place, until she gasped out, "More!"

Weaving with his wife in his arms, he began to thrust into her. Was it different? He couldn't entirely tell, the pressure mounting so fast with every pump of his hips Cullen could only slow himself down by hoisting Lana higher or lower. The gasping gave way to deeper panting, Lana's legs struggling to wrap around his back as she drew herself to match his thrusts.

It was all over when she did that. The aching drove him to thrust as hard as he could, each slip of him against her internal bumps and turns pushing him closer and closer to the edge until... "Blessed Maker, preserve me!" Cullen gasped, the orgasm burning from his aching balls up through his spine and beyond. He only kept a tight hold to Lana out of pure force of will, every ounce of strength in his body fleeing in an instant. The force struck so hard, he felt the urge to fall to his knees in praise of the woman who was chuckling at the mess dribbling down her thighs.

Tipping his hips back to disengage, and making even more of a mess in the process, he helped her legs back down. She was all smiles, unknotting her skirt so that it slipped back down to hide away her legs. Cullen kept a tight grip to himself to try and contain some of the mess as the final vestiges spurted free. Of course, his wife twisted around and threw her arms around him for a hug. She seemed to rarely care about the stains of sex, as if the spills were always the least of her concerns.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked, one hand curling along her back and reaching upward to play with her hair.

"My Honey eyes," she snickered, her own bottomless ones staring up into his. "It takes a lot more than that to hurt me."

"Lana..." he breathed, tucking her tighter to him in a hug. She was the fist of the Maker, a controlled fury to cleanse thedas of a blight. Hero to all and Savior as well. She was also fragile, haunted by demons of her own make, with a body that could fail same as his, same as anyone's. He never wanted to be the cause of it. Not even in Kinloch, not even as he ranted about purging the mages, not her. Not ever.

"What's the matter?" she asked, tucking the far too long curls back behind his ear. Another matter he needed to take care of but kept putting off to spend time beside the fire with his wife and son.

"I love you," Cullen sputtered, burying his face into the top of her head.

She chuckled at that, "Yes, I'm well aware, but I don't think that's a problem."

"It's...sometimes I forget how much I do, and then it hits me and," Maker's sake, he sounded like a babbling idiot, "I'm overwhelmed."

Her chin tipped to the side as if she was trying to diagnose and study him. "Cullen," she breathed his name, her warm fingers curling up against his cheek, "you deserve love."

That was it. He chuckled a bit even as a weight lifted off his chest. "How do you know me so well? How can you pluck thoughts from my mind without me even knowing them?" It was meant as a compliment but for a brief moment he saw the old wall, the old fears rise. Blood magic. No, he never...

Lana laughed too, the threat fading before it even began, "Six years of marriage gives me a bit of a head start in such matters. You care for your son."

"I do," he confessed, feeling even more stupid with every word.

"It will come, in time. Yours is a well guarded heart, always has been."

He sighed at her diagnosis, "If that were true then how did you slip in so quickly?"

Lana folded her arms behind his neck, her cheek nuzzling tight to his chest while he gripped around her waist. Below his fingers he could feel her bum just below the skirt. "A good decade for you to build up the courage to let someone in hardly counts as quick."

"I pray it doesn't take Gavin as long," he muttered.

"Oh, Honey eyes," she buried herself closer to him, trying to mop up his weeping heart with her own chest. "I love you, and perhaps when our son is talking, when he calls out for dada, you'll be able to love him back."

Cullen snorted at that idea. It would be nice, a simple cap on his failing as a father. You were little more than a lump of human skin until one day you smiled, asked for me, and I melted at the feet of my son. "Just," he whispered into her hair, unable to face Lana's quick gaze, "just promise you won't leave us. We need you."

Hooking her arms tighter to him, Lana said, "I swear I will do everything in my power to never go."

That was enough for him. The potion would be fixed, or at least another solution found. She wasn't going to have another...

Cullen tugged back and stared down at her, "You, do you have to um... I know the taint returned, but is there any danger of a second pregnancy occurring?"

She giggled at his serious face, her fingers smoothing up against the laugh lines to his cheeks. "Unlikely, courtesy of my milk, but I'll cast the flushing spell anyway. There's a bit of wiggle room timewise."

"Thank the Maker," he sighed. It was going to take him awhile to get into the habit, having gotten used to her tainted sterility.

"Here's hoping I remember how to do it," Lana mused, her fingers flickering in and out of the veil but not drawing anything forth. "Don't make that face, I haven't needed it in a very, very long time."

"You ever did?" he asked surprised. As far as he knew she was tainted first then lost her virginity.

She blinked a moment, then shot a look over at him. "It's not worth getting into."

"Code for it involved..." Cullen sighed, doing his best to wipe the King's name from his vocabulary, "very well. It is dropped, as are my pants still. I should probably cinch them back up."

His wife didn't stagger back to allow him. No, she kept rubbing up and down his chest, savoring this moment. "It's a damn good thing the baby didn't suddenly throw a fuss while we were in the middle."

"Oh Andraste, just what I want to deal with on the regular. Horrified stares and snickers."

"Not as if they don't already warn each other," Lana shrugged her shoulder, drawing Cullen's attention. "You never heard them? Every new hire, the older ones give mention that if you should happen to catch the master and mistress of the place alone together...it's best to leave the room quickly and draw no mention to it."

"By the void," he growled, unable to escape the blush at so many people in his employ having any clue about his love life. It was personal, which was where it belonged. No one needed to know save Lana. And the fact that they created a child.

Maybe it wasn't so bad. To be that in love with a woman that people smiled knowingly and turned away. He chuckled, causing Lana to now stare a question at him. "It is a strange thing, to be the one warned about. I remember a few mages from the tower who carried the same."

"Maker's sake," she rolled her eyes, "like cats in heat. Your only hope to get past was spraying them in ice and even then it didn't always work."

There'd been a few known couples in Kinloch who bore a warning almost identical to a bottle of poison: avoid getting it in your eyes or ears at all costs. "I'd never thought myself that type. To be so wanted by someone so beautiful," Cullen whispered, his hands cupping her cheek, "that I can't keep my hands to myself while in company."

A hint of a blush bloomed upon her brown skin and she tugged his hand tighter, "Nor I. You bring out the best in me."

Leaning forward to kiss her, Cullen whispered, "I fear you're reading my mind again, Lana Amell."

## CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

#### K.E.W.

_18 weeks old..._

Reiss was playing with Myra in the garden when Lunet appeared. While to every outside eye the elven woman looked calm and collected, Reiss caught a twitch in Lunet's jaw as she gazed around at the modest splendor of the palace grounds.

"I didn't expect to see you today, Lune," Reiss chuckled, rising away from her baby. Myra was trying to snag her fingers at a bright blue butterfly and having no luck. The creature, seeming to be aware that it couldn't be bested by an infant, kept landing just beyond her reach and once upon her head. That caused those vibrant green eyes to twist back and forth around the grass searching for her new friend.

"Reiss, I..." Lunet paced back and forth on her feet, a nervous stamping to her toe as she hammered out what almost sounded like an erratic code. "You busy?"

"Baby," she tipped her head down to her daughter, "but nothing else. We were going to meet two days from now to go over cases." Reiss tried to trail whatever was going on. Her friend only came up to the palace district when it was absolutely necessary. Some of it was due to an elf sticking out like a sore thumb, and some no doubt due to the sting of her ex. That was not a happy breakup; Lace Harding thinking that long distance could work, and her friend insisting it didn't have a chance. Lunet could be a stubborn pain in the ass about some things.

"Right," Lunet nodded her head, then nodded it a few more times, "right, I know. I only, Reiss, you have to come with me."

"Okay," she smiled. Myra cooed, a quick string of babble breaking from her as her tiny hands swept across the butterfly before it skittered back to the air. That was all she needed having won her game. Hefting her baby up off her butt into her arms, Reiss focused back on Lunet.

"Okay?" Lunet blinked. "You can just go whenever, wherever you like?"

"I ain't trapped in some tower like a maiden forced to spin gold, Lune. I'll leave a note for Alistair but it's not a problem. Myra here would love to see any and everything." She twisted her baby around, letting the girl giggle at her friend.

While Reiss expected smiles around this age, she hadn't anticipated how much her baby laughed. It seemed if Myra wasn't crying, or staring at something in surprise, she was laughing. More than a few people would pat Reiss on the shoulder and sigh about how damn much she was like her father.

Getting the wiggly baby safely locked in her arms, Reiss asked, "Where are we going, anyway?"

"To the agency," Lunet twisted her foot up and down before seeming to realize she was tapping out a harsh cadence.

"What for?" Reiss asked. "Don't tell me, Sylaise got into the ceiling and ripped apart all the insulation?" Lunet shook her head. "Jorel's been sleeping in the closet again? We knew his relationship with Qimat wouldn't last long, but Maker it shouldn't be this..."

"Just!" Lunet interrupted her, before her cheeks flashed deep red and her eyes darted around the garden, "come with me. I'll show you. It's something you got to see for yourself."

"All right, but you know you're acting really weird and creepy right now," Reiss said. "I'll have to get Myra's things, write a note to Alistair..."

"You said that already," Lunet muttered, her eyes trailing the few people milling around in the warm early spring air. She seemed to be sizing them all up as if they were about to attack.

Tipping her cheek down to her daughter, Reiss whispered, "You ready to go for a little trip? What are you staring at, Myra?" The baby's eyes honed on a flash of ebony wings perched upon the garden wall. Reiss watched the crow not hoping back and forth while waiting to pounce on food but staring intently towards them with its yellow eye. Great, more portent signs. Why not start raining while at it?

"Rat," Lunet whined, tugging her out of her fog. "Let's get going."

"Fine, right. I need to get Myra's hat and coat..." While walking back into the palace, Reiss listed off the piles of things she'd have to cram into a tiny bag just to leave the place for a few hours. Behind her the crow took to flight, its dark feathers scattering to the ground.

*  * *

"See why I brought you," Lunet whispered, her eyes boring into the shattered glass. It crunched beneath Reiss' boot like brittle bones bleached in the sun. She shouldn't be pacing over it, not while holding her baby, but she couldn't stop. Crack, the same sound the brick made when it struck their window. Pop, the wind whistling in through the giant hole. Shatter, what she was going to do to whoever did this to her life.

Reiss hadn't said a word when they turned the corner to reveal the Solver Agency. The door was pried open by a crowbar, barely hanging on its shattered hinges the way a broken jaw would. Their window was shattered from an obvious hunk of rock stolen off a retainer wall down by the riverfront, the reddish hue evident, as the culprit was left to rot where it landed inside. More rocks, smaller ones, smashed into their sign until the name was almost unreadable. And in giant red letters painted over the front of the building were the words "Knife-Eared Whore".

"Well," Reiss flexed her jaw, "I'm impressed they knew knife begins with a k."

"Reiss..." Lunet reached over as if she was afraid her friend and fellow investigator was going to fall to her knees in agony. She shook it off and yanked on the broken door.

A growl greeted her, which she answered by turning back to Lunet and asking, "I assume Muse was with you overnight?" At his name, the dog fell out of attack mode and wiggled his stump of a tail. It was enough to catch Myra's attention, the baby clapping her hands and trying to reach down to the doggie.

There was glass everywhere, glittering tears reflecting Denerim's dingy sunlight while Muse sat perfect still in a desert Lunet must have cleared away for him. They did more than smash up the window and the sign. Tables were ransacked, desks tipped up against the walls. It looked as if a bronto ran through doing its best to break everything it could.

"You doing okay?" Lunet asked.

Reiss ignored her as she walked through the destruction of three years of her life. Three years of sleepless nights, blood and sweat spent for the sake of helping, of saving the assholes who did this. As she stepped past the broken desk where Jorel and Kurt would argue, around Lunet's that they'd gouged more "Knife-Ear Whore's" into, Reiss took a breath to steady herself. It was only one, but she needed it before walking into her office.

The sword was gone, every case file they'd ever solved splattered against the wall as the thieves slid them off. Her work was smashed by what was probably blunt objects and... A sting struck her throat as she noticed the vase that held all of Alistair's flowers was shattered. A few bits of porcelain remained in place, the blue and white pattern crying out for vengeance.

It was a disaster. Everything they ever owned, everything that they created, everything that proved they were useful to this world destroyed, carved with filthy epithets, then shattered to finish them off.

Lunet dug her toe against the support pillar beside Reiss' office. At least they couldn't manage to break that thing or there'd be nothing to save. "Reiss," she whispered, her eyes staring down at the ground.

"Their first mistake was in taking the sword. That's easily traced, not many deal in gilded weaponry especially one bearing the Theirin crest. Did they get into my apartment?"

"No," Lunet shook her head, her dark eyes fading into the shadows of the unlit office. "Seems they weren't smart enough to figure that out."

"Good," Reiss nodded, one less problem for her to solve. "The others...?"

"Are all at home. I sent 'em back cause..." She stared up at Reiss and tears glistened in her eyes.

"Lune!" Reiss had been with her through raids, long nights, starving ends of the month, even longer days, a rotten breakup, and she'd never seen her friend cry. She reached over, wrapping a hand around her shoulders.

"It's over," Lunet gasped. "Everything is... This, there is no way to come back from this. We tried, we failed."

"Bullshit."

"Wha...?" Lunet began to sponge off her nose, then shook her head in shock. "I ain't bullshitting you. This is, for fuck's sake, look at this! The only bright light in all this fuckery is they didn't set fire to the place. Maybe you can sell it back for a measly price, but it's over, Rat. Shit, it's amazing it lasted as long as it did."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Reiss snarled, turning on her friend all the rage boiling inside her heart from what those shems did to her. "We've come back from worse, far worse. Do you have any fucking idea the things I've done to survive? To carry on? There's a roof, there are walls. Lune," She grabbed onto her friend's hand and lifted them together in a victory pose, "we're damn good at what we do, and they Maker damn know it. We will come back."

Lunet smiled at her enthusiasm when Myra's chubby hands suddenly darted over to grab onto her coat's collar. At the baby, she sighed, "Rat, don't go talking all high and mighty. You got your ticket out of here. And it's a good one, a real good one. You plus baby in the palace. Maker take me, but even the man involved is a good one too."

"Myra may be my daughter, but this is my life," Reiss hugged her baby tight, taking her away from latching onto Lunet's lapels. She paced back and forth staring at the abuse heaped upon her world, "And I'll be fucked if I'm going to let a damn gang of piss-legged shems steal it from me!"

"You're mad, but you're scary when you're mad," Lunet's head hung down as she seemed to be weighing how much this wasn't going to work. Reiss was prepared to give her every argument for why they belonged here clinging to her tongue, when her friend's head lifted, "A'right. What do we do first?"

"Get everyone back here fast. We'll need all hands on deck to get this place operational, which is happening tonight. The Solvers is reopening before the sun sets," Reiss swore to the Maker and upon every beat of her heart. She grasped her friend's hand again and Lunet snickered.

At that moment Myra began to cry. Right, it was nearing her nap time. "And get a crib on the way back here. It's gonna be a long day for us all."

## CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

#### Hate

Myra was tended to by both dwarves on a rotating schedule. At first, Reiss sent Kurt to talk to the window repair guy, then Jorel to snag some cheap wood to cover the gaping hole in the meantime. The rest stayed behind to sweep up the glass and debris, all of it having to be filed away to check what was stolen later. Myra kept smiling safe inside her crib at the goings on, clapping from her silly mummy with hands coated in red goo as she plucked up glass wedged into the walls and gaps in the floor across the agency.

Reiss had to remind herself to wipe the blood from her hands before she could touch her daughter. The cuts came so fast, there was barely a point in bandaging it up until they were finished.

Jorel returned first with a giant slab of wood. He was cursing every third word at whoever had the shriveled balls to attack their place, but focused that anger into drilling nails through the boards and into the window. It was Kurt who slipped back later, his face pale and hands wringing the end of his beard.

Turning away from the pile of papers scattered out of their folders that she had to sort, Reiss asked, "What is it, Kurt?"

"It's, um..." the man glanced first at Qimat, who placed down her broom, then to Lunet. He was doing everything he could to not look at Reiss.

Of course she picked up on that fact instantly and girded herself. "I'm not about to shoot the messenger," she tried to soothe him.

"I spoke with the glass guy and, uh..." he tipped his head back, the face between beard and hair turning bright red while he rubbed his neck, "he said he couldn't help us."

"Why?" Lunet sneered. She held a hammer in her hand from trying to pry apart all the nailed together broken wood pieces for the fire. The rage building inside caused her to flex her knuckles tight against the handle.

Kurt noticed her weapon, and gulped again. "Because of, he said that. It wasn't me, it was him who..." the voice dipped down to a mumble.

"Spit it out, man," Jorel shouted at his brother.

"He said he wouldn't take any money from a whore," Kurt cried before clasping a hand to his mouth. Every eye whipped over to Reiss who'd tipped her chin down to try and hide the flush building upon her cheeks. She wasn't certain if it was all rage or if a twinge of shame burned in there.

Lunet spun on Kurt, the hammer embedding into their shattered door as she needed to work something out, "You get your ass back there and you tell that Maker damned, pig-faced, brontofucker that he will supply us with a window and he'll do it at a discount!" Kurt gurgled in her grip, his eyes darting around for help.

"No," Reiss spoke up softly.

"Good point," Lunet tipped her head, "take Qimat. If anyone'll scare the pissants, it's her. Glare, a lot. Maybe if we rub some blood on your horns..."

"No, he's not going back," Reiss said louder, the command returning to her voice. "We're not going to force anyone to work for us that doesn't want to."

"For fuck's sake, Rat, you're gonna let them walk all over us? Over you, just because..." Lunet waved at Myra who was gumming on an old doll a girl gave them for rescuing her kitten. "This bastard owes us. Didn't you do him a favor by stopping the ones who were stealing his supplies?"

She remembered it well. Before they had a name, before they had a building, she stumbled into a gang of bandits posing as City Watch. They were confiscating goods left and right to sell on the blackmarket. It was a big egg on its face problem for the watch until Reiss brought all the imposters in. The glassmaker was so happy to have his supplies back, he offered them a free window when they moved into this place.

"It doesn't matter. We come back our way, with the people who'll serve us. The rest can...find someone else to solve their problems," she shrugged, her eyes glinting. "Qimat, head down to the riverfront. There's another glassmaker there, bit pricier, but maybe you can gently talk him down for it."

"Uh," the woman glanced over at Lunet who was still squeezing the hammer's handle with all her worth, "yes, Boss." She did her best to squeeze around Lunet out the door, when Reiss shouted out.

"And try to find a new door while you're out. Lunet's already started beating the old one off the hinges."

Her friend sneered, but yanked the hammer out of the good sized hole she battered into it. Reiss could hear the arguments between them, they'd been friends for far too long for her to not already know them. You can't pick and choose. They'll turn against us. It's what they do. They got the numbers and we got nothing.

Maybe she was right, maybe Reiss couldn't turn away those who'd spit in their faces in public but demand their aid in the dark. But she was exhausted from being the good elf. The kind and sweet one who always smiled politely at their little jokes, who didn't raise a fuss, who let them walk all over her back while acting as if she didn't know she was being screwed over. They strike at her, she'd strike back. And they forgot that in all this time ferreting out the secrets of Denerim, Reiss knew where the arteries of the city lurked and how to slice them open.

"Kurt," Reiss called out, "why don't you watch Myra for a bit? Take her upstairs where it's warmest. I have to start attacking this pile of cases."

"Oh," the dwarf's eyes lit up as he stepped away from the scary elf still holding the hammer. He reached in for Myra who'd been rather content sitting in her crib, but the appearance of a tuggable beard called to her like none could. Before the dwarf bustled her up to the apartment where a real fire was possible, Reiss reached over to her baby girl.

"You're being so good through this," she whispered, planting a quick kiss on her forehead. _This is what I've pulled you into, the world you're born to. Hate. Hate on either side no matter what I do._ Tears percolated in her eyes as she watched Myra vanish up the stairs, the regret at her selfish choice stinging harder when Kurt's foot creaked on the 13th stair.

"Boss?" Jorel grumbled, shaking Reiss from her fog.

She whipped back, the tears gone and her will of iron in place. "Finish nailing up the window. Lunet, rip off the door. I'll get to clearing a walkup path for customers."

They lost the day straining to get everything cleaned out in time. Reiss only took breaks to nurse Myra, and even then she'd often sit in what had been her office, trying to find the most important cases and put it all back in order. If a murderer slipped through their fingers because of what these cowards did... Qimat was a bit of a whiz with woodworking and managed to salvage Lunet's old desk. It was the only one that wasn't damaged beyond repair, though they were going to have to sand away the carvings.

For now it sat at the front with a stack of the cases Reiss picked sitting to the left, a single chair behind it, a bell for the customer to ring, and a small vase holding a single daisy because Kurt thought it would look nice. They pulled everything broken beyond repair to the back of the office and tacked up sheets before it to hide the mess. All day people would stop and stare, at first at the mess, and later at the spectacle of watching people dragging shit in and out through a broken window. Then their eyes would rise up to the graffiti and they'd scatter.

After a morning and afternoon of work, people began to ask, "Are you guys closed?"

"No, we're merely redecorating at the moment," Reiss would answer with a smile. "If you have a problem you need help with we should be fully open sometime after nightfall."

"A'right," was the answer, their eyes noting the damage and not voicing how in denial the elf was about pulling that off before sunset.

When the dinner hour set in, the baker stopped by to whisper about how he'd heard some hooligans had been around last night but hadn't witnessed anything. Reiss thanked him for whatever information he may have on them. She doubted the human would provide much, if not out of solidarity then not wanting to be targeted next, but he was kind enough to leave a bag of left over breads and pastries for the group to devour. After a day of hard labor and a baby stuck to her teat, Reiss was ravenous. The baker barely turned the corner before the entire offering vanished into weary but happy stomachs as a sort of celebration.

They'd done it. Streaks of waning sunlight stretched across the street while Jorel lit the new lamp outside their agency. He'd painted "Solvors" across the boarded up window. Reiss thought about correcting his spelling, but it was doubtful it mattered. A lot of their clients were illiterate anyway.

That was the final bit to finish in this insane plan to cling to normalcy. Yanking open the new door that almost looked as if it'd been ripped straight off of some other business' hinges, Jorel tugged out the sign that declared them "Open." He glanced over at everyone standing in front of the curtain, Reiss tipping her baby back and forth for Qimat's and Myra's entertainment.

"Got that all done up," he commented, wiping the blue paint off on his trousers.

"Excellent work," Reiss smiled, she couldn't be prouder of her people. They all pitched in to achieve the impossible with only a few minor grumps and groans about it.

"Whatcha want to do about the, er," Jorel jabbed a hand up towards the ceiling and then whispered, "K-E-W bit?"

"Leave it," Reiss' voice turned ice cold, her eyes narrowing to a slit.

"You can't be serious," Lunet half chuckled. "We'll get some ladders tomorrow and then scrub it off."

"Great," Jorel moped, as if it wouldn't be the qunari they'd send up there.

"I mean it," Reiss ordered, no laugh in her voice. "I want them all to see it. To know." She paused in bouncing Myra on her lap, her heart hardening in her chest. Hiding from the hate solved nothing.

"Rat, that's not..." Lunet began again, when Reiss whipped her head at her and snarled. "Okay, fine. We leave it. Who am I to argue with crazy?"

She stared a beat longer with Reiss, the only two elves struggling to breathe in their society enforced corsets. Take too deep of one and the narrow box they forced you into will break. The only hope of survival is shallow moments, quickly sipped in the corner where the shems wouldn't notice. Reiss smiled a bit and Lunet matched it.

"Talk of crazy, I ain't the one who once swam the breadth of the Drakon river in winter."

"Oh sure, it'll come out bad if we're gonna include all the stories when I'm drunk," Lunet chuckled, extending her hands.

"If we're gonna swap horror stories, let's do it back by the fire. It's colder than a qunari's teat out here," Jorel grumped, rubbing up and down his shoulders. He paused as he felt two sets of eyes glaring at him. "What? It's one o' them expressions. I ain't on trial here."

"Not here, precisely," Kurt spoke up, a gentle smile on his face. He seemed happiest in the company of the baby. "But I remember back in Orzammar..."

They all hid behind the curtain, talking shit and trading stories from their old days. Speaking about the times when they nearly thought they'd die, or stood arse deep in freezing mud, or were glaring down the wrong end of a wyvern, it made all this mess seem so unimportant. It was a small divot on the road, nothing more.

Reiss kept Myra in her lap, the baby happy to see so many laughing and cringing faces, until she checked the hour and tucked her tight into the crib. She braced for oncoming wails but her daughter tuckered right out. Throughout the night, they traded who would sit at the front desk, doing their best to look busy in the chance a customer came through the door while keeping an ear back to hear the really embarrassing stories.

By around hour three, Reiss felt herself fading. She'd been up and down the night previous as Myra decided sleeping through an entire eight hours was boring when there was her foot to fight with. It was foolish to remain awake for the entire night, it wasn't as if anything interesting would happen, but she felt as if she needed to. Like that first night after the birth sitting there watching Myra breathe just to make certain she didn't stop. Her agency was struggling, and it needed her to sit watch by its bedside.

Jorel perched in Qimat's lap, their frosty relationship back to smoldering while Lunet kicked a foot into the remains of a desk. After rifling through all their business life, talked turned to personal. More than a few were drunk enough, or exhausted enough, to try and pry into the King's more private attributes. As the dwarf put it, "Well, we know it works at least, and is long enough to get in there."

Far too exhausted to put up a proper defense, Reiss hid her face behind her hands and waited until they found a different topic. Out of nowhere a warm body of fluff landed upon her lap and she glanced down to find Sylaise mewling like a baby kitten. "I wondered where you got to tonight." She hadn't seen her cat since she was fed, no doubt Sylaise slipping up into the apartment along with the baby and Kurt.

Padding her paws into Reiss' thighs, Sylaise stretched a moment while Reiss parted her fingers over the fluffy grey fur. She missed her cat, even if Sylaise couldn't be bothered to share in the sentiment. When Reiss had risked checking on the state of her apartment Sylaise was perched upon the tiny table glaring as if nothing had changed and she was owed her due.

After swishing her tail a bit, the cat bounded off the wreckage of their lives, then landed into the cheap crib right beside Myra's snuggled body. Reiss spun around to watch the grey shadow sizing up this sleeping little human.

"Cat..." she warned. "Don't you dare wake her. Or sit on her face. So help me, if you smother my baby."

Sylaise swished her tail at the threat, seeming to weigh how serious her occasional roommate was with the potential mutilation. With a soft humph, the cat curled up beside Myra's back, a gentle purring breaking from her as she snuggled to the warm baby.

"All right," Reiss nodded, "that'll work."

"You were no help against stopping 'em, eh kitty cat?" Lunet mocked. She'd pried open a few of her buttons, revealing the hidden breastplate Reiss should probably slot back on. Oh right, there was a baby that needed her breasts. It wouldn't help for her to fumble the metal off each time Myra grew hungry.

She stumbled to her feet and wandered back towards the crib. It was tucked safe in between a pair of tarp covered boxes. Cheap wood, lucky to survive the trip to their agency and much less likely the load of a toddler, it worked for now. Reiss could find something better later. Despite the child of the King being curled up on little more than scrap wood and straw stuffed canvas, she dreamed beautifully. Her soft, blonde eyelashes lay flush against those rosy cheeks, one curled fist up by her face as if she was trying to fight off the oppression. Reiss began to reach down to tug the blanket up to keep her baby warm.

"Uh, Boss," Kurt's soft voice rose to a terrifyingly high pitched level. That set off Myra, her nose at first wrinkling, then here came the tears. _Maker's sake._

Scooping up her baby into her arms, Reiss faced a blast of crying right into her ear as she attempted to soothe her infant. "Shh, calm down, it'll be okay," she tried at Myra before shooting a glare at Kurt, "What is it?" Her wrath faded as she caught the stricken look turning the dwarf's sturdy legs to jelly.

"Ma'am, there's people approaching," he gulped, his head stuck through the hole between sheets.

"So," Reiss waved him away, "go and greet them." She caught Lunet's eye and tipped her head. Maybe it wasn't as dire as they'd first feared.

"It's just, Boss," Kurt worried the braids in his beard before staring up at her, "they've got torches."

"Shit," Lunet staggered up to her feet first. Sticking her head over top of Kurt's she narrated the view like a scout preparing for battle, "A good dozen lights, means there's easy twice as many. Marching hard too, probably loaded down with...things. Reiss, we have to--"

Her orders died as Reiss dropped the still crying Myra into her arms. The others sat rigid, terror rising but no one certain what to do. They wanted to run, she could see it, but they would stay to fight if she asked it. "What are you doing?" Lunet whispered, her voice barely making it over the baby screaming for her mother to soothe the aches away.

Rolling her old coat over her arms, Reiss snatched the hat she'd scoured out of her apartment onto her head and made certain to yank her eartips out. For a moment she thought about picking up a sword or dagger, but that would only exacerbate things. She had to do this unarmed. "Lunet, keep the baby safe. The rest of you, remain back here out of sight. I'm going out there to confront them."

"Uh..." Jorel rolled the word around in his mouth like a marble before tumbling off of Qimat's lap. "Boss, are you sure about this?"

She could hear them now, the voices of the drunk and desperate, crying against an injustice they barely understood, wanting someone to take the darkness away, and using that fear to justify death. "Yes," Reiss nodded, her steps shored. There was no other option. Parting the curtain, she moved to step out into the torchlight and pitchfork range.

"Rat," Lunet's hand lashed out, gripping tight to Reiss before she could slip away, "this is crazy. You can't do this. What about...?" She tipped her head to the baby in her hands, Myra's green eyes awash with tears like the spring rains that wipe away the cold of winter.

Reiss cupped her baby's warm cheek, trying to dab off a few of the tears, then kissed her on the forehead. _I love you_ , she thought to Myra, _and I'm sorry_. "Like I said, keep her safe. No matter what, Lunet. I mean it."

"Aye, I will," she nodded, the woman who'd kept far abreast from her baby tugging Myra close to her chest.

Shaking off every warning in her gut, every threat that'd been drilled into her head since she was a babe as little as Myra, Reiss marched towards the angry mob of shems. Their torches pricked apart the darkened street, this part of Denerim too poor for any to bother with mage lamps. A circle of deadly fireflies surrounded the agency, the voices rabbling but softening at the woman in the coat yanking open the door to stand before them.

Reiss knew now what it was to walk into a den of wolves and stare the creatures right in the eye. Teeth glinted orange by the combusting firelight, eyes blazing like a demon's as every single one focused upon her. Upon the whore of Denerim. And if she showed even a second of weakness she was dead. If not by the cheap swords hanging by their hips, the fire they no doubt intended to start in her home.

Pinching her eyes closed, Reiss willed away the shake in her legs. She took calm, steady steps to relight the lamp they'd replaced outside. Its blue flame lanced upon her, shadowing the face below the brim of a very familiar hat. They couldn't see much of her beyond that and the silhouette of her coat, a shadow that often was running to their rescue instead of away from it.

Turning from the wall, Reiss stared out at the people who marched towards her demise. There were a good ten or twelve humans, both men and women, but what struck hard to her jaw were the elves at the back. Two or three sneered like rabid dogs, as if they intended to snap her bones and eat the marrow to satisfy some bloodlust. No, don't think about that. Focus on what you know.

Survive.

"You know me," she shouted against the din of the crowd. The voices faded, every hungry eye snapping to the elf standing upon an old apple box to be seen. Reiss wasn't going to cower, ever again. "You've known me for three years or longer. I'm the one that you looked to when your children were stolen by slavers, when your husband or wife turned up dead in the alley and no one else considered it a murder. I have found your lost goods, rescued your stolen relics, and even returned run away pets."

Her voice ricocheted against the silent buildings of Denerim, the eaves seeming to stretch towards her in the dead wind. It looked as if the entire city was leaning in to hear her. Would it also watch silently as she was cut to pieces before them?

Shaking away the dour thoughts, Reiss stuck her hands behind her back to show she was unarmed, "But more than that, I have been a part of this street, this neighborhood. I know you, Mr. Causer." The man's head shot up, the torch beginning to tremble in his hands at her recognizing him. "Even before I set up shop here, your pants and leggings supplied the City Watch I worked in because we'd all freeze to death if we had to rely upon the cheap uniformed ones. What would Denerim be without Causer's Trousers?"

"A lot colder!" someone shouted from the back, drawing a few snickers from the people around him. Even Mr. Causer smiled a moment at the jibe.

"Yes, it would," Reiss tipped her head down and to the side, revealing her long ears. The reason she'd been so despised without having to do a damn thing to earn it. "You, Lady Ayers," she nodded towards a woman who was drawn tight into a corset, her cheeks practically radiating in blush pink from the cosmetics. "Your tanneries are so famous as to be known beyond Denerim. Even a few Orlesians import your leathers, albeit under cover of darkness because the last thing the fops can do is admit they're less than us at something."

That got a few more laughs, and then some Orlesian accent impressions. "Ser Aston," Reiss continued, trying to not lose the crowd. "Many here rely upon your whetstones to keep our blades sharp for grunt work. For my own sake, I hope all here have used them, for they make the cuts quick and less painful."

The grin of pride faded from his lips as she drew back to their unholy purpose. Why would a cavalcade of humans leap out of bed in the middle of the night and march but for the death of an elf? She'd never lived in an alienage, never seen first hand what a purge looked like, but her parents did. If anything, they feared angry and destitute humans far more than the blight that killed them.

"I was born near South Reach, as many of you know. We'd speak of it often while passing time under awnings waiting for rains to clear, or Mrs. Feeley's sweetshop to open." Reiss tipped her head towards the infamous candy store that seemed to only open once an age. A few more smiled, the nostalgia taking root. "Many of you were torn from your homes same as I, same as most in Ferelden. We all came together to this city to do one thing, survive."

Reiss spun towards them and closed her fist in a victory. They had survived, all of them. Scrabbled and crawled through the unending death of the blight and darkspawn to emerge into a new day. The torches began to drift lower, eyes swinging around as they all tried to shuffle away without being seen.

"Shut your fat mouth, whore!"

Silence fell, heads swiveling to search out who said it. A few groaned, or called for him to shut up, but far too many agreed with the man.

"I may be a knife-eared whore," Reiss glanced back at her building and the graffiti that by the dancing torchlight looked like dripping blood, "but I am also the woman who served faithfully in the City Watch, who protected you without you even knowing my name. Who protects you and your interests now. Who slogs out at 3 in the morning through sewage for your sakes. I am the woman that bleeds from bandit blades and frostbite all because no one else would hear your pleas. No one else in this city would rise up, pay attention, and solve your problems."

Reiss had to unclasp her fist, her voice rising in rage at the end. Squeezing her eyes tight, she said in a softer tone, "Yes, I have a child and you all know whose it is. I am not denying that and neither is he." Blazing eyes stared at the masses, "But I am far from the only person in this city, in this neighborhood, in this very street, to have given birth to a bastard child. A baby that I love, that I will defend, that I will nurture and grow. A child who will know what it is to survive on the streets while also having an ear with the court."

A few of the torches rattled at that. Oh, she knew who was legitimate, knew who was sleeping with whom, where the bodies were buried both literally and figuratively. Reiss knew enough about these people she could destroy them without thought, but she wouldn't. Not yet, at least.

"Her name is Myra, get used to it because you'll all be seeing her often. Learning to walk down these streets, play outside this building, grow into the woman she will become. Neither I, nor my child, nor the business I worked to create -- the one that has rescued you all numerous times over -- are going anywhere. You can count on that."

The final words reverberated through the street and Reiss glared upon those that would threaten her. She had nothing else. No more words, no more tricks. There wasn't going to be any last minute rescue from knights or soldiers. It was up to a bunch of shems who'd shattered her window and came to burn her to death to do the right thing.

Maker, turn your gaze upon me.

"I'm going home, it's too cold!" the first voice rang out from the back. A couple of people turned with her, the torch bobbing away through the night before being doused in the fetid water of the gutters. Slowly, a few more vanished as well, the lights fading back from the void where they came. Reiss didn't blink, didn't move a muscle as she glared down the last remaining would-be murderers. They clung white knuckled to their weapons, snarling as if they were afraid to take on the unarmed woman by their lonesome.

"Let's kill 'er!" one shouted, his voice slurring. He staggered forward, but his body slumped towards the ground.

"Oi, you're drunk. Get yer ass home," the man beside him cried in response. After being poked in the side, the man hoping for murder glared at Reiss but gave in to the prodding. All that remained was a single shem, his knuckles popping against a rock squeezed tight into his fist.

He looked all of seventeen, if that, angry at everything, and ready to take it out on something people hated. Didn't care if that thing people hated could have been his own mother or sister. He needed the hate to feel something other than despair. Even without any backup from the other shems, the kid hurled his arm back.

Reiss gritted her teeth, prepared to take the stoning, when a great grey fist clamped onto the kid's wrist. Qimat shook her head, her horns glinting by the pale blue glow of the lamp. "Nu uh, boys shouldn't throw rocks. Put it down, 'afore I tear your arm off."

The kid snarled, but he couldn't do anything save what the qunari ordered. As the rock dropped to the ground, he snarled, "Bitch-born whore," then scattered into the night. A deathly silence fell in the air, Qimat standing guard in the middle of the street while Reiss tipped her head back to gaze at the stars. They could have been the last ones she ever saw, a full moon cresting over the horizon to illuminate a pocket of dark clouds. Black wings silhouetted across the blue-white orb, Reiss foolishly wondering if that was the same crow that foretold her end in the garden. So much for that omen.

Up from her spine rose a tremble that nearly pitched Reiss to the cobbles as she hopped off the box. Qimat reached over to help, but Reiss shook her off. Nodding once in thanks for her intervention, the founder of the Solvers walked head held high back into her agency.

"Holy shit balls!" Jorel shrieked. "That was amazing!"

"I thought we were all gonna die, but then we didn't die. So, yay," Kurt added.

They all disobeyed her orders and snuck around to watch. It was a foolish move as they'd nearly been front row to her bloody disemboweling instead. Lunet lifted up Myra and smiled, "I don't know how you did that, Rat, but..."

Reaching forward, Reiss wrapped her arms around her baby, the tears burning in her eyes along with the bile of staring into so many black, lifeless eyes that'd once greeted her as a friend. She smoothed her cheek against Myra's, tucking her child tighter to her chest while she begged for her forgiveness. It had to be her. The mob would have cut anyone else down, but...if she'd failed. If she'd miscalculated, then Myra...

_Myra, I'm so sorry. I love you, always.  _

Unaware of the torment ransacking her mother, the baby tipped her head back, then lost all control and beaned Reiss hard in the nose. _Maker's sake!_ Reiss spun her head away but didn't let go of her grip. That kid had a powerful swing with her head, pain radiating up through her sinuses and into the eye socket.

"Uh, Boss," Kurt gestured to her.

Swiping where he mimed, Reiss found a line of crimson dribbling out of her nose. An idiotic, ecstatic to be alive laugh broke from her. Out of all of that, after everything that could have happened, the only blood drawn that night was by her baby. "I'm alive," she smiled at her group. "We're all alive and tomorrow..."

Hooves scraping across the street, ripping apart the mud that'd been trampled by the mob, cut off her words. Reiss barely had time to recognize the royal seal before the door flew open. Looking as if he crossed the void itself, Alistair leaped to the ground. He barely eyed up the damage to the agency as he ran through the open door.

A sliver of relief at her and their daughter's continued existence flared in his eyes before he roared in an anger Reiss had rarely seen, "What in the void do you think you're doing?!"

## CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

#### Fear

"...I was damn near wearing a hole in the rug, then the floor. When my feet crashed through the ceiling I gave up on hoping you'd come home and headed out to find you."

Alistair's haranguing faded as he staggered in a breath. It began with him red cheeked and screeching for an explanation as to where she went, then he hugged both Reiss and Myra tight, before resuming his rant. Occasionally peppered in the never ending saga were a few questions that he didn't give her a chance to answer, and then prayers to the Maker for keeping her safe. Reiss kept a tight hold to the baby in her arms, patting her butt to try and soothe her. She seemed about as happy about her daddy on a tear as Reiss was.

"And what in the blighted Maker's name happened here?" he paused, extending his hands around the mess. All of her crew stood battle shocked in front of the curtain uncertain what to do while their boss was being reamed out by the King. "If this is your idea of redecorating..." Alistair continued, no doubt trying to defuse the situation with a laugh, but a long day plus the lingering fear and adrenaline pumping through Reiss' system set her off.

"What happened here? What the fuck do you think happened here?!"

"Reiss, language," he reached over to cover Myra's ears, but she shook him off. In her state, she wasn't in the mood to let any shem touch her baby.

"The agency was attacked, okay. Did you miss the broken window? Or the smashed up desks we had to hide behind bedsheets? How about the ten foot tall sign declaring me a whore?!" She was spitting each word out like it burned her tongue.

Alistair blinked a moment, then slowly glanced back to the boarded up window, the new door, and the piles of a broken life swept to the side, before landing upon the dried blood clinging to the top of Reiss' lip. "Blessed Andraste," he gasped, the enormity of the situation finally landing. She thought he'd walk over to try and soothe her, but a new fire rouse in his eyes, "The animals of the street do this and you dare to bring our daughter here? By the void, what are you thinking? She could get hurt or worse!"

"The animals? The animals!" Everything stung; her eyes felt as if they were on fire from the rage burning in her stomach, her soul an unquenchable coal. She wanted to scream and punch to fight against everything, while also curl in a ball and fade away. "This is my home. I came here to defend it."

"De...defend it? You, you're defending it with our four month old daughter in your arms? You shouldn't be defending anything!"

"Is that what you want?" Reiss erupted towards him, Myra beginning to cry from the yelling. "That's what you always wanted, wasn't it? For me to abandon my people, to live out your fantasy life up in the palace. Crank out a kid and my life's over."

"For fu..." he gripped onto his hair, tugging it high enough some of it ripped out of the roots, "When did I ever...? I swear to... Ah! Why not blame me for wrecking the place up while you're at it? That ol' King, he must have hired some goons down at the goon store and sent 'em up here to destroy your work and your home so you'd never come back. That it?"

"I didn't say that, nor imply it. You're being unreasonable."

"Me, me?!" Alistair slapped his chest. "I'm the unreasonable one? I didn't leave a cryptic note, then steal our daughter away for Maker knows how long to some pitted out building covered in broken glass." He paused and swallowed hard, "Were you even going to come back?"

"Of blighted course I was," Reiss snarled at him, trying to rock her baby to get her to stop crying while they kept screaming, "Once things settled down."

"Wh...when? When has anything in your life settled down?"

_That son of a..._ As if he was one to talk. He was a Maker damn King, always being stretched thin by everyone tugging him beyond his means. It was a wonder they even had time to see each other long enough to make Myra in the first place. Sneering, Reiss hissed, "Should I apologize for choosing work over you?"

He stepped closer, looming over her, but Reiss didn't feel threatened the way she had before the mob. Alistair could be a right ass at times, but he would never attack her. Myra's cries caused him to stare down at her glistening tears as he sneered, "Why don't you try doing it to your daughter first."

"You..."

"Okay," Lunet stepped up, drawing the wrath of two adults ready to come to blows and an upset baby. "Rye, this is _really_ not the place for you two to be having it out. We just got rid of the mob..." _Oh for fuck's sake, Lune,_ Reiss groaned in her head.

"Mob?" Alistair spun first to her, then -- knowing he wouldn't get an answer -- Lunet, "There was a mob here?! What happened?"

"It's fine, I handled it. Which is what I do. But...she's right. Let's take this upstairs." Reiss gripped tight to Myra and began to march towards the staircase to her apartment. Alistair took a moment to stare out the door, perhaps trying to imagine what he'd just missed, before he followed after. Every crew member gave him a wide berth, no doubt out of fear that accidentally bumping the King's toe in this state would get them sent to the stocks.

Reiss paused at the door and jerked her head up the stairs to let him go first. He groaned but did as ordered, not that he didn't slam his feet into each one on the way up like a petulant teenager.

She was about to join when Lunet asked, "Hey, what should we do?"

"Head home," Reiss admitted. "There's little chance anyone threatening will return, especially with that..." she pointed to the royal carriage, the driver with his fingers in his ears doing his best to ignore their fight, "on our doorstep."

"'Kay," Lunet bobbed her head, turning towards the others who seemed frozen to the spot.

Reiss swayed her crying baby in her arms, then turned to her people, "Come in tomorrow early. We need to find a desk, at least one for all of us to work on, and chairs. And there was something in that L'range case that struck me, I want to inspect down at the foundry."

Her friend's lips lifted in a smile and Lunet bobbed her head, "Aye, aye, Ma'am."

Turning away from her people, Reiss faced a long, hard climb up the stairs to her old apartment. No, not old. It was her apartment. She knocked open the sticky door to find Alistair sitting on her bed, his head cradled in his hands as the elbows dug divots into his thighs. "Shh," without the immediate screaming match, Reiss turned her attentions on Myra. "It'll be okay. There's no more loud yelling."

"You sure about that," he whispered from his lap but didn't raise his head.

Myra's shrieking continued onward, the baby as exhausted as her mother and only able to express it in one fashion. Reiss could handle about two at this point. "Come on, My," Reiss practically begged, "please stop crying. This isn't good for you."

"Here," Alistair staggered up to his feet and reached out, "let me try."

She froze a moment, the protective instinct to survive at all costs that she'd cultivated since she was fourteen rearing up. This was her baby. No one would ever hurt her as long as Reiss breathed.

And that's the father.

Releasing Myra into Alistair's arms, Reiss padded around her dusty kitchen while he cooed and was generally perfect with their daughter. She kicked up a bit more of a fuss, but once he bounced his nose into hers a few times, and blew kisses on her cheeks, she quieted down. The baby was sated, but neither of the parents were. Silence reigned, only the pitter patter of booted feet leaving for the night and the sound of their new door being jammed into place broke through it.

Alistair buried his face into the top of Myra's wheat hair. "I was so damn scared," he whispered. "I had no idea what happened. What could have happened to you, to both of you." At that he looked up at Reiss and tears dripped down his cheeks.

"Alistair," she padded over towards him, wanting to soothe his pains away.

He sneered and wiped a wrist against the tears. "Would it have killed you to leave a note?" the snarl was back in place to cover over the emotions.

"I did."

"Yeah, 'Hey, Lunet showed up, so I'm taking Myra on a little jaunt about the city. Love Reiss.' Does that sound like a trip that should take over 12 hours? I kept saying, oh, she's catching up with her friend. She probably got pulled into a case. No reason to worry if they stopped outside the gates for a bite to eat or something. Maybe they're making a really big quilt together. That takes time. But when you didn't show up with our child by midnight, I was..."

Alistair glanced back at the window, the tears returning but he didn't want her to see. "I know what happens to people on the streets in this city. What could have happened to both of you."

She gritted her teeth, her arms circling around to hug herself. He wasn't wrong, but he wasn't right either. He didn't really know, he just read about it. Sucking in a breath to try and steady her voice, she said, "I'm sorry I didn't send along a message to the palace. I...I got embroiled in fixing this place, we had to have it up and running before nightfall. And the time slipped away from me. I didn't want to worry you."

"Why?" he shook his head, the edges of his cheeks puckering as if he smelled something foul, "Why nightfall?"

"Because if we didn't make a show of strength the shems were going to burn it to the ground," she growled, the rage returning. It was the same that helped her to kill a full grown tal-vashoth when she was only a girl, to take down Brunt with a broken arm. It was an unquenchable fury that could send dragons skittering away in terror.

"Burn it to the ground," Alistair shook his head, "do you even hear yourself? I'm asking because you can't possibly be thinking of the same thing I am. Death by fire? How horrific that is? Maybe you got it confused with being smothered by cupcakes or something."

"My sister nearly..." Reiss snarled before walking it back. "I stopped it."

"For now, what about tomorrow? Or the day after that? Or next Tuesday? Tuesdays are big bonfire days around here. How many times are you going to have to face down a mob come to kill you?"

"As many as it fucking takes!" she shrieked, then caught Myra's eyes opening wide in preparation of more tears. Screwing up her face, Reiss turned to glare at the ground, but she circled her hand up and down her baby's back. All she wanted was to climb into bed with her child snuggled up on her chest and for a few brief hours forget the world existed. Forget that people hated her, hated her baby, came to her door to try and kill her.

"Why you?" Alistair interrupted her thoughts. "Lunet, or the dwarf twins, or the qunari woman. They could all stand watch now that you know it could be coming."

"It has to be me," Reiss sighed. He glared, his normally sweet eyes razor sharp by the candlelight. "I'm the knife-eared whore," she said to try and explain it. "They don't care about taking down Lunet, or a couple of dwarves, or even a large ash skin. It's me, I'm the one, the face of this place. They're trying to hurt me. To stop me."

"Why?" he brushed his lips over Myra's chubby cheeks.

Reiss rolled her eyes, wanting to hit something, anything. "You know why. You're holding the why."

"She's just a baby," Alistair whimpered as if that made any damn difference. Reiss knew there'd be trouble when she signed on for this affair with him. There'd been the occasional rumble and spit in her face in the early days, but as she worked to form a bond with the people around her it stopped. They came to see her as something other than the King's sidepiece, something they could count on and needed. Somehow this little proof of their affair was enough to set that dusty, forgotten powder keg aflame.

"I have to stay here," Reiss said, returning to pacing. Her path to redemption lay out before her. "Get the agency back on track. Solve some big cases. Find the fucking sword they stole from us. Be in the area at all times so they see my face and don't think I've run off with my tail between my legs."

"By the void you are," Alistair spoke up. His voice was a whisper for their baby, but fire flared in his eyes. "We had a deal."

"A 'deal?' Way to make it sound sleazy? Should I expect you to leave a few coins on the chest before you leave in the morning?"

"That isn't what...you agreed to spend the year up there with me. Let me be with my little girl."

"That deal didn't include the eventuality of someone storming into my agency and destroying everything they could smash," Reiss growled, "The deal isn't an option anymore. This is where I belong. This was always where we belong."

Myra began to babble in her own language, almost as if she was trying to get into this serious conversation about her future. It was enough to throw off Alistair's anger as he gazed down at his baby girl gurgling and drooling. "And I'm what, supposed to just be fine with you two down here on the streets in the heart of this mess, with angry mobs storming your door, alone? To risk our child's life for this?"

"There are hundreds of children in Denerim right now living in these dangerous neighborhoods, but you don't cry a tear for them. Their suffering doesn't matter because, what, they're not of royal blood?"

"It's different," he gritted his teeth.

"Why? Why is it different? She's a baby, she drools, she poops her drawers, just like the dozens of other half-blood infants across the city who might be sleeping in a drawer, or with a rat for a pillow. Now you suddenly worry about the crime here because your daughter spent all of twelve hours near it?"

He chewed into his lip, wanting to lash out at her, but he didn't have anything to strike back with. She could counter it all without lifting an arm. He heard of it, but she knew what went on here, faced it every day when not pretending to be something else in the castle in the clouds. Alistair's brow clouded and he huffed, "Are you blaming me for the fact things aren't perfect? I am trying to make things better for people."

"Then try harder!" Reiss shrieked, tears springing in her eyes. "I...I'm sorry. It's not easy, I know; but, Alistair, I'm an elf. I'll always be an elf. This isn't some fairytale where the pretty girl suffers for a few years in squalor before being whisked away to her castle. Real people here are scrabbling to make due, my people. And they're her people too."

Myra blew a great bubble with her lips, which popped upon her father's chin. He smiled softly at her infant antics before sighing, "I want what's best for her. I want to keep her safe."

"I know," Reiss slid closer, "but she's not a princess. She's a bastard. Life won't be easy," She wrapped her arms around him and Myra before burying her face into Alistair's shoulder, "it wasn't for you."

"Ha, it was a walk through cake compared to yours."

Reiss caressed her hand over Myra's head, the blonde hair sifting like fine golden silk. "She has a home, she has parents, that's already doing better than a lot of elves I know in the alienage."

He stared into their little girl's big green eyes, both of which honed in on her daddy's great nose. Myra loved swiping at it, as if she could catch the end and keep it for herself. More of the tears resumed dripping off his cheeks. "You promised," he whispered, the words barely catching in the wind. At Reiss' confusion Alistair continued, "You swore I'd be a part of her life. Well, how can I be when you're both down here? Huh?"

The fire returned in him, Alistair glaring at Reiss as she slid away. She hadn't figured it out yet, there'd been so much else with rescuing her agency. Working Alistair in was a problem to solve later. If...

"I am her father," he swore, his hands cupping tighter to Myra. The baby caught on that Daddy was getting madder by the second. Her nearly constant smile drooped down and she tried to reach over to pat at his cheeks, perhaps in an attempt to get him to smile again. "And you just get to decide, without me, without even letting me know what's going on, that I have no more say in my daughter's life."

"I didn't..." Reiss tried to butt in.

He rose up off the bed, the tears dried to anger as he began to pace. Reiss kept one eye on him and another on Myra, watching her cub the way a cautious mountain lion would. "You know, you know what my kids mean to me. All of them. I already barely get to see 'em as much as I want, and this!" Alistair gasped, his voice cracking as he shook his head like a mad bull. "You can't do this."

"I'm not leaving my home," Reiss formed up on him. "And Myra isn't leaving my side, not until she's weened." Fear grew inside her gut. What if Alistair abducted their baby? What if he turned on his heel with her, fled into the night back to his fortified palace, and refused to return her? Reiss couldn't do a thing to stop him.

She extended her arms, holding them as steady as she could while staring into his eyes. Alistair glanced over at Myra's watering eyes, then sighed, "I'm sorry." Reiss girded herself, preparing to leap forward, but he released her daughter back into her arms. Maker, she felt stupid for even thinking it.

"Is there nothing I can do to talk you out of this? Out of risking our baby girl's life just so you can show up a few bastards? Prove that you're strong. For the love of the Maker, Reiss, you don't have to stick your chin out every time danger appears just to show you can survive. We already know it."

_Was she being stubborn?_ Reiss turned to stare into her baby's face, the stub of a nose bumping into hers. More drool stained Myra's chin, the jawline nearly the exact same shape as her father's. But that didn't matter. Even if Reiss had a boy who was the spitting image of Alistair, he wouldn't be safe, he couldn't ever be, because he'd still be elf-blooded until the day he died.

"You don't understand," she said.

"Then blighted explain it to me!"

She closed her eyes, feeling everything crashing around inside of her. "I have to stay. Myra has to remain with me until she's on solids. That's how this works. This is our place in the world, and if you don't like it, then...there's the door. I won't hold you prisoner."

"Maker's breath!" Alistair shouted, his hands knotting together as if he was trying to strangle the air. "Fine. You want to stay? I'll...ah!" He stomped towards the exit, not even looking back at her or their daughter. In his state, he didn't even bother to close the door, just let it fly back on its rusted hinges and rest limply by the wall.

All the fight in Reiss fled in an instant and she crumbled to her knees onto the bed. She wanted to curl up in agony, but the baby pressed up tight in her lap, Myra twisting around with her arms flailing in the air as if she was reaching for her father. Her father who just walked out the door without a second thought. How could she do this? How could she do this again?

Alistair, please...

The mess of tears pooling on her cheeks paused as she heard grunting from the floor below. A crash of something heavy striking the wall, then another, increased closer up the stairs. Oh Maker, they hadn't returned, had they? Reiss glanced around her tiny home hoping to find anything she could defend herself with. There was a knife, but with a baby in her arms the reach was minimal.

She was about to edge towards the window, when a crib appeared in the door. Red faced from the strain, Alistair slid the piece of furniture he carried up her long staircase into the middle of the room. "Wh..." Reiss swallowed, afraid it was all a mirage her exhausted brain dreamed up, "what are you doing?"

"You need a bed for Myra, and you're not supposed to lift anything bigger than...how much does our daughter weigh?"

"Twelve pounds," Reiss recited part of the typical greeting for any new mother. She plopped to her numb feet, slowly sidling towards the crib that he carted up the stairs for them both. In all the time during the day, Reiss hadn't considered how she'd get it up here. Or... Maker's sake, she hadn't done a damn thing to prepare her home for a baby.

"Myra needs sleep," Alistair grumbled, the brow furrowed under clouds, but his voice was softer. "We all need sleep."

"Alistair...?"

"I'm not happy about this, not at all," he shuddered in a breath, then glanced over at her, "But I know you. You're like trying to move a damn mountain when you dig your heels in. And I'm not losing Myra, or you. I love you both even if one of you's really pissing me off right now."

Placing a kiss to Myra's forehead, Reiss moved to tuck her into the crib before she paused. "Here," she passed the baby to him, "you can put her to bed." Alistair's wilting face lifted a bit at that and he bumped his nose into Myra's before whispering a soft lullaby. With all the grace that people assumed their King didn't have, he lay the baby onto her back and sang a bit more above her. He didn't have the kind of voice one wanted to encourage, but Myra adored it, her little hands waving in joy.

Out of the corner of her eye, Reiss caught Sylaise leaping up onto the counter. Her tail swished a bit while those yellow eyes stared down at the newest addition to their family. There wasn't any malice in the old alley cat's face, but the same 'I'm here to protect you' gaze she had with Muse until the dog grew to the size of a pony. Scritching along Sylaise's head, Reiss tried to calm the pounding in her heart but it wouldn't go. This should be some beautiful picture of a family all gathered together putting the baby to sleep. But below her, the wreckage of her life's work lay in tatters. Not even an hour earlier, her friends and neighbors came to stone and butcher her in front of her agency. Nothing was right about any of this.

As he finished his song, Alistair turned away from Myra with the promise that she'd go to sleep. His eyes softened and for a glimmer the old puppy dog ones returned. "We need to talk about this," he groaned, tugging his hair upward in agony. "I know right now isn't the best time, but I need to..."

Alistair froze, his hands thudding to the sides as he stared empty eyed at the ground, "Reiss, when you didn't return, for a moment I feared that you'd left me again. That you'd both left me."

"Oh Alistair, I'm so... I never meant to do that," she unfolded her crossed arms and in spite of every fear hounding her steps, she wrapped herself around the shem King.

"I don't want to lose you," he murmured, returning the hug.

"I know you love Myra," Reiss assured him, as if love could somehow conquer all.

He shook his head, burying his face into her shoulder, "Not just my Wheaty. Reiss, I love you. And facing a world without you is...I don't want to do it again."

A sob jammed in her throat, and Reiss began to moan at the thought. She didn't want to lose him either. "I'm sorry," Reiss cried, tears raining down his tunic as she clung tighter to him. "I'm sorry, I didn't, I don't..." From the moment she first saw her agency bruised and beaten Reiss closed off her heart. She couldn't afford to feel anything because if she did it'd all be lost. She'd fall to her knees and never get up again. Cold and calculating, careful to never let the betrayal and anger sink in, she needed a calm head to steer her people and get this place back.

Everything ripped apart inside of her. The survivor, the refugee, the soldier, the woman who'd scaled a mountain of a man in order to stab him to death and rescue their King, shattered. Reiss began to sink to her knees, but Alistair was quick to catch her. His lips murmured something beside her cheek as he guided her towards the bed. Together they flopped down upon it, Alistair holding her tight to his chest while he rubbed her back in soothing circles.

"Reiss," he whispered, "are you okay?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I have to be, but I don't know. I hate everything right now. Everyone that...how do I go back out there? I knew some of them. And tomorrow it's a new day, with so much work to fix this. I don't know if I can. Maker's breath, by the light of the sun I have to pretend that what they nearly did...that they weren't going to gut me like a fish."

Alistair paused, his body snapping rigid below hers and she groaned. No, not another argument. Please. Not now. She couldn't take it. "What will you do?" he asked after a breath. The hands resumed their caresses, one lightly cupping her bun.

"Go on, I guess. Prove that I'm...that I deserve to be here."

He scrunched up tight, his hands circling around her back as he buried his lips to her shoulder. It felt as if his entire body was wrapping around hers to keep her tight.

"I'm afraid," Alistair whispered to her, his voice barely breaking into sound.

She wanted to return the hug but Reiss was pulverized by the pounding in her brain. How could she be so delusional into thinking they'd accepted her kind here? That they'd turn a blind eye or even willingly embrace her? She was worthless, and would have to scrape, and beg, and devote every minute of her life to climbing out of this hole.

Laying her head down upon him, she whispered back, "So am I."

## CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

#### Survive

19 weeks old...

"This little piggy went to market," Alistair wiggled back and forth Myra's big toe that he couldn't keep inside her socks no matter how hard he tried. She sat upon her mother's new desk, her hands buried in his hair while he'd first attempted to get her to put back on the socks she kicked off. Then, he abandoned that foolish quest and took to playing instead.

"And this little piggy...uh," those big green eyes stared in wonder at him, waiting with bated breath for what her second toe did next, "also went to market. Seems there was a good sale that day because the third little piggy had to...buy himself a new plow. The only one was broken on a rock that the fourth little piggy left in farmer piggy's field. Rather cruel of four but it was known for being an inconsiderate piggy."

His babble faded at the baby clapping her hands and giggling like it was the most well crafted joke in all of thedas. Watching her laugh was like climbing into a fancy orlesian spa for a week, it cleansed his soul in ways he didn't ever think possible. Alistair moved on to the fifth piggy, who was about to try and scam number three, when Lunet dropped a pile of folders onto the desk.

"Ah kid, don't fall for his nonsense," she chuckled, then buffed up Wheater's hair. His little girl stuffed her fingers in her mouth to gum on them, but at the touch turned to smile wide and giggle at Mummy's friend. "It'll rot yer brain and then you'll be left with nothing but goo dripping out of your nose."

"Hey," Alistair grumped, then he shrugged, "actually, that's probably a fair point."

Lunet eyed him up and sighed, "Course it is, I gave it." She was wearing quite a bit of armor, a lot of it looked like it was pilfered from old sets rusting in the backs of shops. In fact, nearly all of the crew were. Alistair could almost swear he spotted upon one of the dwarves a single gauntlet from the Legion of the Dead that Lanny yanked from the deep roads. One of many things they sold off to pay for their little army what felt five decades ago.

Having said her peace, Lunet flopped down onto the stack of crates behind the desk she had to share with the quieter dwarf twin. Whenever she'd reach over into his workspace, or prop her feet up, he'd scrunch back and apologize for getting in the way. If it'd been the loud one, there'd probably be new blood all over the walls by now.

Jorel glanced over at the father trying to wipe the drool off his daughter's chin. For a brief beat their eyes met, but the dwarf quickly looked away. No doubt out of a fear that he'd fall madly in love with the loopy man and then there'd have to be a duel of honor for his hand with the boss. Or, he was terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing with the King around. The whole office was on pins and needles courtesy of the man that was kinda in charge of the country sitting in the back playing with his baby.

They'd never really connected much before, Reiss keeping her two lives separate. The only one who'd even talk to him was... "Hey, Lunet," Alistair called to her. The elf dramatically dropped her quill and sighed with her head tipped to the sky before turning to him.

"What?"

"How come you're always giving me shit?"

She rolled her tongue back and forth before spitting out, "Wouldn't get none if you didn't start it."

"Fair enough, but I mean, seems like everyone here's on their tenderest hooks to avoid the wrath of the crown. But you...you never blanch for even a minute."

More than a few heads around the office suddenly stopped working and swung over to listen while trying to make it look like they weren't. Lunet ran her tongue over her teeth then sighed, "Ain't got no reason to stop giving you what you deserve."

"You're not scared."

"Of you?" She laughed hard enough his ego took a good ding or two. "Look, no offense, but I've known bigger trash talkers with nothing behind their name but a 'Wanted: dead or alive.' You're not what I'd call scary."

Wheaty reached for a paperweight on Reiss' desk and Alistair held it up to the light for her entertainment. "Really? What about the whole leader of the country, slayer of darkspawn, could order you executed and do it himself bit? Not that I would, just..." He turned from Lunet to watch Myra lean forward, her chubby fingers reaching for the paperweight. "Whoa there, kiddo," he lashed his palm out, keeping his baby in the upright position.

"Yeah, real terrifying there," Lunet snickered. "Sure, fine, captain hoity toity, it's all a tightrope walk. Everyone here knows it, same as you do. Say the wrong word, be in the wrong place, step on the wrong toe and it's 'off with yer head.'"

"You make it sound like we're Orlesians," Alistair sighed.

"You ain't never been an elf," she pointed out, jabbing a finger at him. A rumbling in his gut returned the clouds that drifted into his once rosy relationship. It was the only argument Reiss had that he couldn't fight back against. Even knowing about his mother changed nothing, even if he sometimes wanted to know. Wondered what that other half of him was like. To be an elf. And now his daughter was torn even more between the two worlds. Why not be a fish that can fly, or a bird that breathes water? It would probably be easier than a half-elf, half-human child.

"Point being," Lunet continued, interrupting his internal grumbling, "I don't have no family you can threaten, and I ain't scared to stand up for what's right."

"Meaning..."

"You hurt her and you'll be answering to me. And a few others I bet I can round up."

Alistair laughed at that, "Three years and your threat hasn't changed a lick."

"Nope," she smiled, "though I suppose adding in the squirt to it should be done. Not that I think..." A shadow crested over Lunet's face and she turned to glare down at her work. The carefree bonhomie between King and 'subject that didn't give a shit who he was' shattered.

That first night was not easy. In the ranking of pains in Alistair's life it'd fall below his Joining but somewhere around that night before they reached Denerim prior to the big battle. When he kept trying to wash the stink of witch off him while Lanny did her best to not ask how it went. He felt unclean, angry, regretful, ashamed, and terrified all at once. Clinging tight to Reiss, the woman he loved, while she cried in regret about the people who tried to murder her, who attacked her life, he felt anger. At those who would threaten her, call her such vulgarities as if they had a clue about the truth. Risk their baby's life to meter out their own warped justice. But also at Reiss, for forgetting about him, about what he could offer to help, about how he'd be struck down if he lost either of them, for choosing the agency before him without a second thought.

That anger brought forth a shame that he even felt it. She could have died. He nearly lost her that night and he wouldn't have even known it until the morning or later. Denerim would have burned, the King dragging those that turned upon an innocent woman from their homes to be executed without thought. People rarely saw him when he was full of wrath, Alistair's defense mechanism fooling them into thinking he'd moved past it or was too ignorant to feel pain. But anyone who hurt Reiss or their child would pay in blood.

When the sun rose, bringing even more work for the exhausted woman, his churning mind settled on terror. He couldn't protect her. Try as hard as he might, dream of being the knight in shining armor that rides in at her door, this life was out of his hands. He could order royal guards to stand outside her doors day and night, but Reiss shouted that down in an instant saying it'd make everything worse. And she wouldn't see reason. Not her, oh no. If she decided on something, wild horses the size of giants couldn't pull her from it.

Maker's sake, why did he had to fall for such stubborn women?

"Lunet," Alistair whispered, wincing as Myra tugged on his hair but he didn't stop her. The pain felt good, his baby alive to inflict it. "Do you think this'll work?"

Lunet paused in her work then turned to face him. A thousand thoughts were scrawled in her eyes but she wouldn't open her mouth to voice them. "I dunno," she whispered back. They both stared out at the mess remaining. A week on and the place wasn't looking much better. The garbage was cleared out, but they could only get one extra desk and Reiss was getting the run around about her window, which drew a new twitch to her jaw.

But what was most damning, in all that time of being open, not a single person had dared to step through the door and ask for their help. No customers meant no coin. No coin meant the place would die without torches or stones having to get involved. And that may crush Reiss as bad as losing their baby would.

"You know the boss, she gets something in her head and nothing nor nobody can stop her," Lunet laughed.

"I'm serious," he whipped his head at her. "You know these streets, probably better than Reiss. Though, Maker, don't tell her I said that. Do you think this will work?"

She stared at him in surprise, that sheen of stupidity he marinated in fading away as he needed to have an answer. Tapping her fingers against the desk still calling them all whores, Lunet sighed, "Honestly? No. I don't. Cause all those shitwicks will get together, tell their friends and other friends that we're not wanted no more. To stay away, blacklist us from everything we need to survive. The coin'll vanish trying to cling to this idea we were so certain would work and then poof. All gone."

He feared as such even while Reiss devoted every hour she was awake into resuscitating her business. At the end of all the tears and sweat and pain was nothing. It was all his fault. If he hadn't taken that potion, if he thought for a second about what would happen when he was free of the taint, if he had pulled out... Okay, he was really bad at that part. It was doomed and there was no stopping Reiss from flailing to her own failure.

Little Wheaty, seeming to sense her Daddy's sour turn face planted into his cheek and began to blow bubbles against his skin. That caused him to chuckle even while her saliva dripped down towards his chin. "You're right, squirt. Your Mummy does amazing things. Who knows, she may pull a miracle off."

"Aye," Lunet nodded to herself, "she may. Rye has a habit of surprising even when there ain't a point in fighting anymore." She stared hard at Alistair, then slid down to look at the baby to solidify her point. Lunet never thought Reiss would come back to this life, she'd already counted on it being over and her losing a friend. That was the danger of discounting Reiss, she did whatever she wanted even if it the path was nothing but brambles. More tenacious than a mabari with a dragon bone.

The door to the office blew open, revealing the silhouette of a long coat and unmistakable hat. Reiss yanked that tell-tale hat off her head and tossed it onto the rack. "I've got good news!" she cheered to everyone gathered.

"Thank the Maker for small favors," Lunet grumbled, sliding forward. "What is it?"

"As you said, Felix is acting squirrlier than usual," Reiss muttered. She didn't walk closer to the gang, but kept an eye wandering back out the door held open an inch by her hand.

"That's it? That's your good news, our resident fence of all things illegal and/or fell outta the back of a wagon is being weird? Great," Lunet smacked her hands into her desk, looking as if she wanted to throw in the towel completely.

"No, that's not it. I'm pretty sure he knows where the sword ended up. Jorel, you're on Felix duty," Reiss shot over to the dwarf. He snarled, not keeping his complaints about watching the 'twitchy tall one' very quiet. The rest of the office seemed less enthused about finding the stolen sword, but she made it her priority and even if the Maker himself told her it was pointless Reiss wouldn't give up until it was in her hand. Alistair offered to get her a new one, wasn't as if they didn't have a bunch of old swords cluttering up the royal armory, but it was the principle of the thing.

She danced back to peer through the door, then dashed on her feet to the middle of the room. "My real news is this," twisting around, she held her hands out as Qimat approached the door guiding along a tiny human girl who looked at most sixteen. Alistair was taking a stab in the dark with that age. Boasting giant blue eyes and black hair that framed her face, she could be all of thirteen with kerchiefs stuffed in her dress to pad out the lithe figure or twenty five and blessed to never age.

"I solved the L'Arange case," Reiss smiled wide while the girl, probably of the L'Arange family stepped timidly into the room. She seemed more spooked by the grinning elf than the giant qunari woman, who kept leaning over to whisper that things were okay in her ear.

"Maker's sake," Lunet all but leaped over her desk in order to run towards the girl, "we been scrabbling at this thing for months? Where was she?"

"Guess," Reiss grinned wide, savoring her victory. The joy didn't pass over to Lunet who stared dead eyed at her friend, not wanting to play the game. "Lady Apple, of course."

"Of all the copper bottom..." Lunet let her curse die, then sneered to herself, "I should have known. She's been out sniffing around the little pretty ones a lot lately. But to go after a L'Arange...lady's gone full daft."

"I don't think she knew just who she seduced into her web until it was too late," Reiss eyed up the poor girl who looked as if she wanted to bolt.

The girl's whisper-quiet soprano voice spoke, "Lady Apple was..."

"Here, here," Lunet, the sharpest woman he'd ever met, wrapped a soothing arm around the girl, "I know, she made all these pretty promises and no doubt told you how lovely you are every night. It's what she does. But it'll be better."

"I don't want her to be hurt," the girl stuttered, trying hide below her bangs.

Lunet and Reiss shared a quick look that said how badly they wanted to hurt this Lady Apple. "She won't be, love. Promise. How about we get you back to your parents? You can clean up there and..."

"My father will be so cross," she muttered, her head hanging down while shame burned against her cold cheeks.

"Hey, Sashi," Lunet whispered, "we'll bring Qimat along. No one's cross around her and I can stay for a bit, make sure you're really settled back in."

Sashi blinked up at Lunet's offer and attention, then began to blush harder. "You're far too beautiful and kind to ever favor me such assistance."

Groaning, Lunet stretched her neck, "I can see why Apple hung on to you. Come on, along the way there I'll give you a few pointers about the 'old ones' in the city to avoid. There's a group of us that meet in the tavern down by the docks, not the best neighborhood but the building's real shiny. I bet you'll like it." With Sashi in her arms, Lunet guided the girl out the door while Qimat followed close behind like the looming bodyguard.

"One down!" Reiss crowed while she yanked the L'Arange file off the desk. For a moment she looked around for the sword to snuff out the case. Her beautiful smile faded as she realized it wasn't there and, after knocking the file into her hands, stuffed it into a bottom drawer. "That'll go a long way to establishing our credentials. The L'Aranges, despite having Orlesian ties, are knotted up in damn near every business holding on this side of Denerim. We get a few more cases like this solved and they'll be streaming back through the door."

The dwarven twins help up their thumbs in enthusiasm easily persuaded by their Boss, but Alistair only felt Lunet's dire prediction ringing in his head. If Reiss failed at this then she'd have nowhere to go but back to the palace. Back to him with Myra.

"Aneth ara," Reiss greeted their daughter, who clapped and made funny faces at her mother. She placed a kiss to the top of Myra's head, then turned to Alistair. Their relationship was tender and wounded, but her fingers skirted over his arm and her summery eyes beamed at him. "How are you doing?"

"We're good. Aren't we, Wheaty? Are you worried I'll cover the baby in butter and send her down a garbage chute?" Alistair chuckled even as he slid towards Reiss to kiss her softly.

"No," Reiss sighed, "though now I'm rather tempted to try."

That got him to smile wider, Alistair cupping his hands around the baby's toes so they wouldn't get cold. Socks would work as well, but she seemed to have declared war on them. Reiss noticed the lack of them and groaned.

"Kid, your toes are gonna freeze and then fall off. Do you want that?" Myra gurgled, both hands in her mouth as she chomped down on them. "I think she'd sit around totally naked if she could, right out in the cold without a second thought."

"I fear she has too much of me in there," he muttered, his baby girl waving her arms so much she threatened to tip backwards.

"Just enough," Reiss winked, the woman in a jolly mood after her great caper's finish. Who was he to go and puncture it?

Alistair let her keep their baby upright as Myra's head tipped backwards to stare at the ceiling. Spinning back in the chair, he unearthed a bag out of the bottom drawer and dropped it before Reiss. At her look he explained, "Ineria was by with a whole mess of dumplings. I saved a few for you."

"Oh," her eyes lit up, already digging into the bag to stuff one into her mouth.

"Wasn't easy mind you. Jorel tried to bite me twice," he chuckled.

"Did not!" the dwarf shouted from his spot. "Least, I didn't mean to. It got messy."

Reiss sighed, far too gone in dumpling heaven to remain cross at her underling for chomping away at her... Shaking his head, Alistair pinched into the top of his nose and tried to find a semblance of calm in this never ending torrent. Not as if you were ever guaranteed to have an easy life, but a little break every once in awhile would be nice?

"I bet someone else is hungry too," Reiss cooed at Myra.

Alistair watched her hoist up their daughter into her arms. "How can you tell?"

Reiss tapped her chest and chuckled, "Boob sense." She settled back on the kitchen chair they dragged down for her desk, ready to pull out the milk tap, when Alistair staggered up.

"Could we, uh, head upstairs? There's something we should talk about in private."

She glared at nothing for a moment, probably ready to tell him to piss off. Without Lunet around, and Qimat trailing her, that only left the dwarf brothers running the show. And that wouldn't do well for anyone. After a beat Reiss sighed and stood up, "All right. Kurt, you're in charge. Jorel, make sure he doesn't screw anything up."

"Yes, Boss," both dwarves shouted at the top of their lungs. The climb was slow, Reiss speaking a little to their baby but not glancing back at him.

Alistair waited until Reiss was situated on her bed, Myra happily lunching away, before dragging a chair over and weighing what was on his mind. "I have to head up to the palace soon. Today for sure. Any longer and Karelle will have my head on a pike."

She nodded her head to a strange beat, well aware that he couldn't remain long here to watch over their child, even if he really wished to. For the entire week, Alistair would slip down at night to sleep near and offer protection for his little family. The days were spent trying to catch up with what few duties he could manage up at the palace, but a lot slipped through the cracks. Too much.

"Spud and Cailan, they..." he tipped his head back, groaning at the ceiling, "they need me too."

Reiss' fingers broke from the happily nursing baby. They were supposed to be impossible at this age, far too easily distracted to eat properly, but there were few things Myra loved more than food. Too much like her father. "We made an arrangement," she whispered, trying to not distract the infant adhered to her breast.

Three days at the palace, four days here. It was the best Reiss could offer for her escape, while Alistair knew he'd be unable to stay down in this part of Denerim. People were already twitchy about their King squatting near the slums without a single guard on him. Add on the knowledge the same building he slept in was nearly burned to a crisp a week prior and it was a wonder they didn't bar the gates to keep him stuck in the palace. Returning, save for a little hello here and there, wouldn't happen. He was doomed to be a part-time dad to his Wheaty whether he liked it or not.

"About that..." Alistair began, causing Reiss to glare. It wasn't an easy fight getting her to even three days with him. She'd been so dead set on believing she was the only one to turn things around, she'd first talked about needing an uninterrupted month here. That was not going to happen, not ever.

Dragging the chair closer, Alistair tented his fingers together in thought. They froze when he realized how evil that made him look. Why not cackle while at it? He could do a great Mwhahahaha at the very least. "In the budget for various royal household affairs there's a small stipend set away that I haven't had need of for...a long time."

Reiss' glare faded to confusion, she hadn't been expecting that.

"It's for the King's, uh..." Shit! His eyes met with hers and for a brief second those summery fields broke into shame before anger flared up instead. Trying to shake away his bringing up the word that hounded her like a vengeful demon, Alistair stampeded out, "And I want to give it to you, for the baby."

She leaned back against her wall that was stained and scuffed from shifting the bed around. They'd cleaned up most of the deadly things to a baby, but her room was tiny. The crib took up nearly all of what had been walking space, causing Reiss to abandon her table downstairs. Now she either ate at her desk or while in bed. The place could barely hold one adult before. How was a baby going to grow into a second adult here?

Only concentrated sucking sounds broke through the silence while she stared at him. "You want to give me money," Reiss spoke softly, "money meant for the King's Wh--."

"Not," Alistair beat out her word, "not for you, for her. Maker's sake, Reiss, she's going to need things. Clothing, food, a proper bed before that one bottoms out. I don't know what street bin you swiped it out of but that crib's not going to last long."

"It's doing just fine for now," she sat up, the anger returning. "I'm not an idiot. I know what babies need, and I'm working on it."

"Uh huh," Alistair jerked his chin towards Wheaty. "Her little butt's already got a rash from the cheap nappies you had to rely on."

Reiss tenderly soothed down the bottom wrapped in near on burlap and then swaddled in one of her old shirts because they were low on blankets. She was surviving before by scraping to the end of the month, but with a baby she'd be living hand to mouth every day. "We've talked about this before, I will not accept any money from the crown. Do you have any idea how that will look to the people? Especially now."

"Can you yank that martyr stick out of your ass for two seconds?" Alistair sneered at her. She quieted but glared murder at him. If it weren't for Myra in the way she may toss him down the stairs. "Your agency is in bad shape. You know it, I know it, Lunet sure as shit knows it."

"What did Lunet say?"

He ignored the probing question of her friend, needing to get this out, "I'm not offering you a hundred Sovereigns a day to spend frivolously on all the fine wines you can drink and silks you can spit in. This is coin to keep you on your feet."

"We'll make it. We've come out of worse," she stuck out that chin of hers as if it was made of solid iron.

Alistair growled, "You mean those early days when you had no heat and were surviving off scraps of food? When it was mostly handouts and praying you made it to see the next day?" She'd been stubborn then too, refusing his help on principle, insisting any sign of interference by the crown would turn the people against her. Well, look at how well all his non-interfering turned out. He'd tried to subtly assist, showing up with food he claimed was leftover and going to waste. No doubt she saw through it, but let him play along because watching her in pain stung him. Having to see his daughter suffer as well may kill him.

"By the Maker, Reiss, you can't go back to that. Not with her," he pointed at the little leech literally sucking her dry. She was already looking more drained than usual, her hair dull, eyes flat, and her stomach rumbling as Reiss was forced to skip meals for this place. Again. "I'm offering you a hand, okay. A little bit of help to make it easier."

"No, you're offering me a crutch. Worse than that, you're painting me as one of yours, holding me liable in all their eyes to the crown's influence. I won't be a member of this neighborhood, one of theirs anymore."

"For Andraste's sake, you never were!" Alistair shouted. He'd played her game of keeping their lives separate, of accepting that some nights would be long and lonely so she'd feel secure in her decisions. But that was between two grown adults who knew what they were getting into. A child wouldn't understand, a child needed them both, and he wasn't about to let Myra starve here just so her stubborn mother could cling to her paper ethics.

Reiss took it about as well as he suspected. She raised her accusing finger at him and hissed, "You don't..."

"Know what is to be on the streets, what it is to be an elf, what it is to be an elf on the streets," Alistair repeated what he felt he'd been hearing ad nauseum. He pinched tighter into his eyes, trying to will away the headache that was rising no matter how tenderly he pussyfooted around this.

Reaching out, he caught Reiss' fingers in his. The glass cuts were beginning to heal but a few red marks remained across her palm. There was so much in her life he couldn't rescue her from, a fact he came to accept begrudgingly. But this... "Reiss, I'm trying to help you from having to face the choice between keeping the fire lit or firing one of your friends. From having to accept those dirty cases you'd refused before in order to put food in your belly. Even if...when you come back, there's going to be a lot of lingering damage that won't go away and... Andraste's mercy, just let me help."

He stared up into her eyes to find them brimming in tears. His own pleaded with her to Maker damn listen to him. He could let her fail, watch from on high until his lover and child came scampering back but he wouldn't. Alistair had to try and help with what he could, now if she'd just blighted accept it.

"If anyone knows the agency is running on money for the King's mistress..." Reiss whispered to herself. She seemed to be mulling over the idea, opening up hope in Alistair. He really thought she'd toss him out on his ass for even bringing it up.

"Like I said, it's not for you, or the agency, or even to feed Jorel's beard waxing habit. Is he eating that stuff?" Alistair cupped her cheek, feeling the familiar tears drip down, "It's for our baby. So she'll grow up happy and healthy, knowing both of her parents love her very much."

"You can't just send coin here to me," Reiss continued to argue, bringing a scowl to Alistair. He thought she was finally on board with this. Sighing, she explained, "It'll be traced back, trailed, the same amount delivered at the same time of the month will draw attention. People will notice if there's a lot lying around and may try to break in to steal it."

"Oh," he staggered back, "I hadn't thought of that."

"If you send gifts, clothes, furniture, toys, things like that, it's far less likely to attract them or be wanted by thieves," Reiss explained. Her eyes were shadowed as she seemed to be mulling over the fact that she became the kind of person who had to accept a handout.

"Okay, I can do that. I may have seen an adorable stuffed nuggalope in the shop that Wheaty would love." He tried to get her to smile, but Reiss was still glaring off at nothing. Finished with her meal, Myra unlatched and began to stuff her fingers into her mouth instead. Alistair smiled at his daughter's antics before returning to her stricken mother, "Reiss? What is it?"

"Do you think I'll fail?" her voice breathed in agony while tears began to rise up. Alistair tried to catch them with his hands, but they seemed to be a long time coming. Her lips trembled as she gazed down at their baby, "With the agency, with Myra, with you?" At that Reiss stared right at him, hurt and fear rising in her eyes.

Alistair scooted off the chair to join her on the bed. She snuggled onto his chest, Myra sliding in between them. More tears soaked into his tunic, but Alistair just kept rubbing his hand up and down her back while he buried his chin in her hair. "You are an amazing woman," he said softly. "You've done amazing things, survived odds that would humble full grown men with beards down to their navels. Saved my life, a couple of times. Three? I think we were at three last count, or was it four?"

She snickered a bit at that, a hand wrapping around him.

"You made this agency from nothing. Flames, nothing like it had ever existed in all of thedas until you," he tugged her tighter, gently swaying with the woman he loved and their daughter. "And you made her," Alistair tousled Myra's hair, the baby already yawning wide in preparation for her after lunch nap.

"I could still fail," Reiss whispered, her lips bunching up against his chest.

"And you'll get right back up, wipe the blood off, and charge into battle once again," he chuckled. She terrified him not only because of the fear of losing her but what she was capable of when backed into a corner. Alistair never thought he had a type but from Lanny to Reiss it seemed rather obvious he did.

"I'm sorry it's not enough," Reiss moaned, her face twisting fully against his.

Kicking his heels up, Alistair slid back onto the bed, letting both Reiss and Myra rest upon him. It was a tight squeeze, Reiss nearly at the edge, but he could make it work. He had to. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he whispered, "We'll survive."

"It's what we do." She smiled, their baby lifting her head off of him to stare up Alistair's nose. Whatever Myra saw up there made her laugh. Reiss cupped their baby's back, snuggling her tighter as those tiny fists pounded into him.

Survive. A new step each day, praying hope didn't dwindle to nothing. His eyes darted down to the mop of blonde hair as Wheaty began to gum up and down on his shirt. He had to, for the both of them. Make it work, even if the world tried to tear it apart. He had love on his side, which had to count for something. And he wasn't about to let go of either of them for anything.

"You know what," Reiss said, drawing his attention away from their baby, "I think I need to get a bigger bed in here."

## CHAPTER EIGHTY

#### Dada

_25 Weeks Old..._

Gavin turned tighter into Lana's chest, his amber eyes shut tight while she sighed at her son's shyness. Even with coaxing from his mother, there was no getting the boy to flip over and look at the Arl who kept waving softly at them.

"Sorry about this, Teagan," Lana apologized. "He just woke from a nap and can take awhile to rise and shine."

"It's quite all right, I fully understand. I can often be crabby fresh from sleep as well," he laughed, time crackling his face, but those sharp blue eyes sparkled as always.

"Thank you again for setting this up. I don't know what we would have done if Cullen had to travel all the way to Val Royeaux or even Skyhold." She reached over to him, trying to grip his hand. The movement must have been enough to rouse Gavin as he eyed up this stranger warily.

Taken in by the baby's attention Teagan at first jostled his fingers like jangling keys for him, then took Lana's hand for a gentle shake. "It was my pleasure. And hello there to you too, young one."

Gavin blinked slowly, his mouth hanging slack as he silently watched this unknown man speaking to him. Struggling under his growing weight, Lana hefted him up higher and buried her nose into his cheek, "Don't be such a sour puss. Teagan's a good friend."

"They were not exaggerating about how much he shares in common with his father," Teagan gasped. When Gavin was all smiles and giggles during play it was harder to tell; but cranky from a nap, with his amber eyes glaring at the world, it was impossible to not see the lineage.

"Grumpy gus," Lana sighed at her boy, well aware he wouldn't wake up properly for another half hour or so. Shaking it off, she turned to Teagan, "Have you been out to see Alistair's baby, yet?"

"I'm afraid not," he admitted, his crystal eyes still beaming at Gavin who was warming to the Arl. "Our King does not require my services as often as he once did."

"Meaning he lets you stay home more without inventing crises to send you rushing out there."

Teagan was kind enough to chortle at her summation before tipping his head, "As you say."

"I was just curious if the little girl looks as much like him as people are saying. All of Alistair's letters paint a very different picture, of course. It's a wonder baby Myra hasn't already mastered the art of swordplay, weaving, and lute playing from how he extolls on and on about her. Ah well," Lana tousled up her baby's curls, Gavin reaching up to his hair to give a soft tug in response, "I'm certain we'll see her in good time."

A knock broke against the bedroom door, catching both their attentions. Rather than call out, Teagan opened it himself to reveal a well tailored servant. Tipping down her head, an elven woman murmured, "My Lord, you are requested in the meeting room with the others."

"I'm afraid I am required elsewhere," Teagan sighed at Lana. "Do you need anything before I go?"

"No, I believe we shall do just fine in here," she smiled at Teagan before turning to her son. "Isn't that right, Gavin?"

He opened his mouth and she expected a string of babble to escape but at watching the Arl's face, those thick lips slapped shut tight. So much like his father it struck Lana in surprise sometimes. Smiling, Teagan took his leave, shuffling off to find the damn near elite of thedas all tucked away in Redcliffe castle. Cullen at first refused to attend the talks, insisting that he was needed at home to help with his new baby and not wasting a month in Orlais. While she figured her and Gavin could survive a month without him, Lana was grateful for his choice to remain.

When the second, harried looking raven arrived, the message growing more cryptic and urgent, they realized something big was brewing. Lana arrived at the idea of holding it at Teagan's. He was more or less in on the whole issue of her being somewhat in hiding and having a new baby. It was a perfect chance for her to slip back unnoticed into a bedroom alone while Cullen attended to meetings. He could return to her and Gavin at their leisure rather than fretting leagues away. Being so near home, Lana and Cullen only had a two day ride out to the castle and back. It was rather nice taking their time to Redcliffe, Lana showing Gavin the passing countryside which he watched with his same concerned and dour expression.

Without anyone there to watch him, Gavin began to flap his arms around and twist in Lana's hands. "What do you want?" she asked, a string of babble responding. "Is it down? Very well."

First she sat upon the bed, her legs far too weary for her to not crash straight to floor if she didn't take a slow detour. Sensing his freedom, Gavin began to flail both arms and legs like a turtle lifted off the grass. "Will you give me a moment?" she laughed at her boy before leaning over and letting him touch upon the floor. Barely pausing at the new surroundings, her baby took off, arms and legs flailing as he crawled towards the bookcase. He'd been rising up and down on his arms and legs during tummy time for a few days, seeming to get the hang of them, or doing pushups. She wasn't certain if he'd ever catch on to crawling when suddenly off he went without a thought. Now it was a sight to watch everyone scattering to stop the baby from getting himself into and under things.

Lana eased off the bed onto the floor, her motherly gaze hunting around the room to find all the objects Gavin could hurt or be hurt by. Luckily, there seemed to be almost nothing. The heavy furniture was bolted in place and anything smaller tucked away up high. Teagan, of course. He'd gone through this stage not too long ago himself. While Gavin flopped onto his stomach and found the beveled edge of the bookcase feet fascinating, Lana did her best to not fret about whatever the Inquisitor wanted.

Not just him, they brought in the Seeker as well. Cassandra was ushered in so quickly, Lana only caught a flash of her pink armor while peering out the window. There'd been talk of Leliana arriving, but then some great religious crisis called her to southern Orlais. Too bad, she had yet to find time to visit Gavin even as she kept burying him in elaborate gifts. A Divine's work was never done.

A few others slipped by, faces Lana didn't recognize from her time in the Inquisition, all of which necessitated the hiding Hero of Ferelden to remain sequestered in her room. It wasn't so bad, she had the baby to keep her company and plenty busy. He'd been growing more fascinated by everything around him, the boy often following his father and mother around on rounds. Most of their charges loved Gavin and he in turn found them interesting, but there were a few that he didn't warm to no matter how hard they tried. He was very cautious.

A gurgle caught Lana's attention and she watched her son roll back onto his butt into a sitting position. Those stubby little fingers drifted higher up the case, struggling to reach for anything to tug out. Luckily, it was all drawers at that level. Gavin swatted at the case as if it questioned his parentage, when his hands suddenly lifted up one of the handles. The metal tipped up, then bounced down in a flash of glint and sound.

Oh, that was enough. The baby knocked it up again, laughing as it struck. His eyes grew wider each time he lifted the handle, then crinkled into great giggles when it fell. Gavin batted at it a good dozen more times before he glanced over at his mother as if to say 'Did you see this? How amazing is this?' She scooted towards her son and, while resting upon her hip, softly soothed his back.

They put him in one of the fancier tunics and leggings gifted to them by... Maker, she couldn't remember. Forest green with tan accents for the collar and cuff -- in that shirt he looked like a dashing ranger leaping from tree to tree while hunting for stag. The leggings were tan as well, and lasted about all of ten minutes for greetings before Gavin decided he did not want them on. With summer on the way, and the castle well heated for guests, Lana let him run around in just his nappy. Pants were overrated, she laughed. His parents were both rather known for wearing skirts anyway.

Gavin flopped forward, his arms sliding under the bookcase. At first he seemed to be happy to just dust under the furniture for Teagan, when he suddenly sat up. "What did you find, my little squirrel?" she asked, catching something dark slip into her boy's hand. He gurgled and waved it at her to show off what almost looked like the torso of a golem.

It was good sized so there probably was no risk of him choking on it. Shrugging her shoulders, Lana let Gavin pat at the golem's stomach before promptly shoving it in his mouth. That was where everything wound up in the end.

"Is that the same way our dear Commander Cullen approaches the unknown?" a voice oozed from the doorway. Lana whipped her head around, reaching over instinctively to protect Gavin when she recognized the exposed walnut colored shoulder and perfectly curled mustache.

"Hello, Dorian," Lana greeted him. Technically, he wasn't one of the few let in on her secret. The fact he was on again, off again with the Inquisitor who did know it meant he probably learned the truth of her return an hour after Gaerwn did. She wasn't certain what the state of their relationship currently was, but that he left Tevinter for this summit either hinted that more threats were rising than she already knew or he'd returned to the Inquisitor's bed. For thedas' sake she hoped it was the latter.

The Magister tipped his head, the braid in his hair knocking towards his shoulder, "When they told me Cullen actually bred, I thought it'd be a litter of those hounds you all have running around here."

"Nope, all human," she put on a smile, uncertain just what she'd be up against. Charming like Zev Lana could deal with, infuriatingly smarmy she could also deal with but that required a whole different set of skills. Gavin paused in gumming up his golem and his once ecstatic eyes dimmed to shadows to stare up at Dorian.

"And I can see by that glare that the father has already told the son all about me," he chuckled.

"He gets that way with strangers," Lana tried to apologize for her boy. So many people wanted him to instantly fall in love with them and play, but that wasn't Gavin's style. He watched the world cautiously from a quick head turn, before burying his face back in his mother's or father's chest.

"What's your little ankle biter's name?" Dorian was trying to act cool, but she could sense his eyes peering down at the baby even while he focused on his nails. He wanted to hold Gavin. Few who saw the baby didn't.

"Gavin," she said, which caused the baby to stare at her for summoning him.

"Not the worst thing. I assume it was your doing. The Commander strikes me as a man who'd name his children after swords. Broad. Long. Short. Bastard. That'd probably get confusing if they were all legitimate."

Sighing at his continued insouciance, Lana scooted a bit back from her son and waved him over. "Come say hi. Gavin likes it best when people meet him on his level."

"Eye to eye, trying to size up the enemy. Have you got him marching drills yet?" Dorian asked even as he risked his fine clothing by taking a knee towards the boy.

Lana rolled her eyes, "He just learned how to crawl a few days ago. Drilling's still a couple years off."

The Magister scoffed a moment at the very idea, then he extended his hand to Gavin, "Pleased to meet you."

Amber eyes watched the hand, then darted up to Dorian, back to the hand, got distracted by a shiny buckle, before the boy slowly leaned forward to deposit his drool soaked golem torso into the proffered hand. The man grimaced at the thing, and Gavin laughed uproariously at his move, his free hands slapping together to applaud himself.

"Maker's sake, what is this?" he groaned, extending the spit-soaked thing between forefinger and thumb.

Lana laughed, "I believe that's Gavin's way of sharing with you. He's saying hello."

"Those of us in civilized society do it with a handshake and a greeting. I suppose you southerners trade in slobbery rocks."

For whatever reason, Dorian's continued annoyance made her son clap harder. He was laughing so hard he began to snort a bit in pure joy. Lana reached over to make certain her boy didn't fall back and bonk his head on the floor.

"Here," Dorian extended the toy to him, "you can take this back."

Gavin was quick to scoop up his chew toy, returning it to his mouth. He was no longer eyeing up the stranger, but began to babble in nonsense at Lana as if telling her all the funny things Dorian did. Seemed the Tevinter mage won him over fast, Gavin's free hand bonking into Dorian's as if slapping it.

"Is it normal for them to speak as if they're possessed?" Dorian asked, squinting at the typical baby-talk.

"I'm guessing you don't have a lot of baby experience."

"We try to limit ourselves to only one or two infant sacrifices in the Imperium a year. It can get rather costly," he joked, before smoothing down the mustache.

Lana snaked her arms around her son and picked him up off the floor. In the move, the golem doll tumbled out of his hands, but Gavin didn't have time to react to the loss as she plopped him into Dorian's unexpected grasp. "What am I...?" he all but shrieked, clearly feeling out his element as he raced to knot his hands around the baby. Gavin found it all fascinating, his fingers greedily reaching for the mustache.

"Ah," she warned, "might want to tip your head back. He really loves tugging on beards."

"Is that why you never allowed our dear Commander to grow one?" Dorian laughed, doing as she suggested. Gavin's fingers landed upon one of the dozen or so buckles and that was enough to catch his eye. Rolling the clasp back and forth, he focused with everything inside of him on the shiny bauble.

"That and he looks like a total pillock with one," she laughed. "All that blonde hair does not lead to a lush beard. Looks more like his face is covered in spun sugar."

Dorian chuckled as well. With the baby entertained, he eased out of the horrors of holding one. Carefully, he slid one hand to cushion under Gavin's armpits while the other kept tight against his waist. "A look the famous Commander of the Inquisition cannot pull off. It will shatter hearts from here to Seheron."

"Seheron? Is that why you're here at this meeting we're all pretending isn't happening?" Lana pressed him.

"No, though Maker knows the ox men are quite enjoying knocking upon our door and leaving a severed head upon the stoop every chance they can. I am here for moral support, more or less," he smiled, drawn in by the baby still rolling his pudgy fingers over the buckle.

"More or less?"

Those impish eyes rolled up to her and he winked, "It depends on who wants to give the more, or less."

Zevran, definitely. That twinkle with a come-what-may attitude to distract from whatever real pains were eating him up inside reminded her far too much of that blonde elf. Maker, what would happen if Master Dorian and Zev were alone together? Throw in Isabela and no port, nor bed, nor spouse in thedas was safe.

"You have no idea what's going on?" Lana pressed.

"I wouldn't say that, but..." Dorian paused in trying to eye up Gavin's drooling as if terrified it might land upon his finery. He sighed, an obvious shudder rolling up his spine and broken sky eyes like the edge of a storm turned to Lana. "I'm not entirely at liberty to discuss what I know. But, if you put the screws to your templar, I imagine he'll tell you all you want."

"Who needs screws when you have these," Lana muttered, gesturing to her chest.

The mage laughed softly at that, when Gavin's hand broke from the buckle to bonk on his nose. "I say," the mage thundered, "that is quite impolite. We don't slap at someone's nose until we've been well introduced, young man."

Gavin giggled hard at the words, then patted his nose again. He had a fascination with them, often trying to stuff things up Cullen's while he held his son. It got to the point Cullen barely bothered stopping him and would merely blow the object out when he had the opportunity.

"Very well," Dorian sighed. He eased Gavin's little feet to land upon his thighs while staring deep into the amber eyes. Unaware he was on trial, the baby began to gnaw upon his hand, more drool dribbling down the chin. "I know your name, it is Gavin. A pleasure. Assuming you do not urinate all over my pants I'm certain we will get along swimmingly. It is only fair that you know my name. Dorian."

"Can you say Dorian?" he asked with such force Gavin turned from the fascinating nothing he was staring at to focus back upon the mage. "Dorian. Come now, even your father learned it in a few years time."

"He's not really talking yet, just a few squeals, and yips, and other noises," Lana tried to explain, but the two of them seemed to have found a game in this. At least Gavin was wide eyed in thought, so focused upon this strange new friend he even stopped gnawing. Lana darted closer to try and mop the spittle up off his folds with her sleeve.

"Dor-I-An. See. Quite simple," he kept on. "You may have to remove your fist from your mouth first." Dorian slipped up and gently tugged the rolly-polly fingers free. At first Lana braced herself for cries at having his chew toy removed, but Gavin was in full contemplation mode. Andraste preserve her, but he was the spitting image of Cullen when the man was deep in thought.

"Now you try," Dorian commanded as if it was that simple.

"Da," Gavin shouted.

"No, Dor."

"Da," the baby chuckled and he flapped both arms like he was trying to take flight. _Did he just...?_ Lana staggered back to watch Gavin focus on her, then turn to Dorian. Shrieking in glee he began to chant, "Da da da da..."

"Fasta Vaas, how do I turn this off?" Dorian cried, turning over to find Lana rising quickly to her feet. "What are you doing?"

"I'll be back in a moment. Keep watch over Gavin," she stuttered, yanking back the door and dashing into the hall.

"Watch?" Dorian's pitiful cries echoed in her wake. "I have no idea what one does with a baby! What if it defecates?!"

Lana leaned tight to the wall, trying to shuffle down the hall with its help as she foolishly left her cane back in the room. Her brain was running on pure shock which pumped enough energy into her depleted body to dip down the corridor and right towards the main room. A pair of soldiers stood guard, both standing taller at her presence.

"Ma'am," one tipped his head.

"Is Cullen inside?" she skidded to a halt and tried to peer through the door they no doubt bolted.

"Yes, ma'am, but no one's allowed inside until the talks are..."

"I'm his wife," Lana interrupted.

That caused both to blink in surprise. A lot of thedas buzzed about the Commander of the Inquisition settling down but few ever got right what the infamous ball and chain looked like. The prevailing theory was that she was a redhead, nearly six feet tall, with purple eyes and loads of freckles. And certainly not a mage.

Afraid that she was going to have to flatten both men with her magic, Lana tried sweetness first, "Please?"

"Oh, let her in Carl. What's the worst that'll happen?"

"Fine, but it's your head if something goes tits up," the guard named Carl groaned. He rapped twice on the door. She didn't realize there were voices speaking behind it until they stopped, the silence heavy. It took a few more beats, the guards watching Lana closely in the event the Commander wouldn't claim her, before the door opened.

Teagan stood in the way and glanced down at her in surprise, "Lana?"

"I need to speak to Cullen," she said, eyeing up a long table with a good dozen people sitting at it. The Inquisitor took up the head, maps laid out in front of him. To his left was Scout Harding, tapping her foot on the chair in thought. On the right, Seeker Cassandra, who glanced over at the intruder and her stern face softened. Beside her was the man in question.

He took a moment to finish jotting something down before looking over at Lana. "What is it?" he spoke simply before a look of panic crossed his face, "Is it the baby? Is something wrong?" Cullen stumbled to his feet, all but knocking his chair over, when Lana sighed. She should have known he'd leap straight to worry.

"No, you come with me. Now," she reached out to try and cup his hands.

Cullen grabbed onto hers, then moved to wrap a hand around her waist to steady her weight. Realizing he'd just about run out of a meeting, he glanced towards the Inquisitor. Gaerwn shrugged and waved his hand out, "Go on, Commander."

Together they limped back towards their room, Cullen peppering her with questions about what was going on, and where their baby was. She tried to insist he wait and that Gavin was fine, it was something he had to see. That earned her a groan, Cullen never happy about surprises, but he trusted her enough to follow.

Reaching their door, they peered in to find Dorian facing the door while Gavin stood in his lap slapping both hands against the mage's cheeks and giggling. For his part, Dorian barely winced at the baby attack, the Magister only sighing as he took another blow like a champ. Cullen glanced from his son back to Lana, "You pulled me from the meeting to show me Dorian holding our baby?"

At the sound of his father's voice, Gavin cranked his head around. He stared up at Cullen and his eyes lit up. "Da," the baby cried his newest trick, "da da da!"

Cullen transformed in an instant, the armor and sneer shattering off him to reveal a humbled and awestruck father as he fell to his knees towards his son. "Did..." he plucked Gavin out of Dorian's hands without a thought, "did you just say dada?" Bumping his nose into Gavin's cheek, the baby flopped forward, gripping onto his father while calling for him.

"Da da da!" With a great smile, Gavin repeated his new favorite two letter syllable endlessly while staring at his dad.

"You..." Cullen bounced the baby a bit in his lap, too struck for words while his son was happy to provide the half of one. That wall he kept around himself and his heart crumbled, and he kissed his baby boy on the cheek. That barely made a dent in the oncoming "da's," Gavin returning the kiss with as much drool as he could.

"He only just said it now," Lana said. "Nothing but babble for weeks and..."

Dorian staggered up to his feet and stepped away from father and son bonding to jerk his confused head at Lana. "What in the Maker's name is going on?"

"I think we're watching two people fall in love," she mused to herself.

Cullen's emotional tears dripped away and in his soft voice he asked Gavin, "Can you say dada? Together? Dada?"

"Da, da, da," the chant continued almost as if he was telling them a story.

"So this is where you vanished off to, Commander?" the Inquisitor stepped in behind Lana. He smiled down at the man on his knees while softly touching his hand to the tattoo on his chin.

"Inquisitor, I, forgive me for..." Cullen tried to turn to the man he respected in order to no doubt apologize, but Gaerwn would have none of it.

"Do not be silly, this is heartwarming," the aloof elf sighed. He glanced over at Lana and tipped his head, "You have a delightful baby."

"I don't know if I'd go that far," Lana chuckled, but she too was drawn in by the beautiful picture of Gavin muttering 'Da da da' while Cullen kept staring deep into his eyes, their similar noses touching at the tip.

"And did I hear correctly," Gaerwn turned from her, "were you holding the baby, Dorian?"

"It was only for a moment," the mage crossed his arms in forced aloofness, a finger curling up his mustache, when panic struck him. He whipped back to his lover and cried, "Don't go getting any ideas."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Gaerwn chuckled before slightly leaning his shoulder towards the man. "But we should return to the matters at hand. Time is not of the essence, I fear."

"Of course," Cullen nodded, but he seemed to be unable to tear his eyes away from his son. Holding Gavin, he staggered up to his legs while the boy, perhaps in a playful mood from his father's attention, reached out towards Gaerwn.

The taciturn Inquisitor tipped his head at the baby and smiled politely, before a sly eye darted over to Dorian. At that the mage threw up his hands and turned to stomp down the hall. After placing a kiss on Gavin's head, Cullen moved to give him over to Lana.

"Please," Gaerwn interrupted, "bring him."

"To the meeting, Ser?" Cullen swallowed.

"It is a nice reminder of why we're fighting. For the future," he curled his fingers against the baby's cheek a moment before tugging the hand behind his back. "And you, Lady Rutherford. I see no reason you cannot join us as well. You may have some insight we have overlooked."

Lana smiled, "It'd be my pleasure."

When they returned to the meeting room, a collective "Awe" rang out from every tongue at the cute baby cuddled in Cullen's arms. Maker, Lana was never more grateful for their not having to attend to Orlais. Her husband probably would have been ripped to pieces for such adorableness on display by every dowager in the damn country. After he passed the baby to Cassandra, whom Dorian instructed on how to not "accidentally ingest," Cullen helped Lana to a chair.

It was strange to sit around one of these again, piles of vellum holding not letters from her friends nor formulas or spells, but scout reports. Curt and dry, plans and lists about who marched where and what was to come filled the pages. How many of those hatch marks were once people that'd fallen in battle or to the enemy? How many more would? She tried to shake off the impending sense of doom that seemed to trail her life how matter how hard she ran from it.

Cullen slipped Gavin in between his thighs to sit on the chair, the baby clinging to the table, his mouth just at the right height to begin gumming it. After making certain his son was happy, if not ruining the furniture, he picked up a file and said, "Shall we begin?"

Gaerwn tipped his head in acknowledgment, "The Commander is correct; we may all take turns cooing at the baby later. I assume." He ended that by extending a hand at Lana.

She sat up higher and smiled, "Yes, of course."

A dozen weary heads dove back into the matter, faces that'd already seen countless atrocities, stitched back together hundreds of rips to the flesh, forgone family or love for the sake of the cause. Why? Why did any of them get up each day at the crack of dawn, though in Dorian's case perhaps noonish? Why did they risk their hide and their homes, often every coin they had for this?

Because someone had to.

Lana turned to her baby happily gurgling against the table around which the future of thedas could be shaped. He had no idea what was going on, his greatest accomplishment that day was getting out Dada and melting his father in the process. For Gavin it was a typical day like any other. For so many people in thedas it was the same. Get up, go to work, head home, sleep.

That was why they did it.

Why she left the tower, stomped through the deep roads, and glared an archdemon in the eye. Why Hawke stood up against the Arishock, told Meredith where to stick her cursed sword. Why Gaerwn struck out to end the machinations of the world's first darkspawn.

They did it so no one else had to.

Scooping her fingers back behind Gavin's head, she mussed with his curls while also feeling Cullen's stomach below. It'd been stone, but at her touch she felt a momentary quiver. Glancing over she caught his eyes gazing at her with the same love they'd borne since the day they first met. She smiled back, holding their son who could be the next in this never ending line of saving the world. Maker turn your gaze upon him if it be so. She wanted better for Gavin, for all of them.

Cullen added his hand over their baby's stomach, both parents holding him safe while his mind returned to the task at hand. "What is our next move?"

"I'm afraid we don't have much say at the moment," Gaerwn began to pace, his arms locked behind his back. "Harding?" He turned to the dwarf but she was staring with eyes agog at the baby. "Scout Lace Harding?" Gaerwn continued.

"...swift and cunning, arrows cut you down to size," a voice sang quietly from the back of the room. Lana caught a hint of pointed ears below all the blonde hair, but the come-and-get-some stance told her she wasn't a servant.

"Hm?" Harding snapped away from trying to get Gavin to smile, "Right, uh, everything we know we already went over. At this point it's all on our contact in Tevinter."

Cullen growled at that, his free hand flipping through the stacks of vellum while the other remained upon his baby. "What do we know about this person? Almost nothing in their history leads me to believe any of them stand a chance at pulling this off."

At that Gaerwn chuckled, his hand cupping against his chin. "Dear Commander, what in the history of an apprentice mage, a Ferelden refugee, or a dalish scout in the wrong place, would ever let on that we were capable of saving the world?"

"That..." Cullen's cheeks burned and he risked a glance over at Lana. "That's a fair point."

"Indeed," Gaerwn tipped his head and resumed pacing about the table, every head following him. He'd been at this leader business for so long he practically breathed it now. Seemed the Maker finally got it right on his third go. Lana tried, but she didn't have the stomach to continually order people to their death. Hawke was even worse at it, hiding away in the closet from any semblance of power until it went away. But Gaerwn Lavellan was exactly what thedas needed to guide them all to the next safe rock in these rapids.

"We must trust that our contact not only knows what to do, knows what is at stake, but..." he paused and turned directly towards Dorian, "knows how to elevate those that surround the cause."

Lana hated being the Warden Commander, but she turned a rag tag team of cast offs and second stringers into a fighting force that continued to rattle thedas. Hawke used not allies but her friends, the close ones she turned to in every matter, to fight by her side. She drew them to her not out of a sense of duty but loyalty and love. The Inquisitor it seemed was the same. Years after Corypheus was finished, when people should have long scattered to the wind, and yet they all returned at his request. Andraste only knew how many more of his were out in the field gathering data and keeping an eye out for the wolf.

Maker guide whoever this new contact in Tevinter was. Give him or her the grace and poise to find talent where none do, to gain strength from those friends and allies, and most importantly, to live life just a little. Forgetting that bit of fun, becoming the leader with a heart of stone without thought to levity or...love would be anyone's downfall.

"Now, as to the matter of the Iron Bull's report on a situation in Nevarra..." the Inquisitor turned towards a fresh stack, when a tiny voice broke above him

"Da, da, dada, dada," Gavin babbled, giving his own speech on what he thought should be accomplished. Cullen pinned him closer to his stomach then folded down to skirt his lips over their son's head. That encouraged Gavin more, his hands bouncing against the table as more of the two letter babble erupted.

"An excellent idea," Gaerwn chuckled, "which we will have to table for the next meeting. In the mean time..."

It was the darkest before the dawn. People said that often to her in the days of the Blight. She'd smile and nod, having no easy comeback while thinking 'Dawn is easy to predict, while the end of this terror across thedas may never come.' No one was promised a happy ending. You didn't receive a guarantee from the Maker that after the war was won, and the enemy slain, everything became perfect. Sometimes you lost. An arm. The right to re-enter your own city. Or the ability to stand for long, to face the darkness in your mind without someone at your side.

Holding onto her baby's hand and letting him curl it around her finger, Lana smiled. No matter what was to come, she'd fight. She'd stand up for her baby, for everyone's babies once again because heroes could come from any race, any gender, any part of thedas -- tall, short, massive, wiry -- the options were endless, but they all had one thing in common. Heroes are tenacious bastards.

## CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

#### Black Wings

_23 Weeks Old..._

"Oh give it up, Maurice," Reiss' sighed, her arms crossed as she barely glanced at the armed man. From below the brim of her hat all he could see was the firelight lancing upon her eyes. The river was burning again courtesy of a festival of lights and summer, over time turning into one of depravity and starting things on fire. Someone got it in their heads to float small docks out into the bay with bonfires on top. When they didn't light, what with them being doused in water, another genius added enough oil to burn down an olive grove.

After the first flint struck, nearly half of the Drakon River lit up like Satinalia. In true Ferelden fashion they moved the boats out of the way, jammed a bunch of marshmallows onto sticks, and roasted them while people danced in the background. If you can't stop it, might as well have a few jollies out of your mess before the Watch comes to shut it down.

"You ain't getting shit from me, flat ear," Maurice cursed, spitting at the ground. It was a bit strange to hear that one from a shem, but somehow the underground picked up on it meaning something bad against elves without understanding the what. "You're not even armed. Why should I be afraid of you?"

Reiss rolled her fingers around a small stick in slow contemplation. Barely a glint of metal lifted off her chest courtesy of the armor she'd slapped on before heading off on this quest. "I never said it was me who'd get you to fork it over." She chuckled, tossed the stick out onto the pyre lapping beside their dock, then whistled.

A hundred and twenty pounds of full grown mabari streaked out from between two dry dock boats, leapt into the air, and landed upon Maurice's chest. Snarling teeth dared him to try anything while Muse dripped foaming saliva upon him. "Okay, okay," Maurice gasped. "You win. I'll give it to you. Not like the blighted piece was worth anything. Ain't no one in town willing to touch it after they see the inscription."

Reiss smiled while stepping closer to her dog. She leaned down to stare at the man trapped below and said, "Nice of you to finally see reason. Are you going to go quietly when I let you up, or will you make a fuss?"

"What do you think?" Maurice groaned, all the toothless bite drained out of him.

On her trip back to the agency with prize in hand, Reiss whistled to herself. It wasn't much of a tune, but people waved at her on their way to the parties scattered across town. All of Ferelden was in a jolly mood, but none could top hers. When she opened the door, Muse darted inside first with all the manners of a dog she partially trained. Reiss expected to look over at her people hard at work but the place was empty. Save for the lantern perched upon their front desk, it appeared closed.

"Hello?" Reiss shouted. The door was left wide open, someone had to be there. She eased towards the back with one eye on the shadows, when Lunet's head popped up from around a corner. "Where is everyone?"

"Where do ya think, Rat? It's past nightfall. Kurt's gone home while the rest are off drinking until they nearly fall into a bonfire."

Reiss whipped back to stare at the darkness she'd forgotten about even while using it. Time flooded away from her, the entire day spent scrounging in back alleys and watching from around corners until she spotted her target. Lunet folded her arms tight and sighed, "Well...?"

The spark returned to her win and she lifted her hard won prize over her head. "I got it." Drawing back the scrap of leather, Reiss revealed the golden blade that'd hung in their office since the first days. She'd followed every lead herself, leaving the others to focus on matters that would bring in coin. Often times Reiss would have to bring Myra clinging to her back into old sell-off shops and backrooms to talk business with people that'd sooner chop her ears off to make a purse than talk.

But it was all worth it to have their symbol back where it belonged.

Reiss glanced around the empty office and sighed, "I'd rather hoped everyone else would be around for my triumphant retrieval. We could all share a drink and put it back on the wall together."

At that Lunet chuckled, "Save the hanging ceremony for tomorrow, assuming people aren't drunk enough to accidentally nail their hand up instead. For now..." She slid back towards their working area they'd had to redesign. Some of it was to spread four people over two desks and make it functional, the rest was to fit in the crib. Myra was nestled in it, fast asleep with her mouth open while she snuggled tight to her favorite stuffed nuggalope.

Over the passing weeks furniture arrived for their baby, the first being a crib that was sturdy but plain. Reiss had Jorel and Kurt juggle them, much to the dwarves cursing dismay, so that Myra would spend her naps in the cheap one downstairs and her nights up in Reiss' room. There were also packs of clothes, diapers, toys -- Alistair was good on his word and only sent things for the baby which no one blinked an eye at. There was however...

Lunet gestured to her desk, "Our 'mysterious benefactor' sent us a crate of Antivan rum and a basket of muffins. The dwarves ate all the good ones with the berries, but I think there's a rolled oat one remaining if you got the stomach for it."

He wasn't going to let her starve, no matter how stubborn she got about it. Reiss felt stupid for digging her heels in on the matter, realizing with a less clouded head and vengeful heart that she didn't have to hurt herself to be worthy of existence. She was about to tell him that when the packages arrived. Food, usually cakes or little delectables meant for the entire office and signed only 'mysterious benefactor' arrived on the regular. It took all of two seconds for Reiss to figure out who it was, and Lunet five -- not that either woman had to admit the truth.

"Skip the muffin," Reiss said. "I ate enough fried dough to murder a bronto while waiting outside the festival."

Lunet unearthed a set of new mugs, then yanked the cork out of the bottle with her teeth. Through it she asked, "Ain't you supposed to be working?"

While she watched her blue and green mug fill with liquor, Reiss flopped down into her chair, "I was. It's called blending in to not spook your target. Also hungry. You try standing around for hours with that crispy fat scent in the air and not buy some."

Lunet chuckled at that while handing over her mug. Reiss waited until Lunet had hers in hand as well. She turned to her baby deep in sleep and spotted Sylaise guarding over Myra like a great sphinx. The cat liked to perch upon the corner of the crib and stare down at the baby. If Myra so much as twitched in sleep, Sylaise would scurry down to find Reiss and mewl until she checked on her baby. She didn't expect to have a nanny that was so furry, but Reiss was grateful for any help she got.

"How'd things go with her?" Reiss asked.

"Don't go getting all overprotective on me. We played, she ate that mashed goop you left behind, we played a new game called 'Let's tip over Lunet's shit and then laugh as she has to mop up ink.' Then down for the night." Lunet paused and looked over her mug at Reiss. "What? Were you expecting, 'she cried her eyes out all day 'cause she missed her mummy?'"

"Maybe, a little," Reiss sighed at her little girl getting so much bigger every day. "Eh, this isn't the time for melancholy. We should celebrate," she said, clinking her mug into Lunet's.

"Damn straight. Here Rat, to you for digging your heels in and bringing back that stupid sword you never even really cared about."

She summed up the problem only how Lunet could and then tipped her drink back. Lunet could down half the mug in a swallow but Reiss had to go much slower, her tolerance of alcohol taking a big hit after Myra. So many changes that happened after a baby no one ever warned you about, so many problems.

"I never took our 'mysterious benefactor' as the spirits type, outside of something fermented in a shoe at the back of a closet, but this shit's good. Nice and smooth," Lunet damned Alistair with faint praise. She lapped up her drink, then caught Reiss' mostly full mug. Rather than drinking it, she was too focused on her baby slumbering peacefully in the fade.

A day away and Myra didn't even care. Did she already forget about her?

Maker's sake, Rat. Reiss pinched herself and shook her head. She's your daughter, your infant daughter, she loves you. She needs you. Don't be stupid. Taking a greater shot, Reiss had to smack her lips as the fried dough taste mixed with the rum to slide down into her too full stomach. "We'll come back," Reiss swore to herself.

"Aye, we're getting there," Lunet nodded, her eyes turning towards the stack of potential work. People weren't flocking to their doors, but there were more than a few postings to the chantry board they pilfered. Coin was coin at this point. "Do you need me to stay with you for the night?"

"Hm...?" Reiss turned from the case of a missing mirror to face Lunet.

"I was thinking about heading down to the festival by the docks, heard a few more of the elves from Orlais moved into the city. A couple of 'em are real pretty," she winked like her old self, but Reiss spotted the tenderness below. It was her first time getting back out into the cesspool of courting since Harding.

"Sure, sure, you should go on. Meet someone lovely, seduce her, and break her heart," Reiss smiled which caused Lunet to roll her eyes. "Alistair will be coming by later."

Pointing to the dead street and black night, Lunet asked, "Later? How much later can one get?"

"He said it'd be pretty late, something about an emergency meeting which was pissing off all the people who wanted to get the festival. Besides," Reiss turned to the mabari that was eyeing up that oat muffin with the hungriest eyes she'd ever seen, "I have Muse here to keep me company."

"Good to know my presence is outmatched by a slobbering creature that's likely to lick its own genitals before kissing you," Lunet smiled wickedly and Reiss caught on where she was going.

"Don't," she warned, but her friend shifted uncomfortably on her feet, the quip building inside of her like gas. "That's her father," Reiss tipped her head to the sleeping baby unaware of anything going on.

Lunet shrugged, "So you're saying just cause he made another brat I can't poke fun anymore?"

"No, just don't go for such an obvious joke. Really. Anyone here woulda seen it coming a mile away. I expect better from you," Reiss laughed, finishing off her rum.

"Forgive me for not being of sparkling wit after a day of babysitting a squealing dwarf and your half-blood," she meant it as a laugh, but Reiss pursed her lips and turned back to her clearly human baby. Myra remained long for her age, but sure enough the chubby fat rolls appeared around her midsection and thighs. It was achingly adorable, leaving many to comment about wishing to eat her baby, but it wasn't elven. Nothing about her was.

"Hey," Lunet touched her shoulder, "there ain't nothing wrong with the half-bloods."

"Really? Would you date one?" Reiss turned on her, well aware of Lunet's opinions when it came to bedding shems.

At that she paused and then frowned, "Maybe. If she weren't too much of a prig one way or the other. Have to admit to being elfy, but they tend to all hide it away. Never want a knife-ear on their arm neither cause that ruins their secret. Your little one's different though. She knows where she comes from."

"Yeah, lucky her," Reiss sighed. It was her choice to keep Myra down in the dregs; she prayed her daughter wouldn't come to resent her for it.

"Anyway," Lunet flipped her mug up and left it on the desk, "I'm out. See ya tomorrow for the big hanging celebration. Maybe I'll even bring a cake for it." After grabbing her coat, Lunet slipped half an arm around to hug Reiss while standing, then glanced down at Myra. What used to be a cautious 'I'm not certain about this thing' look now appeared as if Lunet was melting from the baby's dreamy smile.

Shaking it off, Lunet slipped towards the door, "See ya later, Rat." Her words rang out as she closed it tight. Even from in the back, Reiss watched the silhouette of Lunet drifting towards the docks, her head held high as she went on the prowl. Good for her. Harding had been Lunet's first serious love as far as Reiss was aware and while she never let on that anything hurt her, Lune had been less than flirty of late. Even her crass assessments dwindled down to the occasional "Yeah, she's pretty. I suppose."

"Your Auntie Lunet's going to be a terrible influence," Reiss chuckled to herself, before weighing the idea of her friend telling a teen Myra all the tricks of a proper romance. "Maker, I hope she waits until you're sixteen before you get the full lay of the land."

Taking a longer swig of her drink, Reiss gazed around at what she'd accomplished in the past weeks. It'd been long hours, Myra often having to be left in the company of Lunet or the others. She didn't seem to mind, her baby quickly warming to just about anyone that came into view. Quite a lot like her father in that.

Alistair, of course, was not happy. He tried to pretend he was at least okay with this, but Reiss knew him well enough to know when he was faking things. There'd been a good dozen jokes around drainpipes while they'd said quick goodbyes outside the palace before she and Myra had to return home. If there was another way, Reiss would find it. She'd move thedas itself so he could be with his baby girl, but life didn't work that way. It wasn't blighted fair, certainly never to her.

And not often to him, either.

"Oh Myra, the second you start crying for your daddy I may crumble," she groaned, her head pitching towards the desk. Warm fur rubbed up against Reiss' arm and she turned to find Sylaise beaming those old yellow eyes at her. "How are you holding up with the baby? Bet you thought you were done watching over 'em, eh?" She scritched along the cat's head, getting a great rumble of a purr from below all that grey fur.

Reiss glanced over at Muse who was happily curled up in his bed. It was designed for a dog three sizes smaller but the doofy thing thought he fit and refused to sleep in anything else. The whole office pitched in to help raise their own mabari, which was probably what was going to happen with Myra. Try as hard as she liked it Jorel would teach her baby girl how to pick locks, Lunet would fill her mind with every possible swear word in thedas, from Kurt she'd learn the trick to forging numbers without anyone noticing, and Qimat how to subdue an enemy without uncrossing your arms. Perhaps there'd be some lady lessons in there, Alistair made mention of a tutor like the one the princess had. How to curtsy, the right fork to use, the difference between a baron and a count. All things that wouldn't serve a half-blood girl a lick down here in the gutters.

Staggering to her feet, Reiss glanced down at her baby, all tuckered out from a day of learning dastardly deeds and how to circumvent them. For now it was nonsense to her developing brain, but soon it'd begin to stick. With her pristine blonde hair slicked around her head, and her eyes shut tight against the light, Myra looked like an angel. In her fussing, she'd kicked up the edge of her sleep dress until it revealed her pale tummy. Reaching down, Reiss tried to smooth it back where it belonged without disturbing her sleeping baby.

That would be a criminal offense in here. Wake the baby and you'd get ten lashes or a stack of reports to fill out by long hand. Most would probably take the lashes. As she lay out the ivory hem, her fingers riffled across the embroidered words "you're family." Reiss didn't remember dressing Myra in her sister's gown, she was in such a hurry to retrieve the sword she grabbed the first thing she could find.

"One day," Reiss whispered to her daughter, "I'll take you to see your aunt in Val Royeaux. Though I should warn you, she'll probably lecture you on your posture and diction."

A sound echoed from outside the street, strange enough to draw Reiss from her sleeping baby. She glanced up just as a black bird dove headfirst through their new window. Instead of the bird thudding into it with a broken neck, the glass shattered at impact. Reiss bent over her daughter's crib shielding her from any spray of slicing rain. As the sound of falling glass faded away, Reiss looked down. Green eyes peeked up from her nap, Myra roused at the noise but unharmed.

With her daughter safe, she glanced up expecting to find blood and a dead crow to deal with, but the bird sat on the floor, its beady yellow eye glaring at her. Reiss instinctively took a step forward when the very air bent inward. Instead of pulling her towards it like a gust of wind, shadows twisted around the creature. She fumbled for a handhold when the what had to be magic, though she'd never seen nor heard of anything like it, stopped.

A woman stood where the bird had, hair as dark as the feathers with the same haunting yellow eyes. She wiped a bit of shattered glass off her shoulder as if it were lint then stepped towards Reiss. Certainty glittered in those haunting eyes.

"What do you...?" Reiss asked when the woman waved her hand. Reiss' entire body froze solid, not in ice, but as if the air itself held her. A hundred imaginary hands clung to her arms, legs, head, shoulders. She couldn't even move a finger or speak as the woman stepped past her to gaze down into the crib.

"I am sorry for this," was all she said stopping to hover above Reiss' baby.

No. _No!_ Reiss screamed mentally at herself, willing her mind to move anything in her body. She could stop this woman, she had to. Rage boiled in her veins as the woman circled closer to the crib. Not even bothering to care about the mother she paralyzed, this intruder -- this witch -- dipped down and began to reach towards Myra.

Her baby's eyes opened at the stranger and a great wail erupted. The woman froze a moment, and Reiss prayed Myra's cries would stop this, halt whatever evil plan she had. But the woman hardened her heart and reached into the crib. Lashing faster than the eye could see, Sylaise stuck her claws deep into the woman's hand.

She reared back from Myra and, with her terrifying magic, hurled the cat across the room. A sickening crunch erupted where Sylaise landed against the desk, her body falling at the wrong angle and slumping off to the fireplace below.

Maker! No...not her cat. The woman barely blinked at the life she snuffed out or her blood dribbling on the back of her hand as she returned to steal the baby.

Get out of this.

Move!

Reiss roared inside her head, the feral cry that ripped apart any who dared to hurt her, hurt the ones she loved. Stretching with every muscle in her body, a pop reverberated in the air and she was free of her prison. Stumbling forward in three steps, Reiss snatched up the golden sword off her desk.

The woman turned, realizing her magic failed, when Reiss slashed the blade towards her. She dodged too quickly, but Reiss drew it back again and again. One struck! A nick of blood dribbled out of a gash against the witch's arm. Glancing at the wound, the woman sneered and raised her hands.

Oh, fuck you!

Reiss ran forward at the witch, a shoulder down as if she intended to plow her over. At the last second she twisted in a circle and jammed the sword backwards. The mage danced away, but not fast enough as it bit through meat and the woman screamed in pain.

"No one touches my daughter," Reiss hissed, yanking the sword free and spinning to take down this woman in one more blow. She'd almost stabbed into the thigh artery but was too low. Blood spurted out of the long cut in the mage's skirt, coating the floor and her shoes in the crimson gore as she scrabbled backwards. No toying, no giving this bitch a chance, no letting her explain it. Reiss shifted her arms around, the sword aiming right for her neck.

She took a step forward when the witch's eyes lit up, her hands lifted and the force of a hurricane shattered against Reiss. Her body flew through the air along with her desk, until both splattered against the wall. Reiss fell first, pain exploding behind her eyes as first her back struck the wall, then her chest plummeted onto the ground.

No.

Get up!

Get up, now!

Her brain screamed at her, but her body was spent. Darkness faded in and out, light bringing flickers of the strange woman lifting Myra from her crib, her baby screaming at this intruder until the witch waved her fingers and then stillness. No! Myra! An uncaring yellow eye turned on Reiss' fallen body, then she vanished out the door.

No...

Blackness took her, the faint trying to swaddle Reiss in its embrace. Let go, there's no pain here. No loss. Only sleep.

Pain.

"Gah!" Reiss' fingers stumbled towards her side where she found something impaled into her gut. Yanking it out, she spotted the Maker damn nameplate Jorel insisted he needed broke a good inch into her skin. She cursed him, and her for being stupid enough to let him get it, while trying to sop up the blood. It was a trickle for her, the wound mostly of the battering type. Her body felt as if a golem danced a jig upon her, but she sucked in a breath.

Rising up to her feet, Reiss was cursing every word Lunet taught her when her eyes landed upon the empty crib. Grief ripped open her soul, her heart shredded as she limped towards it praying that somehow, someway Myra slipped to the floor. That she was safe, giggling under Mommy's desk and waiting for a new game.

Please. Tears flooded her eyes as she stared down at the indent where her daughter's little body should be. No. Maker, no. Not this! How could...?

A glint of crimson gold caught Reiss' eye and she wiped away her mess of grief to stare at the sword. Coated in the witch's blood, it fell where her daughter should be. The sword she was given for standing up against someone that would hurt her own, kill her own. Every ounce of grief fled from her as rage took control.

Reiss stared around the place to find Muse cowered in the corner, tossed in the attack same as her. "You're not too badly hurt," she said, finding a few splinters and some glass shards in his fur, luckily nothing fatal. "But..." Only a tuft of grey fur was visible from where Sylaise landed, no breath shifting the still body. "I swear to the Maker we will find her and we will kill her. I will kill her with my bare hands if I must."

Staggering out into the street, Reiss spotted the drip of blood. She'd wounded the mage badly and unless the woman could grow wings, she wasn't getting far. With one hand gripping tight to her midsection, and Muse at her side, Reiss trailed the blood away from her place.

_Why did she do this?_

_To strike back at Reiss? Was she the sister or wife of someone Reiss had put away? Or was it for ransom?  _

"Maker," Reiss gritted breath broke through the still air, nary a soul existing in this dark world save the two set on vengeance, "keep my baby safe, watch over her until she...until she's in my arms again."

## CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

#### Witch Hunt

He knew something was wrong by the door wedged open, light leeching into the warm summer darkness. One part of Alistair's brain told him that it was a nice night out, they were trying to get a cool breeze through, but as he jogged closer towards the agency he spotted the broken window. Sense drained from him along with all the blood in his cheeks. Maker, no. Not again!

Barreling into the wedged door with his shoulder to fully open it, he stared around the room at a massacre. Blood stains were dripped across the floor as if someone with a wound limped over it, while more crimson splattered the walls. Desks crumpled together on the far side of the office, one shattered in half again by a force that may even put Qimat to shame.

"Reiss," he shouted, his hands cupped to his mouth. There was no one here, no Lunet clucking her tongue at his interrupting a jelly throwing contest, or the dwarf twins trying to mop up their mess before the boss came in. "Reiss, where are...?" Alistair turned and spotted a small grey body broken beside the fireplace. Leaning towards it, the lump grew three sizes in his throat at Sylaise, her yellow eyes open wide in terror before death claimed her.

"Maker's breath, Reiss," Alistair bounded past the broken desks and debris, his shoes splattering in the fresh blood to try and find his wife and their daughter. At Myra's crib he froze. A sword lay where his baby girl should be sleeping; a sword covered in blood.

"Reiss, please, don't you dare have been hurt! I swear to Andraste, if you're not..." Alistair bounded up the stairs three at a time. He continued to dole out barely thought upon threats while taking what felt hours to rifle through Reiss' one room apartment. In reality, it was perhaps a minute or two at most, but time stretched into an eternity while his wretched brain kept piecing together the most obvious situation.

They came back for her. Despite every Maker damn warning her gave her, they returned for Reiss, and she alone couldn't fight them off. She was hurt, but...not here, not dead or dying. Would they take their daughter as well? Or did she try to run for safety with Myra?

Hurling her blanket back onto the bed, Alistair rose from checking under it and dashed back down to the ground floor. Bloody footsteps -- large, so probably his, but there were smaller ones, focused ones that led out into the street. He was no tracker, not like the way of people who'd sniff and eat dirt and stank of druffalo dung on purpose. Snatching up a broken chair leg, Alistair held it to the lamplight. It caught, at first the blue flame dancing but with no mage to tame it, the blue transformed into proper yellow and orange fire.

He waved the torch close to the ground, noting pools of something wet and shiny in the dry mud. Thank the Maker the summer rains hadn't returned. Jogging into the night, Alistair followed the trails of blood. They twisted away from the docks and around any clusters of people who'd be celebrating. Strange, Reiss would have found help there first. Or could have blended in with all the party goers.

What was going on?

Turning twice more to the right, Alistair skirted along the outside wall of the alienage. Fires danced over the elven walls, voices singing in triumph and joy, everyone unaware that the woman he loved could be curled up on the street dying with their baby in her arms. No. This isn't the time to panic. Do it later, when she's safe, and then you can ream her out for this. While you're holding them both.

He reached the end of a T intersection, the two back paths bending away when he realized there was no more blood to follow. _Damn it!_ Alistair waved the torch first towards the north, walking further along in the hopes more splatter would emerge, but it looked clean, not even the yellow grass disturbed. Turning on his heel, he ran back to the intersection and moved to the south.

The torchlight lit upon dry, broken ground, uninteresting and beaten down by dozens of boots. He was so invested in the speckles of unstained grass, it wasn't until he nearly stepped on a paw and felt hot, sticky breath wafting over him that Alistair heard a growl. Looking up into a mabari's entire set of teeth, lips tugged as far back as they could go, he lifted both hands in submission. The torch scattered from his fingers, the fire dousing itself against the ground.

"Whoa now, let's not do anything hasty here. I'm told I taste terrible," he said, inching backwards and trying to see if there was a ladder he could scurry up to escape. The mabari followed suit, the hair along its back in full on 'I'm going to rip your flesh off your bones and eat you in one gulp' mode.

Great time to not think to bring a weapon.

"Alistair?" a voice called from the darkness.

"Reiss?" he prayed he heard right and it wasn't just his fevered brain throwing up illusions.

"Muse," she sounded strained, as if speaking through a gut wound. Please no, not one of those. "Down."

The dog he now recognized as the puppy he gave her, plopped down onto its butt. While the teeth slipped away behind calm lips, the fur didn't fully deflate. This wasn't a happy reunion. Alistair slid past the mabari, keeping one watchful eye upon him, then stared around the dark alley to find his wife. "Reiss? Where are you? What's going on?"

He spotted a shadow slumped to the ground, a hand inside the coat while her head tipped back against the house. Alistair dropped down to his knees trying to find where she was injured, but Reiss lashed her hands out and grabbed onto his shoulders.

"She took her! Myra! That...that witch stole my baby and I, I tried to stop her."

"Reiss, I don't understand," Alistair patted at her side but couldn't find any blood pooling off her. "The mob...?"

"It wasn't a mob!" Reiss sneered, "A witch broke into my house, threw me against the wall, and stole Myra away."

"A witch?" There were few mages in Denerim anymore, most trying to find solitude out in the countryside away from wary eyes, but the ones living here didn't strike him as the stealing children type.

Reiss tipped her head up into the bright starlight revealing tears flooding down her face. She was covered in dirt and blood, both smeared over her cheeks. "You won't believe me. I barely believe me, and I was there. I saw it. This...bird flew through our window, shattered it, and then a woman appeared from it."

Alistair fell flat on his ass, denial trying to take over, "A woman turned into a bird?"

"No, the other way around. I know, it sounds crazy. Magic can't..."

It couldn't be her. After all these years, he thought, he assumed she'd never dare to show her face anywhere near him nor Ferelden. Wasn't that what Lanny promised? What that bitch said? Reiss fell silent, watching Alistair glare through the past rising up to attack him.

"What did she look like?" he snapped at Reiss.

"Jet black hair all a mess, and yellow eyes. The most piercing yellow eyes I've ever seen."

Fuck. Maker take them all!

Alistair smashed his fist into the ground, a wail of vengeance and agony trying to climb up his throat. Before he could tip back and scream it out, Reiss' trembling hand rose up his shoulder and he stared into her stricken eyes. "You believe me?"

"I do, I..." It was his fault. Somehow, for some reason, the bitch came back to hurt him. "It's Morrigan," he spat out, unable to look at Reiss while speaking the vile woman's name.

"Morrigan? Is she the one who...?"

"Yes."

"What the fuck does she want with our daughter?" Reiss shouted, her strength returning as she realized she had Alistair fully on her side.

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," Alistair reached down and scooped Reiss up into his arms. He carried her back to the agency, neither of them saying a word but occasionally grunting in agony or pain. It felt as if his teeth were going to explode from how tight he was grinding his jaw. Morrigan.

After all these years. All this time...

Alistair placed Reiss down on the desk and moved to lift away her coat. "Did she hurt you? Curse you? Use any blood magic on you?"

"I don't know, I don't think so. The blood in here was from me," she said, lifting up her shirt to reveal a giant black and blue bruise up and down her side. Pinpricks of blood broke through it, something having impaled into her. When Reiss removed her shirt, she broke the scab formed against the fabric and the wound began to bleed again.

Yanking off his own shirt, Alistair tried to stop her bleeding, then glanced around, "Your wound bled this much?"

"No, I got her with...with the sword in, in," Reiss glanced back towards their baby's crib. The crib that should hold a little girl gnawing on her foot and blowing bubbles, not a weapon coated in the blood of a traitor. Tears bubbled up in her eyes again, but she squeezed her fist tight and cut them off.

Staring down a moment, Reiss sneered, "I thought it'd slow her down, it did for a time. I was nearly on her trail when she just vanished. I don't know what happened."

Alistair yanked back his shirt to find she'd stopped bleeding, but that wound was going to be agonizing for a good week. It nearly covered the side of her entire ribcage. That bitch!

And it was all on him. Morrigan couldn't care less about some elf's child living outside the slums. No, she did this to strike back at him, to hurt him, to use him or the crown for her own demented plans. He curled his hand up, strangling the blood dotted shirt while snarling at thin air.

Fingers skirted up his arm until landing upon the cheek. Alistair glanced into Reiss' eyes, the tears falling, "What are we going to do?"

"We find that witch, we make her pay."

"How?" Reiss moaned, her head flopping down until she stared helplessly at the ground.

That was a good question. In all the years since the Blight, Alistair hadn't seen Morrigan once. Even Lanny, the only person in this blighted world the bitch ever called friend saw her all of twice. They needed a way to track her, to sniff her out of...

He stepped away to peer down at the sword, blood glistening against the golden blade. Would that work?

"Reiss? Do you have a clean bottle here?"

"Yeah, in the second drawer. Fresh ones that were already scoured. Why?" She tried to ease off the desk, but crumpled to a ball.

Alistair gripped onto her a moment before fishing out a small blue bottle. The chantry always used clear, but it was doubtful the color mattered much. Careful to lift the sword horizontally, Alistair placed the bottle's open mouth against the tip and then slowly tipped the blade vertical. The witch's blood didn't stink of rotten eggs, nor was it a putrid green. She probably wasn't in cahoots with any demons, assuming Morrigan wasn't really a demon the entire time they knew her.

"What are you doing?" Reiss ignored her pain in order to stand up beside him, her eyes glaring at the ink bottle holding a few drops of blood.

Maker, he hoped that was enough.

"I need to find a templar and a mage," Alistair eyed up the precious fluid before stoppering it safely. This may be their only chance. "It has to be tonight or it'll dry and won't work."

"Why? What are you doing with her blood?"

"A phylactery, it's a way to track mages, to track Morrigan. She can't escape it, can't hide from it." He never wanted to be a templar. All but cheered the end of the order along with the mages, but he'd happily brand the bitch that stole his child away from her mother's arms.

"Will that work?" Reiss drove right to the question.

"I've done it before," Alistair admitted, "the tracking part. I've never made one, which is why I need help, but...it'll do it. I need to contact Lanny too, she... For some Maker damned reason she may get the witch to see sense." He knew a few people in the chantry who'd be awake now, but fuck it, if he needed to pull the Grand Cleric out of her bed to save his daughter he damn well would.

"I'll get the phylactery made, should give me a sense of where Morrigan's gone. Build up a cavalcade of guards I trust, warn Lanny through the sending crystal, and I'll head out at dawn to bring back Myra." Saying those words froze him. His daughter was missing, his infant girl taken in the night and left in the trust of a witch that he... Scowling, Alistair bundled his revulsion deeper. He could hate later, the blood wouldn't keep long.

"Alistair," Reiss reached out, her hand skirting up him, "I'm coming with."

"You're injured, maybe not fatally, but..."

Green eyes flared in his, the woman he loved, who fought like a razorback at his side and on his behalf, gripped onto his shoulder, "I'm going with to get back my baby, and when I do, I'm gutting the witch that took her from me."

* * *

Winds whipped against the forest just outside the inn. Okay, inn was a bit of a misnomer; it was really someone's house who was kind enough to let the King and his garrison of four burly guards crash for the night. They'd ridden hard for a day, only stopping because the sun finally dipped into the horizon. Reiss was willing to risk camping, but with her injury he refused to let her hurt herself even more than necessary. Luckily, all of the citizens of Ferelden just adored their goofy King appearing on their doorstep asking if they had an extra bed or three to lone out for a song.

He left Reiss in the fancy room the homeowners gifted their Sovereign, her wound weeping because she didn't take the time to properly heal it. They set out at dawn's light, at first riding away from the sun then towards it. Alistair would look over at her from time to time, but her face was impossible to read under the hat. Any attempts at talking were met with a few grunts.

Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted a few of his men seeming to be milling around in the back end of this house as if they didn't disobey his order to leave him be, but all needed to take a leak together. As if they weren't given the orders to keep their King both alive and from doing something stupid by the far scarier Chamberlain. It didn't matter if they overheard at this point, he was out of options. Fishing out of his pocket the gem he sent a very terrified young man to pilfer from the Hero of Ferelden's memorial statue, Alistair placed it against his skin and waited.

It took a bit before her husky voice called through the air, "Ali? You there?"

"It's me," he said. He'd turned away from his guards, but at the sound of their King talking a few heads twisted over to check on him. Oh well, he was known for being flippant, why not tack crazy on as well. "Where are you?"

"Outside of Lothering, what used to be Lothering. Which is still a mess. A few city tents popped up, mostly wanderers, but they let us stay. I guess two people with a baby aren't really seen as much of a threat."

Lanny spoke it with a bit of a shrug and laugh, but at the word baby Alistair's throat constricted tight. He lashed out at the bush beside him and wrapped his fist tight around a branch. Somewhere out there was his daughter, no doubt scared, cold, and probably starving. Morrigan sure as shit wasn't going to be able to feed her, not that a witch's teat could leak anything but frozen acid.

"Ali...Alistair?"

Her voice snapped him out of it and Alistair found he'd ripped all the leaves off the branch. Trying to tuck it back in so no one would notice the bush's bald patch, he spoke up, "I'm here, near uh, Dragon's Peak, I think."

"What's the phylactery say?"

He fumbled into his pocket, gripping tight to the ink bottle they'd sealed in wax. It was good to have power, and friends in high places. Anyone else would have kicked his ass out of the chantry for even asking. The Grand Cleric barely batted an eye as she called her aging templar protector to help prepare it. Even then, no one was certain if it would work, the blood being older and near everyone long out of practice making one.

"Further west from me, I..." he tried to press his fingers tighter to the glass, the bottle's edge digging into his flesh, "I can't get anything better than that."

"Hm..." Lana's voice faded, only a few mumbles carrying over the distance and through the stone. "Yes, I'll ask. Cullen's wondering if you can see anything around that will give us a hint as to where she's gone. Visions of the grass or lay of the land? Stars perhaps?"

"No," Alistair confessed, his chin flopping down. "No, I can't because...I'm a shit templar, unlike him. A shame my daughter couldn't have a real one to protect her, to guard her. I bet he wouldn't have even let it happen. He'd have sensed a witch near him and cut her down without a thought."

The line fell dead, Alistair cursing himself for being a failure. For letting his Wheaty out of his sight, for not planning on anyone daring to steal Myra away. If he was a better man it never would have happened.

"Ali," Lanny whispered, "We will find her."

"What if it's too late?" he gasped, dread filling his heart.

"Morrigan wouldn't do anything to hurt a baby..."

He snarled, "What do you know of the witch? What do you really know? She lied to us, both of us, for over a year. And now she's stolen my daughter to do Maker knows what filthy blood ritual. She could have already slit her throat and tossed her..."

"Alistair, stop!" Lanny ordered. "Thinking that we've lost, being defeatist won't help. We'll get there. I'm going to keep in communication with you as often as possible. I hope we'll find Morrigan first to try and cut off her escape."

No, Lanny wanted to get to her first to try and reason with the witch. She truly believed there must be some explanation, some excuse for why she did it. Lanny was too big hearted to believe that one of her old friends would think nothing of murdering a child for her own means. She never really saw Morrigan for the snake she was.

"Gavin, no, don't put that in your mouth...!" her voice faded as she was no doubt racing to stop her baby from attempting to hurt himself. Holding him. Feeding him. Hugging him. Whispering how much she loved him every night.

"Maker's breath," Alistair gasped, tears burning in his eyes. A pain radiated up his chest, and he clung tight to the armor strapped across it. Attempting to lift it off was doing nothing, his heart shattering below the creaking ribs. "Lanny, I...I have to go," he tried to speak without blubbering, but wasn't very successful.

"Ali, it'll--."

"Don't," he interrupted her, "don't tell me that things will be alright. You've got your son and I have..." He shook his head, this wasn't her fault. She was trying to help, "I have to go check on Reiss. Keep me updated, and I'll keep tabs on the phylactery."

"Okay," was as far as she got before Alistair cut the connection. He dropped the amulet into his pocket, strode deeper into the forest, crouched down, and bawled his eyes out.

The guards were kind enough to shuffle around, doing their best to ignore the grown man weeping like a child. Losing people in his life stung, as any deaths would. Duncan and all the Wardens dying turned Alistair sullen and inward, but he only risked a few tears here and there when he thought no one was looking. The loss at Ostagaar couldn't compare to the one battering his body to shreds. This was someone ripping apart his chest, yanking his heart out while he watched, and burying it in salt. He felt helpless, as weak as a newborn kitten while also wrathful, his fists often clenching as he imagined all the ways he'd disembowel Morrigan for this. She'd pay, even if Lanny got there first, found some reason behind it.

Alistair didn't care. He was going to watch that witch's blood dribble off the end of his sword for this no matter what.

The hatred shored up his tears and he rose out of his crouch. His leg muscles screamed in agony from it, a fire burning up them, but he walked about in a circle to try and shake it off. This wasn't the time for his body to complain, they had so much more road left to ride across.

"Sire," one of the voices called out of the darkness, "do you need any help?"

"No," he waved a hand, wishing he knew anyone who could help him. "I'm going to go inside to check on Reiss."

"Very good, my Lord."

The homeowners smiled at their King, who could only offer a small wave back. They were concerned that he didn't find things amenable and, as much as Alistair knew he should be playing the game, he couldn't bother. Not while his heart was being stolen into the night by a witch. Barely tipping his head to them, Alistair trudged up the stairs. At the largest bedroom, he paused and tried to wipe away any hint of tears. His falling apart was the last thing Reiss needed.

She'd been a rock the entire ride. One hand gripped tight to the reins, while the other rested against the sword in her scabbard. The dagger was back in her hair, her Solver hat and coat abandoned for full armor. There were no tears in those summery eyes, only vengeance. It was so intimidating it made Alistair flinch at how easily he crumbled if he dared to think about their daughter's golden waves, or her sharp, tiny nails slicing into his cheek on accident when she leaned forward to kiss him.

Opening the door, Alistair slid into the well furnished room. Reiss' back was to him, her head tipped down as she sat on the vanity bench. She must not have heard him as she didn't look over, her hands worrying something in front of her. Closing the door softly, Alistair yanked up his hair and said, "I spoke with Lanny. She's near Lothering and heading out towards..."

His words faded as Reiss sat up fast. She turned over to look at him with eyes as red as blood. The tears wouldn't stop, silently pooling down her cheeks. In her shifting, the blanket she threw over her back fell off to reveal she was topless. Both of her hands were worrying her breast as if trying to unscrew it from her chest.

"Reiss...?" Alistair stumbled towards her, his hand cupping against her naked shoulder.

"It," she sucked in the pooling despair to try and get a word out, "without Myra they're...in agony. I don't know what to do! I need my baby to suck them dry. To release this pressure, but it's...I'm sorry." She whipped her head away as if she'd failed in any way.

"Oh, Reiss," he wrapped his hands around her, pulling her face towards his chest in a hug.

"I have to clear it...or infection might. They hurt so bad and all I want is. Maker damn it, all I want is my baby!" She exploded into sobs, her face crushing into his chest while Alistair soothed back her hair. He had nothing to say to fix this, his own heart broken. Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he tried to envelope the woman he loved tight into his embrace. The despair she swallowed for an entire day erupted from her, tears staining his chest and her lips wailing for the child stolen from them.

Alistair was scared to think of Myra, to dwell upon her for more than a moment because...because it may be all they had left. The memory of her tiny hands clinging to theirs, her happy laugh, those bight green eyes gazing up in wonder. Her hatred of socks and need to kick all her blankets into a wad at the bottom of the crib.

Oh Maker!

He began to bawl too, his salty tears dripping into Reiss' hair while she moaned against him. She was stepping back, the armor slotting into place, just as Alistair came undone yet again. When Reiss lifted away from him, he tipped his head up to try and hide his despair. But she gripped onto his cheeks and tugged him down to her. Butting her forehead against his, they both cried together, admitting that neither of them were made of stone.

"What if we...?"

"We'll find her!"

"If it's too late?"

"We'll ride faster!"

Impossible to know who said which, both parents playing optimist and pessimist in equal measure while the winds shifted below them. The only reason either of them were still standing was the rage burning in their hearts. The only reason they didn't turn feral from the anger was the hope that they'd see Myra again. Reiss could cover her chubby cheeks in kisses and Alistair would mash all her hair straight up until it wafted back and forth like wheat fields.

Reiss was the first to come back from their sorrow fugue. She didn't wipe the tears off her cheeks, her hands busy trying to knead away the pain in her breasts. "You said Lana has a plan?"

He rolled his eyes hard at that, needing to take his anger out on someone. The fact Lanny wasn't here to shout him down for it helped immeasurably. "When doesn't she have a plan? They should have named her Plannema Plannerson, the Queen of Plans. I..." Alistair stumbled at Reiss' fingers cupping against the scruff on his cheek. He'd started this with a fresh shave in anticipation of some stupid little holiday that didn't matter. Nothing did until they saved Myra and punished...

"I know Lanny. She thinks she can fix this, get Morrigan to see reason." Maybe it was for the best to let her deal with the witch. Assuming their baby was safe, that she was returned unharmed and no demons inside of her or in her future, then...what was the point of caring what happened to Morrigan?

Reiss went quiet a moment, her hand flexing into a fist and releasing. "Do you think she would retaliate when I slit the witch's throat?"

"I don't..." The good, chantry boy Alistair convinced himself he was wanted to talk Reiss down, to tell her that revenge never solved anything. The spiteful creature he knew existed inside of him, that cut down Loghain without thought for how the traitor could still serve Ferelden, refused. "We can stop Lanny. If not me, her husband won't be happy about protecting a witch. Templars, finally good for something. Who knew?"

She nodded her head a moment, then winced from the pain. Reiss yanked up a washcloth and tried to rub steaming hot water over her breasts, but if it was helping she gave no signs. The pain was so excruciating, her fingers began to shake and the cloth slipped free, but Alistair caught it and carefully pressed against her skin. What had once been soft and pliant pillows felt like hard rocks, hot as a fire.

"Reiss," he swallowed, afraid that this could lead to something dangerous if not dealt with.

"I don't know what to do. Maker take me, but I could express some of it if I had Myra. She sometimes gets distracted and thinks eating is boring. Yet I'm apparently making enough milk to feed the Alienage."

"Eating boring? Are you certain that's my daughter?" Alistair tried to laugh, tried to get the mother in monumental pain to laugh. She did at least roll a side eye at him. Small progress. Dunking the washcloth back into the water, Alistair cupped his palm to her cheek, "What do you need me to do?"

"It's..." she bit her lip an idea in her head but she seemed unwilling to voice it. "If you could, um, prime the pump so to speak I think I could get enough out to calm the burn."

"Prime the...?" Alistair squinted, fully confused, when it hit him.

"Please don't make say it. I don't think I could take it if I had to--."

"Shh," he reached over and swooped his hands around her for a hug, "it's okay. It's not that weird." At that Reiss glared at him, but he held his hands up, "Believe me, the stuff I read in reports from the spymaster would turn your hair white. Why do you think I'm so grey already. I'll tell you a few of the really depraved ones involving a scarecrow and three golden nugs after I'm finished."

Trying to put any sense of this being both awkward and sexual out of his mind, Alistair focused only on helping her. Still... He kissed her on the lips, sweet and soft, before taking her nipple in his mouth and sucking. It must have been instinct that Reiss began to play with his hair, needing to unweird this connection between them while he tried to manage something even infants could. She wished it was Myra, he wished it was Myra, but it couldn't be. Not yet.

When the first drops of milk landed on his tongue, he rose up. Reiss took over quickly, trying to knead her breasts to dribble more out. It didn't spray the way a cow's did, more splattered across her naked stomach and thighs. Alistair snatched up the washcloth and tried to clean up the life-giving mess as she cleared it from her flesh. Neither spoke, just watched and tended to a case of bodies being bodies.

It wasn't until the first breast calmed, that Reiss spoke. She didn't look up from her chest, but he could hear the tears in her words. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to...this is all my fault. If I'd only listened to..."

"It's okay," Alistair dropped to his knees and wrapped himself tight to her stomach in a hug, "Don't blame yourself. This is Morrigan's doing. Blame the witch. Who we will find. She can't run from a phylactery, she can't hide from it. And...we'll find our daughter. We'll hug her, and kiss her, and tickle her until she farts."

That got Reiss to laugh a moment, her tears slowing but not stopping. "If we'd stayed at the palace..."

"Morrigan would have found a way in. It's what she does, she's always been a sneaky witch thief."

"When this is over she'll be a dead witch thief," Reiss vowed, her soul dark with purpose.

Alistair nodded, staggering higher on his knees to try and look in her eyes. "Count on it," he promised. Whatever was to come, whatever the Maker had in store for their baby, at the end of it would be his and her blades covered in Morrigan's blood. That was the only thing he was certain of in his heart.

"Now," he tried to smile, his foolish face back in place, "I believe there is one more pump I have to prime."

"You're terrible," Reiss snickered, even while turning to give him access.

"That wasn't my euphemism. Do you want to know what it tastes like?" he asked even while locking his lips around her.

"Maker's sake, no. Why would I care?" she laughed, grateful for anything to break away the doom over their heads. After a breath, Reiss brushed her hands over his hair and whispered, "I love you."

He loved her too, but had his mouth a little too full to tell her.

## CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

#### Confrontation

In the distance, Lana spotted the tell tale sign of royal guards doing their best to pretend they're not. They'd been far enough back it was unlikely Morrigan spotted them coming, but still, leaving a banner out wasn't wise. Why was it so difficult to convince those practically bred with protocol in their veins to let it go once in awhile? She gestured to Cullen then tugged her horse towards the cave Alistair tracked Morrigan to. Lana was traveling relatively light, leaving her husband to carry both their belongings and son. Thank the Maker their baby was such a good traveler and the weather was on their side for this. She didn't know what she'd have done otherwise.

Tugging the horse to a slow trot, Lana eased her closer towards the circle of well armed soldiers. They all spotted her first, each man standing at attention, when she called out, "Alistair?"

The guards turned in a pack to their King, each one flinching at her using their royal monarch's proper name, but Alistair looked up and smiled. It was a pained one, the teeth gritted to keep from screaming, but he was trying. "Lanny, thank the Maker you made it." He rose from his haunches, then offered a hand to the woman beside him. Reiss looked less like a grief stricken woman, more a soldier sent on a suicide mission. Her fingers strangled the grip of a sword, the shoulders hunched as she kept focused upon the underbrush.

Alistair grabbed onto Lana's horse to try and silence its stomping hooves, "We've got all our mounts further away so as not to tip off...to keep quiet," he needlessly explained before glancing over at Cullen. "And you brought backup," Alistair said quickly. She braced herself for whatever insult he had brewing, but he tipped his head to her husband and spat out a curt, "Good."

Cullen dismounted on his own, while Alistair helped Lana off. "What's the situation?"

"Morrigan's inside," he sneered, "stopped moving about a day ago. Just arrived ourselves. Been scouting for signs of traps outside but nothing."

"She just stopped here for a day?" Lana rustled up under her saddle bag and yanked out the cane Cullen made her. This one lit up bright red when she activated it, the veins of magic thicker than anything she'd ever had before. It seemed a strange fate that the templar was becoming quite a skilled enchanter.

Reiss drew closer to them, her face cast in shadow from a hood tucked up, but even through the darkness Lana could see pain etched deep in her eyes like lyrium in the stone. "We know what you're thinking."

"That Morrigan's aware we're following her and has set up defenses inside that cave to take us out," Lana filled in.

The elf nodded, "It's why we waited for you. Backup." Her eyes flared with murderous vengeance until a baby's gurgle drew all eyes towards Cullen's back. Gavin must have roused from his nap, the child a natural at riding on horseback. Freed from the rhythmic pounding of hooves that lulled him to sleep, he seemed ready to face this bright new world.

Lana scurried over to him, tugging apart the hood to find amber eyes staring up. "You should stay sleeping," she whispered to her baby. Chubby hands lashed out, knotting into her wind mussed hair.

"You're certain the witch is inside?" Cullen took over asking questions while Lana fussed with their baby. She moved to yank Gavin out, when she turned and spotted Reiss. The poor woman appeared as if she'd been pulverized from the inside out, tears unable to drip down sealed off ducts, leaving her eyes red with rage and sorrow. Turning back to her boy, Lana lifted up a sleep spell. She didn't use it on him often, though Maker how she wished to, but this was not the time for him to be passed around to new hands and cooed at.

"Alistair?" Cullen continued.

Her old friend shook his head and pinched into his eyes. "If you have no faith in my skills, why not come out and just say it? There's no reason to go dancing around the subject, unless you've got a pretty skirt with bells on in that saddlebag."

Cullen growled softly, which Lana disarmed by rubbing his arm. He wasn't happy about being summoned across country, but he put up no fight in racing to rescue their child. "I was only curious if Morrigan was using one of her elven mirrors to try and escape us."

"Here," Alistair dropped an ink bottle pulsing red into Cullen's hand. "Feel for yourself."

Her husband took a moment, his eyes shutting tight while he gripped against the glass. "You're correct, she is inside."

"Does she know we're here?" Lana asked.

Both templars turned to tell her, "It doesn't work like that." Then glared at each other for speaking the same thought.

"We know where she is, why are we not heading inside to find her?" Reiss snarled, her arm rotating around with her extended sword. The blade sliced through the air with enough force it drew the attention of the guards.

"Plans are a good thing. I like plans, they keep your kidneys on the inside of your body," Ali was babbling. It was a wonder he'd kept Reiss pinned in place long enough for Lana and Cullen to arrive. She looked as if she intended to rip Morrigan's throat out with her teeth. A small part of Lana couldn't blame her, but...there had to be some reason for all of this. Morrigan wasn't nice, that's a given, but she wasn't unnecessarily cruel either. She moved with purpose, they simply didn't know what that purpose was.

"I'll go first," Lana spoke up. Cullen raced towards her, no doubt to tell her over his dead body. She raised a hand to stop him, "Morrigan trusts me, and I can dismantle any wards she's put in place. Which there are; the veil feels like cottage cheese here."

It was her husband she expected the argument from, but Alistair leapt into his place, "We all go in together. Two templars plus a mage stand a far better chance against a witch than a single mage alone. You," he turned to his men, "remain here. Guard the entrance and if you hear us screaming come running."

"Yes, Sire!" the first guard saluted, and the others followed a half second after.

Lana pursed her lips, not happy with the arrangement. She was certain if she could talk to Morrigan alone then she'd be able to convince her to hand over the child. To find a different path. Alistair, Cullen, and a vengeful mother all but made that an impossibility.

"Something wrong, Lanny?" Ali peered down at her, a coldness warping his words. He was trying to mask his pain, but Morrigan set off the bomb inside of him. She'd always chalked Alistair up as a man with no spine and limbs of jelly. Stealing his child she was about to realize how wrong she was.

"No," Lana shook her head, "no, you're right. We all go in together."

"What do we do with Gavin?" Cullen asked, jabbing a thumb towards his back.

Lana paused. The right thing to do, the wise thing would be to leave him behind with the guards. There was also a small chance she could head in there and never see her baby again. It was foolish, it was stupid, but she wasn't going to take that risk. "Put him on my back. I'll hang back out of any fights." She tapped her foot against her cane, "I don't have a lot of choice on that."

She watched Cullen cloud over, no doubt he'd made the same tactical judgment she did. Then the fatherly smothering took hold, the fear of their baby boy being left to the care of these unknown men outside of a witch's cave. At least in their arms they'd always know if their child was safe or not. Nodding his head, Cullen began the arduous task of undoing the little baby pack and switching it over to his wife.

"Maker's sake, how much weight has he put on?" she groaned, feeling like she was about to tip backwards at the six month old. Lana meant it to be light, but Cullen's honey eyes burned pure worry into her. After checking the straps, he risked a quick kiss on her lips.

Bending forward, he whispered barely a breath above the wind, "Stay safe. Both of you."

"If you're done," Reiss hissed. She barely waited for their leave before heading into the cave. Lana glanced up at the sky, the sun on its arc down to the horizon. Squaring off against Morrigan in a potential battle to the death...why did she suddenly fear this may be the last sunset she ever saw?

The cave stopped being that about fifteen feet in. A collapse of stalactites broke through into the deep roads below. That got a groan from the two grey wardens, both of them sharing a glare before Alistair and Reiss hopped down. Cullen assisted Lana, her cane hobbling against the ramp made of broken stone. Getting back up that thing was going to be an even bigger nightmare.

"This looks annoyingly familiar," Alistair said, his lips pursed in a whistle.

"You think we're near Cadash Thaig?" Lana asked, already well aware of his thoughts, "But that's further north. This is a section of the roads that diverged deeper towards...it doesn't matter." It looked much the same, grooves beside the walls properly lit up by lava light. The stone itself was a bit darker than the stuff up north, an aspect Lana caught on to to help navigate these things.

"All I care about is if there are any darkspawn around?" Reiss hissed.

Lana tipped her head to the side, the taint whispering no more than it usually did when she entered the deep. "No, nothing near here. Which makes me think that Morrigan is truly here." She shared a glance with Ali, both of them knowing that keeping the deep roads purged of darkspawn was no easy feat.

All Reiss heard was that her enemy was near. Squeezing her hand hard enough against the leather grip it squeaked, she growled out, "Good."

They didn't run into traps until midway down the roads, the blockage offering up only one proper route. Lana lashed her hand out to grab onto Reiss' arm and held her steady. "Ice wards," she hissed.

"I have this," Cullen stepped forward. He tipped his head down and a wave of dispelling erupted from his body. It caused a twinge of nausea to knot up Lana's stomach while the other two seemed unaffected. "One down," he said, no sense of bragging in his speech.

"Maker only knows how many more to go," Alistair added on.

Continuing onward the roads tipped at an angle, as if the very earth below them began to slide. Lana had to lash a hand out to the wall to keep upright, barely moving as the rest all gritted their teeth and hunched onward. Why would Morrigan head into the deep? What was she hiding from? She turned and caught the King of Ferelden flexing his fingers tighter and tighter to the sword at his belt. Aside from a vengeful father. Alistair's power never concerned her but something else must have. No sane person would flee into darkspawn territory if they had no choice.

Lana knew better than to voice her thoughts, her head tipped down as she kept her eyes focused on the divots and bumps in the road. She was reduced to shuffling her feet, knowing that a fall would hurt not only her but her baby. Sometimes Cullen would glance over, concern evident, but he wouldn't say anything. He was probably saving up all of his nagging worries for when everyone was safe.

The roads turned a corner to reveal a cramped hallway. "I'm not sensing any wards," Lana announced just before Reiss all but ran ahead. She wasn't in a waiting kind of mood apparently. Barely any light flickered here, the lava somehow dampened or rerouted. Beneath their boots, the ground cracked like stepping over broken pottery, too dark to see what they trod upon. Carefully, Lana lifted up a hint of flame against her fingers and they all gasped.

Dozens of dead skeletal bodies lay scattered upon the ground like cards blown off the table. Heaped in what looked like three piles, heads and limbs knotted around each other without thought for how they fell.

"Right, that's not ominous at all," Alistair moaned, shifting his head back and forth to try and chase away the rising willies they all felt. Eyeless sockets gazed up at the King from a skull he nearly put his boot through. "Why are there so many dead bodies here?" he whined, sliding further inward but now making certain to not step on any fingers.

"This witch's doing?" Cullen asked.

"They're not darkspawn," Alistair said. "And some of these are ancient. It's almost like she," he bent down, bringing his face closer to the insect-eaten leathers that clung to cobwebbed bones, "brought 'em here for decoration."

Reiss snarled, "Forget it. We have to keep..."

Perhaps she tripped a trigger Lana missed, or they'd crossed deep enough into the trap, but the entire pile of corpses took a breath. It wasn't air they pulled into the long dissolved lungs, but magic. The veil cracked apart as every shattered leg bone connected to pulverized hip bones until the skeleton army began to rise to its feet.

"You have got to be kidding me," Alistair groaned, drawing his sword. The four trained warriors squared off, each taking on their own set of skeletons. Alistair swung first, his blade cleaving a skull off shoulders, but it didn't do much to slow the skeleton down.

Cullen took the battering ram approach, smashing a shield into the ribcage until the arms, weapons, and skull splattered onto the floor. "Why is it always undead?"

"Sometimes it's tainted undead," Alistair threw in, beginning to mimic Cullen's style. The well practiced templar knew a thing or two about dealing with demons.

"You have to be joking," Cullen whipped his sword through a spine, severing it, then turned to Alistair.

He shrugged, "On that one I wish. I really, really do. Hey, Lanny..."

His call went unheeded as she ripped apart the veil with one hand and swung her cane at another skeleton. Fire lanced from the tip, lighting up desiccated cotton and flesh like a wick. For a moment the skeleton panicked, its skinless hands trying to pat out the fire, but then it turned towards her. The flaming undead marched closer, uncaring about its own body cracking and popping from the heat.

"Lana..." Cullen cried, attempting to turn back to rescue her. But he couldn't get close to the fire.

Smiling, she rolled her fingers and lanced enough ice to freeze a lake solid at the thing. The skeleton blew back at the force, then erupted into millions of bone shards as it splattered against the wall. "All right," Lana twisted her cane around like a baton, "who's next?"

She prepared another spell on her fingertips when a skeleton hand lanced out from behind. Dodging downward, Lana jabbed her cane back and let a thunderbolt explode from the end. It was enough to send the skeleton flailing backwards. The sounds of bones scrabbling against stone were suddenly met with a happy gurgle.

"Gavin?" she tried to spin around to check on her boy, but that only whipped him to face his father and 'uncle' in combat. "Sweetie, this, um..." Lana waved her hands and, drawing forth the pressure of a mountain, flattened the skeleton she barely electrocuted. "This isn't normal. Mommy doesn't usually fight undead. Well, not anymore."

Her baby gurgled again, practically laughing at all the funny corpses dancing at the end of blades. Great, this was certain to warp him. _You're terrified of the dark? Probably because when you were six months old I fought a legion of skeletons with you strapped to my back. Sweet dreams, kid._ Barely into this and she was already in the running for thedas' worst mother.

Twisting back around, Lana marched backwards towards the wall to hide Gavin from the skeletons and keep his potential trauma to a minimum. Reiss sliced a head off, then two pairs of arms, and finally leg. As the skeleton tumbled to the ground, she smashed her heel into the skull.

"I think that's the last of 'em," she panted, wiping sweat off her forehead and nodding at Alistair.

They both moved to continue onward, when Lana felt the veil knotting itself into a bow. If she concentrated she could see the fade itself like blue light lancing out of the hole deeper into the ground. _Oh shit!_

Dirt erupted from below them, hands and legs bursting from the grave Morrigan dug to hide the second wave. The four leapt towards the sides of the hallway as the ground exploded, holes left where they'd been standing. "Seriously?!" Reiss groaned, twisting her shoulder back into position in preparation of beginning again.

"I love you, Reiss, but this is why we never say 'That's the last of 'em,'" Alistair eyed her up from the other side of the room. Reiss stood beside Lana, deeper in, her eyes hunting the room in preparation of leaping into the fray. Both Cullen and Ali looked ready to charge as well.

"Everyone freeze," Lana ordered. She twisted the fade through her body, feeding more of herself and the power into the spell winding up her arm.

"Uh, Lanny," Ali tipped his head towards the skeletons staggering up to their feet, "undead and all. Kinda got to..." His eyes lit up as he realized what the blue orb building on her hand was. "Get down," he ordered, waving at Reiss.

The elf eyed him up but obeyed, taking a knee. Cullen followed suit too, but he kept his sword within striking distance. The skeletons all twisted like leaves on a bonfire, their limbs shedding dust the way Honor would fur come spring. She had to wait until they were all up. A few stragglers were still bent over, getting their femurs in place, but the others were advancing. Dementedly grinning skulls pivoted unnaturally upon the spines, the cracking of bone striking the air as they all moved towards the crouching humans.

"Lanny...if you're going to do it. I mean, now'd probably be good. Or, in a few seconds. I'd prefer before we're dead."

"This is idiotic," Reiss growled, she inched forward, about to rise to her legs.

"Get down!" Alistair called at her just as the last of skeletons staggered up.

Releasing the ball of pure cold, the air erupted into freezing ice blasts in nearly 360 degrees. Only the caster was spared, the chill nipping right above the heads of the others who upon feeling it freeze their hair solid dropped stomachs to the ground. The skeletons fared no better, every limb now iced tight to every socket. Their bodies were so brittle a single punch would shatter them.

Lana sucked in a breath and then glanced around at her people. Tipping her head towards them, she said, "Well, get to it."

Cullen rose first, his shield bashing into a frozen skeleton and sending ice chunks of bone and human jerky meat glistening into the air. Second behind him was Alistair, while Lanny turned her cane around and whacked the walking end into the closest skeleton. The ribs crunched in half, another whack breaking the spine until it tipped over and fell dead. They'd have this handled in no time.

Which was when she turned over and noticed a hole where the elf should be. "Where's Reiss?" she spoke up when she felt the veil being prodded apart. Not here, deeper inside the thaig. "Shit, Alistair, Reiss has gone to confront Morrigan alone!"

"Are you fucking...? Of course she did, she's..." he snarled, a good ten skeletons remaining to pulverize.

"Go, go save her. I have this," Lana scurried backwards towards the end of the hall and a cavern where Morrigan must be waiting. Alistair wiped human goo off his cheek and nodded at her before hoofing it after Reiss. "Cullen," she called to her husband, directing him to stand behind her.

He fell into place but kept his eyes upon the slowly thawing threats. "Lana, what are you...?"

Dipping deep into a rather esoteric but not forgotten magic, Lana enveloped the fade itself around the ground and then quickly smashed it and all the skeletons against the ceiling. Yanking the fade away, the dirt rained down while a few of the skulls and ribcages remained jammed onto stalactites.

Her husband squeezed a hand against her shoulder, his eyes wide in surprise at her power. She prayed it wasn't fear. Slowly sheathing his sword, he whispered, "I wonder why I worry about you sometimes."

"How's our baby?" she spun back to let Cullen have a quick check.

"Giggling like crazy, which I assume comes from you," he added before replacing the hood.

Nodding at Gavin being safe, Lana drove more healing through her legs, then followed after Reiss and Alistair. They had to turn down a narrow hallway, which emerged into what must have once been the dwarven equivalent of a mansion. Fires not of this world burned against the sides, casting everything in a haunting blue glow. It was well carved into the stone, a true marvel to behold no doubt, but her eyes were upon the woman in the middle of the room. Dressed in all black save a bit of burgundy around her chest, Morrigan held something tight in her arms while the other waved at Reiss.

The elf had dashed forward fast, her sword extended back to cut the witch down, but at the last second Morrigan must have paralyzed her body. That was the scene Alistair came upon, his eyes narrowing as he shouted, "You'll pay for everything you've done."

Whipping his sword into position, he too charged towards Morrigan. The witch sighed, tipping her head back, then blasted another attack at him. But Alistair must have been practicing harder on his skills as he deflected the spell and advanced quicker. _Maker, damn it!_ Lana hobbled faster towards them, pumping all the healing she could into her legs to let her run a bit faster. If she didn't catch up in time someone was going to die.

Alistair placed a hand to his chest and a wave of dispelling erupted from him, it was enough to knock Morrigan back a step and also free Reiss. The elf barely missed a beat as her body returned to her. Spinning up on her foot, she drew her blade back to strike when the witch yanked a dagger from her bracer and dangled it towards the bundle in her arms.

"One more step and the child dies," her voice echoed through the cavern.

Both parents all but collapsed, their attacks falling apart as they stared hard at a little peach head prodding out through the blankets. The baby was quiet, almost deathly so, but when the dispelling magic reached her she began to fuss. Myra's cries caused Reiss to stumble to a knee, her lips blubbering, "My baby." Snarling, she shot back up, nearly beside Morrigan. "I will gut you like a fish."

"Then I will kill the baby," she said, tipping her head.

"If you hurt one hair on her head, I swear to the Maker and anyone else listening, Morrigan that I will have you begging for death," Alistair didn't drop his sword, his weapon rising higher with his threat. Reiss followed suit, vengeance burning in her green eyes. Not to be outdone, Morrigan slipped her dagger closer to Myra.

"For the love of Andraste," Lana hobbled forward, "will you all calm down a moment!"

At her appearance, Morrigan's sneer faded and she glanced over almost in surprise at Lana. "You I did not expect."

"Nor did I expect for you to start kidnapping children. Is that not supposed to be your mother's purview?"

"Ha," Morrigan tossed her head back, the sneer of indignity back in place, "you know nothing of me, Warden. Not who I am, nor what I am capable of." She turned from her only possible friend in the room to glare over at Cullen entering the fray as well. "And I see you brought another templar to my doorstep. Wonderful. It's been a few years since I've had to fight any off."

At that he went rigid, Cullen's lion stare winnowing down on the witch. Lana gripped onto his arm, trying to keep his sword in the scabbard. The last thing they needed was to make this standoff worse. "Morrigan," she honed in on the witch, "why are you doing this?"

"Because she's evil, Lanny. You don't need another reason."

Morrigan rolled her eyes at Alistair, "As obtuse as always. 'Tis a wonder Ferelden didn't return to its state of barbarism under your tutelage."

"Says the witch that's ripping children from their cradles. Sounds like you fell right out of a fairy story, you know the one where the good knight rams his sword straight through the evil witch's cold, dead heart then heads home the hero." Alistair didn't back down at Morrigan's venom, didn't try to laugh it away or cower as he had all those years ago. She failed to account for the young adult she once knew hardening from life into a man.

"You speak better than I remember, influence from a dozen tutors to the spittle soaked King I imagine, but it changes nothing. I have your child, and if you make one move upon me, she will die." Morrigan's yellow eyes whipped around the group but kept landing right back upon Alistair. _Why?_ Reiss was more of a threat, the woman close enough she might get in before the witch had a chance to strike. What about this was so personal?

"Why his daughter?" Lana spoke up, trying to get this back on track. She was never a negotiator, darkspawn not known for waving a white flag, but she could tell when things were tipping south fast. Morrigan whipped her head to Lana; her eyes narrowed but the bite softening. The others turned to her as well, everyone hoping for someone to find an answer.

"There are hundreds of infants across Ferelden, thedas itself. Why did you take Alistair's?"

Morrigan snickered a moment, her head tipping down as she stared at the bundle in her arms she was threatening. "Astute as always, Amell. It was hard to get much past you." When she glanced up, Lana gasped at tears, honest to the Maker tears, trickling in the witch's eye. "It is...my son," Morrigan turned to the side and twisted her head to point towards what looked like an altar. A body lay across it, dark hair cushioned by a silk pillow while the chest barely stirred.

She expected to see a child, but, no, it was nearing twenty years since the blight. This boy had to be in his eighteenth year or so. Practically a man, nearly the same age Lana was when she saved the world. Morrigan whipped back fast, her eyes first darting over Reiss, who was trying to inch closer to save her baby, before landing upon Lana.

"He is dying and the only thing that can save him is the blood of the mother," she gestured the dagger at herself, "and the blood..." Morrigan turned her eyes upon Alistair and the edge of her lips ticked upward, "of the father." She glanced quickly at Reiss, clearly expecting something, but the elf only glared at her baby. Reiss had eyes for no one else. "No surprise? No shock? No belabored argument of how that witch could have a child same as your...bedwarmers?"

"Maker's sake, Morrigan," Lana groaned.

Reiss stared right into her eyes as if she was facing down a lion. "He already told me," she sneered, surprising Morrigan.

"Told her what?" it was Cullen who stuttered, lost at the information. "You...your boy was," he whipped over to Alistair who froze, terrified to do anything that could hurt Myra, "was his?"

"Ah yes, I remember you now. The mangey Commander set on his quest of redemption in the Inquisition. Amell, do not tell me this is what you chose? Out of every option in..."

Lana flicked a single ice pick against Morrigan's cheek, only strong enough to sting, but it shut her up. "This is not the time for such stupidity!" she screamed at Morrigan but in her head she was screaming at herself. She never told Cullen because it wasn't her secret to give and now...Maker's sake, this was a mess. "Give us the baby."

"Then my son dies," Morrigan hissed. "Or does that mean nothing to you? He was a means to your end, or rather your un-end, Warden. And you," she jerked her chin, her hawk gaze honing in on Alistair, "How little do you care for the fate of your first child? Does it mean nothing in comparison to the second?"

Alistair wrung his hands tighter against the sword, a growl rumbling up his throat while he stared dead set upon Myra. Her little hand broke from the blankets, trying to reach up to touch the deadly knife that was about to spill her blood. That threat seemed to shake Alistair and he snarled, "Take my blood, then. Spare her... Please."

The witch wobbled a moment at the heartbreaking please, before digging her fingers tighter to the dagger. "Your blood is tainted, useless. I would save my son only to doom him to the blight. No, it must come from an untainted source, a child carrying her father's same. Do you think this was my first choice? That I didn't try everything I could?"

"How convenient for you to need a child off of Alistair the moment she comes into being," Reiss spat, her fingers aching to snatch her baby free.

"Fate can be kind and also cruel," Morrigan sighed. The baby in her arms began to fuss, a few more cries beginning when she heard her mother. For a brief second Morrigan glanced down at the big green eyes filling with tears, before she sneered and stared out at all of them. "What shall it be, King? Or you...gutter rat? Does one child die tonight, or two?"

"You will not hurt her, Morrigan," Alistair swore.

"And you are hardly in a position to stop me."

"For the love of Andraste," Lana hissed. Stomping forward, she stepped in between the witch and the King. For a second Morrigan dipped the knife closer to Myra as if she feared Lana would snatch her away, but she extended her empty hands. "Do you really think you'll get away with this Morrigan? You kill that child and we will cut you down." She stared right into those eyes and sneered, "All of us."

"You may attempt it," she said, but the cockiness wavered at Lana's warning. She was trying to be reasonable, but if Morrigan crossed that line she'd strike back with everything inside of her. And Morrigan had to taste how much power Lana was trolling out of the fade; it was building so fast her fingers were sparking.

"And even if, big if, you stop us all, there are Ferelden guards right outside the cave. They will rush in, and they will stop you while you're busy attempting to save your son. They will kill you, or Kieran. Perhaps both. Murdering Myra is no answer," Lana began to reach out her empty hand, hoping Morrigan would see reason.

"Then what is? I doom my son to death without trying? Because you dared to grow attached to this mewling creature?" She was trying to scamper back her emotions, the mother lion only focusing on her own. "If you care so much about bringing another mouth into this world, make another. You seem to have stumbled into the mechanics eventually."

"Lanny," Alistair whispered from behind her, "step back."

"No, by the void, I will not let you two..."

"Step back, because I don't want to go through you to save my daughter. But I will if I have to." She caught sight of the twist of his sword from behind her, Alistair moving into a position. But he wasn't fast enough, he'd never dice up Morrigan before she'd kill their baby. And she'd do it. Perhaps she didn't want to, but she had clearly weighed the price of her son's life over this unknown infant's.

"By the void you will go through my wife," Cullen snarled, unsheathing his sword and stepping towards Alistair.

"I'll kill the witch myself," Reiss spoke over the both of them. "One cut, finish what I started on the thigh," she jabbed a finger towards a bandage wrapped against Morrigan's leg. "Maybe a gut wound, make it linger."

"Try it, flat ear," the witch hissed, "and you'll learn why your people failed."

Lana twisted her hands, the fade responding to her rising anger by zapping energy like tiny lightning storms off her fingers. Tipping her head back, she screamed, "I will help you!"

Every threat stopped, every head turning to her as they were uncertain who she was offering assistance to. "Morrigan, I will help you save Kieran. I've always been the better healer, and I've learned matters of medicine beyond what the tower ever taught. If... I will help you revive your son if you return Myra to her parents. Now."

The witch drew her shoulders back, her posture switching to one of ease, "And why would you do that? Why would you agree to stay and help me?"

"Because I have a son of my own," Lana stuck out her chin and watched Morrigan's jaw drop. Spinning to the side, Lana revealed Gavin's little head to the witch. "If we have a deal, then hand over the baby and no one has to die here."

She paused, no doubt weighing over the obstacles in her path. Morrigan set up traps meant to catch a vengeful mother and father, she failed to calculate that Alistair would get his garrison involved or call upon the Hero of Ferelden. In combat, she might best Reiss, but two templars could easily disarm her before she'd do anymore damage. The only prevailing question was if baby Myra would survive any of it. The only reason Lana was willing to cut this option for them all.

"Very well," Morrigan said and drew back the dagger. Reiss dashed forward and yanked Myra out of her arms before the witch even had time to blink. Both parents huddled around their baby, tears falling anew as they gazed upon her turning to all smiles at her mother's face.

"You're safe," Reiss whispered, snuggling her baby tight against her cheek, "Mummy's here, Daddy's here too. We won't let anything bad happen to you..." Her weepy voice faded and one of steel slotted into place, "ever again." Even with her daughter in her arms, Reiss marched towards Morrigan with her sword out.

Lana tried to wave for Alistair to stop her, but it was Morrigan who did. She didn't flinch at the attack, didn't even raise her hands. Folding them across her chest, Morrigan said, "Oh, I should have mentioned, I put a curse on your child. If I do not reset it once every twenty four hours, then she will die."

Reiss skidded to a halt, her eyes darting down to the baby who didn't look at all like she carried a death sentence over her head, "You..."

"Bitch!" Lana whipped her head over at her, "You'd put a death hex upon an infant?!"

"It's far more complicated than that, Amell. Do not think you, nor your templars can easily dispel it. So," Morrigan slapped her hands together, "you're all free to leave whenever you want. You're correct, it's doubtful I could stop you all on my own. But if you want that child to live, I wouldn't venture too far. I will not release her from the curse until mine awakens and is safe."

Cuddling her baby tighter to her cheek, Reiss tried to soothe down the back and mussed up hair of the child unaware of the ticking clock over her head. Alistair wrapped himself around the pair of them, but he glared at the witch that effectively trapped the six of them in the deep roads for Maker knew how long.

Cullen approached Lana, a hand skirting under her elbow to try and take her weight. She shook off the fade arcing under her fingers and all but collapsed into his arms. "What do we do?" he asked, his eyes widening.

"Set up camp," Lana said, staring around at what was to become their new home, "while I get to work."

## CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

#### Now What?

For an hour, Reiss refused to let Myra leave her arms. Even as the baby swung her head around trying to spot these new strangers, even as she slapped into her mother's hands impatiently wishing to be set free -- Reiss clung to her child while whispering prayers of gratitude to anyone listening.

Myra was alive.

The next step was making her safe.

Alistair clung close, constantly fussing with his daughter's hair as if he had to get it just right. Every time he'd lift her wheat hair skyward, Myra would swipe an arm across it ruining his work. It became a game, the daughter destroying what her father created. He didn't groan, didn't grimace, just got back to it a small smile on his face.

She was alive.

She wasn't hurt and wasn't really hungry. Reiss tried a bit, and while Myra took in a few samples she didn't gorge herself the way her mother feared. For the past two nights, Reiss lived in fear of her baby starving because there was no one to fill her belly. The witch must have done something to her...

"I know that look," Alistair whispered beside her ear.

Reiss jerked her chin towards the witch. She'd shuffled the Hero deeper into her stolen abode, Lana left beside a giant stack of books while Morrigan took a knee beside the body of her son. At this distance it was hard to tell if he was really alive. It would be so easy for someone to smother the nose and mouth, finish off this stalemate quickly and let everyone return to their lives.

"She'll pay," Reiss said. Myra shuffled in her hands, wanting down badly but her mean mother wasn't ready to let go.

"Yeah..." Alistair's eyes trailed from the witch down to the boy. But that wasn't a boy, he was practically a man now. A man who would make his own decisions, live his own life away from whatever created him. The sins of the mother... Reiss wanted to be cold enough to finish this off herself, but technically that boy was her child's only true brother.

"My squirmy worm," Alistair rubbed into Myra's back, her big green eyes fixing on his nose before she smiled wide. "Maker, I feared I'd never see that again," he began to weep even while returning the grin with his Wheaty. Cupping his hands to her chubby cheeks, Alistair bonked his forehead into hers and said, "Never run away with scary witches ever again. You promise me?"

Myra giggled at her daddy being silly and then paddled her hands out to smack into his nose. "I'm going to hold you to that promise," he said. The tears stopped, but Alistair didn't reach up to dry away the evidence.

"Here," Reiss slipped Myra into his arms, "I think it's your turn now."

Quick to snuggle her to his chest, Alistair buried his face into the top of Myra's fine hair, no doubt more tears falling as he felt the full weight of her. It seemed a cruel trick of the mind to have their baby back until Reiss was holding her, having to adjust for the grabby hands wanting to explore everything. "I love you, you know. Mummy and Daddy were," he glanced up a moment at Reiss and grabbed onto her freed hand. "We were scared without you. And now I don't know if I'm going to tell her this story every single day until she's sick of it, or never mention it again."

Reiss slid closer to him, laying her head upon his shoulder while hugging both. She wished it could be a fun story about the time their little girl went for a trip across the country, but it wasn't over yet. There was a curse hanging over Myra's head, and as much sway as Lana seemed to have over the witch, she doubted the witch was very patient.

"You are doing everything you can to slide out of my arms, kid," Alistair groaned, succumbing to the same wiggling that nearly tipped Reiss over. When Myra had a mind to something, she'd do it, and right now she wanted to explore this old dwarven ruin. "Tell ya what, how about I hold you, and then we all walk together? Will that work?"

Myra babbled, her favorite syllable being ay, which they always interpreted as a yes. Do you want a bath? _Ay ay ay._ Do you want to eat these mashed up peas? _Ay ay ay._ Do you want to have your parents smother you in love and attention because they feared they'd never see you again? Reiss gripped tighter to the both of them, the terror never really leaving her body. No doubt feeling it too, Alistair tried to return the hug even as their little Ay-ay kept wiggling in his arms.

"Okay, I'm walking. Now over here we have what I assume is the foyer or greeting room. This is where dwarves would stand around declaring who among them had the best beard. They'd all fight in the arena for beard honors and the losers would have to shave. Very dishonorable," Alistair babbled like a tour guide while vibrant green eyes stared around in awe. Reiss had to agree with her baby, it was impressive. Easily three, perhaps four stories high, the room stretched beyond what any family would require. Pillars propped up the tall ceiling, each one oddly shaped like people if they were made out of poorly hewn rock.

Turning to the right, Alistair led his baby into a new room with octagonal shaped doorways. It must have been important to whoever lived here because eight sided everything was in fashion. Octagon windows, doors, tables, even what may have been a bed frame. "This was probably someone's bedroom. No doubt for a dwarf that was a little obsessed with the number eight or geometry. What's geometry?" Alistair asked as Myra began to flap her arms. "Well, as I understand it, it's when a bunch of grey haired alchemists get together and in order to show who's the smartest proceed to prove that a circle is in fact round. You'd think they could just ask any kid on the street what circles are shaped like, but that'd ruin the fun, I guess. Also, never ask them to help you cheat at billiards. They get kinda icy then."

"What's through door number two?" Alistair continued onward deeper into the exploring. They emerged into another room with far too much space. Perhaps it had once been an armory, or held some ancient dwarven technology that'd long been picked clean. It would be completely forgettable save the one man struggling to lay out a blanket on the recessed floor.

After making certain the ground was properly cushioned, the Commander undid some secret strap to slide his baby carrying device around. His son began to wave his arms in excitement while the father did his best to free the boy without being slapped on accident. Reiss smiled a bit at the care he showed his boy, when she caught Myra staring at the scene. Her eyes were so wide they nearly filled her face, all movement frozen while she trailed this new person that was her size.

"Pst," Reiss whispered, jabbing an elbow at Alistair.

"Hm..." he glanced down at his daughter enraptured with the baby laying on his stomach on the blanket. "Oh, no. No, I'm telling you right now, I forbid you from falling in love with the Rutherford boy. I don't care if he came to your balcony at night to sing his devotion and a priest offered to make you both appear dead. It's not happening."

Reiss folded her arms, "I think she just wants to play. She's never really been around another baby before."

"Is that all?" Alistair moved to wipe his brow off, sliding sarcasm drops free, "Whew. Okay, kid..." He was careful to step sideways down the five steps into this recessed area of the floor. It too was octagonal shaped, about twenty feet wide and the perfect place to pin in a couple of babies. No wonder the Commander searched it out.

Cullen sat down beside his son who was patting at the ground in concentration. When he heard footsteps, he glanced up at them and surprisingly didn't wince. "Have a seat," he sighed. "Gavin's been trying to beat the floor into submission. Aren't you?"

The boy lifted his head high, trying to twist it around to find his father, but his amber eyes landed upon the baby in Alistair's hands. He froze, watching in pure curiosity as Myra landed butt first onto the blanket. Both babies stared at each other from at most four feet away, their eyes widening as they seemed to be taking in the idea of someone so much like themselves.

"I feel like there should be tumbleweeds rolling by while they dare each other to draw first," Alistair mumbled.

Perhaps it was her father's voice, or she finally snapped out of her shy spell, but Myra smiled wide and began to clap her hands in excitement. That set off Gavin, a laugh breaking as he raised up onto his hands and knees and crawled right towards their baby. Myra was enthralled with this movement and she began to bounce up and down on her butt.

"Is she crawling yet?" Cullen asked. He leaned onto his side, keeping a close watch on his son but seeming to be more at ease than he'd ever been before.

"Nope," Alistair said, "what you see is what you get. Wheaty bounces up and down like she's on a horse to get where she wants to go."

Gavin paused right before ramming his head into Myra and then pulled back to sit on his butt. Both babies resumed staring at each other, their hands almost reaching across the void to touch. Every near miss made them giggle more, as if it was all hilarious. The boy seemed set in his spot, but Myra resumed her bouncing. It wasn't always in a straight line, sometimes she'd list to the side or veer off from her intended target, but this time she hopped right towards Gavin.

"I thought here might be a good spot for him to stretch out on his stomach," Cullen said, seeming to need something to say that had nothing to do with a witch, curses, or however they'd get out of this mess.

"Myra despises tummy time," Reiss spoke up.

"Really?" the first time father was shocked that babies could be so different.

"Instant tears, gnashing of toothless jaws, the works," Alistair chuckled. His little girl had managed to swipe far enough forward her hand was patting into Gavin's chunky thigh. The slap was soft but apparently funny as she'd touch him, then he'd touch the same spot. "I think she prefers watching the world go by. And all the people."

"Not a lot of that down here," Reiss muttered, her hands bunching up into fists. When fingers bounced against hers, she looked over into Alistair's worried eyes. He probably feared she was going to do something ill thought out because of her rage. It was hard for her to not see red when looking at the witch, but Reiss had no intentions of risking her daughter's life for her vengeance.

The other father fell silent at her comment, Cullen staring hard at his son who rolled onto his back. Myra kept dipping her fingers into his mouth, which he noshed on, much to her amusement. Her string of 'ay's' returned, seeming to tell this other baby all of her wild adventures for the past two days. At that Gavin spoke up, his syllable of choice seeming to be 'da.'

Da's and Ay's overlapped each other, the pair staring in rapture at this other baby. Alistair chuckled, "Already saying dada. Impressive. Lana's influence, no doubt."

"He usually uses it to mean everything from food, to sleep, to doggie, but there does seem to be an intonation that means me," Cullen explained. Reiss didn't know the Commander well, a fact of soldier life in the Inquisition and one that Alistair helped reinforce outside of it. While she wasn't one to take a guess about the man's typical state, he seemed softened by his son. The voice was smoother and his eyes didn't have a fire she remembered at the battle in the arbor wilds.

Gavin continued to babble, when he blinked his amber eyes, then lifted his head. Sure enough a slightly different, "dada" that sounded more coherent than the others, caused Cullen to inch closer. "I'm here. You're okay," he whispered, his fingers reaching down to lightly tickle Gavin's stomach. The same dada launched from those thick baby lips and he grabbed onto Cullen's hand.

That grizzled, brash Commander who'd scare recruits straight if he accidentally gazed upon them melted into a puddle of bliss at the small contact of his son. He tipped his head down close to his boy who was too busy trying to yank a ring off to notice. "What occurred with your daughter..." Cullen whispered, glancing up at both Reiss and Alistair.

Instinctively, Alistair darted a hand around her back, holding tight. That caused Myra to turn over to stare at her father and then release some more Ays about whatever she was working on; perhaps trying to understand her wily foot. "Sorry about, you know, dragging you from your home, trapping you here until Lanny pulls off a miracle, giving us these wonderful accommodations..." Alistair waved a hand around the dwarven ruins that stank of fetid air and blood. There was a lot of blood, Reiss realized.

"No," Cullen interrupted, "it...if there comes a time when you plan to turn on the witch," he looked up into Alistair's eyes, "you have my blade."

Alistair blinked in surprise, then turned over to Reiss, "You...you'd go against your wife? Her and Morrigan are always a little--"

"If it came to it, though I suspect given time she'd see reason."

"Th..." he swallowed and reached out to the Commander with his hand. "Thank you," Alistair said gripping to his hand and shaking it. The idea of going against the woman he loved for the greater good seemed to have drained Cullen, his eyes hanging down as he watched his son. Alistair returned to holding Myra up and Reiss added her hand behind his. For a brief moment he shared a look with her, both of them so exhausted from the race, the fear, the empty victory. Perhaps they could find a bed somewhere in these ruins to curl up together in.

"What is this boy to you?" Cullen's voice broke through the hazy plan.

Alistair sat upright at it and began to tug upon his hair. "It...um, so I'm guessing Lanny didn't explain all of that mess."

The Commander's promise of help felt like a dream from the cold wrath radiating in his eyes. "No, she did not."

"Maybe it would be best to ask her."

He stared at Alistair then swung his eyes over to Reiss, "You know. He told you, thought you were worthy enough of the information."

"That's kinda of...well," Reiss tried to dance back from the accusations. Sometime while he was recovering from his gut wound, Alistair got it in his head to confess everything to her. Everything. He covered the King stuff, the few mistresses he'd sometimes run into in his day to day life, then leapt back into the Grey Warden days. Most of it was well known, battles that people still spoke of nearly two decades later. But when he told Reiss of the deal struck between his first love and a witch, she could scarcely believe it was real.

"It's," Alistair rocked his head back and forth on his neck before sighing, "complicated. Really, really complicated..." His tone dropped off and he turned to gaze back through the doorway where they left the witch, the hero, and the son. Was he feeling sorrow for this child that was made out of necessity? Oh Maker, no. Please, no. That would only mess up everything they were scrabbling for if Alistair turned to the witch's side.

"Look," Alistair honed in on Cullen, "that kid...man. Maker, I'm old. To have an eighteen year old... If it weren't for him existing, Lanny wouldn't be alive. That's all I'll say about it because we're still under watchful eyes."

The Commander did not look pleased with that, but he gritted his teeth and nodded. Sliding back, he watched his son try to stuff his fingers into his boots. Myra began to babble again, her head tipping as she turned on her seat and reached both hands to Alistair.

He chuckled at her, "What's that? You want to go for a little walk? Okay." Staggering up to his feet, he picked up both of Myra's hands and extended her upward until she too stood upon her teetering toes. Their baby giggled, a foot nudging forward to try and propel her onward, while Alistair guided her.

That drew the Commander's attention, "Your baby is already walking?"

"Walking with serious help," Reiss smiled.

"This is more staggering around like a drunk while your friends have you propped up under your armpits, but Wheaty loves it." To elucidate this fact, she began to giggle more, moving her father further along the blanket and towards the forbidden zone. Of course, Alistair let her take charge.

"Try it with Gavin," Reiss encouraged to the uncertain man.

"I've never, I admit I don't have much experience with children..." Cullen wafted back and forth.

Alistair twisted around, his back hunched while hoisting up a baby, "Ha, you think that stops me? Prod this, tickle that, naughty corner in over time, total tantrum in the middle of court. Parenting is a guaranteed failure, you can only control how hard the landing is."

The Commander seemed less than convinced, but he began to stagger to his feet. "What do I do?"

"Pick up your baby by the middle and..." Reiss began, when Alistair returned with Myra.

"Here, you take her. She's a pro at driving me around," he heaved Myra's hands into Cullen's the pair of them blinking in surprise at this new person before, sure enough, baby feet went stomping away.

With a care, Alistair hoisted Gavin up until he stood on his little legs. The King had a tight grip to the kid's chubby tummy, letting him get used to the idea of being fully vertical. "Sometimes it takes awhile for them to get the hang of keeping their feet on the ground. That one seems to only love being upright. I swear she sleeps sitting up," he laughed jerking his head to Myra.

Unaware of being any different, their baby had walked Cullen all the way to the edge of the blanket, her mouth babbling to him about all the sights they were seeing. "Seems she's already made a friend," Reiss encouraged. That was Myra, even people who swore they hated babies with a fiery passion would come under her sway. She wasn't much of a cryer unless people were yelling, and was so full of laughter Reiss often caught her sleeping with a smile on her face. Her baby, that could have been lost.

"Forgive the intrusion," Lady Amell stood at the doorway, her hands wrapped around the cane as she watched. "Oh my stars, is Gavin standing?" At that she limped quickly towards them, taking it easier on the stairs down even while her eyes were focused on the baby. He lit up bright at the appearance of his mother, wiggling up and down on those extended legs as if doing a dance for her.

"We're having a go at baby racing," Alistair chuckled, then he jerked his head towards Cullen who was trying to steer Myra back towards them.

Lana smiled at the picture, then remarked, "She's adorable. And so much like her father. Look at that smile."

"Don't I know it," Reiss sighed. "And your boy..."

"Spitting image of his father, I know. Believe me, I hear that near on every day," she inched herself lower to sit upon the stairs, placing the cane that blew apart skeletons over her lap. For a moment she stared in rapture at her husband guiding Myra around, then back to her own boy waving a foot back and forth uncertain what to do with it. "I am sorry that this is how we had to meet."

At that the facade cracked. They'd been trying to pretend everything was fine, this was a momentary setback while the two kids played together. But there was no knowing what was going to happen, nor when. For all Reiss knew she may wind up spending her entire life inside this cave all at the whim of a witch. It had the makings of a terrible fairy tale.

"Is there really a curse upon Myra?" Reiss asked, her voice drained of all emotion. If she stopped to think about it for even a moment she grew more and more likely to run into the grand hall and slit the witch's throat.

Lana tipped her head down and sighed, "Yes. I...already checked to see if Morrigan was telling the truth."

"Can you get rid of it?" Reiss asked, before turning to the two men, "Can either of you dispel it? That's what you do? Did do, right?"

There was a momentary look shared between Cullen and Alistair before they glanced down at the baby. Myra was happy to have the attention unaware of the ticking clock inside her. No one should have to face that, death at the whims of a mage just because she shared the same blood as her father. "Well?" Reiss shot up, anger snorting in her nose.

"Reiss..." Alistair reached over to try and comfort her when Lana spoke up.

"They cannot remove it, but I could..."

"Then why don't you?" she stomped towards the woman who seemed to use her magic at random times to suit her.

Lana glanced over at her husband who'd stopped marching the baby around. "Because," she shuddered in a breath, "it would require blood magic."

"No," Cullen thundered, absently yanking Myra off the ground to step closer. At that she cried, not happy about her feet leaving the field. He grimaced at the move and put her back down, but kept staring at his wife, "that is not an option. You will not..."

"Honey eyes," Lana breathed, "I have no intentions to make a deal with a demon."

So that was it. Save her daughter and she'd lose herself to possession or a demon's attentions. At this point, their only hope rested in her healing someone who seemed near death. "Tell me the truth, then," Reiss folded her fingers tight into a ball, bracing for what she feared was coming, "can you heal this boy?"

"I..." she bit into her bottom lip almost hard enough it cracked, "I don't know. This is unlike any illness I've ever seen. It's as if his body is fine, healthy, but the mind has vanished. I need books, it's why I came to find you. Alistair, I assume you can send your guards to retrieve a few things for me?"

"Ah, I completely forgot about those guys. I should probably go and tell them to not charge at the witch unless they want to be part of the stew for tonight," he glanced around, prepared to do as asked, but Gavin seemed to be happiest up on his newly discovered feet.

Reiss walked over to scoop her daughter up into her arms, leaving Cullen to hold his own baby. That caused Gavin to tip his head back and stare amber eyes up at his father. He seemed enthralled with the man, about as much as Myra was with her father. There were plenty of long nights when Reiss would find Alistair passed out on the floor and Myra attempting to put things in his snoring mouth. And that comatose boy in there never knew his, may not even have been told who his father really was.

Why did this have to be so complicated?

With the baby well in hand, Cullen began to walk Gavin towards his mother. Lana inched further to the ground, clapping her hands to encourage her son closer. They were all smiles, but they were trapped here same as Reiss and Alistair. If she hadn't offered herself to the witch, then...

Reiss snuggled Myra closer to herself, the baby's warmth and her hands tugging on her mother's hair reminding her she was alive. They had a fighting chance, and that was all Reiss ever needed. "I'm going to go try and find somewhere to take a nap," she said to the happy couple.

"If I have any news I'll find you," Lana promised. She scooted forward enough she'd wrapped one hand around Cullen's cheek and the other to Gavin. The baby found his mother's palm hilarious, turning his mouth into it and blowing a giant bubble. "Thank you, sweetheart," Lana laughed, "I could use a good cleansing right about now."

Snuggling her baby close, Reiss tugged her away from the fun people. Myra gave up a bit of a fuss, she hated missing out on the party, but exhaustion was setting in quick. A few more cranky cries erupted before the baby grew a good ten pounds in her arms thanks to sleep. Tuckered out, but very much alive, Myra twisted closer to Reiss' chest. She passed into the grand room and spotted the witch no longer in prayer beside her son but standing near a shelf full of bottles.

Her cruel eyes darted away from whatever poison she was concocting to stare daggers at Reiss. Stole her baby from her arms, threatened to bleed Myra dry to save her own child, and she couldn't even bother to say a 'sorry.' She should leave it alone, not even go near the witch, not with Myra around.

Turning on her heel, Reiss marched over to Morrigan. That caught the witch's attention and she staggered away from the bottles. Reiss wasn't trained in much magic, but she could taste the lightning bite of it rising in the air. No doubt the witch was preparing herself.

"You are to never touch my daughter, ever again," Reiss threatened.

"Making demands so soon? I suppose I should not be surprised. That's what's in the blood of most city guards," Morrigan wiped at the feathers on her shoulder, the same way she did when she stole Myra away. "Brawn before brains."

A red haze erupted behind Reiss' eyes. Leaning closer to the witch, she snarled, "Make no mistake. Before this is done, I will kill you."

The witch laughed, her head thrown back in cold amusement, "So many people have already tried."

A dagger split the wood of the shelf right beside Morrigan's head. She held still, doing her best to look unimpressed at the vibrating hilt while Reiss sneered, "I'll be the last."

## CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

#### Weakness

Alistair accepted the bundle under his arms, the pile of clean everything much appreciated. "Do I want to know where you managed to get a bunch of baby clothes and nappies out in the woods?" he asked, glancing over at the two guards who remained to try and do their King's bidding.

The first looked over at the second and scrunched his nose up, "Not really, Sire."

"That's what I figured. Well, if you stole them from a nasty witch perhaps she'll come here and fight our nasty witch thereby solving the problem." For two days they'd sat waiting inside the cave, Alistair on occasion stepping out to check in with his guys and send missives. It was his only time away from Reiss as he feared if he was gone too long she might haul off and gut Morrigan on her own.

"Your Majesty," the other guard stepped forward. They'd at least gotten smart enough to shrug off their heavy armor, the day far too hot for it. "How long do you think we shall need to linger here?"

He glanced up at the sky, gritting his teeth for when the ravens would return. No one back at home was going to be happy with his decision and...he hated having to disappoint two of them. "No idea, I'm afraid. Do what you usually do. Guard those trees and make sure that fennec over there isn't gonna sneak in and try to assassinate me."

Both guards glared at the white fox, its long ears twitching from the attention, before the animal scattered back into the forest. Tipping his head to them, Alistair returned into the deep. He found the templar prodding at a deer carcass Cullen killed, skinned, dressed, then began to cook. A small trail of blood lingered down the deep roads where he dragged the dead thing -- its bones and skin tossed to the side to be dealt with later.

"Good news," Alistair cried, "we have clean diapers!"

"Thank the Maker," Reiss staggered up, her arms crowded with two babies who were in the middle of a rousing game of slap hands. "How many did you get? Please tell me..."

"Two," Alistair admitted, "and what looks like a shirt that'll fit a toddler, a newborn sized dress and three socks. They did what they could, not a lot of babies hide caches in the woods for some reason."

Reiss sneered at the puny offering, but handed over the Rutherford baby to him. "Well," Alistair shuffled his hands away from a diaper practically dragging to the ground, "someone's a celebrated pooper." Those dissecting eyes stared up at the strange man who'd been tending to him on occasion. In general, Alistair and Reiss kept to Myra while Cullen took on Gavin, but with Lana so busy doing her best to free them all the work got passed around a bit.

Laying Gavin down on what could have been some holy dwarven altar, or a bench outside their brothel -- it was hard to say -- he began the horrifying task of cleaning up a baby long past his changing time. "Oh Maker's blighted hell," Alistair groaned, leaning back to get an attempt at fresh air. Even the sent of tainted death was better than what resided inside that cloth. "What are they feeding you, kid?"

"Same thing as Myra," Reiss gasped, quicker on the change than he was. "Yes, of course you find that absolutely hilarious. Our daughter thinks poop is funny. You know that's all your doing."

Alistair shrugged, "Probably." Smiling at his little girl, he returned to the task at hand, quickly changing one filthy load for a slightly cleaner one. Both soiled drawers wound up on the ground, the parents staring at it in horror. "Wanna duel to determine who has to clean it up?"

"I'll get it," Cullen spoke up from his makeshift spit. "When this is finished." He'd been doing his best at playing the model parent, cleaning up without being asked, staying up for hours with a crying baby all while his wife was head bent down over her work.

It would be enough to make Alistair jealous if he wasn't neck deep in a thousand other more pertinent emotions, a good half of them that involved murdering Morrigan. Whenever Lanny found her cure and the...boy woke, it was going to be an interesting stand off. After this, knowing the threat she could pose still to his Wheaty, it seemed unlikely Alistair would ever let her go. He couldn't. It just... Shit, who was he kidding? Even if he did, Reiss wouldn't. After the things she'd survived over the years, devoting her life to destroying the witch that stole her daughter was a minor stop.

Gavin shifted from cautious cooing to tears. It was slow at first, Alistair trying to pick him up higher to get his attention. But even the dancing light of fire couldn't distract as the baby tossed his head back to wail. "Oh, shh..." Alistair tried to dance with him, insisting it wasn't that bad. Sure they were trapped in the evil lair of a cruel and greedy witch but...at least they weren't all being fattened up to be eaten. Bright side and all.

Unfortunately, much like a dog's howl, one baby crying set off the other. Wheaty's eyes ran over with giant tears, her lips trembling as she tried to match Gavin's screams with her own. She could be powerful when she wanted something, but this was different. More like she was upset he was upset and didn't get why. "Myra, shush," Reiss turned her away from Alistair and Gavin still in full on roar. "You're okay."

The crying drew the attention of the witch who hadn't spoken to anyone save Lanny for the past two days. Morrigan eyed up the baby she'd nearly murdered and she gritted her teeth. Reiss snarled back, tucking Myra closer, "Mama will make sure you're okay."

"Here," Cullen rose up from their dinner. He didn't even bother to wipe the sweat, ash, or deer blood off as he reached for his wailing boy. Happy to pass him off, Alistair watched as the always cautious man tucked Gavin up to his eyes. The tears halted a moment at the father staring at him, but it wasn't what he really wanted.

"I've got to give it to that one, he's got himself a pair of lungs," Alistair moaned, attempting to drown out the noise by covering his ears. It didn't really help.

The templar glared, then tucked the baby onto his lap as they both plopped onto the floor. "What's the matter? You can't be hungry. Is it too much smoke?" He kept throwing out ideas, his voice cracking the longer the list grew while his son wouldn't stop screeching."Is it your mother? Do you...do you miss her?" Cullen's voice whispered.

It was almost heartbreaking to watch, the man trying to reason with an upset baby. Alistair turned away, feeling the sting of knowing this was all somehow his fault. He caught Reiss' eye and she too looked perturbed, both uncertain what to do to help. No one else was a mage with Lana's skills, no one else had access to magics and knowledge beyond the veil, and no one else cared enough to assist Morrigan. But no one else could be Gavin's mother either.

Stepping closer, Reiss passed Myra into Alistair's hands. She bent down on her knees to get right into the wailing baby's face. Gavin wouldn't stop for anything, right until she put her finger in his mouth and seemed to be feeling around. "Ah," she crowed, "as I suspected. He's cutting a tooth."

"Blessed Andraste, now?" Cullen groaned.

"Anyone got a clean piece of cloth?" Reiss asked. While the men stared around she fished a glob of deer fat fresh off the roasted leg. Wadding that up in the cloth, she tied a knot and then waved it around to cool off. After a few moments, Reiss pushed the tied off fat into Gavin's mouth.

He chewed down, the tears rolling, but as those fresh teeth scissoring through tender gum bit into tasty fat, the crying slowed. It took a few more chews before Gavin smiled, fat dripping down his chin along with the drool.

"There we go," Reiss smiled, staggering back up to her feet.

Cullen tried to wipe his son clean, who was gnawing away on the wad of fat with one hand clinging to the knot to keep it in place. "Thank you," he said, the weariness evident in his voice.

"It's...you're welcome. We used to make 'em all the time for babies growing up. No one had any fancy teethers, so you give them a bit of dinner to chew on."

Bouncing his satiated baby on his leg, Cullen returned to checking on dinner. But every once in awhile he'd turn back to place a kiss to his son's forehead and check to make certain he could chew on the knot without choking on it. Reiss stepped back to her baby and ran her fingers up in Myra's gums. The baby was none too happy about this invasion, her green eyes narrowing in her same mother's wrath.

"Nothing yet," Reiss smiled.

"She goes at her own speed," Alistair chuckled, Wheaty seeming to plan on skipping crawling all together. Whenever they tried to tip her over onto her stomach, she'd either roll onto her back, or cry until someone fixed it.

"Most babies do," she sighed, the exhaustion returning. No one was sleeping. No one had slept since Myra vanished from their arms. And now with the threat looming in the background ready to strike at any moment, Alistair and Reiss took shifts trying to protect their baby. Somehow he doubted the templar was coming off any better.

"I sent off missives to the palace to inform them of where I am," he put it off for a day, hoping that Lanny would take one look at the kid and heal him instantly. That quick fix was growing more unlikely with every passing hour.

"And one to Lunet as well?" Reiss asked. She reached over to scoop Myra out of his arms. At most, she seemed willing to take the time to change her clothes or visit the privy before needing to hold her baby again.

"Yup," Alistair nodded, then he ran his fingers over the back of hers. "Reiss..." She stared at him, confusion evident at the serious turn in his stance, "we have no idea how long this will take. And I know you were worried about your agency. If you need to return for..."

Her eyes drifted down to their baby, happy now that no one else was crying, and she spat out, "I am not leaving this cave until I know Myra is safe...and that witch is dead."

"But what if...?"

"Please, don't play the what if game now. Not, I made my decision. Myra's far more important than...that can be rebuilt should it need to be, she can't," Reiss brushed her cheek against Myra's soft forehead, shifting all that blonde hair upward. It was crazy to think his baby girl might require a haircut soon, the locks seemed to grow at an accelerated rate.

Alistair wrapped his hands around both her and their baby, nuzzling his face into Reiss' bun. He was prepared to go it alone should the need arise. The agency was important to her, after all. It was her life, but this...Myra and even him were something else. She chose their family. "I swear to the Maker, we will walk out of here together," he whispered to her.

"We damn well better," she said back, lifting her face and for a brief moment kissing his lips. "What's the matter?" Reiss broke from him to find Myra fussing. "Do you need a kiss too?"

"I've got it," Alistair laughed, bending further over to blanket her in all the affection he could give. And while he was here with his baby, there were two other kids who were heading to bed without him. Maker's sake, if this took more than a week, what was he going to do?

* * *

Lana didn't rise up from her work until the book nearly landed upon her hand. She twisted to the side, her fingers instinctively trying to thread the veil apart when Lana realized it wasn't an attack. Shaking off the magic like her hand fell asleep, she turned at a soft chuckle from Morrigan.

"Too enraptured in your reading to pay attention. Seems familiar."

"Humph," Lana snorted once, not ready to get into a long conversation with the witch.

In true Morrigan fashion, she took no offense to the barb and returned to Kieran's side. The boy was barely breathing, save the little required to keep him alive. She was dribbling a mix of honey and water into his mouth on regular intervals, which then required her to clean him up. Lana did her best to not watch because it struck her at how tender Morrigan was. In all her time knowing the witch she couldn't imagine this woman gently caring for someone who was invalid or comatose. Morrigan even took the time to be sentimental and placed a few of what must be Keiran's favorite things around as if that might rouse him.

She wanted to keep angry at her, knowing what she did, and while Lana felt the same fury as the others when she looked at baby Myra, it faded away from them. "Have you considered turning him?" Lana asked, her eyes honed on a scrap of text in a book she could barely read. The translation was around here somewhere, but at this point she was skimming anything.

Morrigan paused in sponging the sticky honey that dribbled off the side to glance at Lana. "Turning? Whatever for?"

"Bed sores, those who lay for too long in one place can develop them," she threw off without a thought. "I often ask Cullen to..." Her words faded at the narrowing of those yellow eyes. Shaking it off, Lana returned to her work that seemed to be circling the drain.

The witch didn't take up her advice right away, she was too busy trying to comb Kieran's hair back out of his face. It looked longer than would be stylish for a boy his age. How long had he been in this coma? Morrigan clipped her purple nail against the desk she sat Lana at, "Tis strange to think of you toiling away in a refuge, healing the sick castoffs of the chantry, and none aware of who you are."

She shrugged, "I enjoy the work, the challenge, and..." Lana glanced out towards the living area as they came to call it. Cullen was trying to wash something in a bucket, though not vigorous enough to be clothing. Perhaps it was their son. Maker's sake, she was Gavin's mother and she didn't know if he was in the middle of a bath or not.

Morrigan caught the direction of her gaze and sighed, "I don't know why it comes as a surprise to me that you would foolishly tie yourself to yet another mage hunter."

"Well, you never did understand love," Lana said. "What'd you call it, a weakness?"

"That..." the woman reared back as if Lana slapped her. Her wary eyes darted back to the boy she risked her own life and the threat of an entire nation for. "Life can have a way of humbling, whether one wishes it or no."

Lana laughed at that and stared down at her legs. They got her through rooms and down the occasional hall but that was it. Without magic she could be bed bound for days. Even using it, there were times the pain overwhelmed her. From the Hero of Ferelden to...a quiet cripple hiding in the woods. By all story rights she should have to train up the next great savior of the world before dying in some predictably stupid way.

Flexing her weary hands that were growing tired of flipping pages, she returned to her work. "You seemed surprised I was here, but not that I was alive," she said.

"Were you trying to keep that information a secret? If so, informing that elf was your first mistake."

"Zevran can hold his tongue when he needs to," she brushed off Morrigan's attempt at wedging a bar between her relationship with the old assassin. Lana was doing this to save the baby, not to help Morrigan. That friendship died the moment she held a knife against Myra.

"As you say," she seemed to give in before folding her arms and leaning against the potion table, "still, willing to leap to the old fool's side. Give of yourself for him when he was the one to shatter your heart in the first place."

"Don't," Lana muttered.

"Point out the obvious?" she smirked.

"No," Lana spun around, her eyes narrowed, "Don't attempt to insert yourself back into my good graces by attacking Alistair. Believe it or not but I can move on past grudges and hurt. We are friends and I care for him. I care for his daughter as if she were my own. What you did was...?"

Snarling, Lana buried her face in the book, knowing there was nothing there but needing to move pages lest she smash her fist into Morrigan's perfect nose. She was exhausted beyond measure, three days in and there was no answer, no thread to unravel, not even a starting point. All Morrigan would say was that Keiran slipped into a coma and refused to awaken. She seemed as confused as Lana on the matter.

The witch folded her arms up and in her cold voice said, "You have a child now, do you not? A little boy, which is an impressive feat given the taint swirling inside of you. What measures did you go to to achieve that?"

"It was an accident, Morrigan. We didn't set out to create him, nor did I have to threaten anyone's baby to do it."

"A side effect of your plan? One you had no intention to make, but once he was here you felt it," her head dipped down and the cold snapped off. Within her frosty depths rolled a sob, "You love him."

Lana turned from her work, fully shocked to find a few tears dripping down the witch's cheek. "Of course I love him," Lana said, "he's my son."

That drew a cruel smile to Morrigan's face, "And if he were dying, what would the Hero of Ferelden do to save him? What atrocities would she commit? Demons would she consort with? Banned magics cast to protect her child? To save someone she loved?"

"I..." There were a few lines in her life she knew she would never cross. Even while taking down an archdemon, while nearly dying in the deep roads, scrounging and scraping in the fade, she refused to turn to blood magic. It was a sign of weakness in a person's will to use it. But if Gavin was hurt...

Maker, even in those first few days when they had barely held him, hadn't seen his smile, or heard him chatter away, she would have risked her own healing to give him life. Now? "I don't know," Lana admitted, her fingers tapping against the vellum.

Morrigan smirked at that, "That's what always made you so interesting, Warden. You tend to think before judging. A rare trait in this world." She stared at Reiss who was dragging a whet stone across her sword and glaring at nothing.

"Then tell me Morrigan, what would you do if someone stole your child and threatened to bleed him dry to cast a spell?"

She blinked a moment and sighed, "I'd gut them like a pig before they had a chance to explain." Either unaware of her hypocrisy or fully embracing it, Morrigan returned to Kieran's side.

Lana could take no more. It was bad enough suffering the long hours of research -- which she hadn't done in years -- but doing it while playing mental chess with the witch was rubbing her raw. She needed a rest and, Maker, to have someone massage every muscle in her useless body. Gripping onto the list of things she thought might help, Lana staggered to her weary feet.

Her cane measured the tread of the floor, every beat of it echoing against the walls and stone ceiling as she inched towards her husband. Cullen sat on the ground, his legs extended out to keep Gavin pinned in while their baby stared up in rapt attention.

"Where'd Daddy go?" he asked, covering his eyes with his hands. Gavin's mouth hung open as if this was the most important question ever put to him. Far more vital than what is the meaning of life. Where could his father have gone? Before he had a chance to fuss, Cullen pulled his hands off and smiled, "Here I am."

At that magic trick, Gavin cracked up, his fists flailing through the air as if demanding an encore. Reaching forward, Lana skirted her hand across Cullen's shoulders. He craned his head up to her and a strained smiled followed. It shouldn't surprise her that he was miserable, but Lana was thrown back by how poorly he was doing at faking it.

"I need a break, a real nap, and after sitting in that chair so long I could really go for your hands digging into my body," she tried to play it lighthearted, but it wasn't working. Even she didn't feel it.

Cullen nodded, "Of course." He staggered up, leaving Gavin to wonder why his father was replaced by a pair of legs, when Cullen plucked him up from the ground. Unable to handle the cuteness, Lana reached over to tickle her baby's tummy.

"Maker's sake, he feels full."

"He should, it's past supper time," Cullen remarked with a shrug.

"What?" Lana glanced around as if there was any sun to tell the time. "Why didn't you come get me? What did he eat?"

"Mashed peas and carrots, and Reiss pitches in when she can. You seemed...busy," he ended with.

"Cullen, I..." He didn't take the whole explanation of Kieran's creation well. Not surprising really that a templar would frown on what could be construed as blood magic. She wasn't certain if it was the fact she helped in the matter or that she kept it from him that hurt more. Explaining that she kept it to herself for Morrigan's sake wasn't helping seeing as how the witch then betrayed her by kidnapping an infant.

Rolling his clouded brow back and forth, Cullen mumbled, "It's upon you to save the young man. The less we bother you, the more likely you are to solving it."

"I'm sorry," she blubbered, all the stress and exhaustion bashing its way into her heart. Those tears she thought she kept to herself began to drip down her cheeks. "I didn't want to...don't mean to..."

The sobs drew the attention of both Alistair and Reiss, the former sitting by the fire with Myra. "Maker's breath, Lana, I'm..." Cullen wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and tried to tuck her into a hug, but he was too full up with baby. Their baby who should be back at home playing with Honor and being doted upon by two of their washer girls.

"Come on," he tried to tug her onward towards their bedroom. Reiss and Alistair took the octagon room because Ali found it hilarious for whatever reason. The two of them found a smaller one with a functioning door they could close. Not that either were in any mood to be frisky down here, but it was nice to get away from everyone even if it was only with a thin sheet of stone between them.

A pair of pallets stretched across the stone slab, all that Alistair could get for the interim. Lana feared what it would mean if they had to send for actual mattresses. Cullen managed to create a small baby jail for Gavin. He stuffed a good four blankets on the ground for comfort, then placed an old grate -- no doubt used to protect the dwarves from forge fires -- tight to the wall. They could see their baby, and he could see them, but he wasn't getting out of that thing until he learned to climb or gained incredible strength.

For now, Cullen helped Lana to the bed and placed Gavin beside her. She brushed her hand through his thick hair and smiled. "I'm not sure if you're lucky or cursed to have my locks," Gavin's curls already knotted closer to his head. To think he was born without anything. "I can't do a thing with it when it rains."

"You're not the only one," Cullen added, slotting in behind her. "Tell me if it hurts," he said before digging his forefinger and thumb into her shoulders.

Maker's breath, Lana moaned, instinctively leaning back into the hands worrying away the stress knotting up her body. He increased the pressure, working his way down her shoulders and arms. When they first began together, Cullen wasn't the best at massages, but her time in the fade changed that. He had to get better or she could barely function. Gently, he switched to cupping up and down her arms before plying his thumb against her fingers and rubbing the pain away. Those were the worst when she'd been casting a lot of magic.

Lana was nearly jelly, when Cullen switched to kneel in front of her and worked on her legs. Gavin was often privy to these moments, sitting on the bed, or sometimes trying to crawl off it. His mother always made certain he didn't fall, but for now he seemed content to sit and watch his father helping her. Digging into the calves, Cullen lifted her foot out of her shoe and began to roll his tight knuckles against the ball.

Tears sprung up in Lana's eyes and she spat out, "I love you."

He chuckled a moment at that, "I didn't realize my massages could create such devotion."

"No, I mean it, I..." she cupped onto his shoulders, drawing Cullen's attention away from her feet. When those honey eyes landed on hers, he gasped from the tears spilling out of hers. "I love you, both of you, beyond belief and I'm sorry we're stuck here. Really. I just...I couldn't..."

"You couldn't let someone die," he nodded his head, those perfect fingers reaching up to cup her salt stained cheek, "I understand. I do, I'm only..."

"Tired, grumpy, annoyed?" Lana threw out suggestions which Cullen smirked at.

"I would say concerned."

"Worried, of course, why didn't I guess that one first?"

Her husband shrugged, well aware of his attributes nearly four decades in. "What if...Lana, what if this lasts for over a week, two? A entire month?"

"I'm doing all I can as fast as I can," she shrieked, the anxiety rolling into anger. Cullen blinked slowly at that, his eyes softening to pools of pain as they landed upon Gavin. Their baby. Maker's breath, but she missed her son. They'd have a routine at home, a good one where she'd feed their baby breakfast, then Cullen would carry him around on rounds. A lot of their charges adored greeting a full and happy baby in the morning. Post nap Lana would play with Gavin, before his father took over. Then it was dinner time, a bath, wiggling a pudgy baby into pajamas and sleep. It was a simple, busy life but she missed it.

Now her days were nothing but staring at ancient magics willing anything to make sense. She'd tried every spell she knew, began to brew up various herbal remedies, even a few that she suspected were mostly snake oil in the off chance something might help. The only reason Kieran yet drew breath was because of his mother's magic.

"I'm trying so hard," Lana said. She gripped onto his shoulder, the other hand cupping Gavin's back.

Cullen picked up her fingers and seemed to be weighing them, "Perhaps there is another way."

She snorted, "If you think I can charm Morrigan into releasing Myra by appealing to her conscience you put too much faith in me."

"No," he slid onto the bed beside her and wrapped an arm across her shoulders. Instinctively, Lana tucked her head against his chest even as her brain was pinging a warning. He was going to say something guaranteed to make her angry. Cullen only gripped onto her knee as if he was afraid she was about to bolt when he did it.

"You say that only blood magic can remove the curse put upon their baby?"

"Are you...?" Lana staggered away from him, trying to stare into his eyes but he was glaring through the distance, "You're not seriously suggesting I--."

"No," Cullen lashed out, horror flattening his cheeks, "Maker's grace, no, not you. But, there is a blood mage. Your cousin knows her, in fact. We were all supposed to ignore the talk that she was because of her running in the Champion's circle, but the rumors were more pronounced than usual."

"And you think that's smart? For Hawke to bring a blood mage here? What then, Cullen? There's a chance Morrigan will kill Myra before this malifecarum makes a single step into the cave."

"There are ways around..." he tried, but Lana wasn't hearing it.

"And then what? Leave Kieran to die? Morrigan on a rampage? Or, no doubt, you figure we'd have to kill her too. A real bloodbath on our hands," Lana wished she could stagger to her feet to pace but she was trapped in place, feeling helpless even as her veins burned.

"For the love of the Maker, Lana, she was going to kill a baby," he whipped his head to her, trying to bludgeon her to his side with reason. "Do you truly think she ever stood a chance of surviving after that?"

"She wasn't planning on surviving at all," Lana spat out, causing Cullen to blink rapidly. "What? You didn't catch that part? There's no way a baby would be enough to power any spell strong enough to do what Morrigan had planned. She'd have to slit her own veins open as well. Slowly, to have time to cast the magic and leave nothing behind to save her."

"I had no idea," he shrunk back a moment into himself.

"If I get this right, if I can find a damn solution then...blighted no one has to die here. I know Alistair's mad, Reiss looks like she's going to rip out Morrigan's throat with her teeth. But we can _all_ walk away. Weary, but alive. It's..." She drew her hands to cup around her face, shielding it from everything around her. With the blinders on, Lana stared not at the floor or wall but through the veil itself. It was growing easier with time, if she twisted her head too fast she could almost see the edges of a waterfall rising upward or lakes on fire.

Cullen's hand cupped the back of hers and he tried to tug it free. It took a moment before Lana snapped back from that unknowable place that haunted them all. "You believe in her?"

"No, I believe in myself. Sometimes, it's all I ever could. I can't take the easy path here. There was a lot of death in my life, a lot of choices that maybe didn't have to be made, but..." Lana shuddered and she turned to the man who didn't have a spotless record either, "It was never a wrinkle or grey hair I feared seeing in my morning mirror. It was what I wouldn't see in my eyes that haunted my nightmares."

Cullen fell silent, his head drifting down as if he too could peer into the fade. Asking someone to kill an old friend, letting the child die as well was a hard sell to anyone. Lana knew her time was ticking away, if not the taint, age itself would get her, and she'd rather leave daisies in her wake than scorched earth. "Okay," he nodded, "we'll keep at it your way. I was thinking of having the King send a message out to our abbey. Was there anything you required not book related?"

"I don't know. I feel like I'm chasing a ghost, which...in retrospect I've done often and that's more a corporeal fight than whatever illness terrorizes Kieran. It's not the taint, that's easy. It's not a fever, his body is fine. It's..." Her head hung down, Lana crumpling into a ball to suck in air. Thoughts and ideas sparked in her weary brain, but it all ran into piles of fluff, the lightning breaking against it until smoke rendered it into a foggy wasteland. She could feel something in there, but it didn't taste tangible. Every time she almost touched the thought it slipped from her fingers.

Hands tugged her backwards, Lana not realizing she'd fallen silent for so long until she was resting upon the bed. "You need to sleep," he said. "I can take Gavin out and..."

"No, please," Lana didn't rise from where her husband helped her down, but she reached out to grab his arms, "stay, both of you. I miss you."

"Very well," a whisper of a smile drifted upon Cullen's weary face. He plucked up their son into his arms and the two of them rounded to the other side. Holding Gavin to his chest, Cullen flopped onto his back and let their baby slide into a safe gap between them. Entranced with the fur lining her robe, Gavin began to bend down to first grab then chew on it, until he face planted against his mother.

"Up we go," Cullen laughed, assisting their boy into a proper sit. Giggling along with, Lana poked at her boy's feet. Such a lovely shade of tan, not as lighter than hers as she'd thought he'd be. The white nails stuck out against his coloring, so tiny and adorable it made him seem even smaller and more fragile than he was. Her little fighter.

"I'm scared," Cullen spoke to the air. "I was...horrified to think that there was a witch stealing children. It's not as if I hadn't heard such rumors before; it was a favorite one for people to speak against blood mages. But it was a foolish whisper, almost never any evidence. And now," He cupped Gavin's chubby cheek, reaching back to mess up the curls. "I feel powerless to help."

Lana snuggled tighter to her husband, flipped onto her side. Wanting her nearer, Cullen raised an arm so she could rest her cheek upon his chest. The warmth of him, the feel of his body rising and falling with each breath soothed away some of the smoky fog in her brain. "You're helping me, you're keeping Gavin fed, bathed, happy, and even standing."

"No, I..." his breathing slowed and she felt the once soft pillow of his chest harden as if his entire body snapped rigid. "I haven't felt this debilitating of fear since the tower."

"Are you suffering from a Wednesday?" Lana tried to twist over. Maker, that'd be just what they'd need on top of this mess. It was a wonder she hadn't fallen down the dark path herself.

He shook his head quickly, his curls digging into the straw pillow while the honey eyes stared up at the ceiling. A breath passed, then two more before he spoke again as if half the conversation occurred in his head, "With Gavin. There are decisions that must be made, and I find myself choking up. He's teething and all I can do is beg for him to stop crying. What about further along? When he skins a knee, will I fall apart? Or if he should, Maker take me for even thinking it, succumb to a fever or other illness? What do I do if...if there's too much of me inside of him."

"What do you mean?"

Cullen sat up, shifting the baby who'd been happily prodding at his toes fully unaware of his parents talking about him. "I keep fearing, thinking that, what if our son's not a good man? What if he...if he goes as far as I did, or further?"

"Oh, sweetheart," she crumbled at the panicking tears in his eyes. Wrapping her arms around his head, she tugged the warm forehead to rest against hers. His eyes were shut tight, but she kept staring at the lids and the lashes that were almost caramel colored at the tips. "You're doing a good job. Really. I know it was a rocky start, but you're doing all you can. Gavin will become his own person. We don't know what that will be, but..."

 She lifted his head from hers and Cullen opened his splotchy eyes. "We fought for a world so that he wouldn't have to face the same problems as we did. And, Maker willing, that'll make him better than the both of us."

Shuddering in a breath, Cullen dipped his head down and placed a kiss against her hands, then two more. "You're right, you're always right. I shouldn't worry. I..."

"Don't be silly," she laughed, "if you stopped worrying I wouldn't know it's you."

His lips lifted in a half smile, when he slid his head forward and caught hers in a kiss. Sweet as fiery honey, that always simmering burn erupted deep inside her weary bones. No doubt he felt it too, but Cullen slipped down to the pallet, doing his best to let Lana return to laying upon him. He placed a gentler kiss to her forehead before whispering, "You require sleep and I am keeping you from it. Do not worry, I'll keep an eye on Gavin."

She watched her baby a bit more before closing her eyes. Only the gentle wave of Cullen's breathing broke through the rising sleep, each one rocking her deeper into the fade. He waited until her hand dropped to his chest, no doubt hoping she was fully gone, to ask what must have been weighing upon him.

In a quivering voice, he spoke, "Lana, what does Morrigan's boy mean to you?"

She didn't answer because she didn't have one to give.

## CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

#### Pride Goeth Before A Fall

"No."

She knew Cullen would refuse, but when Lana mentioned the fade he all but forbade her to even be thinking of it. It was a wonder he didn't also pluck her up over his shoulders and lock her in her room for entertaining the idea. The sleep did her good, Lana waking with a potential idea that was growing more and more to a possibility until it ran right into the wall of a concerned templar.

"If you'd just..." she tried, but Cullen began pacing again around the fire. For once everyone was there, even Morrigan, though she kept far abreast from Reiss and Alistair.

"This is madness; you do not belong in the fade."

Lana growled, wishing he'd knock off the protector crap and listen. At her funny noises, Gavin grabbed onto her collar and began to yank upon it. "No sweetie," she tried to stop him from destroying what few clothes she had, "not now."

"How would that even work?" Alistair spoke up. "Don't mages need a lot of you and lyrium to get across the veil? Least that's how I remember it."

At that her husband stopped wearing a hole into the ancient stone to wave his hand at Alistair. It screamed 'I can't believe I'm agreeing with this man, but listen to him.' Lana groaned and tipped her head back. She knew this wouldn't go over well, but Maker's sake it shouldn't be so hard either.

"I have some...special skills that require only one other mage to power it." She glanced over at Morrigan, "Seeing as it's your son I rather doubt you'd object." Morrigan's haunting eyes sized up Lana, seeming uncertain about this ability of a circle mage, but she tipped her chin. She was willing to try anything.

"No, no, no," Cullen dashed back in, all but ramming his hand between them. "There is no way you are being left at the behest of a witch." A solitary laugh drew Cullen to snarl at the smirk rising up Morrigan's mouth. "A witch who's likely to throw in with demons and Maker knows what else."

"Is it demons you fear templar, or your wife succumbing to their empty promises?" Morrigan spoke her first words to Cullen, to anyone aside from Lana. Of course that wasn't helping.

He sneered and spun on Morrigan, "What I fear is the fade itself. I know far too well the pains demons can inflict. Better than you can possibly imagine, witch."

"Cullen," Lana ran her fingers over his hand, trying to tug it down from the threatening point it gave to Morrigan. "I can do this."

The anger in his face faded as he stared down at her perched upon the altar. Doleful eyes blinked and he almost shyly tucked his chin deeper into the collar of his shirt, "The fade is not a safe place."

"Which I know, better than anyone here," she was getting tired of him treating her like she was glass, of all of them doing it. Lana's body may be broken but when it came to magic and her will both where iron clad. Thwarting demons was how she survived for two years.

"Lanny, please, there's got to be a better way. Something other than running headlong into demon land."

"There's not. I can sense it, a force not tugging on the boy the way possession would but blocking his mind, sundering it. I...I cannot explain it well, but I feel it." Two pairs of brown eyes all but begged her to give up this idiotic idea. Cullen wouldn't stop holding tight to her shoulder as if he just squeezed hard enough she'd stay put.

"Let her do it."

Both men whipped over to the lone voice willing to stand up with her. Reiss held a sleeping Myra in her arms, her head tipped down as she stared at the floor.

"Reiss, the fade's not really a fun place to hang out in," Alistair tried to slide an arm around her, but he got a glare for it.

"No shit, but she's willing to try. To get us out of here. Or..." Reiss jerked her chin at Morrigan, her green eyes narrowing tight like a beam of light, "are you willing to release the curse on Myra and free us all from this prison."

The witch chuckled and folded her arms, "No."

"Then let her try. You trust her," Reiss asked Cullen, then turned to Alistair, "I assume you as well. What's the worst that could happen?"

Possession. Trauma. Death.

Lana shook the thought off the moment it struck. Going in fatalistic wouldn't help her. "If that's all settled," she said, rising up to her feet.

"It is not settled, I will not..." Cullen began but she shook off his hands.

"I'm doing it. Now you can either sit and watch me to make certain I'm well or keep an eye on Gavin."

Cullen growled out, "Fine, it's not as if I can stop you anyway. Will you entertain our son while my wife's in the fade?" He spun back to Alistair who nodded grimly. After handing over the baby that really wanted to rip the collars off of shirts that day, Cullen turned back to her and whispered, "I do not approve."

"I don't care," she spat back. This was her only option now. After that there was no answer but blood, and Lana wasn't going to let that happen.

"Maker's breath, how were you ever in the circle?" he groaned, taking her hand and helping her back towards Kieran. Morrigan followed close on their heels, leaving Alistair and Reiss to watch uncertainly.

"I wonder that myself some days," Lana confessed, leaning heavily onto her cane. She was going to need all the magic at her disposal to pull this off. "Here, I should be near the boy. It'll make this easier."

Cullen hefted her into his arms and gently laid her across a bench ten feet away from Kieran. Lana glanced down at her toes just skimming at the end and laughed, "It's a good thing I'm so short or..." her thought died at the terror bobbing in his eyes. Reaching out, she grabbed onto his hand, "Cullen?"

It took a moment before he spoke, his lips pursing in no doubt the hot, spitting anger he kept swallowing, "You will come back."

"I promise," she whispered.

"You will stay safe."

Lana smiled and patted his hand, "Don't I always?"

She thought it'd get a laugh out of him, but he grew more sullen. Glancing away from her, he spoke softly so she wouldn't hear but the words dropped to reach Lana. "No, you don't."

"I assume I will be acting as a conduit," Morrigan spoke up between them.

"That's the plan," Lana said. She shut her eyes, focusing on ripping apart the veil nearly touching her fingers, her skin, her brain. It would take a lot of mana, but not as much as it once did. Even with her eyes closed she could see Cullen shifting away from her but not far. He kept a grip to her hand, watching as she tried to control her magic.

If he was really against this idea, he could hit her with a dispel, knock away the magic before she got a grip. But he trusted her enough even while grumbling like mad about the idea of this. Reaching out with her mind, Lana tried to find Morrigan, who was perched beside her son. The bond was evident even through the veil, mother to child, tendrils of green and yellow darting from one to the other. Was that how love looked while in the fade? She'd never really seen it before.

Locking her mind tighter against the bond wafting from Morrigan into Kieran, Lana brushed her fingers against the veil. It wobbled, requiring more power. No, that wasn't what it wanted. Biting her lip, she ripped off the bandage that slotted over her mind after she walked in the fade. What she needed to survive every day. The veil sang to her anew, its crystal clear voice stronger than even the taint. With renewed vigor, Lana trailed after the song and sundered the veil.

Blood. Her eyes opened to find pools of it trapped between her legs, the sticky viscera glistening by candlelight. It soaked deep into her nightgown and the sheet below, crimson and fresh as if...

A baby's cry erupted from the shadows. Lana glanced away from the gore in her lap to find she was at home in her room and her bed. Not trapped in some cave in the deep roads. A sickening feeling struck and she realized what this was. Gavin's birth. When she nearly died, when he nearly died.

_You're not losing blood. You're not in pain. This is the fade._

Sucking in a breath, Lana lowered her feet to the ground. As they struck it, the blood vanished from between her legs, but she spotted more of it splattered upon the stone floor. Splotches of the gore decorated the ground -- it looked as if someone smacked it with a blood soaked towel. Staggering up, Lana began to follow the trail of blood. A few of the puddles gave way to teeny tiny feet paddling unsteadily and leaving gruesome evidence as the gait steadied towards the exit. As she walked through the door out into the night air, the feet began to get larger. They looked child sized.

No wind swept through the fade, but a chill ramped up Lana's spine. She tried to huddle tighter into her nightgown and instinctively glanced up to check the clouds. There it was, the Black City. Never out of sight in the fade, no matter how deep the dream fantasy was. The pea green sky struck hard at her core, memories of her years scrabbling against the void to survive invading her mind.

_You have a job to do! Finish it and then you can leave.  _

Locking away the feel of demon blood burning her flesh or the taste of spider meat in her gut, Lana stood up. Another cry erupted from the darkness, still belonging to a young baby. The back of her neck crawled, but she had to ignore the conclusions her subconscious made. Stopping now was unwise, unavoidable. She had to know.

The blood trail led deeper into the abbey, the lights fading to shadows until all Lana could see were the bright red stains growing in size. Even the floor itself turned black as pitch, while that blood all but coalesced as if it burned with energy or anger. Each footstep became man sized, the owner stepping through a closed door without pausing. Sucking down a breath to steady herself, Lana gripped onto the handle of the door and turned it.

This wasn't her abbey, but a room in a castle -- well furnished with fine trappings. A familiar room that...

"You remember it, don't you?" a voice spoke from the shadows. As he lifted his head, the fireplace lit bright revealing what she remembered in her mind's eye. Lana had to blanket her eyes to keep them from searing, but as she pulled it down she nearly let loose a scream.

A young man sat perched in the chair but he was coated in blood as if he drowned in it. Thick as ink, the viscera clung to his skin until he looked more like a walking blood clot than a man. His crimson lips parted to reveal blinding white teeth framed by a horrifying smile. "Right there," he tipped his head towards the bed, "that's where I was created. Conceived."

This was Morrigan's room, the one they put her up in right before the march to Denerim. The one where she seduced Alistair to finish what she wanted, what she set out to do. Which meant this was... "Kieran?"

The abomination before her bowed his head, "At your service. Though, dear Amell, you seem unsteady here. Rocking back and forth on your feet, nearly trembling. Whatever for? Was it not your decision to give me life?"

"I think that was more your mother's department," Lana shuddered, but he was right. Even years after, even with a husband, Lana refused to look at this room again, knowing what Morrigan did in it. What she made Alistair do. What he agreed to do.

"Jealousy?" Kieran twisted his head, blood whipping off his coated body to splatter against the wall. "Is that what rests in your heart when you think upon me, Amell?"

"No," Lana said, "no it's not." She hated this room, and that bed, but she didn't hate the child created. "You saved my life."

"Yes, I did, didn't I?" Kieran staggered up to his legs, fresh blood pooling against the chair where he sat. Stepping slowly towards her, he smiled, "Not even bigger than a pea and I saved the hero of Ferelden. But that's not really the story you want to tell, is it? To have that etched into all your monuments. The great savior of thedas was in fact protected by nothing more than a blip inside a witch's womb."

Lana gulped as he reached his fingers towards her, the scent of iron and pain filling her nose. When he touched her cheek, she kept from yelping even as the warm blood suckered to her skin and began to drip down onto her shoulder. "Are you angry at me, Kieran? Is that what this is about?"

"Me? Why would I be angry at you? I wouldn't exist if it weren't for you. If anything, I owe you." He leaned closer to her, his eyes swimming in blood all save the brown pupils that were strikingly similar to Alistair's. Lana felt a faint sliding up her legs, her vision turning white from being pounded by so much horror.

Kieran chuckled, "Right, auntie?" and Lana's head snapped down to save her.

When she glanced up, she found the gruesome nightmare was gone. She was perched, sitting upon the edge of a stair, her knees scabby, and naked, and tucked up tight to her chin. The staircase was tight, barely wide enough for a single person to slip through with low ceilings that'd bonk most heads. Not a castle and not familiar at all. Glancing around to find her bearings, she spotted Kieran -- no longer coated in blood -- sitting behind her.

"Where are we?"

"Shh," he placed a finger to his lips and smiled, "you'll ruin the surprise."

Lana didn't like where this was going, but she may have to play along. She knew the boy's mind was fractured, but this... Shaking her hair, she realized it was braided tight. Not the way she did it in her older age, but how her mother insisted when she was...

_No. Oh, Maker no!_

"I don't like this," an achingly familiar voice whispered from below. They couldn't see her from here, but Lana could hear. She'd often crawl out of bed at night to listen to her parents. Sometimes they'd argue, sometimes they'd talk about their kids, and they'd always reveal secrets. She loved hearing all their secrets, then taunting her brother with them later.

"We don't have a choice in the matter, Relka," her father spoke, followed by the sounds of his steps pacing against the floor below. "That ice was nearly an inch thick under her bed."

Lana dug her grubby fingernails tighter to her knees. They were talking about her, about the bad thing she did. Her mother cried and cried when they found the ice, but she didn't remember making it. Didn't understand what was so bad about it. It melted same as any ice, Lana and her brother breaking it up and throwing it at each other outside. Her legs were still stained with the mud it created, both of them laughing and threatening to make the other eat a mudpie.

"But she's just a child," her mother continued, sadness evident even to a six year old.

"When has that ever mattered? They know us, know our family, we're marked already. If we try to hide her away, try to bury this..." Her father sighed, "Relka, they'll come for us all."

"You're right," her mother tried to whisper, but a sob echoed through her words. "We don't have a choice. The templars will..."

Her mother's voice died at the sound of someone knocking on their front door, hard. Instinctively, Lana glanced back up the stairs to her room wondering if she could run quick enough to hide under her bed. But she was frozen in fear, knowing something was wrong but no idea what it was or what to do.

Below her, the front door opened and a voice echoed funny, almost as if the man put his head into a bucket and shouted, "We've come for Solona Amell."

"I...give me a moment," her father said. "Please, sit down."

"Thank you," the men both spoke, their armored feet clattering across the ground floor. She should run. She was smart; she could climb out the window onto the tree and then run away. Once Lana managed to get all the way to the end of the road on her own. That had to be far enough to escape the bad men her mother was afraid of.

Creaking on the stairs drew her eyes up from her knees and she stared stricken into her father's face. He tried to smile wide; she remembered him always having an easy smile. But it wasn't taking this time. The words were light but the voice was one that told her she'd better obey.

"I should have known you'd be here," he sighed. "Come with me, Lamby. There's...something you have to do." Plucking her tiny body up off the stairs, he began to carry her away from everything she ever knew. Her father was willing to turn her over to the templars without a fight. Without even trying. He messaged them, turned his own daughter in.

"You didn't fight them off?" Kieran asked, his head twisted to the side in confusion.

Lana stared at the intruder from over her father's shoulder, the man freezing mid-stride to do what he did. There was no rescue, no one had a change of heart and let her stay with her family. He dropped her into the templar's arms with a bit of food, a single toy, a few bundled up dresses, and nothing more. No, there was one thing. He kissed her on the forehead, the last one she'd feel until...until Alistair.

"I couldn't," she cried, feeling as helpless as the six year old.

"But you're the great Hero of Ferelden. Warden Amell who's fought scores of darkspawn, and stopped a blight while living to tell about it. How could you give in to this pathetic ploy?"

Her father resumed carrying her towards them, the stairs creaking for the last time at her. When he dropped her to the ground, Lana gazed skyward in awe. She'd never seen armor before, and to her child brain the templars glittered like rain against a cloudy sky. Two giant rain clouds come to cart her away from her family and all she knew. Kieran leaned down from the staircase to peer at the scene, his floppy brown hair dangling freely. "Go ahead. Stop them. You know you can. You're stronger than the both of them."

Lana stared upward at these giant faces what felt miles away. She closed her tiny fist and felt the magic swirling through her. Not the piddly ice spells she'd accidentally unleash as a child, this was decades of training and honing. Her entire life. With the power cultivated inside of her she could freeze these men solid and shatter them.

The thought seemed to energize Kieran and he giggled, "You could stop your parents too. Kill them."

"What?" Lana threw off the spell immediately, glaring at the boy.

He shrugged, "They turned you in. Turned on you. They're traitors. You should give back to them what they did to you."

"No," Lana shook her head, laying her hands flat to her sides. Both gauntleted hands landed upon her thin shoulders, pinning her in place. She could fight, but she wouldn't. There had to be a better way.

"For what purpose do you show loyalty to your parents? They abandoned you to men you'd never met, an institution that cares nothing for you or your kind. Would you do the same?"

Lana turned from the dark slit in the templar's helms, her fears becoming manifested within the abyss. Swallowing it down, she whipped back at Kieran. "What are you talking about?"

"You have a son. He could be touched with magic. Would you be so callow, so cold, to let him be locked away in a circle tower never to see the light of day?"

"I..." A tightness gripped around her neck that had nothing to do with the memories at play. In truth, these weren't bad templars. One showed her a deep kindness that was rare even among the best of them. She didn't hate the circle, and they weren't chained up in a dungeon their whole lives. There were friends, games, fun, learning.

But there was also fear. So much fear stalking their every move that if they fell out of line for even a moment, they couldn't walk back from it. Death, or worse. To do that to her own baby was unconscionable. No, she wouldn't let anyone take Gavin, not over her dead body.

Lana turned towards Kieran, about to tell him off, when the world shifted below her. It wasn't anything as poetic as a flash of light, she simply glanced over not into her old family home but the cold, imposing stone of a tower. Taking in a breath, the burning scent of fresh magics and dozens of teenagers packed together in a room overwhelmed her. It smelled of a thunderstorm, anxiety, and lust. She knew these bricks, that window where someone's errant ice ball once shattered the glass, the fresh tapestries of the chantry hanging off the walls.

"So," Kieran spoke. He looked younger, perhaps 8 or 9, the age when Lana first saw him from across the garden in Skyhold. "This is where I would have been taken."

"There were hardly any templars left when you came of age," Lana said, clinging to a staff. She started upon finding the familiar piece of wood in her hands. _Where did it come from?_

Kieran stopped staring at the imposing ceiling shadowed high above their heads. A cold wind wafted through them and he smiled, "My mother protected me from them. From anyone who would try to hurt me. Would you do the same for your son, Hero of Ferelden? Would you kill for him?"

"What do you want from me?" she snarled, wishing to make sense of this stroll through her life. Yes, templars stole away children. Yes, she was one of those. There was no point in dwelling upon facts that didn't even matter anymore. The only templars remaining were all laid up in her abby, the rest having quietly slipped away from what they once were.

The boy's soft, brown eyes narrowed and a yellow flame danced through the pupils. "I wish to know, Solona Amell, when you came to power. Was it here? Surrounded by your fellow mages, learning and studying, with your head shoved in every book you could find. Jowan grew jealous of your prowess, you knew that even before he turned to blood magic. Knew how he envied and hated that it came easy to you. And you reveled in it."

"What?" she staggered back as if the child struck her. "No, I..."

"You're right," Kieran smiled. "It wasn't here where you grew to become what you are."

Like the snapping of his fingers, every sound ceased. She hadn't seen anyone around but could feel their presence, the tower was always bustling and full of life. Even in the middle of the night, when the apprentices would sneak out of bed for a bit of a laugh, the bricks themselves seemed to sing. But something strangled the breath away, every voice falling dead.

The stench of death wafted across her nose, charred flesh and burnt fat left to drip onto the cold stone until it coagulated into a forgotten goo. _No, no, not this..._ Lana shut her eyes tight so she wouldn't have to see the demon marks clawed into old blackboards. The fire from desperate mages that ripped apart bookcases and tables where she learned her spells. Or the bodies, so many bodies, scattered like firewood across the floors. How long were they left there to rot? Weeks judging by the smell, bones prodding up through the flesh that was already receding from death's grasp.

"This was it, wasn't it?" Kieran crowed as if the multitude of death was something to be excited about. "This was where you changed. Before it you were uncertain, cautious, every day regretting your decision to leave the tower and join with the Wardens."

Deep in her heart she felt the stab of betrayal, not from Loghain but Jowan. He was her friend, she trusted him, and then he... He lied, he used her to get away, to save his own hide. And she let him die. She cleaned up his mess and then watched him dangle from the rope.

"Yes," the man clapped, Kieran growing quickly in age as he smiled cruelly, "you feel it. That strength within, that assuredness that you, and only you, can dole out justice."

"What is the point of all this?" Lana screamed, the staff clattering from her fingers. "I'm trying to save you, not have you lecture me on my own past."

"Solona Amell, tut tut tut," the boy tapped a finger against his lips, "Proud, so proud she wouldn't even use the name her parents gave her. The one the templars came for. Did you think you were too good for that pedestrian name? Too good for the rules of the tower? You walked into the repository, you broke a phylactery. That's not allowed."

He drifted around her, Lana doing her best to keep her emotions in check. That was what it wanted. What it always wanted.

Kieran paused and looked up, "No, perhaps I am wrong. This isn't the place." He spun up to glare at the ceiling and the tower faded brick by brick to be replaced by turbulent skies. Purple lightning stung the air, blood and darkspawn ichor splattered against the ground while metal beat against metal. Lana gripped tight to the staff in her hands and turned. Stretched across the ground, bloody and beaten but not yet dead, was the archdemon. Its boney hide was festooned with arrows, blood seeped from every wound as the creature flopped across the ground, ready for the final blow.

"This is," Kieran declared.

The battle was frozen, swords held in place against shields, Morrigan in the middle of casting a spell, Leliana yanking an arm back to notch an arrow, and Alistair...

"You're remembering," it chuckled, circling closer until the putrid breath washed across her cheek.

It wasn't the staff in her hands but a sword, a giant one she yanked up off the ground. Lana spotted the great dragon fall, ready for someone to slice off the head, which was also when she caught Alistair running for it. The battle dashed forward as time resumed. The man who was to be King, who broke her heart for the crown, who she'd always love, glanced over and for a brief second their eyes met.

He was going to do it. Risk himself, risk the future of Ferelden, just to be the one. She couldn't let him. Waving her hand, magic tossed Alistair backwards. Not hard enough to hurt, but it pushed him far enough away he couldn't make it. Not before Lana did. Twisting in place, she ran full bore at the archdemon, its head raising off the ground to try and stop its demise. But it was too late, anger and determination driving the untrained mage forward. She struck against its head and then drove the blade deep into the serpentine neck.

Lana braced herself for the explosion but nothing came. The sword was jammed right through the archdemon, all but scissoring the head clean off, and yet... "In this moment," the creature returned, claws clinging to her shoulders as it peered over her shoulder down at the archdemon mere seconds away from death. "You became the one. It didn't have to be you. There was Alistair, my father, he could have taken the blow, but you wouldn't let him."

"He could have died," Lana gasped, sweat and blood dribbling off her forehead. A single crimson drop landed upon the archdemon's eye. Its pupil didn't constrict the way she expected, the dragon as glassy and frozen as everything else.

"So you took the hit? How brave you are. How noble. But what about my mother? What about me?" It turned to point at Morrigan, "Why make a deal with a witch you can't trust, why convince your lover to impregnate her if you were going to be the martyr the whole time?"

"I didn't know if I'd survive, if Alistair would. There were too many variables, I..."

"Or, perhaps you, Lady Amell, couldn't imagine a world without you? Perhaps you thought you would have to do anything you could, make a deal, create a child just so you could live because thedas could not, would not continue without you?"

She flexed her arms, twisting the blade back and forth as if trying to saw off the archdemon's head. Kieran tipped its head in curiosity, but she paid it no heed. Fighting against whatever spell of the fade or her own mind froze the battle, Lana yanked the sword free and turned to face Kieran.

"Is that what you want from me, demon? To admit my sins? To confess on bended knees that I am weak but deserve to be greater?"

The face shuddered, the demon trying to maintain Kieran's facade, but as she stepped closer the smiling boy melted away to reveal dozens of purple spikes. "You're so clever, little mage," the pride demon crowed. "So astute to suss me out, and yet, clever mage, do you not wonder what I am doing here?"

Lana raised the sword, the power of the fade growing through her. She used to fight it, to fear what she could do, but after so much time trapped here, she learned how to redirect it. To use it. "Where is Kieran?"

"He is...around."

"Have you possessed him? Hurt him?"

The pride demon laughed, revealing a horrifying view of a forked tongue and razor sharp teeth. "I am not here for the boy. He is of little interest to me beyond what tasty fish he can help me catch."

It began to grow larger, trying to scare Lana back. She was but one woman about to fight a pride demon, the most terrifying of the pantheon. And yet... A soft chuckle broke from her. The demon paused, its height leveling as it asked in an almost panicked voice, "What's so funny?"

"I am Solona Amell, and you..." She whipped the blade around, slicing deep into the creature's belly. Before it had a chance to whip its claws against her flesh, she shoved a hand deep into the innards and then lit it all on fire. The ball of fire danced, burning the demon alive from the inside. Staggering away, she could see it growing in strength, this red white ball trembling with fury as the demon's blood fed its hunger. The pride demon tried to rip it out, to save itself, but it was too late.

Tossing the sword to the ground, Lana grabbed both her hands in the air, feeling the ball of fire inside of it and then ripped them apart. Erupting from the inside out, the pride demon exploded. Intestines and other organs rained down upon the frozen combatants who fought to save Denerim, no one reacting to the death of a demon.

"...should not have challenged a woman who breathes the fade," she finished, kicking a foot into the pride demon's liver. For two years, she'd killed these things and used their organs to hold her water, to scorch spiders, to keep her alive. Without the demon to hold court over this part of the Fade, the illusion shattered. Brick by brick, the tower of Drakon fell apart but Lana didn't feel the pull to the earth.

Walking as if on thin air, she stepped towards a single blue light flickering in the distance. A soft noise broke from it, the sound as weak as an unweaned puppy, but she kept her guard up. In the fade she didn't need her cane, didn't feel a jarring pain up her legs that grew so familiar it was unnerving to not have it. She was the young hero, the Warden the pride demon attempted to feast upon, who prepared herself for another round.

The noise switched to a sniffling, as if someone couldn't stop crying and rather than attempt to stymie it, was merely breathing through the mucus and tears. Blue light flickered against a single basin, barely casting any illumination save a lone beam upon a man's face. He sat perched upon a bench, his head in his hands as he dug into his hair and cried.

"Kieran?" she spoke, her voice shattering the empty void.

His head snapped up, a sleeve trying to stifle the tears as he raised the other hand with magic to ward off demons, "Who goes there?"

"It's me, I'm..." she stuttered, realizing he'd never met her and had no reason to trust her, "I'm a friend of your mother's."

"My mother has friends? Next you shall tell me chocolate rains from the sky," he snorted and Lana laughed in response. Together, they both shook off the spells warping in their fingers. He looked normal, human -- as normal as one could look in the Fade, but...there was something wrong. When her eyes darted to the edges of his body it felt unfinished. Not as if she could see missing skin or bones, but as if all of Kieran wasn't here.

"You should not have come," he said softly. "It is too dangerous."

"The pride demon?" she asked, sliding onto the bench beside him. The blue light lifted higher, churning slightly amber. Was that Kieran's doing or the Fade reacting to her? "I killed it, Kieran. You're safe. Free."

He snickered, his lip lifting in a hauntingly familiar fashion, "The demon wasn't here for me. It had no use for someone like me. But my mother..."

"What do you mean?" Lana shook her head. She'd been certain that it must have been the pride demon's machinations. It taunted her to keep her busy and away from freeing its prey. Now that it was dead, surely they could both leave together.

"Even if it did want me, it couldn't touch me. Not in here, not where I'm..." he twisted his face into a pucker and spat out, "safe."

"I don't understand," Lana shifted on her haunches, trying to get Kieran to look at her, but the boy was busy staring at his hands. _Could he see the same missing edges?_

"Forgive her, she knows not what she does," the boy whispered. It sounded like something he'd read or heard often, struggling to take it to heart. But it made no sense here.

"Kieran, please, I'm here to help you. To save you," she began to reach towards him to try and hold his hand but the boy yanked it away quickly and wary eyes glared at her.

"You can't," he sighed, his hands coming to rest upon the bench. He turned away to gaze against this blue prison but Lana didn't move from him.

"Why? Why can't I help you? What's keeping you from waking?"

The boy snickered, "Ask my mother."

"Morrigan? But she's as lost as any of us. She's so beside herself she was willing to..." Lana let the thought die, but Kieran grew intrigued by it.

His brown eyes searched for hers through the shadows, "Willing to what? What has mother done now? Threatened an empire? Toppled a religion?"

"Stolen a baby," Lana said.

Kieran's brows met in confusion, then he groaned, his head flopping down. "Of course, of course she thinks that blood will, but... A baby? Whose baby?"

Two paths here, Lana, both fraught with danger. The truth could set him off, but if he sensed the lie in here, she may lose this tenuous bond. "King Alistair's," she said, then dropped her head, "your father's."

He didn't gasp but there was a moment of screwing up his eyes and mashing apart his forehead with his fingers. "Mother never...she never wanted to talk about him. About what happened. But no wonder he'd want nothing to do with me, being King and all."

"That isn't what happened. It was your mother's..." Lana stopped dead in her tracks from trying to defend Alistair to the son who never knew him. "Morrigan had her reasons."

"You know him, don't you? Just as you know me. Mother mentioned you often, the Hero of Ferelden. She'd never call you that, but thought the title funny."

"I do know your father, I know him to be a good man. A good man who right now is terrified of his baby girl dying. If...if I can't bring you out of the fade then your mother will..."

Kieran groaned at that and staggered up to his feet. As he paced, the light followed him, illuminating familiar stones and walls. "She will kill the child, use her blood. Maker's breath, mother. You're not thinking!"

"Not thinking about what? Kieran, what's going on? I have to know, for the baby's life. For mine as well."

Whether he heard her plea or not she couldn't be certain. The boy was restless and angry -- pacing back and forth, the emotion illuminated more of the deep roads where his real body lay. Where hers did as well. "She's so paranoid, panicking to try and keep me safe. And yet so certain in being right all the time. Is it any wonder the pride demon was drawn here to her? After what she did and all without checking."

"Checking? Checking what?"

"The blood," he froze in his steps and stared at Lana. "She never thought for a moment that I might have the old blood in me. Didn't plan for it. Didn't stop to think that it..." Kieran flexed his fingers, watching the same flutter at the edge of the eyes as if he both did and did not exist.

"You have what you need, or what I can give you at least," he finished with, flopping back down on the altar where in the real life his body lay. As he placed his head against his hands, the light dimmed back to that single blue flame. "Tell my mother that...that I forgive her, and that she can't fight everything."

Lana pinched into her eyes, trying to fight back a rising well of tears. The boy sounded as if he intended to let himself vanish across the void, but as long as his body remained breathing it wasn't possible. He was trapped here, in his own bubble of the fade. Impervious to demon attacks, but also impossible for him to leave it. _Maker's sake, what did Morrigan do?_

"Before," Kieran gripped onto her hand and it felt solid, real, his deep brown eyes begging for something, "before you go, could you stay a bit and tell me...tell me about my father? Things mother never would."

Nodding, Lana had to pause to suck in a breath and steady her voice. "I will. Where do I, I'm not certain where to begin."

"What's he like?"

"Alistair's a kind man, loyal to his friends and a cause, and prone to telling the most Maker awful jokes to cut the tension or just kill a bit of time."

The boy smiled, perhaps he'd do the same on occasion. "It's impossible to think of my mother ever being capable of standing someone like that."

"She, they didn't get along. Really. At all," Lana swallowed, well aware she was wading into dangerous territory alone.

Kieran blinked slowly, taking in her words and struggling to understand. If his parents never once liked each other then how did he come to be? She was prepared to tell him the truth, but he switched tactics. "Did my father ever speak of me? Think about me?"

"He did, sometimes. Wondered what he'd say to you if he ever met you. What he'd do," Lana smiled, easily remembering a letter on the subject. "Alistair feared in trying to seem rakish and impressive on the first meeting he'd probably jam his foot into a bucket and then fall flat on his face."

The boy laughed at the idea, then flitted his fingers through the front of his hair, yanking it upwards the same way his father would. Lana was about to point that out, when Kieran asked, "Do I have any siblings? Half ones at least?"

"Only one, the baby that your mother..." She couldn't finish the thought, didn't want to. "Her name's Myra and her mother's an elf."

"It must run in the blood," Kieran sighed flexing his fingers. "Tell me more of my father. His favorite food, subjects, what did he do during the blight?"

"Well, no wise man should ever come between the King and cheese," Lana laughed, sliding back onto the bench to get comfortable. Beside her, the boy listened in rapt attention as she told him everything she could about the father he was likely to never meet.

## CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

#### Old Blood

Please...

She looked almost the same as she would while napping at home, her hair flattened against the pillow while barely a slip of sun made it through the shutters Cullen installed. How many times would he sneak up to their room to find her curled up in their bed catching up on sleep? He needed to know she was with him, to touch her warm cheek and brush back her wily hair. Every time he'd replace the water glass by the bed if only to explain his intrusion.

Lana's eyelids fluttered with sleep, but this wasn't a nap. Every so often she'd flinch or sneer, then a hand would knot together into a fist. The first time it happened, he sat up higher, all but prepared to drag Lana out of the Fade, even if he had to knock the witch out to do it.

When her hand relaxed, he snatched up her fingers. They were cold next to his skin, and gave no response back. Every other time he'd hold his wife's hand she'd give a small squeeze in return; now they lay bereft and motionless in his as she traipsed back into the world she nearly never left. He should have stopped her from doing this.

Right, because it's easy to contain Lana when she has half a mind about anything.

Still...she was a mother now. It wouldn't just be Cullen hurt if she didn't, if they...

"Blessed Andraste, bride of the Maker, cast your eye upon this one traveling through the Fade. Protect and guide her from any treacherous fiends that may cross her path and most of all, please," he sat up from his prayer, Lana's hand providing the other half of the clasped hands. Sliding back a few curls that clung to her cheek, he whispered, "bring her back to me."

"You think a god would care one whit about the machinations of a single human in a churning sea of them?"

It was the first time the witch spoke since Lana drifted deep into the Fade. His shoulders went rigid, Cullen straightening up to let Morrigan's poison drip harmlessly off his back.

"If you truly believe this Maker has turned from you, why beg and wheedle for his attention? It has always confounded me. In one breath the chantry claim he has left you all, and in another you invoke his name as if calling for a neighbor to come clear out the eves."

He clasped both his hands around Lana's, still unresponsive but her chest lifted in a slow breath. Not wanting to get into a theological debate with anyone at the moment, he focused only on his wife while whispering more prayers with silent lips. After the life he lived, the horrors he witnessed, he had to believe there was some otherworldly balance to it all. A reason and purpose beyond continual chaos and destruction. Otherwise waking every morning, facing an end without hope, would break him.

Morrigan, however, did not want to drop the subject, "You'd be far better off calling for Farmer Theodore to come to your aid than this Andraste or the Maker. What help could either provide beyond a convenient excuse to wave away anything you fail to understand?"

She stepped away from Kieran, either no longer needed for this connection or perhaps she never was. Maybe Lana lied to him and she could now enter the fade at will. How powerful was she growing, were all mages growing as the veil sputtered to its supposed doom? And what hope could anyone have against such magics unseen of since the days of Arlathan?

"Templar," Morrigan hissed, clearly needing attention, "have you no answer for your faith? No explanation?"

"It is not faith if I do," Cullen whispered to himself before turning to the witch. She looked more haggard than he remembered, the woman at Skyhold appearing that startling un-age that could be anything between 20 and 40. Now the world beat her down, the eyes sharp, but the cheeks sagging and pocked. So long they'd been on the run it was doubtful she had an easy time of it. Perhaps that should make him feel sympathetic, it probably would to Lana.

"Belittle it, belittle me, I don't care what you spew," Cullen said, glaring at her. "All that concerns me," he turned back to his wife laid out like the princess waiting for true love's kiss to wake her. It didn't work when she was trapped in the warden prison, nor would it work now. "Is her well being and my son's. Threaten that and then we shall have true words."

Morrigan sucked in a breath, her arms crossed as she was no doubt planning to unleash more of her vitriol if not against the chantry, then the templars themselves, or the uselessness of Cullen. They rarely crossed paths in Skyhold, the witch seeming happier for it, and he didn't care. As far as he was concerned back then she was the Inquisitor's problem. And now, they were trapped together, the woman unable to let go as she needed to poke and prod at something for a distraction.

She looked about to unleash it, when a shadow drifted from beside Cullen's edge of sight. Morrigan glanced up at it and then sneered, turning from them both. But before she could drift away, she whispered, "I do not wish any pain to Warden Amell."

It wasn't until her words finished ringing in his weary ears that Cullen caught on to why she left in a huff. Alistair stepped nearer, his hands hanging limply against his thighs as he stared hard at Lana, then glanced briefly towards his son. "How are things going?"

"She has not moved in an hour," Cullen reported. Perhaps it had been longer, he couldn't tell. "My son?" he whipped over quickly at Alistair, remembering who he left to guard his only child. The Maker had a true sense of humor in such things.

"Is sleeping. He and Myra were having a fun game of let's see what bad thing we can touch then put in our mouths to make the funny man shriek to stop. That was so invigorating, they both conked out like a light. Reiss is keeping an eye on them, but I imagine they'll be down for a bit."

His words faded as he stood up on tiptoes to gaze at Lana, then stared around the ruins, "Being down here, it's hard on them."

"Hard on us all," Cullen added in.

"True, very very true," he beat his hands together, something clearly on his mind that he didn't want to say. "So, uh, is this her first time in the fade since...?"

"Yes," Cullen spat out, glaring down at her silent fingers wrapped up in his. Wake up. Grip back. Please. Don't fall into this un-wakeable state the same as the boy. Could it be transferred? Was it contagious like an illness?

"Hey," a hand gripped onto his shoulder, gently patting it, "she'll get out of it. She's strong."

"Stubborn beyond measure is more the truth of it."

Alistair laughed a moment, "That's...I was about to say you have no idea, but I imagine I'm the one without a clue now. Not that Reiss isn't much better."

They weren't friends, they didn't speak well of each other, they never traded advice nor even letters. Everything Cullen knew of the man came second hand from his wife. But as he clung to her limp fingers, his palm caressing her cooling forehead, he looked over at the man clearly wanting someone to talk to.

The King was trying to yank his hair up by the roots, his head rocking back and forth like a buoy on the waves. "You wanna know the worst part about parenting? There's never enough time. Somedays I'm so tired of looking at my kids, they're whining, they're crying, they're covered in shit because one dumped the other down the latrine for a laugh. It's infuriating. But then I look up and think, 'Maker's breath, how much of all this did I just miss?'"

"Your other two," Cullen turned back to find the man with his head tipped up to the ceiling, perhaps to disguise any tears. "You miss them?"

"Every damn second I can't see them. And yet, when I am with them there are times I'd give anything to get away. It's... I keep thinking Spud's probably doing her sketches of all the advisors and making them guess who it is. Get it wrong and she'll sulk for a week with her bottom lip shoved far enough out you can balance an orange on it. And Cailan, he's upset because I'm not there to get the socks right. Three on the left -- green, red, green again -- one purple on the right. Got to get it just right or..."

He slumped to the ground, the man's strings cut at thinking of the other children in his life that were far from their father. Moaning, Alistair dug his hands through his face and hair, "As if Spud didn't already hate the baby before, now she's going to despise Myra for years, perhaps forever. Just what I need to leave behind when I finally cross the veil, a Queen trying to get someone to carve out her step-sister's heart because Daddy was too busy playing with that baby and missed out on her drawings. I'm so bad at this."

"The Inquisitor has asked me to return, twice over now," Cullen confessed.

"You..." Alistair's head staggered up at the admittance Cullen shouldn't have spoken. "Lanny didn't mention that."

"I haven't told her," he scrunched up his eyes, barely stemming the tears threatening to fall.

"Because you're worried she'll tell you stay with her and Gavin..."

"Because I know she'd tell me to fight for thedas. After all, if they lose, if our world is lost, then there will be no living for anyone. It is a salient point," Cullen admitted, rocking back and forth on his knees to keep them from locking up.

"We've all done it. Turned our back from safety, from a warm house, from food that didn't look like bronto vomit, to hold that line."

Cullen shuddered, he came to hate that phrase. It was one shouted by people who knew there was no chance to others who believed they'd make it out. For a time he didn't think he'd find retirement to his liking. Even with Lana in his arms, duty was in his blood, but then...

"I'm tired of fighting," he said, "of rising every morning never knowing if it will be the last while the floor crumbles below me."

"Then tell him no." Alistair, the last man in thedas Cullen could stand who'd never technically done him wrong, shrugged his shoulders while offering up heartfelt advice. "I'm certain the illustrious Inquisitor Gaerwn's heard it a time or two before. Though with him you have to be really strict about it, no 'perhaps' or 'I'll think about it.' Maybe it's being raised Dalish, he missed out on all the cues of 'Look, I hate the idea but I'm trying to be polite here. Stop making it so awkward.'"

"'No,' just like that?" Cullen laughed at the simplicity of it. There were few who knew what was happening, what could happen to the very fabric of life it they didn't act.

The man staggered to his feet and tried to wipe the dirt of the deep roads from his behind. "Be with your son, spend every damn second you can tickling his toes and singing Maker awful songs for them because..." his eyes trailed over towards Reiss who was sitting beside the fire, "it's over quicker than you can imagine."

Cullen released a hand off of Lana's to grip onto Alistair's forearm. "We will free your child from the witch's curse."

It took a moment for the man to shake off the cocky smile. A strange serenity warped his features and he nodded, "I know, Lanny's on the case. But no matter what happens, the damage has already been done."

"What do you...?" Cullen asked, when a slight tremor in the tan fingers gripped inside of his drew him down to his wife. Lana swallowed deeper, her eyelids fluttering. When she gripped onto his hand, her soulful brown eyes opened. For a moment she frowned, staring at the ceiling, before trying to stagger up to stare at her husband.

"Maker's grace," he cried, lifting her fingers to his lips to kiss them, "you're awake. You're alright?" In such a tizzy he forgot to inspect her for demons, but Lana's skin wasn't splitting in half, nor was she casting anyone aside. She frowned a moment, something weighing on her mind, before she let her free hand batter against Cullen's scruff.

"Honey eyes," she whispered to him, then sat fully up to bellow, "Morrigan!"

"Lanny," Alistair got nearer to her, trepidation and curiosity both obvious, "what happened? Did you find anything? Reiss, she's awake."

"She is?" the woman stumbled to her feet, racing quickly over the furniture in the way to stare down at Lana. Cullen almost expected her to wilt a moment at all this attention, but she was nearly glaring at the witch sliding closer. Keeping one hand beside her son, Morrigan seemed to be squaring her shoulders.

Gasping, as if she was kicked in the gut, Lana pitched forward and sighed. Cullen was quick to rub across her shoulders, peering down to ask, "Are you okay? Do you need some time to...?"

"No, no," she pinched into the bridge of her nose, then her eyes turned heavenward. "Promise me there's no black city above all the rock."

"None the last I checked," he admitted.

"Well..." Alistair was impatient, leaping into the matter before Lana had a chance to find her bearings. "What happened in the fade? Was there a demon?"

"Yes," Lana said as if it were a simple matter. But she gripped tighter to Cullen's hand and he returned it, the blood leaving his cheeks. It must have been a powerful one. Barely staring at her husband, or even the father pushing for answers, Lana's gaze landed right on Morrigan, "but that wasn't the solution. Was it?"

The witch blinked her yellow eyes, seeming to be unimpressed with his wife's glare. It was Reiss who butted in next, "What of the boy? Did you find Kieran?"

"I did," she said, watching as Morrigan's eyes opened wide in surprise. The witch gasped a moment, struggling to hide her burst of emotion.

"Are you certain it was him?" Cullen put to his wife and she groaned.

"I can tell the difference between a demon posing as a human and the real deal in the fade. They glimmer strangely," Lana threw off the cuff as if it was well known information, but he'd never heard of any mage talking about glimmering demons. They were often fooled or seduced by demons, the monsters far too easily wearing the skins of loved ones.

"Glimmering demons? Are you sure you weren't fighting in a brothel? I assume the Fade has a brothel, everywhere else seems to," Alistair chirped away, needing his voice to fill the void.

Lana rolled her eyes, but it was Reiss who jabbed him in the arm, "Maker's sake, what would the fade need a brothel for? They have those boob demons floating around everywhere already."

"Boob de...oh the desire ones," he chuckled. "Damn, why didn't we call them boob demons during templar training? That may have gotten me to pay attention."

Over the snickers of people who barely understood the veil or the fade, a single voice honed in on Lana. "How is he?" Morrigan whispered.

At that his wife shuddered, her arms wrapping around herself as if she was blisteringly cold. Cullen tried to help, but she felt the same temperature as normal. Whatever frost seeped into her was touching her soul instead. After a moment Lana glanced up at Morrigan and said, "Scared. Kieran was clearly broken up, terrified, and sad...because of what you did to him."

"What she...?" Cullen whipped around, watching the witch slide ever slightly back from the group. Her fingers cupped her son's cheek as if she needed to keep him between her and the rest to save herself.

"I don't understand," Reiss said. "If you killed the demon, shouldn't he wake up? Isn't that how it works?"

"Usually. At least every time I've been involved in one of these," Alistair added, glancing over at the boy who remained as comatose as when they entered.

Lana twisted in her seat, letting her short legs dangle above the ground. At her look, Cullen shifted to the side so she could step down. For a moment her face twisted as the pain of the real world returned, but she shook it off to hobble over to Morrigan. "The demon didn't keep him trapped. It couldn't touch Kieran, but it was drawn to the source of the power that trapped the boy. A tasty treat for a pride demon. No wonder it couldn't turn down such hubris. You knew it was in there, didn't you? Could have warned me."

"I've seen you destroy far more dangerous enemies. I had every confidence in you," Morrigan snickered, but her pillar was wobbling. As tiny Lana -- who made it up to her chin -- stepped closer, Morrigan began to scamper further away.

"Make's sake, a pride demon? Lana, you had to fight off..." Cullen tried to reach for her, but she waved him away.

"If it's not the demon, then what?" Alistair honed in on the problem, his eyes narrowing back to the witch. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the King's hand drifting to the hilt on his side.

"Tell them, Morrigan," Lana sneered. "Tell the truth, for once in your existence." The witch rolled her shoulders back, stretching her thin neck long as if she was daring them to cleave her head off. She glared, but wouldn't open her mouth. Unwilling to damn herself, or incapable of it?

"She did it, she cast a spell, something to protect Kieran from an outside source, a threat. Except she got it wrong."

The self-imposed muzzle snapped and Morrigan shouted loud enough to rattle the pillars, "I did every step of the spell correctly! It had no effect upon me. How could I know it would...would trap my son in a wakeless existence?"

"Protect him from what?" Alistair stepped closer, his fingers tightening to the grip of his sword.

Morrigan sneered, "From my mother, of course. She's threatened to come for me all my life. And then my son. I couldn't let her have him, hurt him. I thought I was one step ahead of her, but then that wolf of hers started moving again. Yes, I know all about the veil and Fen'Harel. Do not act surprised. There are more people in thedas than your little Inquisition who are keeping an eye on this threat."

"Wolf? Fen'Harel? I know that word. It's one of the creators, right? A bad one, I think," Reiss spoke, at first more to herself before turning to Alistair, "What's she talking about?"

"That's kinda a long story that will take time and hand puppets to explain. Uh," he stalled as her eyes narrowed down at him. Cullen was grateful he never had to faced that withering glare. "The really short version, Fen'Harel is real, he made the veil, and now he's got it in his eggy head to destroy it. So...yup," Alistair slapped his hands together and ended in a shrug.

"The elven gods are real and you didn't tell me?!" Reiss twisted on him, the witch seeming to be forgotten. Shrinking in on himself, Alistair tried to wave for Lana to come to his rescue.

"Also, her mother was, or is, Mythal," Cullen added, earning the wrathful glare of the King. Cullen lifted one shoulder in response. She was likely to learn it soon enough; may as well get it out now.

Morrigan leaned towards Reiss and smiled, "Congratulations, your entire world has been ripped upside down. Turns out your gods are nothing more than powerful mages or spirits. Perhaps you should try worshipping a tree or rock instead."

That earned her a growl, Reiss yanking a dagger free faster than any eye caught it, "I don't give two shits for the Dalish whatevers. My life was ripped apart by you, and I'll be the one piecing it back together when I cut your cold, dead heart out from your chest." She began to advance fast on the witch, when Lana lifted her fingers and pinned Reiss in place.

"Not now," Lana massaged her weary hand into her head while releasing Reiss from the quick spell. The elven woman snarled. She didn't advance, but she didn't drop the knife either. Groaning, Lana said, "We still have yet to fix this mess."

"My son," Morrigan impressed quickly upon the only one to show her a mercy, "you said you spoke to him? What did he say?"

"He knows what you did wrong, for starters," Lana clucked her tongue at her. "So damn smart, that was always you. Aloof from everyone because we couldn't understand your level of intelligence. Could never hope to reach it as you lorded it over us. But you missed it. I have no idea what spell you cast, but I'm getting the impression it was meant to shield someone from elven mage eyes."

That caused the witch to gasp in surprise, "How did you...?"

"Oh shit," Alistair took over, his head tipping upward.

Morrigan honed in on him seeming to be a page ahead of everyone else, "You...what is going on? What is wrong with my son?"

"He's a blighted elf blood, Morrigan," Lana shrieked. "You all but cursed your own child's body to hide from itself. His mind is fractured, incapable of reforming to return to the corporeal form!"

"No," she shook her head like mad. "No that cannot be. It worked on me, and I could not have passed any..."

"It didn't come from you," Lana sneered at the witch.

Those bright yellow eyes snapped to Alistair and she all but leaped towards him, "You! You have the old blood of the elves inside you?! And you never told me!"

"Oh right, I should have told you about something I just learned myself a few years back. You know, when we were being bestest pals right before you stabbed us in the back and then ran away," he smiled and tucked his hands under his chin in an impish move before grabbing tight to the sword. "Fuck you."

"No," Morrigan trembled, leaving it hard to tell if it was from agony or fury. Perhaps both as she faced the truth that her son was dying because of her mistake, her choice. "No, this wasn't my... I had to protect him. He's my child, please..." She turned towards her only hope, her fingers grasping onto Lana's robes. Cullen moved to shrug her off, but his wife calmed him with a wave.

"Please," Morrigan begged, "you must know a way. The blood, it could still work."

"Stop," Lana begged, "stop this. Let us go, break the curse you put on the baby. Myra's more elven than human. More than likely it would only doom Kieran to the void if you used her blood."

"No!" she gasped, sliding away from Lana and turning back to her son. The tremors rattled the witch's shoulders, but she didn't cry. Her fingers tenderly swooped away the hair clinging against the young man's forehead. She focused only on his shallow breaths, the eyelids gently twitching as he was locked away inside the Fade.

"Morrigan," Lana's voice softened, "you have to let him go."

The witch didn't seem to hear her as she gazed down at the young man she'd been raising these past eighteen or so years. Raising and no doubt loving. "He's all I have in this world. You're a mother," she shouted at Lana, then turned to Reiss, "and you as well. How can you expect me to give up, to walk away from my child?!"

"Myra can't..."

"You know nothing of blood magic," Morrigan hissed. "Chantry mage, collared and beaten to swallow their rhetoric. Do not speak to me of what blood magic can and cannot do. I know things, I have seen things that you can never imagine."

In all their time together, he'd rarely seen Lana snap. When it did occur, it was almost always when she or someone she loved was in imminent danger. His wife was a gentle soul right up until the button was pushed. Morrigan just hurled a potted plant at it.

Snarling like a rabid dog, Lana launched off her toes to get right into Morrigan's face, "And I survived in the Fade for two years. Two years! The magics I've done, the magic I can command if I put one thought to it would turn your hair white. But none of that matters. Morrigan! Free Myra, stop this death curse you put her on. Let Alistair and Reiss return to their lives."

Morrigan glanced over at them, Alistair wrapping an arm around Reiss. Whether it was to protect her or stop her from gutting the witch, Cullen couldn't say. The witch seemed to soften a bit. Not much as those hard edges would never vanish, but Morrigan's sharp glare faded.

Reaching over, Lana wrapped a hand around Morrigan's fingers. She whispered, "Let your son go."

Snarling, Morrigan threw off Lana's hand and her support in one go. "Let him go?! Abandon all I've...! You," she jabbed a finger at Lana, "made a promise. A deal. I would spare the baby's life if you returned my son to me."

"For the love of the Maker, Morrigan. See reason."

"I am seeing reason. I didn't split the child's throat while you were traipsing through the fade." At that Reiss lashed forward, her arms trying to gouge out Morrigan's eyes, but this time it was Cullen who stopped her. Not to protect the witch but because his wife was in the way. In her state, it was doubtful Reiss would notice, nor stop.

Morrigan turned her backs to them, her head bent down to stare at Kieran's almost angelic face. They always looked so virtuous while sleeping, as if nothing of this world could be blamed upon their brows. "The deal stands as is. Bring me back my son, and you're free to go wherever you wish," the witch spat out.

"For the love of..." Lana snarled, "Fine! Fine I'll..." She breathed hard, huffing as if from a run before turning to Alistair. The man looked beaten, his eyes shattered at the fate of his baby blowing in the breeze. "I have some ideas. I'll need research, new research on elves. And you damn well better tell me what spell you used, all of it; etymology, history, everything you have on it."

The witch breathed a moment more, her forehead hovering close to her son's. "I shall," she said, her voice stripped. "You...you spoke to Kieran. Was there anything else he said?"

 "We talked for awhile, I think he was...he's scared to face the void alone and having another voice there with him helped soothe it."

Morrigan shuddered, this one full of regrets and agony. "What did my son say?"

"He asked me about his father. Wanted to know everything I did about you, Alistair. I hope you don't mind me telling him?" Lana turned to the man whose eyes were wide with unshed tears. Slowly he shook his head in the negative at Lana, before staring towards the son he never knew.

"And," Lana swallowed hard, squaring up to face Morrigan's turned back, "Kieran told me that he forgives you for what you did to him."

A single sob erupted from the cold witch's mouth. She buried her face into her son's empty body, trying to hide the tears from the world.

## CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT

#### The Straw

The cave got colder now that every single person knew it was all Morrigan's fault. Of course the witch was acting even more cruel in response to the knowledge, doing her best to throw out a single word or phrase to cut down all of them to her level. But none of it would work. She doomed her son, and was now dooming his daughter. There was no sticking your nose up in the air after that. Alistair watched from the sides of the wash basin as Lanny all but ripped her hair out while face deep into some ancient elven tome.

How he wound up in charge of trying to get every filthy nappy sparkling white was beyond him. Was there a bet? Those always tended to end in him washing. Or if he told a joke that didn't go over well, or screamed down a well to see if the well would scream back. Maker, the Sisters never found that one hilarious. Didn't matter how many times he tried to explain it, they'd just cross their arms then point to the kitchen.

The witch staggered up from her knees and said something curt to Lanny. Barely acknowledging the words, Lanny dug back to work while Morrigan stalked off to no doubt drain the life essence of small furry woodland animals. Swallowing, Alistair wadded up the scrubbed diaper and let it hang dry off the lip of the bucket. It wasn't proper procedure, but his mind was far from them.

Like a man with a fake foot, he hobbled towards Lanny and the altar behind her. The altar holding his son. It shouldn't bother him, it wasn't as if he'd had any real say in the kid. Not in making him, certainly not in raising him. Who's to say the kid didn't turn out an exact copy of Morrigan? Sneaky and cruel because it's more fun that way.

Alistair stopped before the boy who'd begun to sprout the first real hints of facial hair above his top lip. It was true adolescent dusting, reminding him of the time he attempted it around age eighteen. Some part of it was to try and stick it to the templars who preferred their recruits clean shaven for a sense of uniformity, or because beard hair could get clogged in helmet rivets. But by day five, when all it looked like was that Alistair stuck his nose into a pot of dirt, he shaved it off and found other ways to mess with the chantry.

"You don't look much like me," he said to himself. The boy was square jawed, thin in the face still but give it a few years and he'd probably be one of those rakish mages that give young girls fits. "That was probably all your mother's doing," Alistair mused to himself before flinching.

His eyes darted over towards Lanny, but she seemed to be entranced in whatever she was reading. Maybe she found the answer. Maybe they'd all be freed today. Just have to mix up a magical potion and boom, all of Morrigan's mistakes wiped away. Once again the witch got everything she wanted and the rest of them were left to pick up the pieces alone.

Slowly, Alistair took a knee beside the boy's sleeping face. "If you thought I'd have a great opening line, you clearly don't know me very well. I admit, for a time I didn't think about you, didn't want to know if Morrigan had the baby. It was all...felt like a dream, a bad one, where you feel snakes crawling all over your skin and bugs sneaking into your ears and nostrils."

He shuddered at the thought, thinking it might be a bit too hyperbolic, until he remembered slivers of the night Alistair did his best to destroy with booze and willpower. If anything he was too kind on the comparison. Acid should probably be involved as well.

Scurrying closer, he placed a hand beside the boy's head. His hair was chestnut, not as dark as Morrigan's, and nowhere near his dusky, strawberry mop. "At least you're not a demon with giant horns, or claws. Given your mother that seemed a good possibility, but..."

The words faded as Alistair kept struggling to separate the child from the mother. It wasn't fair to Kieran and he'd come to accept the concept with time and maturity. But faced with the obstacle and after the shit his mother just pulled, it was growing harder. "I am sorry that I didn't get a chance to meet you, to know you. My father was the same, funny enough. Distant King, aware he had a bastard, but pretty much ordered everyone to pretend it didn't happen. A shame to him."

"I hate your mother, I can't deny that. Certainly think I'm well within my rights now, but..." Alistair bent his head down, trying to chew through the pounding in his heart that sometimes made him wake from a nightmare. It felt as if an ocean kept swooping in over his head, slowly drowning him until at the last moment it receded with the tide. "I don't regret you," he admitted to Kieran. Reiss would snarl for it; she made insinuations before that they should end the boy's suffering. Learning the full truth of what occurred, she considered it a mercy now.

To her he was an inconvenience. Alistair could understand it, she wanted to protect her baby, to get free of this nightmare. But he couldn't stop staring at Kieran, trying to find reflections of himself in this young man that was also his son. "If you're a good man, kind, loves kittens and puppies, I don't know. You could be prone to fits of despair, or dour as a lemon -- in which case you'd get on swimmingly with the templar over there. But I am sorry that I missed out on knowing. Even if..."

Even if Lanny pulled off the impossible, saved everyone, convinced Reiss to stand down, got Morrigan to agree to leave Ferelden for good, he'd never talk to Kieran. Certainly never come to understand this other person with his blood in him. Was that to forever be Alistair's curse? To have family within sight but always out of grasp? Maric, his brother Cailan, both dead before he came to consider reaching for them. His mother, sequestering herself away, all but making it known she wanted nothing to do with him.

The only ones he had were his kids, all three of them. Or was it four? No, that's...don't be stupid, Alistair.

"Ali," a soft hand drifted across his shoulder. He sat up quickly to find Lanny standing behind him, her eyes noting the weary tears building. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sure," he wiped a forearm across his face and staggered away from Kieran, "just peachy keen. Trapped in the deep roads with my baby, haven't seen my other kids in nearing a week. All at the whims of a witch I really thought I would never have to look upon ever again. That Maker, you think you've got Him all figured out and then woosh! Total curveball."

"I will find a solution," Lanny said, gripping tighter to his arm.

He tapped her fingers and sighed, "I know you will, you always do. It's what you're good at."

"Cullen doesn't understand," she whispered.

"Reiss neither. I mean, I think she tries to, a bit. But it's...I don't know if I understand." His son, but not his son. Made from his blood and other bits so long ago Alistair was just a kid himself. A means to an end that didn't vanish, didn't fade once the danger was passed. He was here and he was in trouble.

"Do you ever wonder," Alistair began, glancing over at Lanny, "why I agreed to it? Why I willingly went to Morrigan's room and...let her do her magic?" His lips twisted in spite, wanting to spit away the venom of thinking upon it.

Lanny's soulful eyes wandered over him, brimming with their own tears from hours of reading by weak lamplight. She reached forward for a chaste half hug and sighed, "No. I know exactly why you did it."

"Yeah," he sighed, "I guess you would. Same as me." Alistair tried to worry away a knot building in his neck, but somehow that only made things worse, "What are we going to do?"

"For now I'm researching everything Elven I can get my hands on. But, short of taking a sabbatical to the Imperium for a few years, there isn't much to go off of."

"Any word from the Inquisitor?" Alistair turned away from Kieran, trying to lock all those complicated emotions in a chest for later.

"No," she shook her head, "and I fear there will not be one."

Alistair scoffed, "Maybe if I put a little pressure. King of Ferelden asking nicely to tap into all that ancient elfy knowledge he swallowed. We could offer a few troops in return."

"I doubt that would work. They say that Gaerwn is hesitant to obey the whispers of the well these days, given the current climate. And if his old Commander cannot get him to try, I fear nothing could."

"What? Save a King's daughter and be owed a favor from an entire nation? Who turns that down?" Alistair groaned, "What's an old templar got that I haven't to entice the offer?"

Lanny snickered, "That sneer, I suspect."

"No, the Inquisitor and...the templar?" Alistair twisted his head over at Cullen who was standing with Reiss. Their children slept on unaware of the adults teaching the other how to destroy mages. She'd tried to wheedle the skills out of him, but Alistair had to tell the truth. This many years post chantry, he had no idea how to teach anyone. He could tap into his pretty much on accident or when he was really mad. Being able to get Reiss to dismantle even the simplest spell would take weeks.

But that damn templar agreed. Said that she should be able to defend herself from the witch same as the rest. It wasn't as if Alistair could argue with that logic, Reiss was dead set on her path of vengeance no matter what he did. Sometimes he was surprised she didn't set out to slit the throat of that ex-boyfriend of hers.

Reiss had a blade out, both of her hands wrapped around the grip as if in prayer, while Cullen kept circling her. He never touched her, but it was close enough Alistair would stagger up on his toes to keep an eye on them. Yeah, okay, she was right. He should probably do something about his jealousy streak.

"So your husband and the Inquisitor," Alistair tried to turn away from watching the pair sparring with their minds. It wasn't as much fun as it sounded -- requiring the recruits to sit and glare at each other until they could manage to knock one down using a mental attack. Once, Alistair got so bored during the sitting, he tipped his head forward and smashed into his sparring partner's nose. That was ten weeks in the kitchens.

Lanny, in no mood to gossip about such intriguing matters, flipped through her books instead, "I want to find an answer. I need to find an answer but... Maker's breath, this would all be so much simpler if Morrigan had drunk from the well."

"Maybe she'd be stuck somewhere dancing for Flemeth's amusement. An eternity on her mother's leash," Alistair mused to himself. "Maker, that's a lovely thought."

"I meant because she'd have knowledge of how to reverse this damage. Or wouldn't have attempted the spell in the first place. Andraste's ass, it's as if he's missing a quarter of himself. No one can survive like that, and I..." she shuddered, her hands gripping tight to her cane as her shoulders slumped forward.

"Lanny," Alistair patted her back, "what if you can't save him? What's our plan B?"

Her eyes cracked, heartbreak shining in them. She hadn't considered it. Hadn't thought for a single moment that in all of this she'd have to be the one to put an end to Kieran, perhaps to Morrigan as well. "I don't know, Ali," she whispered, "I don't know anything anymore."

Alistair wanted to hug her, to tell her it would be okay even while both knew it was a lie, when a wave of power undulated through the air. It knocked Lanny back, and instinctively Alistair gripped onto her hands to keep her on her feet. "Maker's sake, what was...?" was as far as he got before he recognized the signs of a holy smite dissipating in the air.

Turning to ask the two combatants, a cry erupted from the sleeping bundle hidden under a blanket. Another joined in, both babies feeling the same buildup of pressure and none too happy about it. Reiss unfolded her hands and the sword scattered to the ground. "Myra, baby," she dashed towards their daughter to scoop her up, "I'm so sorry. Shh...that's not meant to hurt you."

His little Wheaty's big green eyes dripped even bigger tears as she stuffed her fist into her mouth. She gazed around, the wails lowering in pitch but not stopping entirely. Cullen tucked up his son, Gavin fading back to normal quicker from the blast, but he had a furrowed brow of concern. Tan hands patted against his father's cheeks as if asking what in the Maker's name he thought he was doing.

Reiss was still beside herself, surprised at the power she could unleash. "You're not supposed to be hurt," she said to Myra, patting against their daughter's back.

Beside him, Lanny snapped rigid, her eyes swiveling back to Kieran stretched out on his death bed. "But one of us will be," she sighed, "no matter what."

"Lanny...?"

"I should return to work. If there's news from the Inquisitor..." she limped back to the desk that all but held her captive. It was a wonder Morrigan didn't chain her leg to it.

"You'll be the first to know," Alistair promised, bowing his head. Before he left her to it, he glanced over at Kieran, his son in what seemed to be name only, and the pit grew wider in his stomach.

* * *

The bandage was wrapped tight enough around her fingers to cut off circulation, but Reiss kept constricting it. Yank it back harder until her skin puffed through the gaps like over-proofed dough. It was a distraction much better than the other one wandering beyond the edge of sight. The witch was smart to keep far away, but Reiss could feel her snicker and hear her condescension with every attempt of the elven woman to try to throw a templar skill.

"That's probably enough," Cullen glanced over from whatever minor traps he'd been laying. It was her job to disarm them, to sense the source of magic and tug it free. Reiss couldn't even spot them, never mind dispel shit. Her baby's life was on the line and all she could do was stand back and wait for someone else to handle it. It was crap, all of it.

She stopped tugging on the bandage to glare up at the altar Morrigan placed her son on. Almost as if he was the next savior of thedas and they were all to bow down to him. Or a sacrifice, stretched out before the next god to come falling out of the fade. It seemed to be one in the same anymore. Giant threat arises to doom them all and someone plucked from obscurity rises up to fight it off. Rinse and repeat every few years.

"If you require a break," the Commander spoke again, drawing her attention away from the witch drifting near his wife.

Reiss wanted to insist she was fine, that she'd get the hang of this soon, but her eyes drilled into Morrigan. Her fault. She didn't just kidnap Myra, curse her, threaten to spill her blood for her own reasons. No, she did the same to her own son. In some mad quest to do Maker knows what evil thing, she trapped him, doomed him. Same as everyone else down here.

"This is bullshit," Reiss snarled, forgetting whose company she was in.

The Commander, however, didn't blanch at her filthy mouth. His amber eyes narrowed down upon the witch and he snarled, "I agree."

"It's her doing, all of it. We should..."

His hand cupped her shoulder, the touch light but soldiery, as if he was trying to pass years of battalion camaraderie through it. "We have to put faith in Lana," Cullen tried to force a smile, but it didn't take. He turned to stare up at his wife who looked more haggard with every day. No one wanted to talk about it, because what could they say? Hey, you're starting to look terrible. Maybe you should take a break, oh wait, now we're all trapped here even longer. Never mind.

"Do you think she'll...?" Reiss began before shaking the thought away. What was the point? Either she would or she wouldn't, then it was back to fighting off a witch and a ticking clock. "I've never wished for magic in my family more than I do right now," she groaned sinking to her weary knees.

Myra sat inside their little playpen trap that Cullen devised. He was surprisingly good at finding ways to keep the babies penned in but safe. All those years as a templar? She wanted to ask if they'd had to deal with babies and children while in the chantry's service, but something in his sullen gaze warned her to hold her tongue. He was quick but cautious about it all, as if continually uncertain about everything when it came to his son.

For now Gavin was tuckered out, still down for the nap Myra rose from a good hour ago. He was shorter than her child, but something told Reiss that wasn't going to last forever. Far too much of the father in him, in both of them. Her baby, her beautiful little girl, was chewing on a wooden toy the guards unearthed from somewhere. It was all they had, the kids having to share. Surprisingly, both caught on to the idea quickly, often passing it back and forth to let the other play with it.

Every once in awhile Myra would glance over at her fellow child trapped in this abyss, as if she was waiting for him to hurry and wake up. They were going to miss each other when this was over. If this ever finished.

Reiss reached into the playpen to cup her hands around her daughter. In no mood to get out, Myra knocked the wooden toy into them for a moment, then ran her sharp nails over Reiss' skin. "If I had magic, I could end this, all of it," she whispered to her daughter.

"Be careful thinking such matters," Cullen suddenly loomed closer behind her. "Blood magic is..."

"A curse upon the Maker, I know," she was losing her cool, that armor she always wore long shattered thanks to exhaustion and fear. "But so's stealing a mother's child. People who say one wrong won't solve another have never had their back against the wall."

"If you are considering asking my wife to--" he began, his voice low and threatening like loose gravel on a hill.

Reiss spun away from her baby to interrupt, "No, no, it's my daughter, my curse to make. Not that it matters either way. I can't even see whatever you did over there. I can't break apart magic, never mind create it from thin air."

He thawed, but the edge remained, like a blade frozen inside a glacier. None of them were going to step back until they were free of this Maker awful place. "Do not give up hope, there is some room left to fight. Sometimes that's all a soldier needs."

"I can see why you left all the speeches to Addley, Ser," Reiss snickered, turning to him.

That caused him to blush a moment, his head rolling away as if she caught him on some major secret. The investigator inside wanted to dive deeper, but he turned towards his wife, who was hobbling towards them. Always quick to her side, Cullen abandoned his pupil to assist the only hope they had left, the only hope they ever had.

"Is he still out?" Lana asked peering down at her son. "Maker's breath, that's near on half the day."

"I know," the father added back, "tonight shall be never ending. Perhaps we should wake him."

"And face down that sour puss? He's worse than you when woken from a nap," she scoffed, causing Cullen to softly scowl, a very close copy to the look Gavin would pull when annoyed. That boy wouldn't have to explain who his father was very often as he grew. Would the same be true for Myra?

"What have you learned?" Reiss interrupted their little parental moment. She staggered away from her knees and her daughter. Turning, she spotted Alistair joining in the group, his arms crossed.

"Not much, I'm afraid. I can barely understand the baseline of the spell. It's...it seemed to be an ancient tevinter protection one, from the days of the early early Imperium. But, that's not right either. I think it may have been one devised to turn away the eyes of the Evanuris, essentially blind the old slaves or rebels from their gods. No idea if it worked, but the Tevinter mages altered it, turned it to work upon humans."

Lana sounded fascinated by it all, this ancient knowledge that no one should possess. It nearly ripped the world apart thanks to Corypheus. And now, it could be the death of Reiss' child. "So how do you reverse it?"

"I...have no idea. Spells this complex can't be broken apart. It's not like scratching old words off of vellum. They have to be deconstructed first. And in order to do that I have to understand it."

"Lanny," Alistair drifted closer to Reiss, a hand curling around her waist as he held her tight. She could sense the question neither of them wanted to ask. "How long would that take?"

"I have no..."

"Give us an estimate," he threw out with a stressed voice, both of them needing an answer. A few more weeks they could work with, a month might be a stretch, but anything beyond and it was impossible.

"If, if I can get a successful test run of a basic version then I can start walking it back to--."

"Maker's breath, Lana. No one here cares about the mechanics," her husband spoke sharply. She didn't inhale at the jab but her eyes darted to him in surprise. "We need the truth. We need a real plan."

"A year," she confessed, "perhaps more."

There it was. Reiss rounded down to stare at Myra, her baby unaware of an entire world out there passing them by. Alistair couldn't lose a year down here, the kingdom wouldn't allow it. Nor would he stay away from his other children that long. And if she stayed, her agency, her work was doomed. Assuming it wasn't already fully underwater or burnt to the ground. Lunet sent a missive promising everything was just fine, but Reiss knew that could be a lie for her sake.

"Reiss," Alistair's fingers crested across her spine, his voice cracking in pain. She didn't look up at him because she knew what he'd choose. They'd stay, they'd find some way to appease the witch in order to save the boy. But Reiss wouldn't do it. Stalling, giving the Hero time to try and find a cure only stoked the fires inside of her. Her blood rage didn't lessen over the days, it remained percolating behind her eyes and she intended to finish this.

"You know what we have to do," she said, her eyes on their baby.

"And risk Wheaty?" he groaned back, a hand tearing up his hair.

"Fuck Morrigan and her kid, cure the curse she put on Myra instead," Reiss turned to Lana who paled at the attention. She began to scoot backwards with her cane, but bumped into her husband who refused to move.

"I told you, I can't. If I could, I would have already."

"Really?" Reiss rounded on her, tired of crying, tired of begging, tired of hoping. All she wanted was action, an answer to the never ending questions. "Because you're sure as shit quick to leap to the kid's side. To put your all into healing him. What about my baby? Or have you been lying this whole time about blood magic being the only thing to break it?"

"Be careful of what you accuse me of," she hissed back, her hand lifting. No doubt she was doing something magical, but Reiss could barely taste it.

"It's no secret that you and this witch are friends. And you owe her a debt, right? You'd be dead if not for her and the brat. Why not lie?"

"Knock it off!" It was Alistair who lashed out, his hand gripping onto her arm to stop her from doing something stupid. "You're not helping anything right now by accusing Lanny of shit."

"Don't you want to get out of here? To walk free with your daughter knowing she's safe?" Reiss' voice cracked, feeling completely alone in this.

He reached forward to wrap his arms around her. With her head nestled against his chest, the tears began. She was so tired of feeling vulnerable, of never knowing if her heart could keep going or if it would finally crumble away. Alistair buried his chin into her bun, his lips whispering into the golden hair, "I get it, we're all at the breaking point, but turning on each other isn't going to help. We need a plan, a real, workable one. Do you have anything, Cullen?"

"Maybe," the Commander stepped forward a moment, "an idea, that..."

Alistair's head shot up off of Reiss' bun, his eyes hunting through the cavern as if he spotted a shadow. When she turned, Reiss saw the Hero doing the same. With her lips pulled back tight against her teeth, Lana looked like a cat in full hiss about to swat at whatever was threatening it. Cullen reached towards his wife, trying to get her attention with a, "Lana?"

On cue, both Alistair and Lana's heads pivoted right to the far wall. Rock exploded inward towards them, crumbling to reveal a hole filling quickly with darkspawn.

"Shit!" Alistair shouted. Reiss slipped away from him, both fumbling for their swords. Hurlocks swarmed out, their weapons at the ready while scrabbling over fallen rocks and debris. They lashed their tongues against the air, gibbering in what passed for darkspawn language, when ice blanketed against the first line. Frosted white, the darkspawn behind shattered through their peers while leaping towards the unprepared people.

Alistair was first to lunge towards them, his sword dicing into a hurlock's skull as if it was made of butter. The second took more work, its blade slicking towards the unarmored man but he managed to dodge it before slicing the throat. That was enough time for a spell to whip over Alistair's head and shatter more ice across the darkspawn. With two lines down, the horde paused a moment, eyeing up what they must have thought would be an easy kill.

"Maker damn it," Lana cursed, her eyes glowing white as she twisted a ball of energy on her fingers. "Cullen, grab Gavin. Protect him."

"You too, Reiss," Alistair turned over his shoulder to look at her.

"By the void I will. I can fight same as you."

Despite the line of darkspawn barely being held by the mage's sheet of ice, Alistair ran back to her and hissed, "Look, I know you're scary and awesome, but the absolute last thing I want to think about is you getting the blight, okay. It's bad, not fun, wouldn't recommend the tainted thing. So please, watch over Myra."

She gasped, having been prepared to fight him off and the horde, but at the pleading in his eyes Reiss backed down. "Okay," she sheathed her sword and reached into the pen to snatch up Myra. Her baby wasn't happy about being interrupted, but the tears froze into wide shock at the sight of darkspawn cracking through the ice.

Holding her breath, Reiss watched in terror as the darkspawn continued to whack below the cracking ice. It wouldn't be long now until they broke free, leaving all of two people to take them down.

Alistair slid in beside Lana, his sword at the ready while he secured his old shield on over the arm. "Figure they sensed us?" he casually asked her as if they were waiting for a wagon and not certain death.

She grimly nodded a moment before staring at the man. "Us? What do you mean us? When in the blighted hell did the taint come back into you?"

"A, uh, few...months ago. I was going to say something but we were kinda busy. Babies and all, lot of work, right?" He sang, jerking his head back towards the pair of non-grey wardens doing their best to not panic.

Lana sneered, "Fine, but we are going to have a talk about the importance of data and oh yeah, not facing the pain of a damn joining while alone."

"Yes mother," he groaned, shifting tighter into form. "They're coming through."

"I know."

"Any second now."

Lana groaned, her spell breaking down against the force of the darkspawn, "I know!" Her cry broke the air just as the ice shattered into a billion pieces. This was no hammering of pommels and hands against the thick ice, it was magic. Strong magic.

"Shit, Emissary," Alistair shouted first, already running headlong into the horde.

"Cullen, get the kids out of here, now!" Lana ordered. He tightened up beside Reiss, wishing to do something to help, but both of their arms were overflowing with wiggly babies.

Whipping her head back to the battle, Lana met the Emissary magic for magic. Whatever she'd been building on her fingers shattered against the darkspawn's casting. It didn't hurt the creature, but it did dissipate its own attack. That was enough for Alistair, the man in full soldier mode as he bashed into a hurlock's head and rose upward to stab down at the Emissary. He almost got in, when a blast sent the man hurling through the air.

"No!" Reiss shrieked, trying to run forward when a hand clamped onto her.

She whipped her head into Cullen's eyes, "They're right, we need to protect the children first. Come on." Like useless fools, they both turned from the battle, running back towards the room that used to house the forge. "The walls are thick here, no way darkspawn could breach them. And there's one door. One way in."

Myra began to cry, the girl having watched her daddy being tossed about like a rag doll before they turned and ran like cowards. "I'm sorry," Reiss whispered to her child, brushing her cheek against the baby's forehead. In the distance all they could hear was the sounds of battle, neither knowing whose sword was hitting metal and whose meat. On occasion a few human sounding 'ah ha's' and 'got ya now' drifted through, but just as many 'shit shit shitting shit' and 'owe, that one hurt' struck as well.

Clinging tight to her child, Reiss had to fight against herself to keep from running back to help. Maker's sake, if she lost Alistair because she hid away like a coward... Tears dripped onto her baby's head, Myra trying to bat them away while she frowned at her mother for getting her wet. Reiss tried to apologize again, when she glanced up to find Cullen glaring through the wall. He looked like a man who was watching his home burn to ash while he stood holding an empty bucket. Through the fight sounds and cries of exhaustion, the pair of them shared a silent look, passing the same fears of what loving a Grey Warden truly meant.

Over the noise came an obvious cry of Lana's, exhausted and pained, "I hate Emissaries!"

The Commander stepped forward to drop Gavin into Reiss' already full arms, "Here."

"What are you doing?" she shouted, struggling to juggle both babies while watching the man unsheathe his sword.

"I can stop the creature's magic," he explained, reminding Reiss how pointless she was amongst them all. Wardens, templars, mages, and an elf who could get really mad sometimes.

He nodded, clearly planning on nothing stopping him, when she said, "Your wife's gonna kill you."

For a moment Cullen paused and whispered, "Better she's alive to do it then." Reiss could try to stop him, but, better three be out there fighting instead of two. Watching the man vanish out the door, Gavin began to fuss at the loss of both of his parents.

"Shush," she tried to calm the babies. With any luck, the others were keeping the horde busy, too busy to care about a couple of children and their nanny. Myra gave in pretty quickly, but Gavin wasn't happy. His wails grew from grumbles to full on tantrum levels, neither of the people he loved most in the world rushing in to answer them.

"Please stop. Your mummy and daddy are busy, but they'll be back. Once the bad men are gone." Three people fighting a horde. And where in all of this was Morrigan? Reiss sneered, probably whisking her comatose son off to safety, as if there was anything in there worth saving. She'd let all of them die to preserve her moral high ground.

More sounds of battle echoed from outside, but it seemed as if the tide was turning. She couldn't be certain which way, but she was hoping beyond belief. "Gavin," Reiss tried to bounce him, but with her arms full there was no way she could manage. "You have to stop crying or..."

A grey head dashed past the entrance.

_Fuck.  _

Reiss fell deeper into the room, hoping it'd miss her among the shadows, but the baby wouldn't stop making unholy noises. "Shh..." she tried, watching in terror as the grey head turned in the doorway and the darkspawn honed in on three easy targets.

It twisted its head like an undead bird, pivoting unnaturally to understand what was before it while dragging a broken leg. Sweet Maker, even that horribly injured it kept going. What were these things?! Reiss had two options, drop the children and try to unsheathe her sword in time, or dodge its first swing and try to run past. Both had about the same failure rate. Her panicking brain kept her sliding backwards until she smacked right into the wall.

At the sound of her heels scrabbling to climb it, the hurlock grinned, its razor teeth oozing with blood and white mucus. Even at this distance, the stench kicked right into her gut; Reiss struggling to not vomit. It wasn't death, but the remains of it -- weeks, perhaps months old, when a body was more soup than anything that was once alive. Raising its sword up, the hurlock prepared to strike a blow.

Out of options, Reiss spun on her heels to face the wall. The kids would be protected from her body while she took the blows. Tensing up, she prepared for the hack against her shoulders or spine. It'd be bad, might kill her, might paralyze her, but she'd buy time for the others to come and save the babies.

The hurlock gibbered and she felt the air of the sword rushing forward, when out of nowhere a force rocketed through the air itself. Reiss flattened into the wall as a body stood where she had been. "What the...?" Shooting a look over her shoulders, she spotted Morrigan standing there. The hurlock's blade bit into her upper arm and then stopped as if the witch's skin suddenly turned to stone. Glancing down at it, the woman sneered and then blew magic back at the creature.

It screamed as if its skin was on fire, even though no flames erupted. The creature dropped to the ground while the flesh began to melt off of its bones, pieces peeling free like bark off of a birch tree. _Maker's breath!_ Reiss twisted back to the wall to protect the children from a horrific sight until the shrieking stopped. When she turned back, there was only Morrigan glancing at the gash to her arm.

Sensing eyes on her, the witch looked up at the elf and nodded once. Reiss' mouth ran dry, but she returned the nod of thanks. If the witch hadn't stepped in, she'd be dead.

If the witch hadn't stolen her baby, they wouldn't be here.

"We should return to the others," Morrigan said. The witch didn't argue, or make any suggestions Reiss remain in place. She took the lead, easily climbing over dead darkspawn to reveal a battlefield emptied of almost everything. A few hurlocks remained, Alistair approaching carefully while Lana -- crouched behind a pillar and firing off magic when safe -- cast purple bolts at them.

Growling, Cullen jogged up to the last hurlocks, and -- with his sword -- cleaved off both heads. Black blood spurted from the scissored spines, but he was quick to turn from it and slide away.

"Is that the last of them?" Lana asked, sliding out of her perch to inspect the room where they'd been living for the past week. It was an abattoir's kill floor now.

"It is," Morrigan shouted, drawing all the eyes to first her, then the woman behind.

"Maker's breath," Cullen gasped, the sword clattering from his hands as he turned to his son who finally stopped crying at the sound of his father.

Alistair was digging a palm into his side but there was no crimson blood, hopefully just a cramp. He glanced up from the floor to catch Reiss' eye and both said the same prayer of thanks for the other staying alive. Unaware of anything wrong, Myra began to bounce in Reiss' arms, wanting to get down. Like that was going to happen while darkspawn blood seeped into every stone.

"We should close the tunnel up," Morrigan said, lifting her hands. "Lana?"

Hobbling out towards her, the Warden followed suit and together both blasted magic at the exploded tunnel until it collapsed, rocks sealing off the entrance where darkspawn nearly ended them all. The last spell must have been too much for her as Lana collapsed to her knees. For a brief respite, the witch seemed to show pity, but it was Cullen who leaped through blood to rush to his wife's side.

His sword splattered into the darkspawn ichor as he scooped Lana into his arms, the woman looking drained beyond measure. Even with her seeming to be near death, she patted his cheeks and sighed, "Don't think I'm going to let you off for disobeying my orders just because you're really cute." He butted his head against hers, the pair breathing softly together.

Reiss tried to reach over towards Alistair, but he rose out of his cramp lean to met her, and Myra, and the tag-a-long Gavin. "I swear to the Maker, if you ever make me stay out of a fight again..."

"Next one, I stay behind with the baby, you go rushing headlong in," he giggled, tears welling in his eyes as he wrapped his blood soaked arms around her. "I promise with all my heart."

"Are you...?" she hated to ask it, to wonder while she was cowering with their child if he was injured.

"No," Alistair shook his head, "a few close calls, but...seems I'm still somewhat capable of fighting. Right, fellow Warden?" he waved at Lana who remained held tight in her husband's arms.

"Do not think I have forgotten about you keeping your taint from me," she waved her cane as if she intended to bash Alistair for his offense.

He rolled his goofy eyes, in full fluff mode with the danger past, "Since when do women like to hear about my taint?"

"Morrigan is hurt," Reiss said, drawing all the eyes to the witch who cupped a hand around the wound on her arm.

Those yellow eyes narrowed down on Reiss, the one she'd taken a blade for, before turning to Lana, "Tis nothing more than a scratch at most. We have greater problems to solve."

"Not if you could have the blight," Lana groaned, already returning to the ground and somehow managing to hobble towards the witch. She rolled her hands against the witch's thick hide, the air sparkling like a crisp mountain morning.

So close to her, Morrigan almost smiled at this old friend she all but imprisoned in this darkspawn filled hell. "You never could cease helping people."

"Not even the ones who told me to regularly piss off," she snickered.

_Why did she do it? Why did the witch take a blade for her?_

Reiss wanted to convince herself it was because her only hope to save Kieran was clutched in Reiss' hands, and if she was cut down so could Myra. But that didn't hold much water. Morrigan could have waited until Reiss died, until they were all busy trying to keep her alive to notice the cruel and wicked witch run off with the baby to save her own. Then what was the purpose? Why risk her own hide to save someone she didn't know?

Those yellow eyes struck hers and slightly narrowed.

Because now Reiss owed her a favor.

Or so Morrigan imagined. Too bad for the witch Reiss wasn't trained in the chivalrous code of knights and templars. As far as Reiss was concerned Morrigan would have to take a blade right in the heart to make up for what she did.

Wiggling drew Reiss to her baby who was still doing her damnedest to get out of her arms. "Alistair, can you take her before she drops onto darkspawn blood?"

"Silly kid," he swooped her up high above his head and then blew a few raspberries on her exposed stomach. "You don't want to drink that stuff, believe me, I know. It's no fun." Myra giggled a bit at her father's attention but her true heart's desire was to get down and play.

_Where?_

There were bodies everywhere, toxic blood, gore. It would all have to be scrubbed before anything could be used, or burned on principle. And even then, it would only hold until the next attack. If the darkspawn knew they were here then...

"We can't stay here," Reiss said, drawing every eye to her. She blinked a moment, realizing it was more aloud than she meant. "It's true. You said the darkspawn sense Wardens, right? Two of you together..."

"I had been trying to mask myself but without knowing Alistair had also regained his taint status," Lana shot a withering look at him, "I hadn't bothered before, but will now."

"So what?" Reiss continued. "So there's less of a chance that we'll have these monsters come tearing through the walls and obliterate us in our sleep. It's still a chance. What if Gavin had been by that wall when it exploded?"

"Reiss, that isn't..."

"No," Cullen stepped towards her and scooped his son up in his arms. For a moment he bumped the end of his nose into his boy's before turning back on the group. "She's right. This is a war of attrition, and soon or later everyone loses those." He stared at his wife, the son at risk cuddling tighter into his arms while she healed the woman who began all of this.

Lana jerked her head at her husband, before turning towards Alistair, "You've got this with me, right Ali? We have ways, we've gotten through the deep roads before. It's..."

Reiss expected Alistair to crumble, to either half agree with the Hero or mumble something incoherently as an answer. His eyes hunted across the pools of black blood, the normally soft brown irises almost pitch dark from the reflection. "I'm no Warden, Lanny. I was in it, for what, a year and a half? You're the only one here who's done the proper deep roading. And you haven't in nearly a decade."

Stumbling towards her, with the baby at the heart of this in his hands, he reached over towards Lana, "Staying here any longer could kill us all."

Lana reached over with her fingers that looked swollen and red from either the magic or being whacked by darkspawn weapons. Gently, she skirted up and down Myra's chubby leg, the girl giggling at the contact. The baby's laugh, so foreign in this abode of despair, seemed to strike her to the core. "That's..."

"A problem you shall have to find an answer to," Morrigan spoke up, her chin jutting out. "My son remains trapped in his endless sleep."

At that, Alistair all but leapt into the witch's face, a hand trying to tear his hair free, "I swear to the Maker, right now I want to flat out smash your nose in. To grab up one of those darkspawn swords, dip it in the blood, and cut it across your arm. How would you like that, Morrigan? To put yourself on a ticking fuse, waiting to see how long until death finally drags your rotting soul across the veil to dump down the void."

It was his son too who could die. He never talked about it with Reiss, but it was obvious that the idea of Kieran passing on without him helping was eating away at Alistair. Yet now Reiss could see it in Alistair's face. He would let the boy die, would turn his back on him because he was trying to fight for all of them.

Morrigan's beady yellow eyes drifted over the carnage, her heart no doubt pure ice inside her despicable chest. "That was the deal. I will honor my word, if you will honor yours." She didn't look at the baby she'd cursed, didn't stare at the father she was destroying, or even glance at the mother she'd both doomed and saved. No, Morrigan only had eyes for Lana -- the mage that was her last hope. But the Hero was too busy staring at her own hands to look back.

Turning on her heel, Morrigan limped back to her son. Lana wrapped herself around her husband, burying her lips to Gavin's forehead as she whispered prayers. Joining in with her, Cullen tried to block them off from everyone else with his body. He curled an arm around his wife, trying to create a sanctuary for his little family, but even Reiss could feel a chill in the air. Cullen buried his chin in Lana's hair, but his eye wandered over to Reiss. Nodding imperceptibly, she knew what that meant. Things had to change, one way or another.

"So," Alistair sighed, dropping Myra back into Reiss' arms, "I guess this means I'd better get a sponge."

## CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

#### Choice

Lana tried to focus on her books -- she had to do this -- but her eyes kept darting up to Alistair on his hands and knees scrubbing away darkspawn blood. The King of Ferelden was doing it to protect his daughter, who should be back at home playing with her toys and not at risk to catch the blight or worse. Reiss took Myra off to a side room for a nap, and because they couldn't trust their kids anywhere near the dead bodies. Not until it was all cleaned up.

She was exhausted, they all were, but Lana spent everything inside of her on that fight. The magic she could tap into was thedas shattering, but her body grew weaker with every passing day. She never said it, but she wondered how long it would be until she couldn't get out of bed period. Healing magic could only work so far, and today she was at her limits, but they needed her. Alistair and Myra to find a cure. Gavin and Cullen so they could go home. Kieran so he could live.

"We need to talk about this."

"Maker's sake," Lana slammed the book shut and buried the palms of her hands into her eyes. She knew it was coming, but she hoped Cullen would hold off for at least a few hours. They'd barely started clean up.

"No," he gripped onto her wrist, not hard, but the touch was enough to cause Lana to sit up fast and glare at him, "No tossing me away. No acting as if I can't understand because it's a mage matter or a warden issue. Take a look out there, Lana. Look at what just happened."

Cullen jerked his hand out at the massacre and she tried to follow, but she was caught by the baby in his arms. Secure with his father back to hold him, Gavin was happily staring in wonder at the feathers and papers across Lana's desk. She'd often tickle him with quills at home, her little boy giggling like mad and wanting to chew on them.

"Look!" Cullen shouted, shaking her from her son.

"I know," Lana sobbed. "I blighted well know what darkspawn are, what they do, what they're capable of, and what this means. Yes, better than you."

"We cannot stay here," he said, his eyes darting down to the curly head of his son. The boy he'd worked so hard to come to love. Now that Gavin was locked in that cautious heart, Cullen was even more of a lion about his cub than he'd ever been before. "Our son is at risk..."

"What would you have of me?" Lana shrieked. "Please, tell me what to do. I am so Maker damn tired of all the cursed decisions landing on me. You were a Commander, so fine, command me. Tell me what spell to cast, what incantation to divine to make everything better because I'm damn well listening!" Tears burned in her eyes, and it felt as if her weary flesh was falling off in chunks. Exhausted and broken, the raw nub of Lana's soul was left exposed. She had barely slept down here between fear of failure and continual worry. With every mouth breathing down her neck for the past week praying for a cure to come springing out of her ass, it was finally time for her to snap.

Cullen winced a moment at the tears, but he didn't waver from his crusade. He never did. "We leave," he stated as if it was so simple.

"Then Myra dies," Lana sniffled. She didn't want to cry, not in front of her baby and, Maker's sake, certainly not in front of Morrigan. The woman was sitting beside Kieran doing her best to not look over at the fight, not that anyone couldn't hear it.

Cullen glanced over at the witch a moment before whispering in code, "Not necessarily."

"Then Kieran dies. No matter what I do, what choice you put to me, someone's child dies! How can I...? You cannot ask that of me. Blessed Andraste, I couldn't kill a child that was possessed. And now...? Now you want me to callously choose between, no, no, I can't. I..."

"Lana," he grabbed onto her hands, trying to get her to look at him, "Gavin could have died."

She stopped crying, her eyes darting over to her boy. He looked untouched, as if the greatest horrors against the Maker in thedas couldn't hurt him. How she wished that were true.

Cullen gasped and wrapped an arm around to tug her to him, "You could have died. I can't handle this anymore. Please, just...do this for me. I'm asking you, as your husband, as the father of your son, as the man who loves you so much it pisses me off sometimes, let us leave."

The exhaustion was killing him, little by little. The fear and hatred of mages he thought he'd walked back kept seeping back in. She'd catch it on occasion; Cullen cursing magic in general, clearly aiming it at Morrigan as if none of it would leap back onto his wife. Being here was tearing him apart, the threats to his son -- the one person in thedas he should most protect -- never ending. Tearing them all apart. Alistair had his other kids, the kingdom, Reiss her work. Myra was no better off than Gavin in this dark hole surrounded by death.

Sucking in a breath, Lana tipped her head down, "You're right."

Shocked, Cullen staggered back a moment as if he'd been preparing another speech. "I am...? You mean it, you'll--."

"You don't belong here," Lana tried to drain the emotion in her body, she had to be strong. "You and Gavin should leave."

"What?" Cullen gasped as if she slapped him, "Lana, no, that's not what I..."

She could see it, the only logical path left to her. Morrigan wasn't going to budge, but she needed time. Time none of them could afford to waste down here, none of them but her. "Go home, be safe, check on our patients."

"You can't be serious," he continued, trying to get her to look at him.

"If you stay here, someone will die. I'll pledge myself to Morrigan. If she releases Myra and lets you all go, then I will remain caring for Kieran until a cure is found. As long as it takes," she turned in her seat to stare over at the witch. Morrigan didn't look up, but she knew she heard her promise. It was the best the woman was likely to get after this last disaster.

"No," Cullen shouted, "no, I forbid it."

She curled her hands into fists, wanting to shout that she wasn't one of his underlings he could order around. But getting angry wouldn't help, someone had to have a cool head about this. Reaching out, Lana tried to dart her fingers over his face, "Cullen..."

"Don't Cullen me," he snarled. "This is your son! You would...you cannot seriously be thinking of leaving me alone for a year! Or even longer. Maker knows if it's even possible for you to save that boy. You could be lost to us for, there's no promising you'd even return!"

"Gavin is," Lana swallowed, almost being bowled over by the thought she about to speak, "he is very young. It is unlikely that he will remember me."

"Can you hear yourself?!" he screamed, his eyes flaring to a terrifying amber glare.

"Please, this is--."

"You would give up your family, give up on me, on our boy for what? To save a witch's son because...because you promised to? Why?"

"Because I would be dead if it weren't for him!" Lana screamed, hopping up to her feet. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she cried out every pang in her heart, "I've been living on borrowed time for half of my life. If it weren't for Kieran, for Morrigan, I'd be dead, ashes on the wind. You'd never have known me, not like this, not have loved me, married me. We wouldn't have a child together. Dead!"

Cullen was stunned by her response, his eyes widening as she hammered home the duty she felt to the young man. Every breath Lana took, every heartbeat was extra to what she'd been granted, a gift. One she never forgot. "And you'd..." he snarled, snapping back from her outburst and turning to Morrigan, "Witch!"

_Maker's sake, no._ Lana tried to reach over to stop him, but Cullen was marching towards Morrigan about to make it all worse. "You act as if she is your friend. Lana Amell, the Warden as you keep calling her. She's it, isn't she? There's no one else in all of thedas who can put up with you vitriol, or your acidic tongue, but her. And you...you'd tear her away from her son. From her child when he needs her most of all. What kind of mother are you?"

Morrigan lifted her head but didn't turn to him. For a brief flicker her yellow eyes landed on Lana, but she didn't look up. Her heart was crumbling in her chest while her husband tried to argue against the void to save it.

"Is that your idea of love? Of friendship? Look at what I'm saying, you were the one to kill your son anyway. What could you possibly care if you destroy another family? It's not you or yours. That's all that matters to you."

Hissing, Morrigan launched up to her legs and sneered, "You do not know me, Templar, and shall never claim the right."

Lana feared she'd have to keep them off each other, but Morrigan walked away. She didn't scamper, her spine straight as a board, but for a moment she glanced back at Lana and the baby in Cullen's arms.

Sucking in a breath, Lana dipped her head down to face the desk, "There is no other answer."

"No," Cullen lashed a hand forward, grabbing onto her arm, "Lana, you can't just..."

Slowly she sat back in the chair and yanked out a quill. In a voice as cold as the frostback air, she said, "I've made my choice. Leave me to it, please."

"Maker's sake," he snarled at her stubbornness but turned to do as she asked. Hugging Gavin tighter to his chest, Cullen left to find a room to sit and no doubt curse her name in. As her family vanished from sight, Lana risked a glance up at her little boy, his chubby hands waving back at his mother. That may be the last time she ever saw him again.

Shaking it off, she tried to focus on the book below her, but drops of rain kept getting in the way.

* * *

Getting as far from the darkspawn bodies as she could, Reiss stumbled into what had been her and Alistair's sleeping quarters. She wanted to flop face first onto the bed and scream into it for a few hours, but her baby had other pressing needs. Patting Myra's straining diaper, Reiss sighed.

"I can't blame you for craping your pants after that, but..." Placing Myra down on her back and removing the filthy diaper, she began to reach for a fresh one, when her baby tried to scoot along the bed. It'd happen often during changes, Myra needing something to keep herself entertained with and found scooting her bare bottom along the table fascinating. But this time she managed to really dig her heels in and was moving fast towards the edge of the bed.

"Hey!" Reiss dashed forward quickly, a hand cupping under her little daredevil's head to keep her from falling off. Big green eyes darted up at her mother and she cracked into a giggle at the fun game. "Maker's blighted sake, do you have to act so much like your father?"

Myra found that even funnier, both hands flailing at her mum's hilarious joke. She was unperturbed, as if the past few hours with darkspawn attacks were little more than a fun change of pace. So close, she came so damn close to... Reiss paused in dragging her butt naked baby back to the center of the bed.

Falling to a knee, Reiss stared down at Myra but her mind tripped back to when she was all of fourteen watching in terror as her mother was slashed apart by hurlocks. She'd clung tight to her sister Atisha, both crying huge tears and frozen in place at the horrors they wouldn't turn away from. It was impossible; their mother had always been there, always been the one to swab up injuries, or set the table. Been the one to plait their hair and darn ripped clothes. Their whole lives she was there, and then she wasn't.

That could have been her for Myra, it nearly was. Shuddering in a breath, Reiss dipped her forehead to her baby. The one she never should have been able to create, their little surprise. For the back end of her childhood she had to mother her sister and brother. No, mother and father them both as they faced the life of being orphans. Every day she had to put their needs above her own, their lives. It trained Reiss to take risks that no sane person would because...because if she failed, who would care for them?

Tears dripped down her cheeks, each drop for her mother, her father, the life she could have led if they'd lived, and that fear inside of what would happen if Reiss ever let go. Died. Dead. She created this baby, brought her into this world, and at the first sign of trouble was willing to sacrifice herself to save her. What then? Sure, she lives, but without you. Myra would be motherless, same as her baby's mother.

Tiny hands patted against Reiss' cheeks, trying to splash in her tears the way one would rain puddles. Myra cooed, wiggling again off the bed. "Hey," she gripped onto her always moving baby with one hand and dried off her tears with the other. "Stay put. I'll get you a fresh nappy so you're not cold. But you best hold still."

She rose to her legs, Myra seeming happy to comply as she gnawed away on her hands. Turning to the table, Reiss lifted up a diaper, when sure enough she heard the focused grunting of a baby at work. Whipping her head back she spotted Myra wiggling a bit, but at her mother's attention the baby froze. At barely seven months old, she gave an 'I wasn't up to nothing' look and resumed chewing away at her fingers.

"What am I going to do with you?" Reiss chuckled, quickly diapering her little girl. In the middle of pinning it in place, she felt a presence enter the room behind her. Assuming it was Alistair, she said, "Your little girl's already learned how to play innocent angel when I'm looking and total demon when I'm not."

Leaving Myra on the bed, Reiss turned to him, "I assume that's all..." Her smile drained at the witch standing in their doorway. There was no cocky grin nor smirk to her cruel face. She was staring down at Myra as if trying to put the baby under some kind of trance.

"What do you want?" Reiss shot out, her voice ice cold. Morrigan blinked a moment, Reiss seeming to shake her from her own stupor. "Are you hoping I'll say thank you for saving my life? Because you'll be waiting a damn long time."

"I am..." the witch paused, looking as if she was torn between heading out the door or coming inside. "You were willing to sacrifice yourself for your child."

"Yeah," she said. The words should shore up her spine, but Reiss felt more like a failure for voicing them aloud. She would have both saved and doomed her baby in one go. Maybe not physically, but... "Why are you here, Morrigan?"

The woman stared down at Myra, perhaps for the first time since stealing her baby. Every other time she'd look through the infant as if she was little more than a crate of elfroot. But now her eyes trailed down that little nose, her chubby cheeks, and that barely there point to the ears. Morrigan glanced over at Reiss and sorrow filled her eyes.

_Oh shit!_ Reiss tasted the magic rising in the air, sending her brain into a panic. She began to reach for a dagger left on the counter, but her entire body froze as that damn witch cast her spell quickly. No, not again!

"I am sorry," Morrigan whispered, the witch quickly stepping over towards her baby.

No! No! _No!_ Reiss strained in her prison, her eyes forced to watch as Morrigan hoisted up Myra in her arms. Unaware of anything bad happening, Myra began to giggle. She loved people, too much. She was too trusting, damn it!

_Help, please! Alistair...where are you?  _

She tried to calm her heartbeat, to find that quiet place in her brain that Cullen attempted to teach her about. He made it look so easy, but every time Reiss almost touched it, her mind flared away as if it burned her. Why wasn't he here protecting her child? That's what templars did, protected the innocent from evil mages! Why did she walk away from them all?

Morrigan tucked a hand under Myra's bottom, holding her the way any mother would a child she loved. With her hands free, Myra reached to tug upon the necklace dangling over Morrigan's chest. She was completely at the witch's mercy.

Mercy, ha! The woman was incapable of such a feat.

Not even pausing at the child's innocence, a bright light began to rise from the witch's hands enveloping her baby. _No, Maker, no!_ Straining to reach Myra, to bat her free, Reiss tugged on every muscle inside of her. The magic caused her baby to stop playing with the necklace, her smile flipping down into a frown.

Please, blessed Andraste! Don't make me watch my baby die right in front of me!

She couldn't blink, couldn't move, only stare in horror as the white light fully enveloped Myra. Despair took hold, Reiss' mind screaming in a blind rage as she impotently sat witness to this unholy terror. No! _You've fought off so much worse that threatened your child, your family, the people you love. You can stop this!_

The rage washed over her, percolating to a crescendo when Myra's little mouth erupted with a single sob. Screaming, Reiss burst out of the spell. Her hand snatched up the dagger and, snaking an arm around Morrigan, drew the blade right to her traitorous throat. "I'm going to kill you," Reiss hissed, needing her to feel the same fear, the same hatred that was burning inside of her reflected in her enemy. _Quiver in terror before the end, you heartless bitch._

Instantly, the magic faded, the bright light drawing away to reveal Myra's bright green eyes blinking up at her mother. She wasn't dead. She was smiling, and not dead. _Oh, Maker!_ But... Reiss slicked the blade closer, the edge meeting against flesh. The witch didn't whimper in pain or fear, but stood stock still.

"What did you do? What did you do to my baby? We have a deal!"

She felt Morrigan soften in her arms, the rigid body all but melting from her grip. Oh shit, was she trying to transform away? Would she steal Myra again? In a voice as desolate as a desert at night, the witch whispered, "Please, kill me."

"What?" Reiss shook her head to clear it, the rage buzzing like summer flies in her ears.

Tears reverberated in Morrigan's words, her voice choked in sobs as she said, "I have doomed my son to death. My own would be a welcoming embrace."

Reiss darted back to Myra, the urge to scoop her baby away all but overpowering her need to keep a grip on the witch. She should be strong, cut this woman down, but...she wanted it? What sick game was she playing now? The others had to be told, the Hero that...something was different. The witch cast a spell to-to do whatever she did.

Rolling the dagger down in her fist, Reiss yanked her baby out of Morrigan's hands. The witch didn't put up a fight, but Myra did, her child wanting to keep playing with the funny necklace. Maker. A calm washed against her rising terror as the weight of her child heaved upon her arms. She was here. She was alive. But was she safe? With a sneer, Reiss rolled the dagger back and aimed the blade at Morrigan.

For a time the witch held her hands in place as if she was still holding Myra, or perhaps another baby she once remembered so many years ago. Slowly, she folded her arms together tight to hug herself. "Your child is free of my curse, as are you. And in its place, my son...is gone."

"You're lying. All you do is lie!" Reiss sneered at her, but she couldn't lie to Lana. "Get out there! Walk back into the main room," she jabbed the dagger at the witch who sighed, but followed her orders. There was no sneer, no pedestal, something inside Morrigan seemed to have shattered as her head hung low.

When the witch appeared, Alistair glanced up from scrubbing the stones, then he paled at the sight of Reiss holding a blade on her. "What's going on? What happened?" He stumbled to his feet and rushed over as if afraid he'd have to save Morrigan in order to save their baby.

"She cast something on our daughter. I couldn't stop her, but..." Reiss passed Myra over to Alistair so she could better hold first the dagger on Morrigan, and then unsheathe her sword. Both blades honed in tight on the witch, baying for her blood.

Alistair stared hard at his baby who looked unaffected, then he glared at Morrigan, "What did you do to her?"

The witch only smirked at him, a single snort her answer.

Clattering sounds drew both Alistair and Reiss to watch Cullen and Lana advancing upon them. The Commander was silent, his face a storm cloud, but Lana shouted, "Whatever you're planning, don't!"

She clearly meant it for Reiss holding Morrigan at knife point, but it was the witch who turned to her. In a voice beaten to a pulp, she whispered, "Too late."

"Morrigan..." Lana's eyes narrowed to slits.

Reiss interrupted, jerking her chin at her baby, "Check Myra. Please. Is there a curse, or something worse? Is she...is she dying?"

The Hero of Ferleden's eyes closed, her fingers dipping through the air. At first her face looked calm and focused, but as she tugged deeper into the fade, shock replaced it. Reiss braced herself for the worst, but Lana shouted in surprise at Morrigan, "There's nothing. No curse, no...the baby is--."

"Free, as I already explained."

No... Reiss staggered back, her hands locking around her husband and baby as she tried to blink against the impossibility. This nightmare was over? Just...just like that. The witch gave it and then took it away as easily.

"Morrigan?" Lana was the only one to care, her hand gripping to the witch's arm as she tried to stare into the haunting eyes. "What about Kieran?"

At the name of her son, Morrigan shuddered and Alistair turned in Reiss' grip. Please, Maker no, don't let him get it into his head to do the right thing. Not when they were so close to freedom.

Morrigan's eyes drifted down to perhaps her only friend in the world and she smiled sadly. "He asked me to let him go, I am obeying my son's wishes."

"But..."

"Do not!" Morrigan shouted in pain before tugging it back, "Go, all of you. Pack up your things, leave me." She turned to gaze back at the boy sentenced to death, "Leave us." For a moment the witch stared right into Reiss' eyes, was she trying to apologize or...was there potentially worse on the horizon?

"Will you come after us? For revenge?" she asked point blank, the other adults groaning but Reiss had to know for herself.

"Revenge?" Morrigan chuckled mirthlessly. "It all seemed so simple at twenty. Now... I can no longer tell where the real monsters lurk. No, you shall never hear nor see from me again. Any of you."

"But Morrigan," Lana wouldn't give up. She kept guiltily glancing back at her patient as if pleading with the witch would somehow change her mind. As if that were a good thing.

Cullen grabbed onto his wife's hand and spun her to face him. He was sneering at what seemed to be the whole world while juggling Gavin nearer to his mother. "We should go, do as she asks. Or would you give up everything," he snarled and turned to their boy, "everyone in your life?"

At that Reiss and Alistair shared a look, both of them having missed something major. Was that why Morrigan suddenly changed her mind? What in thedas had the Hero promised for their child's life?

For a moment Lana looked stricken as if his harsh words physically slapped her. Her eyes fell and she cuddled closer to her son, "No, no, you're...we should leave. Pack up everything and..."

Cullen left her standing there holding tight to her baby while he rounded up everything they'd need. For a moment Alistair and Reiss both stood dumb stricken, staring at the witch and then Lana who seemed to be crumbling from the inside. "You hold her," Alistair dumped Myra back into her arms, "I'll get everything we need."

Nodding, Reiss left him to run off. While she clung tight to her baby, she did her best to not look back at the young man stretched out upon his true death bed. But Lana said Myra's blood wouldn't even work. It's not her fault for saving her baby. This was all Morrigan's doing. All the mother's choice...

Three mothers, three children, and one wouldn't survive. There was nothing to be said, no hollow words to make it right, no fists of victory. Death stung the air worse than the smell of darkspawn blood. For so long Reiss was running on nothing but vengeance and hatred; her chest felt hollow, her veins drained of energy. Lana looked worse, the poor woman who was the last to speak to Kieran, to try and comfort him. Did she assure him in the Fade that he would be saved?

Reiss reached over to try and pat her back, when Cullen appeared with a bag tossed over his shoulder. No smile crossed his lips, he still looked as if he wanted to knock down the walls with his bare fists. Still, at the sight of his wife waning under the weight of their son, he plucked up Gavin into his arms and then steadied her by the elbow. It wasn't the typical warmth Reiss expected between them, but a sign of necessity to keep her upright. What in the Maker's name happened?

When Alistair ran out, Morrigan seemed to wake from her trance. She wiped a hand across her face as if chasing away all the pains of her son's final moments. It was Lana who reached out, "Do you wish me to stay until he's...gone?"

A doleful smile flitted with Morrigan's lips as she gazed over at her. "No." The hazy moment fell away, the armor of cruelty the witch wore returning, "No, all of you must leave, now. There shall be nothing for you to find, or follow. I assure you. Now leave me."

All four stared at each other, but it took the Commander's overbearing tone to shake them out of it, "You heard her. Let's get going before she changes her mind." He wrapped a hand around his wife's waist and guided her towards the entrance. The cane clipped and clopped against stone stained with darkspawn blood, Lana focused fully upon her baby.

"We should go too," Alistair said curling a hand around Myra before half hugging Reiss. Her eyes darted over to Morrigan, pity finally managing to bob to the surface. But she knew anything she said wouldn't touch the witch. Turning, Reiss began the short walk to freedom with her baby safely in her arms.

It was Alistair who remained behind longer, his eyes stuck upon the young man, his child, doomed to the void. "I..." his voice was hollow, all mirth fully drained, "I'm sorry."

Morrigan snorted and she leaned closer to him. At that Reiss spun on her heels, terrified she was about to stab Alistair and drain his blood or do something worse, but the witch merely whispered something so softly it carried only to Alistair's ears. His eyes widened at that and he glanced back at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted two heads. Gulping, Alistair scattered away from Morrigan to Reiss' side. He cupped the small of her back and helped her towards the entrance.

No one looked back at the witch, or the young man about to die. No ones heart was in it.

By the time they reached the entrance, they had to coordinate to get Lana and the two babies up the broken ramp. One of the guards held Gavin as Cullen was moving to tug his wife up, when a massive explosion erupted from behind them. Everyone turned around to watch as dust and debris rolled over the ancient rocks. When the filthy air cleared, rubble and the thaig's walls lay in true ruins blocking the entrance. Morrigan sealed herself in. She wasn't planning on anyone following her, wherever she was going.

"Up we go," Alistair climbed the ramp first, then plucked Myra from Reiss' arms. After far too much hefting and fretting, they finally stepped out into the fading light of day. She had to throw a hand over her eyes, squinting against a sun some part of Reiss feared she'd never see again. Myra's eyes lit up at all the green around them. The forest was far more alive than the city her baby knew, unless you counted the sewers. She kicked her little feet, wanting to get down to play in the moss and forest undergrowth.

A bit away from them, Lana stared at her son clutched tight to her chest. She seemed stunned at it all, looking at Gavin as if she thought she'd never see or hold him again. Beside but not close, Cullen paced back and forth, putting the screws to the guards to find a trail and lodging for the night. Reiss turned to Alistair, about to point out that something was very wrong, but he was watching them too, his lips puckered in a frown.

"Your Highness," one of the soldiers approached, "I take it the child is now safe."

"Yeah, send a raven back to Denerim that we're coming home. It's good news...all good news," his chin tipped down and a sob rattled in his chest. Reiss reached over to try and comfort him when a massive form burst through the forest and into the sky. Bright crimson scales glittered in the setting sun as a dragon beat wings to rise higher into the air.

"Bloody hell, just what we need!" the guard shouted, about to unsheathe his sword, but Alistair grabbed his hand to stop him.

"Look," he said, pointing towards the dragon's claws. Clutched inside was what looked like a man -- a young man still asleep and cursed to never wake. "Guess she figured out how to turn into a dragon after all."

"What do we do now?" Reiss asked.

Alistair wrapped first one hand then the other around her and Myra, his face smooshing into her shoulder. "We go home," he said to them, no doubt meaning it in his heart. The Commander and Hero didn't make eye contact as they shifted towards their horses, the guards assisting in any way they could.

The other guard reached out for Myra, no doubt to let Reiss get mounted, but she gripped tighter to her baby. She wasn't letting Myra out of her sight, not unless it was into Alistair's hands. Turning over, she spotted him standing rooted in the spot. Despite his declaration to head home, he hadn't moved, a hand above his eyes while he kept watch in the sky trailing where the dragon flew off with his bastard child.

"Alistair," Reiss reached over, startling him. He weakly smiled at her and sighed to join her. Sliding nearer, she whispered to him, "What did Morrigan say to you?"

At that he laughed once, his eyes welling up in tears, "She said, that, um...she said I was a good father."

Reiss buried her head into his cheek, trying to mask her tears with his. Whispering to the world, she said, "You are."

## CHAPTER NINETY

#### Bet On It

A warm wind whipped through the air, the paper lanterns swaying off their perch while Cullen did his best to not glare at them so hard they burst into flames. People gathered under them singing, or dancing, or whatever villagers did in this part of Ferelden during the solstice. He used to know, he used to do it too. There was always fresh mead, the honey practically glued to every chin. And a girl wearing daisies in her hair, with soft skin and a birthmark shaped like a flower dashed across her...

Snarling at his brain for bringing up that memory, he crossed his arms and continued to stare menacingly at the celebrators. He didn't mean to, but there'd already been a few complaints about the stranger pacing up and down the outer balcony like a fiend in the night because he couldn't stand to be around her for more than a few minutes. They'd made it to a small town on the outskirts of what used to be Lothering. Apparently that was where all the guards were pilfering baby supplies from. Of course they were more than happy to put the King and his friends up in one of the fanciest suites available, giving them all a beautiful view of the empty stars and cold landscape. Maybe to the people celebrating it was gorgeous, but all Cullen could see was the vast nothing. It'd been a long time since he gazed out at the wide world and felt only hollowness in his bones.

"Here's where you're hiding."

Maker's blighted ass, he did not need that! Not now.

Unaware of any pain he was causing Cullen, or perhaps aware and enjoying it, the king stepped out onto the stone balcony. That may not be the proper term for it, as it circled fully around the building with stairs leading up to it, but Cullen never studied architecture. Maybe he could ask someone later; at least it'd be an excuse to keep him busy for awhile.

Alistair stopped not near Cullen, his hands gripping to the stone edge as he gazed down at the drunken debauchery. "Andraste, watching all that really drives home how old I am. I keep thinking 'shut up already, it's nearing ten and some of us have kids that need to sleep!'" He snickered at his inane prattle, then shot a glance over at Cullen.

"Alright," Alistair shoved himself back from the banister to spin and lean upon it. Folding his arms he said, "Out with it."

"With what?" he tried to not growl, but it seemed like every sentence that came out was that. He was a man with nothing left in this world snarling at shadows of what was.

Alistair groaned, tipping his head back as if in agony, "Whatever happened between you and Lanny."

Anger burned in Cullen's veins, the white hot rage he thought he'd moved beyond. The one he never wanted to feel for her. "That is..."

"Don't say 'none of my business,' okay. Like it or not, she's my friend. And...if it weren't for me, neither of you, all three of you, would have been caught up in this mess." He stared at Cullen, and the stand-off pose faded, "I want to help."

He wanted to smack the man right in the nose again. To send him toppling off the balcony. The fall wouldn't kill him, but it'd certainly shut him up. Balling up a fist, Cullen began to pace in agitation. "How? How can you possibly help? Are you capable of altering the past? Can you stop Lana, my wife, from saying she'd...from agreeing to walk away from me?" Cullen paused, the burn building behind his eyes as he dug tighter into his palms, "From our son?"

A great sigh broke from Alistair and he pinched into the bridge of his nose. "I should have guessed that's what she did."

For two decades, Cullen thought he knew her. That she went from this unreachable, impossible woman to a light in his life he never wanted to lose. Through so much she remained at his side, the good and bad. But at this, for this, she would have walked away. He wanted to say he was madder at her turning her back on their boy, but he wasn't. Not really. It was the fear of having to wake every day without her at his side that terrorized his thoughts, and the idea that she'd choose it struck him right to the core.

"I get you're mad," the king began, walking out onto very creaking ice. "And I don't blame you, but...this is Lanny we're talking about."

"Yes, Lana, my wife, the woman who swore she'd..." Cullen stepped back into the shadows, refusing to let Alistair see the tears building in his eyes. But he couldn't shake the sob in his voice as he whispered to himself, "she'd never leave me. I can't, not again."

Those were the longest two years of his life. He thought he'd found salvation, began to move beyond the chantry and its siren call of the lyrium burning in his mind. Made friends, pledged himself to a better cause. Found love where he never thought possible. Only to have her abandon him to the fade, to take the fall in order to save her cousin, to save them all. He could forgive her for that choice, but this... How could he ever look at her again for it?

"You know her," Alistair whispered against the sound of crickets chirping through the night.

"Do I?" Cullen whipped over at him, "I thought I did, but..."

"Solona Amell, Hero of Ferelden, a woman who thinks she can walk into any situation, any fire, and fix it because...Maker guide us, she usually can. Stopped a blight in a year, unheard of. Survived two years in the Fade. No one's ever done that. Every time the Maker throws an obstacle in her way, she's so damn pigheaded she butts right back into it until she can save the day."

Cullen gripped harder to his hands, letting the king's words wash over him. It was all true, she was those things. But she was also his partner, his lover, his other half.

"She thought she could do it again, yank another miracle out of her ass. Maybe knowing you were safe, her son was safe, she thought she'd stumble across the answer in a week at most and be back home with you. Save the day, everyone lives, happy ending." Alistair shuddered in a breath and haunted eyes stared across the landscape. Somewhere out there was the dragon that plucked Kieran's unresponsive body up into the sky. "Even she had to run out of luck eventually."

A miracle. She should be dead, a good dozen times over. Lana would laugh about the idea, shrugging as if none of it mattered, but he felt it, he knew. Kinloch, Ostagaar, Denerim, Amaranthine, the Deep Roads, the Fade, The Anderfels. All of it should have done her in but she kept striking back. Wounded, scarred, but alive.

Was that to be the same? Did she really think she'd be back in his arms so soon? Even Lana at her most optimistic wasn't that delusional, she was the one to give the year long timeline.

A hand landed across Cullen's back and he glanced over at a soft pain in Alistair's face. "You know Lanny, better than me, better than anyone else. You know she loves you." Cullen growled at that, the fact slipping further and further through his fingers, but Alistair continued. "And you know that she has to do what's right and damn the consequences to herself."

"Why?" Cullen gasped, in far too much pain to shrug the man away. He hated Alistair, but right now he hated himself more.

"Because 'Magic should serve man and never rule over him.' Been hearing that her whole life, and..." Alistair sucked in a breath as he turned towards the room Cullen left Lana alone in with their boy, "she can't escape it."

"Escape what?"

"Serving. Think about it, Hero of Ferelden, coulda sat on a fancy chair and ordered people to give her grapes, but nope. Not Lanny. She was always trudging down into the deep roads, risking her neck instead of some underling's. Signing up with the Inquisition despite putting in her pound of flesh. Even now she can barely walk but she's devoted to saving templars. You don't find that odd?"

"It..." Cullen breathed fire into his lungs. He gave of himself for others, it was what he was meant to do. Lana seemed to be the same and yet, Alistair's words struck him hard. "It never occurred to me."

"She's afraid that if she stops being useful," Alistair swallowed, "she'll fail...someone. The Maker, the chantry, you, I don't know."

"Lana told you this?" Cullen turned on him. They'd been married for six years, had a child, and he'd never heard any of this from his wife.

"Kinda, a long time ago, back when she was in Amaranthine." He blinked and turned to gaze down at the festivities, "I kept asking her to join my court, to get her ass out of danger, but she refused. Wouldn't give a reason, it being Lanny. I swear I thought she was the most stubborn person I knew until I met you."

"If she didn't tell you..."

"It all clicked, came together for me during one of her dark times. A pretty bad one, not like the Calling bad, but bad. She caught some stomach bug going around, nearly all the other wardens were laid up in bed with the fever, but not Lanny. Nope, she was hard at work even while dribbling mucus and practically folded over in pain. I figured it was her stubborn spine 'til I caught her eyes."

His story paused as he tapped his fingers against the railing, an arrhythmic staccato to it. "She was scared, of failing at what'd been beaten into her head since she was a kid. Of not serving properly. It's still in there, if she doesn't turn her magic to good, to helping, then she feels..."

"Like a failure," Cullen sputtered, "like a monster." How did he not see it?

Because you didn't want to. Because you loved the idea of working side by side with the woman you loved. Because that was the background of your life to keeping the mages in check. Because you bear the blame same as any templar.

"Like she's not earning her keep, and whatever the consequences for those are. Look, I'm sure you're mad. I can somewhat relate, having had Reiss..." he stopped his sentence and a sliver of anger rolled through his eyes. The woman he loved abandoned him too, but she came back.

And Lana never left you, not really.

"Just, give her a chance. That's all I'm saying. Don't, please don't do anything stupid like break her heart. Because, despite all my bravado, I'm not certain if I can take you in a fistfight," he slapped Cullen on the shoulder and chuckled.

"I will," he gulped staring down at his fingers, "consider your words." Maker take him but he really was weighing what this claptrap of a man said.

"Good," Alistair smiled, "now I'm heading back inside before I go on full old man grump at all that merriment. I swear, I'm going to start screaming at kids to get off my lawn in a few years." He laughed to himself while sliding inside.

Cullen remained at the balcony, staring past the joyful villagers and up into the night's sky. A nearly full moon illuminated the dark swath of indigo, but what drew his attention was a single star plucked from the middle of the multitude. Fenrir glittered down upon them all.

* * *

Her boy grew heavier in her arms with every step, Lana struggling under both the weight and her weary body. She pushed herself too hard for too long. The ride wasn't easy, and having to keep a baby balanced while...she didn't want to comprehend what happened nor what nearly did. Stopping to think upon it, to let into her mind the idea that she almost walked away from the baby dragging down her arms struck in her heart. Every time she shifted, she felt the needle sticking deeper, the perforations leaving her gasping for air.

Cullen was out wandering, getting fresh air he said. He'd offered to take Gavin off of her, but she didn't want to give him up, which only got her an eye roll. She could already hear his unspoken words, 'Now you choose to keep your son.' At least he didn't say them, stomping off to growl and snarl towards anything in his path.

_What were you thinking?_

She wasn't. She needed an answer, and there was one. A stupid one she would have regretted five minutes after Cullen left, but...there was nothing else. Even now with Morrigan having taken the burden upon herself, Lana couldn't stop wondering what she'd have done different, how she could have saved Kieran. And what about Alistair? He got one child back only to face another's death. That had to be wearing upon him no matter how much of a happy smile he threw on.

_You're not doing any better._

Bundling her arms tighter, she stared into the heavy lidded eyes of her baby. "I'm sorry, so sorry. I never wanted to, didn't mean to..." Lana's tears halted as she spotted a shadow drifting through the hall towards her. No one else remained in the big house, all rushing off to attend the festivities. Her breath returned at the tuft of blonde hair and cocky smile.

"Ali," she called, trying to wave at him, but having a baby get in the way.

He tipped his head and softly jogged a few steps closer to her. "I can't believe you're up," he said first to her, then his eyes darted down to the baby drooping in her arms, "Or you. This has to be long past child bedtime. Pretty sure this is past old King bedtime too."

Entertained at the attention, Gavin's eyes opened wider and his hand reached for Alistair. "Great," Lana sighed, "I'm never getting him down."

"Sorry," Ali winced. "Mind if I take over?"

"Maker's sake, no," she happily hoisted her boy into his arms if only to feel blood pooling back into her hands and wrists. Pretty soon she wouldn't be able to carry Gavin anymore, having to let him stumble on his toes alone. Her body wasn't good for much beyond being a cracked vase housing her already dented soul.

Alistair was quick to tuck Gavin in safe, his rested arms rocking the baby back and forth the way Lana should be able to. The way a good mother would. "Go to sleep, because it's nice. I like sleep. Something about mice," he sang song spoke in a half lullaby to her boy whose eyes began to strain against the tug. Whether it was the rocking or the warm arms, Gavin's lights began to wink out and he faded to sleep. His little mouth fluttered open, the dark lips framing a nub of a tooth that prodded free.

"Thank you," she whispered, placing a hand to his arms to try and encourage the rocking. Gavin could get fussy about getting to sleep, but when he was down he was out.

"No problem, I'm practically an expert now," Ali chuckled. "Three times over," the proud smile began to dim as he kept trying to redo the math in his head. Should it be four or not?

Biting into her lip, she tried to catch his wandering eye, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, no, I...don't know. What to think about any of this. Anything. It's me, right? Alistair, the unthinker." He dropped his head as if lost in the sleeping baby's face, the tone soft and confused, "Not even sure if I should care. He was raised by the evil, baby-stealing witch after all. My...my son could have been just as bad."

Was that what he needed to hear? To think? Lana reached a hand out to rub his arm and caught a glitter of a tear in his eye. No, not Ali. "What little I spoke to him, Kieran seemed to be a good man. He didn't want Morrigan to sacrifice a baby to save him, not his half sister."

"I keep thinking I shouldn't care, and then I'm also mad I'm not sadder than I am. People grieve when their kids die. That's normal, that's how it works, but..." he groaned, his arms slowing in the rocking as he stared at Gavin.

"I don't think there's a normal here. We're all making this up as we go, Ali," she patted him on the back.

Alistair snorted, "Just like always. Lanny, um..."

"What?" she turned at his long pause, fear rising in her gut. "Do not tell me there's more wrong." Her body was beyond reproach, her heart bleeding open, and she had yet to figure out how to talk to Cullen. Anymore problems to solve would probably kill her on the spot.

"The phylactery I made from Morrigan's blood, it's..." He reached into his pocket and fished out the ink bottle. "Gone black." Flickering candlelight bounced against what should have been crimson and pulsing but was dark as charcoal instead.

Lana reached towards it, her finger skimming against the glass even though she wasn't capable of using a phylactery, "Then she's..."

"Who knows. This is Morrigan, maybe she found a way to make it so a phylactery can't trace her. I," Alistair groaned, his body swaying backwards. He was quick to catch himself and the baby in his arms, but the exhaustion hit fast.

"You should get some sleep," Lana ordered, as if she could ever stop commanding people.

Ali pinched his forehead and then smiled, "What about you?"

"I'll...I will soon. I was planning on it once Gavin went down."

He tipped the boy around to stare at the cherubic cheeks gently whiffling from a tiny snore. "He's damn cute, Lanny," Alistair proclaimed while handing over her baby.

"I know," Lana tried to smile as the weight returned to her. She made an adorable child and almost walked out on him. That was unforgivable. Maker's breath, how could she ask for Cullen's absolution when she couldn't give it to herself? Both old friends peered down at the sleeping baby, Gavin's hands curled up together like he was clinging to a staff of his own.

A soft cough caused them both to whip their heads up. Cullen teetered on his toes as if he were drunk. She knew it wasn't alcohol but uncertainty that made his body wobble. He had his hands clasped together as if in prayer but they lay flat before his stomach.

"I should be heading to bed," Alistair said, his eyes glancing between the two of them. "Goodnight Lanny," he smiled at her, before running a finger against Gavin's cheeks, "and you too, you exhausted little mushroom."

With his armor of simplemindedness in place, Alistair dipped away towards the room he shared with Reiss. No doubt she could pry him out of it the way Lana always failed to. He was clearly hurting, but it wasn't Lana's job to save him. She watched her old friend vanish because it was easier on her heart than having to face up to her husband. In her arms, her baby began to fuss a bit, causing Lana to dip lower in the off chance she may accidentally drop him.

At that Cullen stopped rubbing the back of his neck and dashed towards them. "Do you need me to hold him?" he asked even while reaching out to scoop up Gavin.

"Yes..." Lana released her grip, her fingers skimming across Cullen's before coming to land with a thud at her side, "please."

It was strange to think he'd been terrified of his son those first few weeks of life. Cullen was a natural now, comforting and shielding Gavin the way any good father would. The way she failed to.

Spinning away, Lana jammed a palm to her eye to try and stopper the tears. She couldn't face them both, not now, not after how close she came to... "I'm sorry," Lana gasped, wishing it would be enough. "I never wanted to, but I...I didn't know what to, and the idea of losing you. I just kept thinking if I let you go then it'd be okay. Somehow it'd," her voice faded as she whimpered to herself, "be okay."

When a palm glanced across her back, she all but leapt out of her shoes. Lana turned to stare over her shoulder at the man who should be snarling at her. He'd been at it for the entire ride, the sneer never letting his lip scar dip down. But something was different now, he looked broken and she was the one who did it.

"Tell me you're mad," Lana gasped out.

"Very," Cullen nodded.

"And," she focused on their little boy, "tell me if you think you can't trust me."

He swallowed at that, surprised she'd know what her walking away would do to him. As if she'd forget what her staying behind in the fade cost them both. His eyes faded downward to whisper, "It's difficult at the moment."

"Then," Lana's words stuck hard in her throat. She had to ask them, even knowing that there was no walking back from this abyss. Her lips trembling and hands shaking, she watched Gavin's little nose twitch in a breath while asking, "tell me if you, if you can never love me again."

"Lana," his hand cupped against her cheek. She pressed into it, but wouldn't stare at him.

"Don't, don't lie or sugar coat it, or try to pretend that we can get over it in time. I need to know now," she wrapped both her hands around his wrist, clinging tight to him before finally facing his eyes.

They watered over, soft from the candlelight as Cullen tugged her closer to him, "I still love you. I will always love you. In twenty years, I never stopped loving you. I can't. It's impossible."

Sobs erupted from her throat, Lana clinging to her husband and son for support. His one free hand tried to smooth down her hair as he attempted to comfort her while she bawled on top of their baby. "I'm stupid, I hate that I'm stupid like that. That I...I don't even know why. Why I thought to do it. I never want to go. To lose after so much was already lost."

He paused in brushing her hair to sigh, "I know, and I." Cullen screwed up his eyes, "I think I finally understand."

"Good, maybe you can explain it to me then," she grumbled, wanting to grab whatever part of her brain kept sabotaging herself and strangle it. Running headfirst into danger seemed like a good trait to have, right until you kept leaving your friends and family in the ashes to do it.

A strong, patient arm wrapped around her, Lana tucked in so tight to their baby she guided her arms under Gavin to support him. "It's who you are," Cullen whispered, his lips brushing against her forehead, "who I fell in love with, who I will always love. A fact of which I should try to remember from time to time."

"I love you, both of you. I'm sorry. I...I don't know what to say anymore."

"The Inquisitor asked me to join him in his fight against Solas."

At that sudden change of topic Lana blinked madly and stared a question up at Cullen. He wouldn't stare down at them but had his eyes fixed over the horizon. "But I'm not going to do it. I'm...I belong to you, to my family," he dropped his head down, his lips breathing against the top of her head.

"Family," she sighed. At six years old she was taken to the tower, taught that this was and would forever be her world. No children, no marriage, only a life devoted to the chantry. She lost her parents, her brother, her aunts and uncles and everyone else in her life in that single day. "I never thought I'd have that again."

Cullen, the boy who became a templar, who was devoted to the chantry in both the same and vastly different ways, tucked himself tighter against his wife and son. Sighing with them both, he whispered, "Me neither."

* * *

Carefully, Alistair eased open the door to the room the mansion owners were more than happy to fork over to their King. They hadn't even batted an eye at him requesting a cradle for the baby in the elven woman's hands. Then again, they probably thought she was the nanny and not his Wheaty's mother. When he left Reiss, she was struggling to get the wide eyed Myra to stop staring at all this new and exciting stuff and go to sleep. As his shadow crossed the threshold, he felt a hand grab onto him and a voice hiss in a threatening whisper, "I just got her down and so help me if you wake her up..."

Reiss let the threat die, or was willing to allow Alistair to fill in the missing gaps. Nodding that he heard her words, he used everything in his power to silence the door closing. It barely even jangled, Alistair quick to catch the latch and settle it softly downward. Both heads whipped towards the cradle warmed by moonlight, but not a peep stirred.

"Blessed Andraste," Reiss sighed, folding downward. He was quick to wrap his arms around her, and she turned towards him. Nestling her head against his shoulder, she sighed in contentment. "Over. We're going home. I never imagined."

"Yeah," he swallowed, doing his best to keep his voice low. He felt Reiss turning a curious look on him but he wasn't in the mood to play over all the conflicting emotions bubbling in his head. Changing the conversation he nodded to the cradle, "How's she holding up?"

"She's doing wonderful. Got to smile at a good hundred new people all in full on drunk festival mode. I nearly had to bite some asshole's hand when he tried to snatch Myra from me," Reiss growled.

It was strangely beautiful to see his wife so protective of their daughter, even if she did bear a striking resemblance to a mabari mid-throat gouging. Butting his lips into her cheek, Alistair breathed her in. No scent of darkspawn, of death, of blood hanging in the air. She smelled clean, fresh, hopeful. They all did. "Our daughter seems to really like making friends."

"Right, because that'll never come back to bite her in the ass," Reiss fumed, but it was losing its bite.

"You're tired," Alistair said, barely beating her to a great yawn.

"No..." she let loose another one, then shook her head, "shit. I'm sure you are too."

He wasn't. His mind couldn't stop playing over everything that went wrong, every pain he forced back upon those who were dear to him, and one person he couldn't give a single shit about. Trying to smile through it, Alistair said, "I should sleep, long road ahead."

Tugging on his hands, Reiss pulled him onto the massive master bed. The house must have been built around it the thing was so huge. Even the mattress was ancient, sagging in the middle like quicksand prepared to drag its victims down to their cozy death. Both of them rolled into its snare, their hands locked around each other and they held tight. Reiss buried her face into his chest while Alistair kept glancing down past his toes at the cradle where their baby slept. If it weren't for the occasional snore, he'd have had to check to make certain she was in there.

"When I get home, I am going to grab up Spud and Cailan, give them both gigantic hugs, and not let them down for two days. Maybe three if Bea doesn't find out."

"Home," Reiss murmured to herself, her lips brushing against his chest.

Even with the weary road ahead of them and Alistair itching to be on it, he turned to her. "Okay, what's wrong? I could dance around it, wait until you're ready, but I doubt I'd get much sleep fretting away at all hours of the night."

It took her a few minutes, Reiss pressing her face tighter and tighter to him as if she could bury herself away from it. Her fingers gripped into his shoulders. Normally, he'd brace himself for the clothes to go flying when she did that, but she seemed to need him to act as her tether.

"You were right," her words bit through the starlit air.

Alistair blinked, "I was? That'd be a first. Wait, what was I right about?"

"Myra, the palace and..." Reiss sat up and she stared over at her sleeping baby, "It was my fault. She was taken, on my watch. I can't...you can protect her at the palace, keep her safe and--"

"Reiss," Alistair joined her, both of them focusing on the tuckered out girl with bright green eyes who seemed unaware of how close she walked to death. "It's not your fault. Morrigan didn't want your blood."

"But I couldn't stop her," she gasped, tears beginning. Alistair was quick to try and sop them up. "I tried, and I tried, but it wasn't enough. I'm not enough, not to protect my baby."

"You are." _Maker's sake._ Not this old argument again. He wanted to see his baby, to see Reiss, to be with them both, but Alistair was coming to accept that it wouldn't get to be as easy as strolling down the hall whenever he wanted. The templar was blessed.

"I failed her," Reiss mumbled, her head falling towards her lap. "And you should take her with you, keep her safe. She'll be getting onto solids soon, and I can stop by the palace on some days and nights. It wouldn't...it shouldn't..."

"Stop."

She turned her head towards him, Alistair barely able to stop the tears soaking into his palms. "Please, stop beating yourself up. Thinking that you have to live a life with your daughter, our daughter, hidden away at the top of some unassailable tower. I know this was bad. Really bad, and scary, and I hated every Maker damn minute of it, but..."

Sighing, he wrapped his hands around Reiss' shoulders and pulled her forehead to his. She returned the sentiment, her fingers plying apart the beard that sprouted down his chin during their exile. "You know where you belong, and Myra belongs with you."

"What about you?" Reiss gasped, "You deserve to be with her too."

"I will. I...it's not that hard for me to dip in and out, or for you both to..." He sighed and figured now was the best time to reveal the bit of information he'd been holding back out of fear of how she'd rip his head off upon learning it. "I've been having a room set up, something for her. Myra. When she gets older and doesn't want to be seen with her parents. I swear I think that starts at age six now. So if you're busy at the agency on a case, my Wheaty can stay with me. Have her own space and not have to deal with castle political bullshit."

Alistair gritted his teeth, expecting Reiss to lash out and rip his face off. He began laying the plans the minute he returned after the agency was attacked, needing to give his daughter and the woman he loved some kind of safe harbor should the worst happen. And, knowing how against it all Reiss would be, he never had the balls to tell her.

"That's," Reiss turned back to their baby, then him, and she smiled, "a good idea."

"Really?" he gasped.

"Yes, really. To give her a space, a spot, so she's not just the bastard daughter or is mistaken as the help's brat. Her own room. This won't be easy," Reiss sighed, her forehead bouncing against his.

"Doesn't mean it's not worth trying," Alistair curled his hand back against her cheek and it found its way up to her bun.

She snickered at that and sighed, "You can take it out." Unable to bite down the smile, Alistair undid her hair, the golden strands sifting through his fingers. He could sit and comb it for hours, adoring the feel of every soft wave before they were all banished back under her hat.

"I'm scared," Reiss said, "of what the future will bring. Of trying to..." She paused and began to laugh, at first it was a bracing haw haw but it quickly picked up steam into a mad giggle. Alistair slowed in combing her hair to look concerned at the sudden turn. "I have a King's child. A child with royal blood. We...we made a baby together. It's, this is madness."

"Yep." He scooted her closer to him, his lips placing a kiss to the tip of her nose. "It's completely bonkers when you stop and think about it. And I wouldn't change a thing."

He fell in love with a stubborn as hell elven woman whose life was poking into murders and chasing down villains. It wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't often required to sit on a fancy chair and tell entire Arlings what to do. And those two people, those busy, overcommitted, confounding people made a baby. A baby who'd one day grow into her own fascinating young woman no doubt with golden hair, bright green eyes, and a penchant for getting into trouble. Given her parentage, that was pretty much guaranteed.

Tugging Reiss downward, both lay back upon the bed. His lover, his wife, this gift he'd never imagined how much he ached for, placed her hand upon his chest. She drew her fingers up and down, trailing some long ripped apart embroidery. After a time, she whispered in the dark, "Do you think we'll pull this off?"

"Only time will tell," Alistair admitted logically. Then he pressed his lips to her forehead and whispered, "But I'd bet on it."

## CHAPTER NINETY-ONE

#### Epilogue

Thirteen Years Later...

The sickle's blade barely sliced through the tall grass, most of it clogging on the handle instead. Groaning, he let his arm fall slack, the scythe scattering to the half mowed field. Barely caring, he wiped his arm against his forehead and tried to clear away the sweat dripping into his eyes. He should have worn the field hat left on the kitchen peg, but thought after shaving his hair off it wouldn't be needed. Why did he keep forgetting about the damn sun?

"Gavin," his father's voice broke him from staring at nothing. The wiry boy shed his shirt behind, leaving his ropey body exposed to the sun while his father remained nearly fully clothed. Even his tunic reached all the way to the wrists, exposing a hint of that pink skin that easily turned red during summer. In that matter at least Gavin made out better.

He wished he had his father's wingspan however.

To Gavin's quarter acre that was cut apart and left to dry in the summer heat, Cullen managed nearly half going on three fourths. Which, his father kept eyeballing as if he assumed Gavin was slacking off. "You've stopped," he pointed towards his son's fallen tool.

"It's jammed up again, this grass is too tall," Gavin complained, then winced at the knowing look in his father's eyes.

"And whose fault is that?"

"Mine, Sir," he mumbled, his head falling to his bare chest. It practically glistened in this heat, sweat clinging to every part of him whether exposed or not. One of the aides to the abbey took to calling him caramel. The caramel boy out in the fields, hands calloused and raw from the never ending work. She didn't last long here once his father overheard it.

Cullen twisted his larger scythe down, the honed blade digging into dirt. He first tried to sponge off his own overworked brow, then patted Gavin on the back. "Mine too. I kept putting this off, because Maker knows there were a hundred other things to handle in the abbey."

Their home rested in the distance, the field of grass twisting down the road that led to it. If he squinted he could just make out the white stone walls that'd let him out of this heat. Once he finished out here, Gavin was going to strip to his drawers, dump a bucket of well water on his head, then lay on the cool floor for a good hour. Assuming his father didn't have more chores.

Who was he kidding, there was always more.

Cullen jerked his head to his son's scythe, "Did you remember to sharpen the blade before setting out?"

"Um..." his amber eyes darted around, doing his best to not admit that of course he forgot. He'd been in the middle of an adventure novel when his dad all but grabbed onto the back of his collar and hoisted him out into the field.

"Son, how many times do I have to tell you this? Keep your blade sharp and it'll serve you best..."

"Let it grow dull and you only have yourself to blame," Gavin muttered to himself, turning back towards the field. So what if they didn't finish today? There was always tomorrow, or the day after that. Their livestock weren't liable to starve in the interim.

A great cacophony erupted from the grove of trees further down the road. Father and son both spun to look up in time as a giant fireball crested through the sky. Gavin held his breath, but Cullen merely sighed, "I see your mother's hard at work." It was barely a beat before something smothered the fire before it torched the forest, no doubt ice.

Cullen barely blinked at the magics being cast at their doorstep, but Gavin tried to stagger up onto his tiptoes. He wanted to sit and watch, but his dad didn't think it a wise idea. They didn't exactly forbid him from it, but his parents kept finding better things to keep him occupied during the lessons. Gavin heard a soft grumble in his father's throat that was clearly code for 'Get your head out of the clouds and back to work.'

Yanking up the little scythe he'd had since he was ten and first let to roam their slice of countryside, Gavin glanced over at his father. He knew the stories, the heroics people sang of him, but every time they'd bump into a person who fought in the wars in awe of the great Commander, Gavin kept thinking, 'Him?' Surely they must have gotten their famous warrior confused with an old farmer who tended to grumble into his food and always had one eye on the door. If it weren't for his mother...

That was a whole other big problem he could barely understand. Slicing off a few more tufts of grass in the hopes of beating oncoming summer rains, Gavin gave it a few more beats before asking as nonchalantly as possible, "How long do you think the lessons will last?"

"As long as is necessary," his father answered, a familiar grit in his jaw. He didn't pause in his work, but his voice softened, "You know your mother, she gets an idea in her head and..." Cullen twisted his head around to gaze back to where the fireball erupted from, "And we all better keep up or be left in her dust."

That caused Gavin to laugh once, the idea of his mother speeding past either of them ludicrous. He bore a few early memories of her sometimes giving chase to her little boy, but she'd been confined to a chair and cane for most of his life. They would play by her sitting in the meadow while he'd zip back and forth bringing her things she asked for. It wasn't until he was much older that he learned they weren't making some exotic potion to save the fairies or whatever story she concocted. She was giving him busy work, and his father would pick up all the stolen objects to return back for the next day's game.

A new sound, strange to his ears, caused both Cullen and Gavin to look up from the field. Magical explosions, templars on tears, even a stampede of druffalo were commonplace, but this was fresh. Hoofbeats churned up the dirt path, tugging behind them the rattling of wheels and carriages tipping around the bend. Gavin froze, his fingers gripping tighter to the scythe. Visitors? But...they hadn't had anyone stop by the abbey in months. Winter could see an uptick, villagers seeming to be bored or wanting to check in on the grumbling old war hero for stories. Summer, however was a different tale.

He turned to his father for orders and spotted a sneer rising along the man's lip. Whipping back, Gavin noticed a crest stamped to the door of the carriage and a flag bearing a mabari waving upon the back. Cullen sighed, "I should have expected this. Would have been nice to have been told before but..."

"Father?" Gavin turned to him, curious and confused. There were few people who could truly rile him up, the man was practically a kitten with newcomers. But this one seemed to be causing him to spit hot nails.

"How about you go and greet our new visitors?" Cullen stretched his neck, "Give me your scythe, I can clean it up and put it away."

"The field...?" Gavin pointed to it as if he really wanted to continue. Normally, he'd take any excuse to flee from farm work, but if his father was so put off by this visitor how much of a donkey's buttocks were they?

"Can wait until later, but not too much later. Go on, get running. If you see your mother, when you see your mother, tell her I'll be by soon," Cullen said, giving his son leave.

Unable to stop the smile, Gavin turned and gave in to the freedom. Running with the top speed his lanky legs provided, he was halfway to the road that'd take him back into the abbey when his father called out, "Son! Don't forget your shirt!"

Gavin was wiggling an arm into the old, oversized tunic as he stepped through the front gates to find a single carriage waiting in their courtyard. A few eyes peered out of the doors in the abbey, patients and aides alike curious but no one willing to take the first blow. He spotted the driver sitting up on the seat, casually checking her pockets as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Right. Okay. You can do this. Not as if you haven't spoken to strangers before.

Sort of.

Sometimes.

He took a step forward, when a white blur zipped past him. It ran so fast he felt the wind off of it and spotted only a line of colors -- mostly greens but there was a spurt of yellow mixed in. Gavin blinked to focus his eyes and when they did, his jaw locked up. The girl hopped back and forth on her feet, her hands yanking on the door handle to the carriage as if it was second nature to her.

"Dad!" she cried, tugging it open and all but hurling herself in with a great hug. The man was quick to catch her, white hair shining in the summer heat but a bright smile growing stronger from the hug.

"Wheaty! Maker's breath it's good to see you. Here, one more hug," he ordered, tugging her close.

They had the exact same smile, energetic and infectious stretching from the chin to the eyes, the realization of which caused Gavin to blush. He'd often catch the smile out of the corner of his eye while walking the abbey or from across a dining table and wonder things about it. Things that would make his father grumble more.

"What is this?" her father tugged at the blonde braid tossed over her shoulder, "When did you start going all farm girl on me?"

"Da-ad," she groaned, but then giggled like a nightingale. "How's things back home? What about mom?"

He smiled wide, "Why don't you ask her yourself?" Reaching back into the carriage, he drew forth a woman's hand. She was thin, her hair lighter than her daughter's, as she strained to reach around to complete the hug.

"For the love of Andraste, this is foolish. Myra, move out of the way so we can get out," she chastised. The smile didn't dim in Myra's face, but she obeyed, practically skipping backwards so first her father could step down.

Gavin knew that face, it was on more than a few paintings across the parts of Ferelden he was allowed to visit. There were even a handful of collectable coins bearing it that he'd gotten mixed up in his collection. Blinking like mad, his mouth dried out as he realized his father sent him to greet the King with no warning or training. What did one do upon meeting their Sovereign? Bow? That seemed almost too informal. He bowed to the Arl. This was...

King Alistair stopped staring around the courtyard long enough to have his eyes land upon Gavin. Yelping but managing to keep it internal, Gavin tipped his head downward. That caused the King to laugh and wave the boy closer. Was that an order? That was probably an order.

His foot slid once, when the woman's voice ordered, "Would you move your ass already?"

"Sorry, love," Alistair stumbled further away, "old bones ain't what they used to be." Turning back to the carriage, he got a good grip onto her hand and tugged her out.

She was a stunning elven woman, her long, pointed ear prodding through a mass of blonde hair. Hers was the kind of beauty that made young men hold their tongues in fear while also finding themselves unable to stop staring. Gavin felt himself straightening up more when her green eye landed upon him than the threat of a King did.

"Mom! How was the trip? Did you stop at the pancake place? What's Muse been up to? Or my friends?"

Myra launched towards her mother, and the woman turned her head sharply to reveal that her other ear was missing. A knob of scar tissue wrapped around what looked as if someone either hacked away the elven point or it was caught in something and ripped off. Neither mother nor daughter seemed put off by what was perhaps an old wound. "My," she chastised, "speak into my good ear please."

"Right, fine. I asked...!"

"The trip was serviceable if not long. We got the strawberry ones this time. Muse has been sleeping and farting all the time, and your friends sent along a good hundred or so letters for you," she answered quickly before cracking into a grin.

Myra's jaw dropped and she stuck a hand on her hip, "You heard me the whole time!"

"No, but I know my daughter. Come here, one more proper hug already without your father's ass in the way."

He laughed while they embraced again, then whispered near her remaining ear, "I happen to have it on good authority that you enjoy my ass."

"Alistair," she chided, her palm swatting against his shoulders. The woman looked as if she was about to kiss him, Gavin politely turning to stare at the horizon, when he felt her eyes land upon him.

The King turned to see what caught her attention and smiled, "Don't tell me, you're the welcoming squad."

"I..." he dipped his head down, uncertain if it was polite to stare a King in the eye, "I am."

Alistair crossed to him and picked up his hand. Gripping warmly to it he smiled, "Good. Better you than your father, ol' grouchy puss. How is he? Sour as a lemon scowling down bitterdrop lane I bet."

"It, um..." he had no idea how to respond, but the man continued to talk over him.

"Maker's breath, when did you get so tall?" the King gasped. It took everything inside of Gavin to not sneer at the idea. While he was taller than his mother, he didn't reach anywhere close to his father yet and seemed to have stalled out. Unaware of any offense, the King held his hand low to the ground, "I swear, last time I saw you you were this big. And had a metal bucket on your head to go fight off monsters."

A pretty laugh caught Gavin's eye and those vibrant green eyes he'd tried to not stare at for months landed on him for a breath. It was long enough for his cheeks to flare hotter than the fire she'd been launching earlier through the trees. Mumbling incoherently he turned to stare down at the ground, unable to make eye contact with anyone.

"Myra, how are lessons going?" the woman turned to her daughter, pulling the focus off of Gavin who only had the King trying to reminisce about a time he couldn't remember.

"They're fine, Mom," she rolled her verdant eyes wide then shook her head wildly. "I learned a new trick today, wanna see?" Myra lifted up her fingers, but the woman grabbed onto them.

"No, no, that's...as long as you're controlling it. Learning how to temper all the fire stuff. And you better be acting respectful to Lady Rutherford."

Myra snorted, then swooped her hands back over her forehead to try and tuck the free hairs back. The move drew Gavin's eyes to the tiny tips of her ears. It was kinda cute how they ended in this little bump, like a mosquito bite or a tick. Or other things he probably shouldn't say aloud to pretty girls.

"What was that?" Myra's mother wasn't about to give up, "Don't mumble, I hate it when you mumble."

"I! Said! I! Am! Being..." Myra stopped shouting and her eyes wandered past the courtyard, "Hi teach."

The adults both turned to find Gavin's mother hobbling towards them. Her cane glowed bright green, the magic guiding her along and keeping her upright, but she had a bright smile upon her face. "Ali!" his mother cried, and the King actually dashed across the muddied grounds to wrap an arm around her for a great bear hug. She buried her face into his chest, unable to make it for air against his shoulder.

"Lanny, you look resplendent as always."

"'Resplendent?'" his mother's eyebrow shot up as she stared in shock at the King, then her gaze drifted over to the elf.

"Word-a-day courtesy of the princess' new tutor. Believe me, that's one of the better ones he's clung to," she laughed at the man's expense but her face was soft.

"Good to see you, Reiss," Lana tipped her head to her, "You're looking well. Though, we weren't expecting you two at all." Her eyes narrowed and she turned hard to Alistair who lifted up his hands. Only his mother could get away with all but threatening the King of Ferelden.

"Don't blame me, it wasn't exactly my idea," he raced to defend himself, when he turned to shout, "Hear that, old man? It wasn't my fault. Blame the elf you all like so much."

"Thanks for throwing me under the apple cart," Reiss grumbled, and the King reached over to wrap his arm around her and kiss her cheek. At the display Gavin politely turned away and in the process he caught Myra doing the same. She had her tongue stuck out and emphasized a look of disgust. It was so preposterous he laughed at it, which caused her to smile wider.

Maker's grace, that increased his burning blush.

While Gavin made friends with the ground, his father finally joined the party. Cullen nodded his head to them both, "Reiss, a pleasure. You..." he said at the King who shrugged.

"That could have been worse," Alistair began before his face crinkled up and he pinched his nose, "Sweet merciful blood of Andraste, what is that stench? Smells like the inside of a bronto." He risked sniffing the air a bit before honing right on Gavin's father. "It's you! Were you living inside of one?"

Cullen folded his arms tight and put upon the King a glower Gavin thought only he had to suffer. "It's called labor, work, what people do to survive when they don't have a dozen servants to bathe them."

"I happen to think he smells fine," Lana cooed and slipped into his father's radiance. Naturally, Cullen snuggled an arm around her, as if protecting his wife and also supporting her. When she turned to him for a kiss, Myra failed to hide her gagging sound. That caught all the adults attentions but the girl was quick to put on a big smile.

"Wheaty..." the King's voice dipped lower as if in a warning.

Lana was quick to walk over the awkwardness, "After such a long trip, you must want drink and food. We have a few bottles in the cellar we can crack into. I got them from Teagan's stock."

"Now we're talking," Alistair slapped his hands together in excitement. "And it'll give us a chance to hear all about how our baby girl's doing," he reached over to snag Myra by the shoulders and pull her into a headlock. She squirmed as he rubbed his fist into her hair but kept laughing.

"Dad! No," she slid out, her hair a mess courtesy of her father. "I...I have to finish cleaning up the training area. Right, Ma'am?" she turned to Lana who blinked in confusion a moment.

"Well, you best get to it then," Reiss interrupted. "Though I'm almost tempted to follow to see the impossible, my daughter cleaning up after herself."

"She's been a wonderful guest," it was his father who stuck up for the girl he tended to give a wide berth to. Gavin couldn't quite figure out why. It wasn't as if she was contagious with anything, yet every morning Cullen would make certain his work kept him and his son out of Myra's path.

"Hear that Reiss? Our girl's perfect," the King smiled wide and she groaned, "Practically perfect. Go on ahead with your chores, Wheaty. Then skip on back, we really do have a good hundred letters from people back home for you. And they all demanded responses."

"'Kay Dad," she moved to dash away before suddenly turning on a copper and wrapping him up in another quick hug.

"I should assist," Gavin's brain took over his mouth, whatever it was thinking of failing to fill him in on the plan. Sure enough his father's concerned eye landed on him. "It will go faster if I do."

"Son, I don't know..."

"Let him go. It'll be fine," his mother was quick to speak over their father. Most assumed that the ex-Commander commanded the abbey and the family, right up until they came to meet his mother. "Go ahead, Gavin. I'm certain you two will get on well enough by yourselves." It had to be his imagination that she all but winked at the end of that.

A hand grabbed onto his and he turned to find Myra tugging hard on him. "Come on, let's go...before they get all mushy again."

Shuffling to get his dumbstruck feet under him, Gavin followed after the girl leaving their parents to head inside. A bit of their small talk struck him, but Gavin was too focused on following Myra his eyes unable to land anywhere safe but his feet. They'd set up a special magic zone for his mother to do things in. Runes glittered in a circle around it, protecting the area from observation and keeping the magic contained within. It was little more than a section of recently burned grass, even more burned to ash courtesy of Myra, with a few dead stumps in the way.

"What..." Gavin glanced around at the fallow land, "what are we supposed to clean up exactly?"

"I left my stupid stick here," she grumbled, picking up a staff carved out of a dead birch tree.

"That's it?" he patted his hands together, the hairs at the back of his neck rising. He could blame it on the magical shield, but Gavin often had it happen around Myra.

"Well..." she rolled her head around then smiled wickedly at him, "Lady R's wanted me to try and ice the ground, but..."

At her look his entire mouth dried to a husk, it felt as papery as a wasp's nest yanked out of a dead log. She stared at him with a glint in her eyes that both terrified and fascinated him. "But what?"

"Wanna do something fun?" Myra leaned closer to him and Gavin froze, every joint in his body locked tight. All he could do was nod his head up and down, agreeing to something he barely understood.

She smiled again, then nodded in response. "Good. Uh, do you know anything fun to do around here?"

"Um..." No, he spent his entire life walking from one edge of the abbey to the other. Canvassed the woods only to find it full of brambles, tree branches, and insects. Dabbled around the farmland acreage and realized that in general fields of grass contain little more than grasshoppers and giant piles of manure. "I might know of one thing," he said.

The guilt that burrowed at the back of Gavin's head suddenly dug in deeper and he turned towards the abbey. His parents told him to come right back, they'd wonder, his father would certainly worry. He was about to suggest they head back when a soft, pink hand glanced across his tan one. The deepest green eyes stared into his and he was gone. He'd have run away to Redcliffe if she asked it.

"Follow me," Gavin tried to sound imposing, but his voice cracked at the first word. Embarrassment burned hot up his cheeks and he slipped away from Myra, rubbing the back of his neck as if that would assuage the guilt and...other confusing feelings.

Taking an old path, he led her deeper into the woods. Myra walked behind him for a bit, staring around at trees, and squirrels, and squirrels on trees, but that grew dull quickly for her. Laughing, she dashed off deeper into the thicket. Gavin was about to ask her to come back. He could deal with his parents upset at his vanishing for an hour, but losing Myra would be the death of him. Never mind what a king would do. Was drawing and quartering still performed?

"Catch," she tossed her mage staff at him, which he fumbled with in his slippery grip. Her hands freed, she scrambled onto a log and ran up it towards the tree's higher branches.

"What are you...?" Gavin asked even as the girl leapt off the end of the tree, snagged onto a thick branch, and let the momentum swing her in a circle. She managed to pick up speed, twirling through the air as if she weighed nothing. The laugh was infectious, even as he felt terror rising in his legs about what to do if she fell or hurt herself. Myra kept up the spin, when she suddenly let go.

Her arms outstretched, sleeves billowing in the wind, she landed hard into an old pile of leaves. Gavin rushed over, the mage stick clutched tight in his hands, but the girl stood up, laughing as if it was all a big joke. "How did, how can you do that?" he gasped, amazed at how far she managed to fling her body.

"That's nothing," she winked, then placed her palms flat over her head and tipped into a cartwheel. "Back home I'd do this on ledges or roofs. Scares my Mum half to death, cause she'd rather I be chained to some desk sticking papers together or cataloging blood stains."

"Blood stains?" Gavin was confused but also transfixed at her lithe body. She moved as if in control of every muscle at her disposal, the thin arms catching and twisting her limber legs onward. It was...also not something he should be staring at, probably.

"Oh yeah," Myra continued on, not catching on that he'd been staring at her silhouette while she was upside down. "There's a good dozen categories for blood stains, all of which require precise number and lettering, blah blah blah." To finish, she bunched her knees up and then did a straight on backflip. It was impressive, but she wobbled a bit at the landing. Still, nothing seemed to bother her as she smiled, "Andraste's girdle it feels good to stretch."

"Is that why you don't wear any mage robes?" Gavin spoke, then paled at her look. It probably wasn't polite of him to notice her clothing, because then he was looking at her and everyone seemed to be against that idea. Still, it wasn't hard for him to not notice that while the few mages he knew clung to the robes of old, Myra was always running about in tight but not restrictive pants and a tucked in tunic. The shirt bore a lower neckline than most that let him sometimes catch a glimpse of the freckles across her collarbones. That was a long couple of hours of him hiding in the barn lest his father read the guilt on his face for noticing.

Myra shook off her snarl and smiled again, "Nah. Though, that is a good point, don't want to get the droopy sleeves caught, or I'd go, woosh, right off an edge. Splatter on the cobbles, very messy. Seen a few of 'em. Ugh."

"Ah," he had no idea how to respond. They told him little of the girl coming to stay for awhile as his mother taught her how to control magic. She was from Denerim, she was the daughter of friends of her parents, and that Gavin had apparently met her before when he was much younger. Maybe Myra remembered it, but he couldn't. He never seemed to meet much of anyone.

Slowing up, Myra turned closer to him, the smile dripping away, "It's my Mum. She's not wild about my magic. Wild would be an understatement. She all but blew the top of her head clean off the first time I set the room on fire. As if I meant to do it."

Gavin drew his fingers down the staff, the soft birch wood comforting against the skin. Was he the one to harvest it? He was often out with his father, plucking up old wood Cullen could turn into canes for Lana. "Sometimes I think my mother's disappointed I wasn't touched by magic."

"Oh?" her always dancing fingers wrapped around her staff, but she didn't yank it away. He felt Myra's eyes peering up at his, but Gavin screwed his eyes tight to stare at nothing.

"She'd often tell me about it when I was younger. The Fade and the wonders it held. Had me sit in on her potion brewing to get the hang of it just in case. But..." he tried to shrug it off and smiled at Myra. The girl sighed.

"Parents, huh? Bet they're all back there necking and stuff," she snickered then shuddered.

"Come again," Gavin blinked madly, a vision of his parents choking each other flitting through his mind. That couldn't be what she meant.

"You know," Myra pursed her lips tightly together and then smacked them, "My parents are the WORST about it. And they think I don't know. Please. They're as subtle as a cat in heat."

Gavin felt the blush returning and he tried to begin walking to shake it off. "Ah, now I understand."

"No kidding. I thought mine were bad, but yours are...is that what love does? Makes your brains get all gooey and liquified until you act so stupid it makes everyone around you sick?"

"I...I have no idea," Gavin admitted. He was aware his parents were affectionate but never thought it was too outlandish.

"Really?" Myra skipped near him, hopping out front so she could face him while walking backwards. She met him eye for eye, the girl a bit taller than Gavin. "So, you're saying you don't have a girlfriend."

Gavin chuckled, "I have few friends, though some of the aides will sometimes play a game or two with me."

"No, not like a friend who's a girl, but a..." she waved her hand as if that would somehow draw understanding to his brain, "a girl girlfriend. You know?" Myra stopped in her tracks, but Gavin failed to catch on. He made it another step closer to her and found himself a breath from her inquisitive eyes. They were always crinkled at the edges in a smile, but that did nothing to deflate their great size. It was like staring into grassy fields fresh from a summer rain, each gigantic and urging him to run through it. Freckles filled her peachy face from her nose down across her cheeks, the dots reminding him of the ones he spotted on her upper chest.

Gavin felt his breath constrict at the thought and he mentally tried to mumble a prayer. That was supposed to help him focus, or at least keep from making a colossal fool out of himself. "I, no, no, no-no-no," it was all he could say, his eyes finding his shoes fascinating while she stood so close he could see the stain of cherry juice on her lips.

"No girlfriend then?" Myra drug it out before smiling wide and spinning around, "Good. I don't get the fuss of it all. Genie, she's my friend back home. One of my friends, the dark haired one with the funny eyebrow. Long story short, don't try to shave your own down without help or you end up looking confused all the time. She keeps going on and on about this boy who's just perfect. He eats perfect. He breathes perfect. He probably farts perfect. What are perfect farts? Little toots of perfume."

"Or marshmallows," Gavin said, happy to be walking.

She smiled wider at him, "Yes, the perfect boyfriend must fart marshmallows, for all the hot cocoa one drinks. I guess he's only good for winter then. Need a boyfriend that farts ice for summer."

"A mage then," Gavin tried to circle the conversation back around to something he could understand. Perfect boyfriends were beyond his expertise.

"Ha," Myra rolled her fist around and small flames flitted across her fingers like the dancers at the chantry during satinalia. He watched the soft yellow fire when he felt her staring at him. "This doesn't bother you?" she asked, waving her hand back and forth as if the fire might suddenly leap out at him.

"Not particularly."

"Everyone back home practically shat themselves when I'd do this," she chuckled as if it was fun to terrorize her friends and family, but those smiling eyes drooped down, Myra staring at her flame.

"My mother is often casting spells around us, for as long as I can remember. It's hard to be upset when you can have a snowball fight in summer," Gavin said.

Myra closed her fist, smothering the magical flame, and she laughed, "Right, exactly. It's not scary, it's helpful, but..." She paused in her rant and glanced around, "Where are we going? Have we left the grounds yet?"

"Grounds?" he blinked in confusion. "We're deeper into the forest, if that's what you mean."

"No, I got that part just...is this land you know, part of your abbey?" she hopped up and down on her toes, enjoying it while also looking skittish.

Gavin glanced around the quiet forest, only birdsong and soft sway of the wind glancing shadows across them answering. "It belongs to the Arl. Which then I guess means it belongs to your father. I think."

"Yeah, right," she scrunched her nose up as if smelling something awful, then darted back to stare behind where they came. "And your parents, they let you come out this far?"

"Often," he nodded. Gavin caught the mark he put in a tree and bent over to lift up a fallen pine branch. Its soft needles provided cover and a difficult to squeeze under barricade. For a moment Myra eyed it up in caution, but she dipped down to scoot under it. Following behind her, but not too close, he heard the gasp and smiled to himself.

As he staggered up, he spotted the girl rushing towards the giant statue half submerged in the crystal blue pond. "Maker's balls," she gasped, then clasped a hand to her mouth at the swear. Gavin shrugged, having whispered worse under his breath when he'd nick a toe or a pig bit his fingers. She giggled at him not objecting where his parents would, and then spun back to stare wide eyed at the statue.

It was ancient, and huge. Carved from grey stone that felt out of place in this area, it reminded him of a horse, but didn't really look like one. There were no obvious gaps for the body or legs, the entire statue one giant slab, but it felt like a horse. If that made any sense. Only the potential horse head and top half of the body were visible, while a bright crystal blue radiated out from the slab into the pond around it. It practically glowed with blue, brighter than any lake he'd ever seen.

"This place is teeming with power," Myra lifted her hand and the fire rose higher off the fingers. She snapped it away with a giggle and then moved to climb up the statue. One hand gripping onto a front leg handhold, she paused and glanced over at him. "Is it wise for me to touch this?"

"I've been up there numerous times," he admitted, then blushed at her approving look. Gavin was nowhere near as skilled at climbing as she was. The girl made it look easy, her fingers finding grabs that he'd never manage as she moved up the statue like water. Perched upon the head that gazed forever down into the strange pond, she waved for him to follow.

Doing his best to not make a colossal fool out of himself, Gavin took the climb slower. He hooked a foot into the carved spine that was left evident of the hunched over horse, and grabbed onto a section he couldn't explain. It almost looked like a wing that'd long ago fallen off and the weather wore down. But flying horses? That was preposterous.

More sweat dripped down his arms and across his palms. If his father smelled like the inside of a bronto, he probably stank of its colon. Wonderful. That was something that put girls off, right? Smells of bad things. Maybe the shirt would keep it all trapped inside, he prayed while yanking himself the last climb up to perch beside Myra. He hugged tight to the statue on all fours while she pranced around practically on her tiptoes.

"Wow, how in the Maker's name did you find this?" she asked, stepping out towards the nose of the horse.

Gavin plopped down onto his ass, making certain he wouldn't slide off and answered, "I was chasing a rabbit."

"For supper?"

"For fun," he smiled, "we only eat rabbit for special occasions. My father's not much of a hunter. It dashed into the bracken and I all but fell into this pond."

"Wow," she repeated as if that was the most impressive story she'd ever heard. She was the daughter of a king, apparently did things that involved blood stains and dead bodies. His life was nothing but farming and tending to ill people. There was nothing interesting to it. After a time, Myra flopped down and let her legs dangle over the side.

"I like to come here to read, it's quiet and soft," he whispered. Gavin may not have any magic in him but he felt calm here in his private refuge away from his parents and work. Whether it was the statue or knowing no one else could find him, it was hard to say.

Myra snickered, "You've always got your nose in a book every time I see you."

"You see me?" he blinked, shocked that the girl would even notice him. "I..." the blush took over as he raced to apologize for himself, "I don't always, but when there's time to..."

"It's nice," she smiled, "and with your secret library I'm not surprised."

"Ah, that one," he flushed brighter, turning on the stone horse to stare at the abbey. "I don't, that isn't open to me the same as it would be to you."

"What do you read then if not _Ancient Fart Face's Guide to Lighting Or Not Lighting Your Knickers On Fire: Depends On What You Want_?"

Gavin softly chuckled at her summation of the magical literature that littered the abbey. No doubt his mother had her buried in books. She'd do that to people who weren't coming to her for training, Maker turn His gaze on anyone she'd actually plan to teach. "Histories, adventure stories, more or less." He tapped his foot into the horse and glanced over the forest. "The ones with knights rescuing kingdoms and getting into duels or battling monsters."

"Hard in Hightown?"

"No, that one my parents forbid for whatever reason, though they allow anything else."

"Psh, that one's barely got any naughty parts in it. Now his Swords & Shields books are..." Myra paused and, in a shocking twist, the area below her freckles lit bright red. He'd never seen her look unperturbed over anything, not even when the horses were being bred. "The, I mean, um, or the This Shit's Weird: Inquisition book."

"That one I know why they banned," Gavin said. He tipped his hands back behind him and leaned to a comfier position.

"Right, right, your Dad's in that one, ain't he? All those glorious tales of saving the day and chivalry and what not," the girl smiled, waving her hand around as if a sword was in it. "Worried you'll learn the truth of whatever happened during the Inquisition days?"

"No," he knocked his feet together into the stone and sighed, "they both tell me about it. Even my mother will discuss the blight, though not often or easily." Myra grimaced at that one, her eyes darting away.

"Parents, huh? Always prodding into things. Do this, do that. Act like you're still teething or some shit," she snapped her fingers and a poof of fire erupted out of the pond. It couldn't touch anything surrounded by water, but caught Gavin's attention. "Can't trust you to go two steps out the door before it's all 'take the mabari!'"

"'Keep a sharp dagger at your hip,'" he added in.

"'Did you tell Lunet where you're headed?'"

"'Pick any elfroot along the way.'"

Both turned to each other and at the same time said, "'And don't forget to wear a sweater.'" They broke into giggles, Myra brushing her hand against her lips to try and cover a snort while Gavin found himself transfixed by her freckles. There were so many it was like staring up at the night's sky. How long would it take him to count the multitude without her catching him?

The blush took hold harder and Gavin whipped his head away to stare at the treetops and get in a breath of air. It was hot here, the summer heat reflecting off the statue. Normally, the grey stone remained cool even in the height of the season but today it seemed to have broken its power. He felt his hand rummaging through the back of his shirt collar and he froze.

"My Mum, she hated the idea of me going to the college to learn. It's why I'm here instead of up there training with all the other like minded mages," Myra whispered. She cupped her hand as if holding an invisible ball and slowly a sparking sphere of energy rose upon it.

"I doubt there's any mage like you," Gavin whispered. Her bright eyes snapped to him, something unreadable in the depths and he floundered. "I mean, that, uh...you're very, the mages are..." Aware that his tongue flopped like a dying fish in his mouth, he turned away again, his cheeks on fire.

"My Dad would throw a fit if I ever wandered this far away. Home or Palace, that's it. Maybe we'll let Myra go to the corner store, but that's if she takes Muse and Lunet's watching from across the street. Even my friends can visit the Alienage without needing a fancy escort."

"Really? I often travel to the local village by myself and recently took a trip to Redcliffe with a caravan. Perhaps my, my parents are far too busy with other matters to be that concerned."

Her wide eyes shifted up and Myra skirted a bit closer across the stone head. "Lucky. I'd give anything to be able to get out and run free. Best I can manage is skirting around on some rooftops, which of course my Mum yells at me for whenever I do. 'You'll break your neck!' Oh yeah, wait until she learns I can do this!" She tugged a rock out of her pocket and hurled it into the air. On its trajectory down, she blasted it with a spell Gavin rarely saw his mother use. The rock slowed until it gently crested to a gentle plop against the pond's surface. A single ripple followed.

"At least you get to live in a city. All those people to meet, and talk to. I've known everybody here my entire life. You think your parents treat you as an infant, try having a good ten ex-templars call you Gavy the babe to your face." He grumbled at himself, before paling and then staring in shock for saying such a thing to a girl.

If she was planning on razzing him for it later, she didn't let on. Myra stretched out a bit, twisting on her side so she faced him but kept her head tilted down to stare at the rock. "Denerim's not the worst, though don't ask my Mom her opinion on it unless you like hearing about the murder rate, but... You must meet lots of people at Redcliffe. Other boys and girls. Pretty girls with pig tails, and red hair, and big blue eyes."

"None as pretty as you," Gavin's tongue bypassed his brain entirely. By the time the words hit his ears, he panicked so fast for blurting that thought out he began to slide off the statue. Scrabbling quickly with his fingers to keep from falling into the pond, he caught onto the horse's ear and hooked a foot into a nostril. "I mean, um..." he kept staring at his hands as they helped him climb back to safety, though he wasn't free of the burning embarrassment. Against the grey of the rock he looked browner than usual, a shadow from the sun, as his calluses scraped against the hard statue. He was a farmer, sun kissed at birth, with the hands and skinny body to prove his life was devoted to the land, whether he wanted it or not. And she was...

Maker's sake, he barely knew what she was. Fascinating. Confounding. Not Royal but kinda. And pretty. Way too pretty.

Not a single word passed from her at his confession. He may not know Myra well but he knew her silence was rare. She was often speaking over and through awkward situations and this was the mother of them all. How badly had he spooked her?

Swallowing against the tightening of his throat, he risked glancing up at her. She stared at him, her eyes sparkling with the summer sun. Gavin had to grip tighter to the rock to keep from blurting out again how pretty she was. Her thin, strawberry pink lips lifted in a smile. "You're cute," Myra mused before leaning towards him.

He barely caught on to what she was doing before he felt her petal soft lips glance across his. Oh Maker! His first kiss. What was he supposed to do? What was anyone supposed to do? Stop overthinking this and kiss her back! His brain threw those thoughts out lightning fast and Gavin tipped his head to the side, allowing him to press more against her lips.

Goosepimples rose off his arms and legs as the two of them hung suspended in this little kiss for what felt an eternity, but the good kind. Sitting at the Maker's Side kind of eternity where you didn't want it to end. He cinched his eyes up so tight he could see bolts of white lightning circling the sides while...he was kissing a pretty girl. _Sweet Andraste!_

Myra leaned back from him and Gavin finally risked a peek to see those lips he just tasted lifted in a quizzical smile. She didn't say anything to him, only sat waiting. Was he supposed to say something? A compliment or...?

"That, uh," he absently licked his lips with his tongue, then rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, "that was really nice."

She chuckled at his fumbling, "It was." The smile flattened to one of panic and a blush rose on her cheeks, "I've never, um, done that before."

"Me either," Gavin confessed, a full breath filling his lungs. What if he was terrible? What if he was the worst kisser in all of thedas and doomed to never being allowed to kiss anyone again? What if...?

Myra's soft fingers cupped against his arm, rolling towards the knot of muscle below. She lifted a shoulder and whispered, "Wanna do it again?"

"Uh huh," Gavin nodded, unable to hide the cheek bursting grin. Puckering up, he scooted closer towards her. Myra matched, her head tipping to the right this time. They were about to make contact when a noise like a dying goose erupted from below them.

"Oh come on!"

Both kids broke apart quickly and turned to find standing on the ground below the statue, wearing the exact same irate expression, were their fathers.

"Myra, what was the one thing I told you when you came out here?!" the king shouted, waving a hand as his daughter slunk as far away from Gavin as she could without falling off the statue.

"To invert my underwear so I could go longer without having to wash them," she muttered to herself before her eyes darted over to the boy she called cute. The blush rose higher, but it was no match to Gavin's as he caught his father snarling at thin air.

"Gavin, get down from that...whatever that is. It could be cursed. It's probably cursed. Everything is cursed," Cullen glared at Alistair who turned to him in shock.

"Me? You're blaming me for them...? Of course you're blaming me. You always blame me. Stub your toe on something. _It's that awful King of Ferelden's fault!_ Find a dead mouse in your grain. _Curse you evil Alistair! This was all your doing somehow._ "

"As if you could ever admit fault for any of your failures," his father turned on the man, seeming to miss that this was the King of Ferelden he was mouthing off to.

The grown men forgot their kids still sitting on the top of the horse statue, staring agape at the proceedings while their fathers tore into each other. Just when it looked as if it might come to blows, his father slicked back his hair and stared back up. "What did I tell you about getting down?"

"You too, young lady. And don't think your mother won't hear about this. I'm sure she'll come up with a much better punishment than anything I'd dream up."

"For what?" Myra talked back while Gavin silently slid to the edge. He stared at her in awe, never having thought to fight back like that.

"For..." the King waved his hand at her then to Gavin as if to explain. Myra glared at her father, daring him to say it. He sneered and spat out fast, "climbing freaky statues in the middle of woods. Very dangerous."

All Cullen had to do was glare at his son. No threats of getting his mother involved were necessary as he began to scamper down. Myra climbed off the horse's face while Gavin took the back. Just before he was about to vanish, she grabbed onto his hand and smiled, "It was nice."

"The barn," Gavin sputtered out fast in a whisper. Myra's eyebrows met in confusion and his wily brain, given its first taste of rebellion, finished, "No one's ever there after light's out."

Her cute little nose scrunched up with her smile and she nodded, "It's a date."

THE END

## CHAPTER NINETY-TWO

Extra Kids Chapters

_Here are a few shorts with the kids growing up. Enjoy._

_* * *_

_23 months old..._

"Cullen?!" Lana tried to hobble up from a box she found at the back of their closet. Someone went to the trouble of cracking it open and digging out only a few things. No one in the abbey would dare impede upon their bedroom, nor were any likely to guess this was where the once Commander kept his old armor from the Inquisition days. None of the pieces of the set were missing; bracers, chest plate, even the old boots were all in place, but it looked disturbed.

She tried calling for the only possible contender again. "Cullen?"

"What is it?" his voice echoed from somewhere in the abby.

"Have you gotten into your old armor?" Lana shouted back, already getting to her feet. She had to stretch to make it over the desecrated box, trying to leave the evidence undisturbed should there need to be interrogations later. The owners of the abbey appeared rather poor to any who'd stop by, but the old armor of the Inquisitor's Commander had to be an enticing steal.

"What?" Cullen continued, the voice coming from a new direction.

"I said..."

"I know what you said, but...what would I do with it? Why would I get into it?"

Lana pursed her lips. She knew he wouldn't be the one to break into his old clothes, but it was better to prod into the least culpable before breaking out the accusations. "Someone has. Things are moved about."

"Why would anyone care about my old clothes?" Maker's sake he could be dense. She wanted to chalk it up to exhaustion, but from somewhere down the hall she heard an infamous Cullen grumble as he caught on. "How could anyone steal my old clothes?"

"Find box, open it. I don't know what's missing, but you'd best get up here and sort through it," she placed a hand to her mouth to amplify her words and began to walk towards where she thought he was. Thanks to the stones and open cells that created terrible echoes it could take a few rounds of Calen-had to find where they were in this place.

Lana hobbled out of their room and down the hallway. "I'm going to try and..." Her sentence faded as she heard a voice, high pitched and soft but dead certain in the words, echoing from behind an old cell. No one was in residence there, Lana and Cullen often leaving it as a place to store inventory. Pausing, Lana pushed open the wood a sliver and peered in. At that moment, Cullen's hand cupped around the small of her back.

"What's going on? You stopped talking and I feared I wouldn't find you," he spat out, staring at his wife while she gazed inward.

"I found the thief," she chuckled, jerking her chin inside.

Their chubby toddler stood upon a step stool he wasn't supposed to climb with his back to them. Tossed around his tiny neck was the surcoat that Cullen used to wear, the fur part as long as their boy, while the crimson fabric piled upon the floor like a waterfall. Unaware of the audience, Gavin stuck out his tummy and addressed his captive audience.

"I need you to. I need you to go to the upstairs." He paused and winnowed his amber glare down at their dog, "No, Honor! You need to shape up." The mabari's eyes opened and she huffed at his saying her name, but she didn't bother to rise off the floor for the toddler's admonishment.

Groaning in a near perfect replica of his father when he was exasperated, Gavin slapped a hand into the other. "You...you're needed to be good. You should all be good. Work good." When that tiny hand reached behind to rub the back of his neck, Lana melted.

"Sweet Maker," she cooed. Realizing he was caught, Gavin spun around to stare at his parents. He was in nothing but his nappy, a sliver of his brown tummy protruding between the dark bear fur while he kept trying to swipe at the back of his neck.

"Son," Cullen eased into the room, his arms crossing, "what are you doing?"

Gavin stared down at his tummy, prodding a finger into it as if it came out of nowhere. Then he snapped up, the biggest, cheesiest smile filling his face. "Morning chores!" His shout rang against the piles of toys he dragged and positioned to sit and listen in a half circle as Gavin doled out orders.

"Oh Andraste," Lana gasped, unable to stifle her grins. She pointed towards the golden bear's head sitting front and center, "He was talking to the helmet as well."

"Lana," Cullen was trying to get her on board with playing the strict and mean parents, but she was too far gone.

"But," she stumbled into the room and scooped down to her baby. Gavin was quick to wrap his arms around her in a hug. "He's playing you."

"What?" Cullen shook his head.

"Morning chores. He's addressing all the workers, giving out orders the way you do."

"I do not..." Slowly, Cullen glanced around at the stuffed animals and the one bored dog. A snort erupted in his nose and his head dropped down. "Okay, I do do that. Sometimes."

Lana turned to mouth silently to her son, "All the time."

"But he shouldn't stand on that, it's dangerous." He was trying to get back a modicum of discipline as both parents succumb to the adorableness.

"He's right, Sweetie," Lana wrapped her hands around Gavin and tugged him off the stool to plop onto the ground. "You can play Daddy on the floor."

"Yes, Mummy," he muttered, his eyes sparkling. Spinning while practically swaddled in his father's old coat, he eyed up Honor. "Sit, doggy!"

Honor glanced up at her true owner and Cullen waved his hand. Sighing, the dog rose up to her weary haunches and sat. Giggling, Gavin rushed forward to hug around Honor's neck. "Good doggy!" he encouraged, before quickly pecking his lips against her head in baby kisses. The mabari's tongue lolled out and took one long lap against their son's face. That was the highlight for him, Gavin breaking into greater giggles and he buried himself tighter into his servant.

Lana eased up to stand by her husband. His arms curled tight around her and she sighed in contentment when his chin landed upon the top of her head. Together they watched their boy patting the gentle mabari. Honor took all of it like a champ, never showing an ounce of getting weary of the child's affections and often trailing Gavin when he went on his adventures. They were inseparable.

"Should we let him play with the coat?" Cullen asked, breaking away from the sweet moment.

Lana nestled deeper into her husband, "Were you planning on wearing it again?"

"No, of course not," he shook his head. Somewhere in the world another fight to save it was raging while they remained safe in their abbey with their little boy and each other. "I was only concerned that he might trip and fall."

Gavin dipped down on his naked legs to tug up the long ends of the crimson wool and began to whip them back and forth. A few smacked into Honor's face, which she only rolled her eyes to Cullen and waited for it to pass. As soon as the assault began it ended. Gavin darted forward and declared, "I love you, Honor."

"Don't worry, Cullen." Lana hugged tighter to her husband's safe arms. "He'll grow into it."

#

_Three Years Old..._

Alistair began to categorize the various groupings of nobles he had to suffer over the years. Two Arls plus one Bann equaled a Ribald, because the Arls would talk shit about the Bann while he was left to grit his teeth and smile through it all. Ten or more Banns was a "Curdle" due to the nature of Alistair's entire face curdling in disgust like rotten milk. Currently he was suffering from a Half House. One Arl was in play, but it was a good one, while a handful of Banns and their spouses drifted in and out of the sitting room. This was supposed to be one of those off days, where everyone got together in their nice clothes, ate tiny portions of food, and didn't talk politics.

Which meant everyone was doing their cutthroat best to destroy their nemeses and get the King to wage war on whoever looked at them funny. Why did he agree to this? Not just attending the Pre-Wintersend luncheon but being King at all. To think, instead of being tucked and tied into a scratchy wool doublet while sweat pooled upon his tailbone he could be stuck in a darkspawn dungeon at the bottom of the deep roads. Maker, that sounded so much nicer. Add a few rats chewing on his toes and it'd be like a vacation.

"Sire?" one of the Banns caught on that Alistair was staring out the window paying no attention and tried to drag it back onto him. Not the wisest move, as this man was on the King's 'don't give an inch' list. Not for reasons as interesting as assassins or civil wars, more underhanded seizing of assets to hide tax deferments and other boring bookkeeping things. That's what was really going to be the death of him, some clerk's misplaced one instead of a poisoned assassin's blade in the kidneys.

"Yes, yes, still here. Spring sure is lovely, isn't it?" Alistair turned to yank up a flute of wine drifting around the gathered throngs. "All those birds chirping, and the flowers blooming, and other fertile things happening." He let his tongue run away with him, the Bann's cheeks lighting up, when he heard a very animated voice rising through a throng of the most stuffed shirtiest of them all.

High pitched but not soft, never ever soft, the voice bounced off the indented ceiling with more power than the greatest spokesmen of their generations. It was so strong it drew more people to circle around, blocking Alistair's view but he couldn't mistake the source or the very important words.

"It had two tails and was fuzzy. I wanted to pet it but Mummy said no."

A Bann tried to interrupt, "That's very wise of your..." But the voice's owner couldn't be cowed by such a simple maneuver.

"Mum says no a lot." Alistair scurried up on his tiptoes to find a break between locked in shoulders. Big green eyes rolled up to the man that tried to interrupt her. He had no recourse to come back with the fact that parents often told their children no. The gathered gentry all looked about to break away for freedom, when she began again.

"I like the tower. It's got scary ghosts in it. We chased one of them all over the palace."

"What a delightful fairytale," an older Bann tried to lean down to his daughter, about to pat her on the head and give her a sweet. "How does it end?"

"Wif my Daddy sticking a sword in its guts. It moaned and moaned, before goin' poof!" Myra parted her hands wide and waggled her fingers for the poof part. Then she folded them tight to her lace covered chest and slowly raised an eyebrow as if daring any of them to contradict her.

"That's, uh...a real ghost? In the palace?" the woman stared around at her fellow statesmen who hadn't seen either side of a sword in decades.

"Yup, an' there was a werewolf too, but she was real nice. Mum wouldn't let me pet her neither," Myra smiled wide as if she was describing a summer rain to the gathered individuals. Suddenly, she tugged up the frills upon her chest and asked, "Do you like my dress?"

"It's very..."

"Mummy picked it out special. I like it a lot. See," she spun on her heels to reveal sewn to the back was a small cotton ball done up like a rabbit's tail. Myra twitched her entire body as if trying to get the tail to wag, then broke into giggles.

"Like a little rabbit, how adorable," the older Bann must be a grandmother as she was unfazed by the dramatic change in topic while the others were blinking to catch up.

"I's a ferocious beast, rawr rawr rawr," she swiped at the air with her gloved hands, the claws well contained within silk he was surprised she kept on. The Banns all smiled politely at the mad little girl with long blonde curls who was attacking the air. A few laughed, assuming it was a game, when Myra stopped and in a dead certain voice informed them, "Don't turn your back on bunnies or they'll get you."

"That's so..." the tone struck as the Bann wearing more medals than a tin plate golem paled and he stared down at this little girl.

Myra seemed to transform from a silly child to a hardened warrior in an instant, her green eyes hooded as she stared out the window. "Never turn your back on 'em," she repeated as if she'd seen things in her short life that would turn their hair white.

"How, um, delightful?" the grandmotherly Bann tried instead, no idea where the girl was going with this. They all shuffled uncomfortably away, leaving a gap between the formal shoulders. It was enough for Myra to glance up and spy Alistair.

"Daddy!" she cried, leaping up onto the tiptoes of her pastel pink and yellow shoes. It took them hours for her to finally pick a pair, which her mother kindly pointed out were so small she'd probably outgrow in a month.

The Banns all turned, leaving a wide gap for their King to slide into the circle with a smile. Alistair nodded his head, then bent down to scoop up his leaping daughter. "Wheaters," he smiled at her as she tried to unwrap a small candy that was stuck in a dress pocket. While lace decorated the outside, someone was smart enough to go with thick cotton below, dyed as green as her springtime eyes.

"Your daughter was entertaining us, your Majesty," a Bann said, bowing his head lower.

"Is that true?" Alistair turned to her, "Were you..." With her tiny fingers, she jammed the candy into his mouth fast, Alistair having to roll his tongue in place to keep from choking. He bobbed with his baby girl, the panic of dying from candy fading as it settled safe on the top of his tongue. While sour lemon juice dripped down his throat, Alistair continued, "entertaining?"

Myra glanced around at the people she didn't blink an eye at. All strangers, all taller than her by yards, all in imposing dress and clucking tongues. But his baby girl marched in head held high and proceeded to inform them of her opinions on matters of rabbits and how to kill ghosts without pause. It was a rare person for Myra to shrink away from. Even when at the agency, she'd sometimes strike up conversations with people chained to desks and wanted for crimes. Alistair was worried at first, but Reiss explained that for whatever reason people opened up to the little girl with the blonde hair thick enough to hold a good dozen barrettes.

She smiled, her teeth stained blue from far too many sweets courtesy of the party and a candy maker that spoiled his children rotten. Myra tipped closer to Alistair as if she was going to whisper a secret, before she stopped and yanked up her dress, "Do you like it?"

"I do, it's lovely," he said, answering the same question she put to him a dozen times this morning. "Do you like my shirt?" he asked.

Myra gripped onto his shoulders tight and tried to peer down at the pastel green and yellow doublet hugging a bit too tight to his frame. She twisted her head as if this was a deathly serious question, taking into account all the angles, before glancing up at her father and admitting, "It's okay."

"Maker's breath," he laughed.

"Daddy, daddy," she tugged on his arm, then yanked up the hem of her dress, "I got pants on too!"

"Yes," he tried to smooth down the girl's attempts at flashing everyone. The Bann's horrified rictuses all faded to polite smiles, but they were doing their best to slide away from their King. "I know that. Who helped you put them on?"

Myra blinked a minute, staring up at the ceiling in full contemplation. Even he could see the resemblance to himself in the shape of her face and cheekbones, but when she'd flat out stop whatever she was doing to think she was all her mother. With one quirked up eyebrow, a finger to her chin, Myra suddenly whipped her head down and smiled wide. Hugging tighter to him, she squealed, "You did!"

"Because someone has a habit of rolling ass over end first chance she has," Alistair continued, feeling the need to explain why to his baby girl. The truth did little to sting her, Myra giggling as she nuzzled her mass of dark blonde hair against his cheek.

"Sire," one of Karelle's minions appeared as if from thin air to try and drag Alistair's attention back to matters that didn't involve his entire world.

"What?" he turned, Myra's eyes lighting up at the possibility of a new friend.

"The egg drop, your Majesty. You need to begin it."

"Right," Alistair tipped his head back to the sky. This was normally the better part of his job. Who didn't love hurling the first egg of the season at the grievance board? But what was he going to do with his baby girl.

"Wheaty?" Those massive green eyes stopped focusing on her dress long enough to stare up to his. "Why don't you go find your brother?"

Myra's tongue stuck out far, her entire face crinkled up as if she bit into the lemon peel. "No, he's a poopoo head."

"What'd Cailan do now?" Alistair groaned. For so long the boy'd been pro-baby, then pro-toddler, then suddenly six hit and it was as if a switch went off. Why did his children hate other babies when they became six?

Grabbing onto Alistair's starched collar, Myra tugged herself closer. Her legs dangled against his hips, the special shoes softly knocking into his old bones and she whispered, "He said girls are stupid and gross."

"Did he now? That'll change," Alistair chuckled to himself.

"I'll show him who's gross. I'll, I'll put a toad down his pants!" Myra declared. She moved to wiggle out of her father's arms, no doubt planning on making good on her threat.

"Wheater," Alistair clung tighter to her, "we don't put things down our brother's very expensive and fancy clothes."

"M'kay," she muttered, either trying to trick him into turning his back or not fully committed to her plan.

"We wait until he's in his play clothes, then throw mud," Alistair said as a lark, but he could feel two mothers who just shuddered at his words.

Myra lit up and hugged tighter. "Kay Daddy!" she all but shouted into his ear while tucking her arms tight to her body to turn into a slithering snake. Sliding out of his grip, she hit the ground fast and took off towards the doors.

Alistair watched her a moment before turning to the aide. "Let's go throw an egg. Where's Spud? She's old enough now, it's time for the future queen to get a go I think."

"The Princess is in the solarium with the Queen. I shall fetch her immediately," the minion bowed to him before scuttling off.

Spud was clinging to her lady-like training more and more, enjoying the chance to show off her newly learned skills by correcting her father at every turn. But he knew his eldest, she was going to love hurling eggs at things. The trick would be keeping it to only one, or two. And not at anything but the board.

A few of the Banns lifted their glasses in a seeming toast to their King, which Alistair blanched at. Sure, they were all waiting for the real festivities of Wintersend to kick off, but it was strange at times to have so many people caring about his little family. Cailan had sat in his lap while he carved the traditional ham, trying to sneakily snatch a piece off to feed to that always gawping stomach. Spud was mostly by her mother's side, clinging tight to the skirts when too many eyes landed on her, but she still took time to let her old Dad swing her around in the fresh grass of the meadow. And there was the littlest one.

With no duties to attend to, not even in name, Myra flitted from hand to hand asking questions with a ferocity that could only come from an investigator created toddler. It wouldn't be long before Myra would be writing down all the answers she got in her own little notebook. On occasion Alistair would stop whatever fancy speech he was giving to feel Myra tugging on his hand. Whenever he'd lean down to her, she'd slip a candy in his mouth seeming to be concerned her father needed to keep up his strength. She may not belong to the crown's circle, but she was his daughter.

He caught a blur of blonde hair tumbling in the air as, sure enough, his Wheaty tipped onto her hands and performed half of a cartwheel. When she landed flat on her bottom, she laughed uproariously for Teagan and his wife then turned to find her father.

Her arms flapped like mad as she declared loud enough to drown out the party, "I love you, Daddy!"

#

_5 Years Old..._

"What happens next?" she asked, trying to sneak a peek over Anders' shoulder. Most wouldn't have been able to make it clear over a kitchen counter but Hawke wasn't like other people.

He huddled around the book, not about to give up on his only usefulness to this...whatever they were doing. Normally he'd be all for breaking into a templar kitchen and throwing things around, but Anders was well aware of the thin line he walked every time they visited. Turning to his love, he asked, "Is this wise?"

"Wha'?" Hawke had on an apron that declared her "Thedas' Best Lover" with rather horrifying doodles across it. He had no idea where she got it from, but he'd put the odds at either Varric, Isabela, or the two in cahoots together. That alone should be enough to concern Anders as he jerked his head to the extra body in the kitchen with them.

The Commander's boy stood upon a stool, his little sweater rolled up to the elbows while he kept patting at a mound of flour Hawke spilled. At first the pokes were exploratory, almost cautious, when the exuberance of childhood took over. Gavin slapped his hand down into it, white powder erupting to coat her kitchen's walls, ceiling, and the two not as brown as they should be Aunt and Nephew. Hawke, being Hawke, broke into peals of laughter while the child smooshed his hands through the remaining flour, leaving furrows in the counter.

"Are we allowed to be...making a mess with their kid?" Anders asked his words pointed at Hawke while he kept an eye on Gavin. He wasn't going to be anyone's go to babysitter, but Anders knew if anything bad happened to the child he'd be the one dangled off a cliff.

After wiping flour dust down the front of her shirt, and leaving great white handprints of evidence upon her breasts, Hawke chuckled, "We're not making a mess, right Gavin?"

"Yes, auntie Haw!" He could probably say Hawke now, but Auntie Haw stuck, the Auntie part of it finding it adorable and doing her best to encourage it even when the Hero tried to correct her son.

"What are we doing?" Hawke scrunched her face up closer to her nephew, the two practically meeting floured nose to floured nose.

"Cake!" the kid cried, "Making a cake."

"Tasty cake," Hawke laughed before patting the boy on the back. "Who can say no to cake? That's...got to be a sign you're a demon. 'No cake, I don't like it.' Evil demon, kill it!"

"Demon, stab stab!" Gavin snatched up the spatula and pretended to jab at the air. "I'm a big demon slayer."

"See, he gets it," Hawke jerked her head at the boy who then proceeded to lick the flour coated spoon. At the taste his face crinkled up and he spat out his tongue.

"Right, cake. We're making a cake. And hoping that the templar doesn't find out and get it in his nobby head to pull out a branding iron," Anders muttered, turning back to the book.

"So, what do we do next?"

"To the flour add baking soda, sugar, and salt," Anders read off the old book covered in crispy blots of ancient dough. That was usually a sign it was a good recipe. Never trust clean cookbooks.

Twisting in the stool, Hawke glanced over at her nephew. "Did you hear that Gavin? Add in baking soda."

The boy's wide eyes honed in on the five bags Anders unearthed from the larder. As much as he loved Hawke she was not the kind of person one wanted to leave in charge of cooking and especially not baking. The time required to keep an eye on say a boiling pot of water, or reach a precise measurement was too much of a tax upon the woman who'd rather be moving at all times. When counting, her mind had a habit of leaping to five before she even reached three.

She once offered to take on Satinalia dinner, only for Anders to wander into the kitchen and find a live duck sitting on the counter while Hawke fed it corn. They wound up eating sausages for that holiday and then adopted the duck for years until it passed away due to old age. Hawke was and would forever be her own woman.

Happily, the boy reached for a bag, then his eyes shot up to his favorite auntie and worry rose in them. The question was obvious, _Was he right?_ Hawke twisted it around to spot the label in the Warden Commander's tight hand. "Yup," she smiled at the boy.

Gavin returned it, his lips stretching to reveal almost all of his bright white teeth. Funny to find such a happy soul created in part from the always sneering templar. Perhaps that was his mother's influence, or the bliss of childhood, though it was hard to imagine the templar ever happy or a child.

Scooting onto the counter, Gavin placed one shoe into the floured mess and then hefted the bag of baking soda up. With a little tongue caught between his teeth, he tipped the bag over and dumped a good cup's worth into the bowl.

Anders moved to try and stop him, but it was too late. Those striking amber eyes darted up to the strange man that was always with his auntie. Sighing, Anders said, "Well, that's gonna be one interesting looking and tasting cake."

"Too much?" Hawke asked, her own mischievous eyes wide in wonder. It was almost impossible to tell who was enjoying making a giant mess of the kitchen more, the six year old or the grown woman. When they first opened the bag of flour, dust shot out which Gavin called snowflakes! This led to the woman attempting to catch some on her tongue. She was both the best and most terrifying babysitter.

Sighing, Anders scooped a cup through the mass of baking soda in an attempt to try and salvage this. After dumping it back into Gavin's bag, the boy watching closely, he gave a little wink. That caused the child to laugh, his fingers reaching for the scoop as he began to try and take more out of the bowl. Anders could fight him on it, but thanks to his childlike dexterity most was falling off back to where it came from. And it was rather adorable to watch.

An arm slid around the back of his waist and Anders turned just in time for Hawke to plant a kiss to his lips. He smiled, surprised that she'd be acting affectionate around her nephew, when he tasted the blasted flour. Trying to spit the mess off his tongue, Hawke cracked up, her white stained cheek straining to full apples from this glee.

Wiping off his tongue with a finger, Anders shook it at her, "I'll get you back for that."

Fingers pinched into his right asscheek, and Hawke murmured, "You damn well better."

"Right!" his voice climbed too high a moment, and he had to shake it back down. "Right, now to the sugar. Think you can do that part Hawke?"

"Aye Aye, Captain!" Hawke saluted, picking up the bag and adding way too much. She slowed up at first, when Gavin began to reach his little fingers towards the cascade of sugar grains. When Hawke tipped the bag down to add even more, he laughed at the sugar pinging against his skin and folding into the creases.

Carefully cupping it, he brought his palm to his chin and tried to lick the loose sugar up. A lot of it scattered back to the counter, but he must have gotten some in as he loudly proclaimed, "Yummy! That's a yummy cake."

"It's not a cake yet," Anders interrupted. "Got to bake it first to become a cake."

"I dunno," Hawke smiled at her nephew, then sure enough, scooped a bit of sugar into her mouth, "if it's all the components of a cake, doesn't that make it one? What's a bit of fire going to change?"

"Everything," Anders turned towards her, about to launch into the old alchemical debates about if it were possible to unbake a cake. When he caught the glimmer in her eye, his tongue dried up worse than the flour caused. Maybe she knew, maybe she was playing with him, or Gavin, but mostly it didn't matter.

"What's next?" Hawke gently smoothed down the boy's back, both pairs of Amell eyes burning through the mage put in charge of directions.

Sighing, Anders spun back with a separate bowl of eggs, "The wet part of the equation."

He feared that there'd be a dozen eggs thrown around the room, but Hawke took over the more complicated parts. It was surprising how gentle the giant woman could be when she was of a mind. Anders shifted on his toes, drawn in by the charming picture of the woman he adored softly knocking an eggshell against the side of the bowl. When it cracked open, Gavin clapped as if she performed magic, the golden yolk sliding in to join with the rest. They didn't make their visits often out here, never as often as Hawke liked, but they came at least twice a year. It seemed to be more as Gavin grew. The Champion could finally make good on her word of teaching the boy how to fight, or at least hold a stick and growl menacingly.

"Now we need the butter," Anders announced, shaking himself from the cozy sight.

"Got it," Hawke nodded. With all the ladylike grace he came to expect, she reached down her shirt and yanked the paper wrapped stick out from between her cleavage. "All softened up for you."

"Thanks, love," Anders smiled, well used to her butter softening ways. By the time they got the wet and dry merged together, Hawke stirring through the goop, he began to suspect this might turn out okay after all.

He folded his arms together and leaned back upon the wall to watch Hawke first sneak a little taste of the batter. Smiling, she turned to her nephew. She picked up his tiny hand and then dipped it into the yellow liquid. Eyes wide, Gavin jammed it quick into his mouth. "It's yummy!" he declared his voice striking throughout the entire kitchen.

"Maker's breath, what are you doing in here?"

Anders' head shot up to catch the dark specter of his old Commander hobbling through the doorway. The voice always caught him first; so many nights he lay in Darktown wondering if he'd ever hear it again, if she'd find him. If he'd have to sit and listen to her tell him "I'm so disappointed in you."

But when Lana crossed into view, her hair massive mounds of curls, her clothing simple and held together with patches, and the cane striking the ground instead of a staff, he calmed. At least he would if she wasn't staring dagger eyes at the messy ceiling, then her boy who looked almost as white as his father. After finding the same smeared across her cousin's cheeks, the Lady Amell honed in on Anders who gulped and tried to slink towards the door.

"We're making a cake, mommy!" Gavin declared, his hands spread wide as if it was a big surprise.

"Are you?" she sighed, clucking her tongue at the mess. Lana tugged up an old towel and tried to wipe the flour off of Gavin's face. "You're whiter than a ghost, young man."

"Wooo!" he waved his arms up and down not like a spooky ghost but as if he was trying to dance away from his mother's grooming.

"Gavin," she paused, her eyes darting down to his feet. "Do we stand on stools?"

"No," his bottom lip stuck out far, the head dropping down.

"And what are you doing?" she continued, pointing to the stool.

He blinked and in a soft voice said, "Making a cake."

Lana tipped her head back and sighed, "Blessed Andraste. That's fine, but you need to sit your bottom on the seat. If you cracked your head your father would...let's not find out how worried your father would be. It's a wonder he doesn't already require you to wear a helm around the abbey."

"Yes, mummy," he mumbled, whomping down into the stool until only the top of his head and those amber eyes could be seen over the counter.

"Here, kiddo," Hawke scooted him closer until he was practically flush against it, his hands pawing through the few tufts of flour.

"Anders," the Hero tipped her head to him and he tried to shake off his stand-off stance. The templar was never welcoming, but she tried to be. Lana glanced over at Hawke who was trying to balance a spoon on her nose. "Please tell me you were in charge of this cake creation."

"Ah," he smiled, "more or less."

"More or..." Lana plucked the tip of her little finger into the batter and took a taste. When she puckered up and blinked like mad at no doubt an over sweetness combined with the mouth drying baking soda, Anders braced himself for what was to come.

But the fearsome Warden Commander didn't attack or insist they try again. Scooping her hands around her boy, she pressed a kiss to his knot of curls and then said, "We'll give this cake to Daddy when it's done."

Gavin laughed, either catching on to the prank or just happy to hear that his father existed. The boy was the child of a templar and a mage, and yet...he didn't have to grow up on the run or live in fear. He could sit in a kitchen his parents owned and slap at piles of flour to his heart's content. How many other mage born children out there could do the same thanks to the rebellion? Maybe it didn't go how he hoped, how they both imagined it would when they set the chantry on fire, but the world changed and sometimes it was good. Not for the best, but nothing ever was.

"So," Lana caught that old, obstinate mage she pulled into her warden fold's eye. Tugging the bowl before her, she asked, "What do we do next?"

#

_7 Years Old..._

Reiss whipped her hat off with one hand and tossed it right onto the stand. It rolled in a perfect circle before coming to a stop upon the hook. She shot her eyes up to, of course, find the agency completely dark. The one time she managed it without having the hat miss, fall behind a desk, or boomerang back at her and no one was here to see her triumph.

"Lunet?" she called for her second in command, but save a flicker of firelight dancing from under the door there was no answer. "I got word back from our second office," Reiss continued, easing through the half door and sliding around a separator wall. It gave the illusion that they were more professional than the often half naked dwarf jogging through the front waiting area did.

"Seems that Qimat's gotten some information on..." her words died as a streak of blonde hair dashed through the final backroom door.

It paused long enough to form into the shape of her daughter who was full of smiles. Reiss instinctively braced herself. "Hi Mom," Myra waved her fingers, then suddenly dashed forward to hug her. "How's the case going?"

"Fine," she broke off the hug, eyeing up her daughter. Myra was dressed in the same outfit she left her, so it was unlikely she tried to dye her clothes a new color again when her mother wasn't home. Her hair wasn't whacked off to her ears, so she hadn't let the Princess attempt to style her or talked the girl into it. But there was a chocolate stain on her cheek and her eyes were wild from Maker only knew how much sugar coursing in her veins.

"Good, good," Myra nodded her head, but she kept glancing back towards the room they set up for her. It wasn't surprising that the one room apartment wouldn't last too long for a growing girl. There wasn't really any space to expand upstairs, so Reiss had to reconfigure options down below. All of which Myra was allowed upon proof she could behave herself a full staircase away from her mother. It'd been an entire month since the move and Reiss was on pins and needles for the innocent act to crack off.

"Where's Lunet?" Reiss asked, glancing around the darkened office. They often switched who worked where as much to keep their employees on their toes as to get access to the better chairs. The ones at the second office had fancy backs that could tip.

"Oh, she's back there with all of..." Myra slapped a hand to her mouth and her eyes shot open wide.

"All of who?" Reiss narrowed in on her daughter who was doing her best to try to waft her damning words away with her hands.

"No one, Mom," she chuckled while twirling her blonde hair around her finger. From what was supposed to be her room came a cacophony of girly giggles, sounding way too much like mice racing through the pipes. "Um," Myra gulped at her mother's glare, "Not entirely no one. A few of my friends."

Reiss stomped across the gap towards her daughter's room, Myra frozen in place but no doubt her brain churning for ways to get out of whatever she did. Reiss quickly eyeballed up her office, but it looked mostly in tact. The sword was on the wall, and no one had stolen all the ink bottles. Things were a mess but that could be as much her doing as her daughters. When she grabbed onto the door latch shaped like a wyvern, Reiss paused at the sound of girls trying to shush each other. Counting the number was impossible as the voices covered over each other and hands slapped against mouths.

Hurling her shoulder into the door, she opened to find five girls camped around an office chair in the middle of Myra's room. Three humans, and two elves, all of them had pink and purple streaks in their hair regardless of what the natural color was. When two of the girls looked back at the woman standing in the doorway, Reiss spotted stars made out of glitter stuck to their cheeks.

"Myra," her voice pitched low and she turned to her daughter that went from trying to slink in to standing proud.

Her spine snapped straight and she stuck her chin out. "What?"

"No, what, missy. Are you supposed to...?" Reiss caught sight of Lunet perched upon Myra's tiny desk, the lip of a wine bottle to her mouth. She tugged it away and then raised it as if in a toast to the fuming mother. Why did she think Lunet would be a source of discipline? Myra could run circles around the Grand Cleric in such matters. Twist a finger in her blonde hair, bat her big green eyes, stick out her lip and most people fell over themselves to let her do whatever she wanted.

The only one holding back the potential tyrant was Reiss and... "Where's your father?"

"Er," a voice rose up from in between the mob of girls. Slowly, the chair spun around to reveal Alistair who looked as if he'd head butted a clown and nearly all of the makeup smeared back upon his face. Bright purple lipstick circled around his lips, while a neon pink filled in the thin mouth. He had three stars on his cheek, and the shiniest blue eyeshadow Reiss had ever seen. To finish, the girls tucked a dragon braid into his hair and then dusted it all with more glitter.

"Sweet Maker," Reiss had to turn around to hide the laugh turning her face red as a cherry tomato. Unfortunately, her daughter was standing right behind and a far too familiar snicker rose on her lips. She knew she was safe if her mother found whatever she did hilarious.

"Alistair," Reiss squawked out, trying to shake the laughter out of her voice. Once she felt composed enough to dole out punishment, she turned back to the man who looked like a bard's fever dream crossed with a unicorn. "What's going on?"

"Well, um, we were all sitting around telling stories and then Ellen," he paused in his story to jerk a thumb at the elf that was presumably Ellen, "seems she had a new makeup kit she was itching to try and then..."

"And then you let the girls cover the Ki...you in-- Oh, Maker's breath," she couldn't hide the snort rising in her nose. It burned the thin skin while trapped against the swollen bump from her old break. "And you did nothing to stop this?" Reiss glanced over at her supposed friend and confidant.

Lunet chuckled, "Are you shi...kidding me? You think I'd stop this? Oh, girls, you missed a spot on his forehead. Got to contour that caveman brow down."

Two of the girls grabbed onto a gigantic makeup brush and dabbed it into a pile of pink blush. Chalky powder erupted into the air as they attacked the King's forehead as if it was their duty to the crown. Alistair sat there blinking from the assault until the girls stepped back to reveal what appeared to be a giant welt rising off his forehead. He looked as if he walked smack dab into a low bar.

"Good job," Lunet raised up her thumb in praise, earning more of Reiss' scorn.

"Myra," she turned to her daughter, the apple of her eye, and often thorn in her side. Those mischievous green eyes blinked and focused on her. "How many of your friends here know who your father is?"

Her daughter snorted and pointed at the crowd currently trying to place stickers to Alistair's nails, "All of 'em. Duh."

"That isn't what I meant," Reiss narrowed her eyes on her daughter. It was surprising how few people would recognize their King outside of the castle walls and with a half-blood child skipping around him. Many of these children's parents were elven or so poor they had to live in the alienage. If any of them learned that their child covered the King's toes in sparkly purple nail polish and then topped it off with a happy face sticker, they'd probably have a heart attack on the spot. It was a fact Reiss was often trying to drill through her daughter's particularly obstinate skull.

Myra shrugged, "It doesn't matter." Sure, to her it didn't. She knew him as Dad; even when he was sitting on the throne, she was the only one who could run up to the man and cover him in sticky stains. To the rest of Denerim, however...

"Madam Sayer," one of the girls turned to her. Juniper, quiet as a chantry mouse and respectful to the point it unnerved Reiss. "I'm hungry."

"So...?" Reiss turned on a copper and glared at her daughter. It was pitch black out, the sun having left the horizon hours ago. What in the Maker's name were all these kids still doing in the closed down agency? "Myra?" she folded her arms, "Why are your friends here?"

"I told you, we had to make Dad up for the big ball later."

"Big ball?" Reiss spun back to him, momentarily confused. As far as she knew there were no high engagements on his social calendar.

"Nothing so fancy, just a little meet and greet for the new ambassador. But," he waved his hands around at the pre-pubescent girls. Anything that involved the palace or wearing nicer clothes was equivalent to poofy dresses, clocks striking midnight, handsome princes, dancing, and losing your footwear.

Secure in the knowledge she wasn't going to have to dig out her finery or find something for Myra who kept growing like a weed, Reiss turned back to her daughter. "Smart," she had to compliment her even as she swallowed the "ass" while staring at her bright daughter. Too much time surrounded by professional criminals, when it came to answering her mother's questions she always only gave the bare minimum in order to never incriminate herself.

Myra barely smiled at that, used to pulling one over on Reiss every chance she could. Andraste guide her for when the true teenage years hit. "But," Reiss pointed to the girls, "why have your friends not returned home?"

"Because..." Myra danced back and forth on her toes before spitting out fast, "they were going to stay for a slumber party."

"A what?!" Reiss hissed. All the girls cowered, hooded eyes shooting to their ringleader. Even Myra gulped, well aware that she had to run these things by her mother.

"Dad said I could, and Lunet. I asked them and they said it was okay. So you can't go back on it. It's Sayer law."

"It is not bloody Sayer law for you to go through the weak link in the armor in order to get your way," Reiss snarled at her daughter.

Behind her she heard her turncoat husband snort, "Well..." At her glare, he shrugged, "Are you really gonna say that's not your family motto? Because from what I've seen..."

"Alistair, you are not helping. And you, young lady--"

"Mom, it's dark already. Right? And all their parents said it was fine for them to stay."

"Of course they did, they get a free night of babysitting," Reiss growled to herself.

"So, are you saying you want to spend the entire night walking all my friends back home to make sure they're safe? Or are you going to let all of us poor, helpless kids run through the dangerous streets without any supervision and hope they all make it back safe and sound?"

Blighted hell! How was she cursed with such a cunning child? She knew to ask her father, because it was her easy going, doesn't think things through father. She also knew to wait until Reiss wasn't due back until after dark in order to felicitate her plan. Unfolding her arms, Reiss had to admit when she was beat.

"Fine, they can stay." The girls clapped, their enthusiasm snapping back in an instant. Reiss leaned into Myra and hissed, "But if you ever try to go behind my back again, you're grounded for a month."

"Kay Mom," she nodded wildly, the threat of the future punishment nothing compared to the promise of a potential sleepover with all her friends.

Reiss eyed up Lunet still sitting in the corner with a sly turn to her lips. "Since you approved this without me, I see no reason why you can't stay and help."

"Ah, shit," Lunet cursed to herself, before blanching at the ten little ears listening in. But these weren't the cultured ladies of the palace district. Myra's friends at home were all weened on the streets, none of them blinking an eye at an adult's swearing. No doubt they probably knew even better ones by age five.

"My," one of the girls asked, "what do we do next?"

Her daughter put a finger to her chin and she gazed upward. Reiss could feel Alistair's glittery stare at the move. He was always insisting Myra picked it up from her, but she couldn't see it. There was far too much of her father in there for starters. Rolling her eyes, Reiss slotted in beside the man still trapped in a chair thanks to the seven year old kidnappers surrounding him.

"Let's go raid the bakery next door!"

"Myra!" Reiss sniped at her daughter.

"What?" she rolled her eyes, "Old Man Titer's always saying I can stop by whenever for free food. Ooh, I bet he's got bearclaws the size of your heads."

Alistair flinched, "Ugh, I still walk funny after fighting that one bear with paws like this." He held his hands out extended a good foot in width.

His loving, sweet daughter rolled her eyes and sighed, "Whatever, Dad."

Maker, it was going to be a long slog to eighteen. Reiss could already hear a bottle of wine calling her name from the secret stash. After having given her order, Myra turned to the gaggle she ran with. It was hard to say how many were close friends, as the top spot seemed to change with the wind, but the gang was always together. They began as adorable pig-tailed girls skipping stones to play hopscotch in the back alleys and -- with her daughter at the head -- grew into jaded, world-weary individuals. At least until something glittery, pink, fluffy, or a nonthreatening boy crossed their path. Then it was instant squeals and babbling incoherently about something amazing and cute.

The girls scattered to grab up their cloaks, most patched or barely skirting to their knees. Myra smiled as she buttoned her thicker wool one up and then grabbed onto both Ellen and Juniper's hands. One by one the girls all locked up to form their own blockade. They always stood the same, the trend being to wear bracelets made of different colored yarns that matched up with the locked hands to form a rainbow. Some parents feared it was all a secret sex code, but Reiss knew it was a simple matter of an old spinner had excess yarn to get rid of and kids, when bored, will create complicated social rules for fun.

Myra moved to lead the horde towards her friendly neighborhood baker, when Reiss spoke up, "Young lady, do you leave your house in the middle of the night?"

"Uh..." Myra spun back from the darkened agency. Reiss could see the smart ass answer of 'if I can get away with it' bobbing in her green eyes, but the child was wise enough to keep it held back. "No, I guess not."

"Lune," Reiss turned to the least adult grown up left, "go with them."

Her daughter smiled wider, happy to have her sometimes accomplice along. The fun aunt was much better than some stodgy old Mother technically related to her. Lunet placed her bottle down and got to her legs, "Alright, but I get the first bearclaw. Or anything with cherry inside."

As the brood of girls and one adult who should know better slipped into the agency, singing songs at the top of their lungs, Reiss turned to the man painted up like a chantry board. "What did they do to you?" she sighed, trying to wipe the star off. In the process she coated her thumb in gold glitter and smudged a side of the star across his cheek until it turned into a comet.

"I can say no to one kid, two sometimes, but you have ten little hands coming after me armed with brushes and tubes of pigments and I panic!" he flared his hands out, sending a few of the stickers flying.

"Right, I'm to pretend you didn't enjoy any of this," she sighed, sliding in closer to the man she really hoped to sample without having to worry about nearly a dozen little girls overhearing it.

Alistair's hands curled along her waist, that hauntingly pink-purple lipstick rising in a cheeky grin, "Me? Never. Though I think the blush does compliment my cheekbones well."

She tipped closer, aching to kiss him, but paused at the ghastly color. Tugging backwards, Reiss got a good grip on his hands. "Come on," she hauled him up to his grumbling feet and began to drag Alistair towards the stairs.

"Where are we going?" he twisted his head around.

"To the apartment," Reiss explained. "I'm going to clean all that mess off of you."

"Ah," he tipped his blonde head, barrettes raining down from the fine hair that couldn't support the girl's complicated updo.

Reiss spun and flattened the man into the doorway that led up to her room. As her chest knocked into his, she ran her fingers down to his hips and purred, "And then I'm going to clean the rest of you." Tugging down his head, she risked tasting that cheap-ass lipstick in order to kiss the man she loved. It stuck flat to her mouth, drying her lips like a desert wind, but Reiss didn't mind as she stared into the lustful eyes of Alistair.

He managed to knot his hands around her hips and yank her higher, wanting to go back for another kiss, when he paused. "What about the girls?"

"Please," Reiss waved it away. "It'll take them a good hour to decide what they should all get at the bakery and another one to sit and eat it." Alistair laughed at her as she tugged him upwards to her apartment to have a bit of fun before the real work began. Myra was going to be putting in extra time around the office for this round of trickery. But, Reiss' eyes darted over to the father Myra talked down for a visit to hatch her scheme, at least there were some perks for the mother.

#

9 Years Old...

Maker, take him! Cullen stomped around the still overflowing trash pile his son hadn't scooped one inch free of, as he'd promised to do hours ago. A light misting of spring rain dotted the area, turning the very air itself into a grey fog, but as he held his hand up to his eyes he spotted a small speck of cobalt blue dashing out of the abbey refuge.

"Gavin Gray!" Cullen shouted, hoping to catch the boy before he vanished into the thicket, but either he was too far away or Gavin refused to hear him. Both seemed a growing possibility, chores often left fallow while he was off traipsing through his own fantasies.

Snagging a cloak off the peg, Cullen wrapped it around his freezing cold body and dashed after his impudent son. "It's a phase," he repeated what Lana was always spouting to rush to her boy's defense, "he's young." As if he was too young to master a bit of discipline. Cullen wasn't expecting him to kit up and march into battle, merely clean up around the place when he had time. Yet Lana acted as if he wanted the boy to grow into a full adult overnight. Cullen was in charge of far more as a child, and he had another two elder siblings to help balance the weight. Expecting his son to remove the garbage, look after the chickens, and clean a few of the rooms wasn't exactly 'save the world from the Blight.'

He grunted, a foot sucking deep into the mud that rose up courtesy of the never ending rain-fog. After excavating it, he whipped his head up to spot the same blue cloak drifting deeper into the woodlands. Great. _He must be off on one of his flights of fancy while I'm left to chase after him._ Cullen thought about calling to his wife to either warn her to mind the place or chase after their wayward son instead, but he was losing the kid quickly.

Blessed Andraste, when did Gavin get so fast?

Huffing to catch up, his breath smoked in the humid air, trailing behind Cullen as he went for what felt like his first run in years. Perhaps since the boy was even born. A decade of neglect hadn't been kind to him, Cullen's lungs aching as they struggled for a breath of air through all the hanging water. But he wasn't about to give up on this. For the past three days every time he turned around to find his son he'd discover that Gavin had vanished. Sometimes for hours, and when put to questioning his boy would only say, "I was in the woods."

No explanation no matter how hard Cullen pried, no reasons given or excuses for why he missed lessons or chores. Simply "I was in the woods." Perhaps he should be proud his son was above straight up lying, but he'd prefer the full truth instead of a lie of omission. It would also have kept him from having to hoof it through this dismal weather.

Tugging the cloak tighter to his body, Cullen entered into the edge of the trees no one could tame. Their place butted up near one of the ancient forests across Ferelden that saw so much bloodshed and battle that no one could ever conquer it. Every once in awhile Lana would walk out into it to 'handle things.' She didn't go into details but Cullen knew the scent of demon blood when he smelled it.

Which, of course, was where Gavin seemed to love playing most of all. Maker, was that the mage blood flowing in his veins drawing him to danger? Or... He never outright forbid his son from reading the exciting adventure stories about knights and sometimes even templars facing down demons and dragons, but Cullen bit his lip hard to hold it in. Playing swords was one thing, the two of them standing off with sticks and then wrestling in the grass together until Honor had to butt into the middle.

But he knew that look rising in his son's eye. It was the same that pushed him at all of 13 to badger the templars into letting him join. He was too young and naive to be trusted with such a decision that warped him. And he'd never wish the same upon his son. Surely, he wouldn't embrace that life. Every day he spoke to those who suffered from battle, from the war against magic and demons. Befriended them, helped to medicate and soothe them, sometimes broke down when he learned that they were not long for this world. If anything should turn his boy off of that life, it would be growing up in the abbey.

Wiping the rainwater out of his eyes, Cullen spotted the blue cloak twisting through a few trees. It weaved far easier past the bracken than the wider adult could manage. Sucking in to make the pass, but mostly shattering long fallen twigs and branches, Cullen pursued. He stopped shouting for Gavin, afraid the boy would bolt rather than face up to his punishment.

It should have been easy for his son to stay ahead, perhaps even double back and return to the warmth and dry of the abbey while leaving his father floundering in the woods, but the blue cloak stopped running. Gavin must have dropped to the ground, his little body hiding something as Cullen's only beacon through the fog sat immobile. He was so immersed in it, tugging something from the satchel around his hip, Gavin didn't hear his father approach until he bellowed.

"What do you think you are doing, young man?"

"Father!" Gavin spun around, the wet sheen of rain barely dimming from the amber shock in his eyes. He must not have heard him pursuing.

Cullen stomped closer, "You were assigned the task of..."

His lips hung open a moment before he tipped his head down and groaned, "Cleaning out the garbage pile. I was going to do it--"

"Later," Cullen finished, "as has been your constant excuse for the past week. This is unacceptable. You are required to pull your weight same as anyone else. That means chores, no matter how unfun they are."

"I know, father," he mumbled, not rising off his muddy knees. When his head tipped down, the water beaded against his close cropped curls.

"Running off to your little fantasy games is no excuse for avoiding your duty," Cullen continued, droning on as he often did whenever his son's attentions wandered. Normally he'd get a few 'yes fathers,' and 'I understand' in response, but this time Gavin all but spun in place, a hand smacking into the muddy ground.

"I wasn't running off! I..."

Cullen paused to realize it wasn't rain clinging to his son's cheeks but tears, large ones dripping from his eyes as he stared defiantly up at him. The raw edge in his tone slid off, but Cullen remained curt with the wayward boy. "What are you doing out here?"

Gavin wouldn't answer, only drew the sleeve of his cloak under his nose before glaring at the ground.

"Tell me now, son, or you will not like the consequences."

His lips bunched up as he tried to hold in what looked like either a curse or a sob. Still glaring through nothing, Gavin slipped to the side and he jammed a finger towards the exposed roots of a tree. "This!" he cried, the tears drying to anger.

Cullen bent down closer to find it was a nest of old straw and feathers. Tucked inside of it seeming to be dozing through the rain were two tiny bodies, the fur whiter than snow. "Fennic kits?" he turned in surprise to his son.

"I was trying to feed them, to take care of them, but..." Gavin thudded both fists into the ground and shouted to the rain, "it's not working! They're dying and it's my fault!"

_Oh Maker!_ Cullen scooped a hand around his son's shoulders and hugged him tight to his chest. "Shh," he tried to soothe the tears renewing in vigor while rocking his boy back and forth, "it's not your fault."

"Yes it is!" Gavin continued, sobs ratcheting through the words. "I...I bring them milk, and they ate it at first, but, but now they don't want it. They just lay there and," he turned, burying his face into Cullen's chest. "Daddy, I don't want them to die." The boy practically bowled him over from the force of the hug.

"Okay," Cullen tugged his son back and expertly dried away the tears with his thumbs. "It'll be okay. Let me have a look." Gently, Cullen reached a hand in towards the nest terrified that the babies would suddenly spring up and attack his thumbs. When no teeth emerged, he skirted his fingers over the fragile bodies. A breath lifted the soft fur, but they felt cool. This rain couldn't be doing them any favors, for certain.

Shifting his knees, Cullen reached in and snatched up the kits, nest and all. With a gentle hand, he tucked the babies under his cloak tight to his chest while his son watched.

"What are you doing?" Gavin mumbled, rising with his father. His amber eyes honed in on the babies he'd been taking care of.

Cullen rose to his feet, staring down at the little white foxes fast asleep. "Taking them to your mother. She'll know how to help heal them."

"Okay," Gavin whispered, trudging after his father. For the first time in years, Gavin clung tight to Cullen's cloak as if he didn't want to let go of his father.

Lana asked few questions about the white foxes clutched in her husband's arms, though her motherly instincts must have picked up on something as she brushed a hand over her dour son's head before plucking up both kits. After laying them out on a counter, she turned to Cullen and said it would probably be best if they waited in the hall just in case she couldn't do anything. He gently patted into Gavin's back, the boy worrying his fingers against his sopping wet cloak as they both stumbled into a pair of chairs left out for their residents to enjoy the summer sunsets.

Fog rain sleeted past them, the air chilly but his son seemed frozen to the chair. Amber eyes stared through the void, his head hung low while he mouthed something. Cullen's heart pinged at how tight Gavin had his hands clasped together as if he could will life back into those tiny bodies by mind and spirit alone.

Running a hand behind him, Cullen sighed, "Is this where you've been going every day? To care for those babies?" His son lifted his head an inch before letting it fall back down. Giving of himself for no reason. "You're so much like your mother," Cullen smiled. He wouldn't call his wife soft, but she could be as gentle as a stream for those in need and Gavin seemed to share that ability.

Gavin sneered, his small fingers wrapping tighter together until his nails dug in. "It's my fault," he spat out, beginning to rock back and forth.

"Sometimes nature can be cruel. It isn't fair, but life rarely is. If it were those kits time then..."

"No!" He spun in his deck chair, eyes narrowed to slits while Gavin's lip curdled, "It's my fault. If it weren't for me they wouldn't...they wouldn't be dying and, and they'd still have their mother." A fresh round of tears rose up in his son's eyes, but he twisted his head away and tried to bury the emotion burning inside of him.

Cullen patted his back, trying to soothe out the explosion building below the surface. In the rain, Gavin sniffled against the tears drenching his cheeks. He jammed his elbows into his thighs, staring hard at his hands as if in shock that they existed.

As if he could see blood on them.

"What happened?" Cullen asked, breaking the ice.

"The chickens," he began, his voice distant. "I'm supposed to watch 'em, feed 'em, protect 'em as you said. And, one day I see there's feathers everywhere. And blood, like a-like a fox got to them."

Oh dear.

Gavin slunk lower in his seat, as if his head grew heavy with the sins weighing upon him. He couldn't look at his father, but Cullen kept trying to rub the pain out through his back. "So I follow it, the feathers and blood, like a hunter into the woods. Like I was taught. I see one of the chickens, Belinda, dead on the ground and the white tuft of the fox dragging her under the tree."

His son told him about the dead chicken days back, but that discovery was rather commonplace. Accidents, disease, creatures, and sometimes the chickens wandering off because they got it in their tiny heads to do it happened. He hadn't thought much of the loss, nor that his son would have tracked down the source.

"I took my bow with me," Gavin continued his tale, his face curdled like sour milk. That would explain why Cullen hadn't seen his son playing with it much lately. "And...and I shot the fox, the fennic. That's what it is, right?"

"Yes, they're fennics."

"Shot her right through the heart, instant kill." It should have been a proud moment. It probably was when he accomplished it. Saved the chickens from further deaths and ended the fox's life quick and clean. "But when I went to gather up the body, I heard...there were these little." Gavin fell quiet a moment, his eyes tearing up again, "I didn't know it was a mum. I didn't, I wouldn't have..." His tale vanished in a wave of crying.

Taking pity, Cullen tugged his son to his chest for a hug.

"I'm sorry," Gavin begged, his hands clutching tighter to his father. "I didn't want to. And the babies, they were all alone without their mum. They cried a lot and were hungry. I wanted to help. I had to help. It was all my fault!"

"Shh..." Cullen wrapped his boy tighter, trying to knock away the blame and pain sitting on his heart. He carried it alone without telling either of them of the guilt nestled like thorns inside of his body. Had to right his mistakes even as the world conspired against him. Maker, how was his son cursed to be so much like him?

Cullen whispered, "It's okay, Gavin." He moved to try and clean off his son's cheeks but found his hands shaking as they hadn't in years. His heart cried out in harmony with the boy's, both carrying the burden of blame for things that were their doing but they couldn't change no matter how hard they prayed. "It's okay."

"No, it's not!" he cursed, a hand swatting at his nose as he continued to beat himself up.

"If you hadn't killed that fennic, how many more chickens would she have gotten?"

His son's eyes glanced over a moment, but his face remained contorted in pain, his body hunched to try and hide away from the good of the world he thought he didn't deserve. "I dunno."

"I know, it's not easy, but...sometimes in life we have to make hard decisions. We have to protect those important to us and that requires extreme measures."

"But killing's wrong!" he cried, a hand swiping through the air as if he held a sword. It was a good thing the boy was all but crumpled into his lap as he missed the look of horror his words dredged on Cullen's face.

How many...?

He thought about it sometimes, in the middle of the night when he'd wake drenched in sweat and sliding out of bed to not wake his wife. How many people, innocent people, had he cut down? Doing it on orders was no excuse. That was what created the red templars, what destroyed the order itself. They followed orders to their doom and the near doom of thedas. How many souls weighed upon the scales of whatever good he could do in the world?

There was nothing in his power to change the past. It took a lot of prayer and reflection to reach that point, to cease holding his hands to the fire in the hopes it would burn away his guilt. All he could do now was try to help. To save the orphaned.

Cullen sifted his fingers through his son's hair, wiping a smudge against the boy's forehead. "Right and wrong are easy when it's the bad guy who's kidnapped a princess or it's a dragon burning down villages. But the stories never mention if the bad guy has children that he dotes upon, or the dragon steals food to feed starving orphans."

"Dad?" Gavin crinkled his brow, confused at the introduction of grey morality into his simple world. It was easy out here in this idyllic farm away from the politics of the world. But even in remaining apart, they made a choice. They left the fighting, the death, the hard decisions to someone else. Washing your hands of something was still a choice that bore consequences.

"All you can do is try to be your very best," Cullen sighed, well aware he wasn't capable of explaining these confounding thoughts to his son.

"But..." Gavin glared at his hands, the same fingers that drew back the bow, notched the arrow, and let it fly into the fennic's chest. "But how do I know? What if it's wrong and I hurt people?"

Cullen swallowed hard. He hid his hands shaking with sin by bundling his son's into his. "Trust in Andraste and the Maker. They gave you your heart; your loving, caring heart. Listen to it, and it will guide you to the right choice. Not the easiest one perhaps, but the right one."

Eyes surveyed his dad's face, no doubt looking for the lie or trick. But this was the openest Cullen had ever been with his son, all but exposing his sins laid out in order for the child that looked up to him since he could walk. He wasn't perfect, his past was littered with pain and deceit, but he had to try.

"Father?" Gavin whispered. "Can I...can we pray for the kits?"

Cullen smiled, "Of course." Folding his hands up, he watched Gavin follow the same, the boy's eyes closed so tight as if his belief would save them. "Blessed Andraste, bride of the Maker, look after the two baby fennics placed into my son's care. Keep them safe, give them a chance at life, heal them with your everlasting love."

"In the name of the Maker, we pray," Gavin recited, gripping tighter with his palms.

Watching his son with head bent, begging for the Maker to shine his light upon him, Cullen was struck by the memory a decade ago. When he too was down on his knees begging Andraste and anyone listening to keep them safe. Even though he felt unworthy of Her assistance, of Her love, he pleaded for it because he couldn't live without his wife, or his boy. Wrapping his arms around Gavin, Cullen pulled the still praying boy tight to his chest. He tipped his head up to the sky, letting the rain wash away the tears stinging in his eyes.

The door opened and Cullen released the tight hug on his son. Slowly, Lana emerged out into the rain, her fingers gripped tight to her cane. Gavin twisted impatiently to his mother, "Well...?" He gulped, afraid to continue, "Are they?"

"They're going to make it," she smiled at them.

Gavin sprung off the seat and dashed into the room so fast he nearly toppled over his mother. Luckily, Cullen was there to catch her, a hand sliding along her back to keep her safe. "What was that all about?"

"I'll explain later," he promised, pressing his lips to her head. Lana must have spotted the tracks of tears as she caught Cullen's cheeks and pressed her thumb against them. The question of his pain hung in the air. Trying to shake it off, Cullen whispered, "Gavin's more like me than I feared."

"Oh," she locked her hands around his shoulders, tucking her cheek to his chest, "honey eyes."

"Mom, mom," Gavin rushed out into the rain, his cheeks stretched into a great grin. Both hands grabbed onto her fingers as he pulled her inside.

"Go careful, Son," Cullen reminded him.

"Yes, Father," his vibrancy subdued a bit, allowing Lana to limp at her speed back inside.

Within an old wooden box two pairs of little black eyes poked up from their nest. Gavin giggled, his fingers reaching over towards the first kit. "Ah..." Lana moved to warn her baby boy away from the wild animal, but the kit rubbed its face against the child that saved it from death. Smiling, he began to scratch both babies at the same time, a happy chittering emerging from the tiny fennics.

"They were a bit malnourished, but nothing terrible. It was mostly the cold, I think," Lana surmised, snuggling tighter to her husband while tears of joy dripped off her son's cheeks.

"Mom, Dad," Gavin plucked the first baby out, the fennic clinging the length of his tiny forearm. "This is Snowy," he said, so proud of the kit he worked hard to save. While Snowy nuzzled against the boy's sleeve, Gavin unearthed the other more quieter of the twin, "And this is Corn Chowder."

"What?" Cullen blinked in confusion, "Snowy I can grasp, but why Corn Chowder?"

"Because I like corn chowder," Gavin explained in the way only children could. It made sense to him and that was all that mattered.

Cullen tentatively reached a finger over and gently brushed back Snowy's huge ears. The fox glanced up, seeming to smile at the attention. "Son," he patted Gavin on the back, "it's going to a big responsibility for you to feed and clean up after these two."

"Does..." he turned, his mouth agape while staring up at his father, "does that mean I can keep 'em?"

"At least until they grow up and are strong enough they can head out into the wild," Cullen said.

"Oh, thank you Daddy! Thank you!" He tried to hug his father while his arms were full of foxes, which only made Cullen chuckle. "Thank you Mummy for saving them," he added, smiling up at his mother.

Cullen slid back to his wife, who watched her boy carefully place both fennics back into the box. But Gavin wasn't finished with them. He gripped onto the table and placed his chin right upon it in order to stare eye to eye with his babies. In a gentle voice, he began to talk to them, telling the fennics about his room and all the luxuries they could enjoy at the abbey under his care. Lana wrapped a hand around Cullen's arm and whispered, "You know they're never going back to the wild, right?"

"I assumed, but...they're his," problem, responsibility, penance. Gavin took them on because he had to, his heart told him it was the right thing to do.

"Cullen?" she turned her head, a hand reaching up to cup his cheek.

He patted her warm fingers that nursed the kits back to health and sighed in contentment. Tipping down to his wife, he whispered in her ear, "Our son's a good young man."

A sweet smile lifted her cheeks as she whispered back, "Just like his father."

#

13 Years Old...

"How many saw?"

Myra clung tight to her shins, chin perched onto her knees as she stared through the night air of Denerim. Her fingers stung as if she'd frozen them in ice, and her hair stank of old ash. She barely noticed the streets traffic trickling to a standstill in the dark because her ears were honed in on the conversation below.

"It wasn't too bad," her dad didn't answer her mom. "We put it out fast, and no one got hurt. That's all that matters."

"For fuck's sake, Alistair, that is not what matters."

Her mother's half smile twisted to rage when Myra returned home with her father clinging to her shoulders saying they had to talk. Whatever mom was going to ask died in her throat as she spotted the burn marks against the hem of Myra's dress. Instead of comforting her daughter, she grabbed Alistair's hand and marched him straight up to their room, telling Myra to get cleaned up. Never one to listen well, Myra snuck out the back window to climb to the roof. If she sat quiet, she could hear her parents, often eavesdropping on them when she was bored or waiting for them to fall asleep before sneaking out.

"Shh," dad whispered, "do you want Myra to hear?"

"Maybe she should hear. For the love of the Maker, I told her to control it. She swore she could, and this. Now. In front of..." Her mom's voice drilled down into dangerous ice territory. The one criminals and the like got just before the sword came out, or Myra heard whenever she left half eaten food in drawers on accident.

"You haven't told me how many people."

A groan echoed from her dad, it sounded as if he was pacing in the apartment below her. Smart as her mom was, she never figured out that the chimney flue could amplify voices giving Myra a perfect was to listen in. "The cousins," he spat out, "and a few Banns, and some other kids of the higher society types."

"Maker damn it!"

"But," Dad raced to protect her, "it's not that bad. Spud was quick to step in, to laugh it off and say it was all a big party trick."

"And you think that worked?"

"You've met the nobility. Call a dragon a puppy, put a collar on it, and they'll all be fricasseed while lined up to pet it."

Her mom sniggered a moment before sighing, "That doesn't make it better. It'll happen again and again unless she learns some Maker damn self control. Why'd it even happen? Do you know?"

"No, I was...I missed that part."

Myra lifted her fingers and flexed them. A puff of smoke erupted from the palm followed by three tiny flames. It was the cousins. Rossie and Cailan's cousins. They weren't any relation to her, as they were always very quick to remind her of. Her siblings...half siblings were fine to visit with, but there was a pack of cousins a little older than Myra that adored sharpening their claws on the bastard half-blood. She was so good at shaking it off, using the techniques Lunet taught her to bite back with her tongue instead of her dagger. Plus Mom wouldn't let her go to a castle party armed, she was pretty strict about that one.

But those, ugh, those _thoses_ kept prodding at her. Maybe it was because Rossie had fancy crown things to do, maybe it was because her dad was busy inside, but they wouldn't stop talking about her mother. Elven concubine when they were trying to be polite, knife-eared whore when Myra's back was turned but they knew she could hear. When that didn't work, they'd turn on her. Half-blood, they'd all but holler it at her from across the garden in their frilly voices and frillier skirts. When one of 'em asked if she didn't have points to her ears cause someone cut them off, Myra lost it.

The fire was an accident, a direct response to her anger. But it was almost worth it to see the look of total fear rise in that shem's eye. She grinned in pride as the girl shrieked back, flames rising up to burn her fancy silks. When the vengeance faded from her blood, panic set in. Myra tried to pat out the flames, kicking dirt at the girl, which sent the entire flock of cousins into a tizzy.

It was all a blur after that. Someone summoned the king, her dad looking frazzled and angry until he heard the full of it. Then that always smiling face shattered into a pity that wrung Myra's veins ice cold. Her dad never looked like that unless something life shattering was about to happen. The last time she saw it her mother nearly...

"I swear to the Maker, that girl is impossible. I told her, warned her if she couldn't keep a lid on this it'd be catastrophic. But does she listen? No, her smart mouth takes over for her ears." Reiss continued on, pacing opposite Alistair. If Myra held her breath she could count the steps in ten seconds and approximate the size of their gait. It was better than sitting there waiting to find out what her punishment would be.

"Reiss," Dad's voice softened and his steps slowed, "it's not..."

"Don't defend her from this. She's thirteen, she knows how this works."

"Yes, fine, she's thirteen, and she's...Reiss, she's a mage."

"I know that. Do you think I don't know that? It's a little hard to miss when she's running around setting girls on fire."

Alistair snickered to himself, "The way Spud tells it, I think they deserved it. A little bit."

"No one," her mother began before backtracking, "Yes, there are plenty of people who deserve to have their shoes set on fire on occasion, but not like that. Not in front of...before so many people that can destroy her life."

Myra curled her evil hands up over her ears, not to shut out the voices, but to feel them. Round, round as a humans, as her dad's. There was a little nub at the top, but nothing like her mom's, or Lunet's, or her other friends. She looked human, as far as anyone cared she was human. But all her mother could see was an elf, an elf that had to be on her best behavior at all times or some shem would come sweeping out of the walls to cut her ears off.

Shit, even her elven friends could miss curfew, or get caught sneaking sweets and worst they had to worry about was a cuffing to the ear. If Myra was ever implicated for doing those things it'd be no leaving the house, no attending to the palace for anything but seeing your father in the dark dungeon, and writing up two hundred pages of notes into files for a week. It wasn't that she didn't do them, she was just very careful to make certain her mother never caught on.

"We can't expect Wheaty to control her powers by wishing really hard," her dad spoke up. "It doesn't work that way."

"Why not?" Mom continued to pace, no doubt Dad trying to get her to stop for two damn seconds. "There are books, she's been reading them."

"Reiss, it's...she needs to be trained. Properly trained," Dad's voice dropped low and sounded as if he was walking over glass barefoot, "And not just because of the occasional fire."

The dreams. When she woke that first night to find her pajama's smoking, her mom insisted it was all an accident. Faulty lamps or some rune Myra forgot in her pocket. Reiss used her force of will to convince herself and her daughter that it couldn't be the most likely cause. But her dad began to pry about her dreams and the whispers. They weren't loud or coherent, it was like trying to hear through custard or see around a hedge. There were snippets of something but it made no sense. Myra told him the truth because she didn't think anything of it, but her dad snapped rigid and they began talking about her being a robe.

"No, no, my daughter, our daughter is stronger than that. She's too smart to be possessed, to give in to demons."

"I've seen some damn strong adults fold when demons crawl into their brains. You expect a teenager to have the same fortitude? She needs someone to teach her how to protect herself. How to navigate the fade safely." A sigh reverberated up the flue before Dad continued, "She needs to go to the college."

"Out of the question," her mom leapt up, her voice screeching for understanding. "Never, I won't allow it."

"Reiss...sweetheart."

"How long do mages remain there? How long are they trapped in those walls, unable to leave to visit their families?"

"It's not a blighted Circle. They're gone." Her dad refused to tell her about the Circles, beyond a few vague descriptions of big towers full of people like her and something called templars that were in charge of watching them. Guarding them. But Myra knew how to find books and read through two on the history of the Circle. The first didn't seem so bad, mages all together learning how to shoot fire and ice and do other neat things. Then she got to the second, a listing of atrocities, of why they fell, of how mages couldn't leave, couldn't have families or even boyfriends. That they belonged to the chantry for their whole lives with no say.

She hid both books under her mattress, terrified of either scenario falling upon her head. That was the day she stopped showing off to her friends. There'd been long accounts from old mages about how their neighbors, friends, coworkers, and even parents all turned them in to the templars. They couldn't trust anyone.

"The College may not be the circle, but it's out of your jurisdiction," Reiss continued. "What if they think keeping the King's daughter for themselves is useful? If they hold her for ransom to try and get more money from the crown? Or...Maker's sake, Alistair, what if the witch finds her there?"

Not this witch again. Myra'd been hearing about some mythical old woman that her parents used as an excuse to keep her from doing anything fun since she was a child. Don't stay out too late or the witch will get you. You can't take that hunting trip with your sister because your Dad won't be there to guard you from the witch. She assumed the witch was a way to scare her into compliance, but at thirteen the ruse was wearing very thin.

"We haven't heard from her in twelve years. Pretty sure she's either dead or making good on her promise."

"I'll believe that a warm day in the void," Reiss mumbled beside the fireplace. "The College is out. I refuse to let them have anything to do with my daughter. Our daughter."

"Well, we have to do something. This is only going to get worse. Someone could get seriously hurt. What if I have the arcane advisor tutor her?"

"For Maker's sake, Alistair. Why not shout through the streets that Myra's a mage? The entire castle, and then the guards, and then every damn person in Denerim will know within the hour."

"Then what do we do? We can't keep hoping that there won't be another outburst."

"Yes we can," her mother was in proper stubborn form, her heels banging against the floor as she dug them in. "I'll get her more books, better books about magic, and...and keep her grounded until she can prove she has some restraint."

Myra snarled, feeling the power building up inside of her again. It wanted to leap free, fire pirouetting across the bricks as she sprayed all the anger and betrayal out of her body. They didn't understand, they didn't want to listen to what she wanted. No, it was all about appearances, about hiding her away and making sure none of the nobs caught on because then something bad might happen.

Alistair tried to reason with Mom, "I don't think that'll..."

"Bullshit," Myra spat out to herself. Tipping her head back she screamed into the night air, "It's all bullshit!"

"Myra?" her dad's voice floated from the chimney.

_Oh crap._

"Are you on the roof again?" Mom thundered. Suddenly her voice echoed up the flue as if she jammed her entire head inside the chimney, "You are on the roof. Which is how you can hear us. Get off of there now!"

Myra shrunk deeper into the shadows, her eyes hunting around the edges. The breath stilled, hoping her parents would forget they heard her and return to their fight. Their fight about her life, her future, which neither could bother to ask her a damn thing about.

"Fine, if you're not coming down, we'll come to you," her mother swore and began to crack open the window.

Rising to her feet, Myra spun in place and ran across their building's roof. It was barely a stretch to leap to the next one, all of Denerim built on top of itself in this district. She could hide, sneak back down while her parents were messing about to find her and slip into bed unnoticed. Only to have her mom chain her to it until she was thirty, or her father send her away to some mage prison. No, no, she'd run away.

Where?

Katelynn's house. Her mom would never find her in the alienage. She could spend her days with her friends, hanging out with the elves that didn't fuss about who set their snotty cousins on fire. And Katelynn's mom was nice, niceish. She came from that smaller alienage up north, and spoke with a Marcher accent. It'd be easy for Myra to blend in no problem.

Reaching the edge of the baker's roof, Myra leaped into the night air, her hands flying out to snag onto a ladder's rung. It probably seemed more impressive than it was; she was often playing up top testing to see the jumps she could manage. The ladder dropped from her weight, loudly clacking and clattering until Myra's boots hit the cobbles. Spinning in a circle, she bunched her burnt party dress up in her hands and began to run for the dirt part of the street that led into the alienage.

What did her parents know? Nothing. This magic wasn't so bad, and those mage wars were a long time ago. No one cared if you could cast spells anymore. There was even a mage who lived down the street from them. He was always making little dancing lights to hop up and down the street at night. Whatever demons there were Myra would just keep far away from them. Not like any would go lurking into the alienage. Demons didn't belong there.

Twisting to the side, Myra leaned into her turn when a hand suddenly lashed out to grab her arm. Instinct took over and she spun, a fist rising up to punch into whatever was holding her. It was about to hit the shadow's jaw, when the second hand caught her fist, pinning it in place. Terror rose up through Myra's gut, the girl pinned by this unknown force. _How was she going to get out?_ She moved to scream, when the man stepped out of the shadows and sighed.

"Wheaty."

Dad dropped his grip on her hands but moved to get between her and the alienage, cutting off her escape. She could backtrack but, sure enough, Myra heard her mother twisting in behind her, going for the kill. Folding her arms tight to her chest she snarled. She should have known they'd find her, catch her; it's what they did.

"What do you think you are doing?" Reiss pounced, jogging up to join the two of them facing off.

"Nothing," Myra mumbled to herself, her foot nudging into a dead rat.

"Do not mutter," her mother sniped.

"I SAID NOTHING!" she screamed, her hands parting as embers of fire erupted off the palms. "Damn it," Myra cursed, struggling to close her hands into tight fists. When the fire doused, smoke trailing off her hands, she turned to face the wall to hide tears in her eyes. Tears of frustration for failing at this.

Her dad's hand landed on her shoulder, trying to soothe away the anger as he always did, "Running away isn't going to fix this, Wheaters."

"Stop calling me that, Dad!" Myra spun back around, honing all her raw rage on her father. He blinked in surprise a moment as she jabbed a finger at him. "I'm not a kid anymore. The nickname is stupid and I hate it. Treat me like an adult."

"Sorry, but you're a kid to me. Always will be. You're my baby, same as Cailan, and Rosamund. If I want to call you Wheaty, or him Radish, or our crowned princess Spud I damn well will. Deal with it."

"Argh!" she stuffed her hands deeper into her armpits wishing the world would swallow her up whole. Where were those supposed sinkholes to the deep roads when you needed one?

Reiss eased closer to her daughter as if afraid she'd bolt. "Myra, we need to talk about..."

"No," Myra whipped at her mother, her voice loud enough neighbors a block over had to hear, "No, all you do is talk. Talk about me, about what to do with me, you never care about me. About what I want. It's _Myra, do this. Myra, go here. Myra, you can't be trusted. Myra, you need to be better._ "

Alistair glanced at Reiss before honing in on her, "This isn't a situation where..."

"I am trying," Myra gasped, the tears coursing from her eyes. "But you don't care," she jabbed a finger at her mother who blanched. "You never care because I'm never good enough."

"Da'saan," her mother breathed the old pet name she rarely used outside the home. Too much elvish on the streets brought attention. "I..." Reiss dropped her head down and sighed, "I understand you're giving your best."

Myra snorted, "Since when?"

"I am trying to protect you," Reiss slid in to her daughter. Only thirteen and Myra could already see eye to eye with her mother. Maker only knew how tall she was going to get.

Myra used the height to her advantage, staring her down. "Protect me from what, mother? From our neighbors? The elves we meet? The gentry?"

"Yes, damn it, all of them. You have no idea, no concept of...you're too young to understand."

"I'm not too young to know why you want to get rid of me."

"Wh...Myra," Dad tried to reach over to calm her, but she shook it off, "we're not trying to get rid of you."

"Yes you are, I heard it. You want to-to send me away or chain me up until I can prove I'm not a mage anymore. Because I get in the way. I mess things up in your perfect life. I bet you wish I'd never been born!" She ended her shout by burying her face into her crossed arms, not willing to look at either of her traitorous parents.

It was her mother who gasped at first, as if she was surprised her daughter caught on. She took a moment to gather her strength but when it came back, it nearly knocked the girl over. "Myra Sayer Theirin, there is not a day that passes where I am not grateful for your existence. Even when you drive me up the blighted wall, I don't wish to lose you. Because..." her mother's words faded into a gravelly snarl as she fought against the need to both smother her daughter in love and a pillow.

"Sweetie," her calmer Dad wrapped a hand around Reiss and sighed, "we both love you. We both want what's best for you. You need someone to teach you to control this or else... Look, I've seen mages fall under the sway of demons. It's not always their fault, demons pry into every crack and you have to be prepared."

Myra dug her nails into her arms, her Dad's soft pleas striking against her wall. She hated him, hated them both because...because, damn it she didn't want to go. Didn't want to face up to whatever this was alone. All her life she'd always had her mother behind her watching, waiting to leap in should something go wrong and now? Her mother didn't understand the fade and would always curse at magic. She waved away Myra's concerns about her dreams as a bad case of indigestion.

"I don't want to go. I don't want to...to leave my friends."

"Okay," Alistair nodded, "what if we--?"

"Don't even think it," Reiss interrupted. "There is nowhere here she can learn, nowhere in Denerim that Myra's magic wouldn't be noticed. Do you have any idea what that attention would call upon us, Alistair?"

Myra risked a peek, expecting her father to go to bat for her, but he impotently tugged his hair up and sighed. _Shit_. "You're right. After the incident it's...I'm sorry, My."

"No you're not," she cursed.

"What if she goes to a mage. Not the college, but..." Dad turned to Reiss and nodded his head, "What about Lanny?" Her mom blinked a moment, her lips curling into her contemplating pose.

It was Myra who needed clarification, "Who?"

"You could be trained by the greatest living mage. The one that stopped a blight. She could teach you things even I can't understand and I've known her for...Maker, it's been too long to count."

"That," Myra was pulled by the idea. The few spells inside books she could get her hands on were piddly things to entertain children. She wanted to learn how to do stuff that could really have an impact. And there were probably magics beyond her imagination locked away in a stuffy college or with this mage tutor. "That might not be too bad."

Alistair smiled wider, a hand curling along her shoulders to try and tug her in for a hug, but Myra was rooted. She was still pissed at the both of them.

Her mother focused hard on Alistair, "You know she'll never come here."

"Yeah," his head dropped down a moment. "Not for more than a week at most. Wheaty...Myra, you'd have to head out to the Hinterlands for awhile."

"Awhile? The Hinterlands? What about my friends? What about my...what about my work here?" She didn't enjoy the cases and hated the school work even more but if it could get her out of this quagmire, she'd study every dialect of ancient Tevene with a smile on her face.

"It can wait," her mother said, slamming her hand over Myra's only chance of escape. "This is more important. You'll travel to the Hinterlands to stay with the Rutherfords for training."

"No," she tried to scoot back from her parents, but the alleyway wall sat in her way.

"Alistair, I assume you can send a letter out to Lana?"

"Yeah, might have to wait a bit for her to get things ready. Seems it's some kind of animal breeding or eating season. Chickens? I can't remember." Her dad nodded along, fully okay with her being banished to this desolate void.

"No, see," Myra tried to get her parents attention but they were too involved with each other. "You don't have to do that. I'm good, I can control it."

Reiss tipped her head, "I'll go with, get her settled in properly. Have to talk to Lunet about taking the time away but I'm certain..."

Both parents folded their heads together, plotting and scheming to destroy Myra's life without turning to glance over at the girl melting into despair. If they had maybe they wouldn't have written her out of their lives so easily.

*  *  *

_What was she going to do with herself?  _

Myra clung to the window frame in the carriage door. To any passerby's it looked as if she was simply enjoying the scenery, but that'd be mad. There was nothing to see out here but dirt, trees, dirty trees, and a vast ocean of sky. She was hanging onto the window in the hopes that the second the carriage stopped she could bolt free from it. But no, her father sent one of his more stricter guards to drive the thing. Even Myra's best offer of all the licorice she could get her hands on couldn't sway the woman.

Groaning, she collapsed back onto the hard bench and tried to not glare at nothing. It took her parents over a month to arrange this, taking so long she began to hope that maybe they forgot. Maybe they really believed her magic would simply go away. But no. When departure day arrived, Myra barely had any time to say goodbye to her friends. They'd all flocked around the carriage, impressed with the gilt and trappings while Myra stared forlornly down at her puny luggage. So many promised to write but would they even care or remember her if she'd been gone for over a year?

She was so mad about it all, Myra refused to let her mother come. At first, Reiss was adamant, but if anyone knew how to push the right buttons to piss her off it was her teenager. Her dad tried to calm her mother down, but there was nothing doing when Myra mocked how she was only going because she couldn't hack the beat. That angered her mom so much she nearly refused to hug her enraging daughter goodbye. In the end, Dad tugged them both together in his greater arms, placing kisses in their hair and swearing she'd best be safe on the trip out.

Her mother only swore she'd better be on her best behavior. Because if she got kicked out of the Rutherford's place it was unlikely anyone else would take her. By the time Myra got into the carriage, she was glad to be leaving them all behind. Maybe there wasn't anyone who cared what she wanted outside the Denerim gates, but there wasn't anyone inside either.

She kept feeling happy to be without her mother for the first few days, but as the carriage wheels rolled onward, it struck Myra that she was being led by a guard with strict orders to never turn back, to leave her with people she didn't know. What if they didn't like her? What if they hated her? What if they made her their life long slave? Mages could do that, she read about it in the second book. Something about the blood. Her dad would try to protect her from such vile and evil things, but her mom. She'd burn the entire place to the ground for anyone that dared to harm a hair on her head.

And you stupidly left her behind.

Because she was pissing me off.

_I want to go home._

The carriage took a sharp turn, the horses whinnying and Myra rolling with the force. "Sorry about that, Miss," the guard called back, "nearly missed that turn."

She should probably be cross, but it was the most excitement she felt on the entire trip. Maybe if they did a few more of those the carriage would tip over and they couldn't continue on. _Then you'd be stuck in someone's back fields with a royal guard. Was that any better?_

The flat farmland gave way to trees, an imposing forest pushing inward towards the road. It hugged so tight, branches snapped off against the roof. Hm, at least that could be interesting. Myra had never really climbed a tree before. Not like these. This place felt ancient, as if...as if she could reach out and hear the trees talk.

Shaking off the silly thought, she peered out the window down the road and spotted a building. White stone, it rose like a bone protruding from broken flesh out of the green forest. A short wall circled it, nothing like the ones back home. Myra could easily scale it with only needing one foothold. That thought calmed her, at least she wouldn't be easy to pen in.

As the carriage rattled its last into the courtyard, Myra nudged her nose against the bottom of the window so only the top of her head was visible. She peered around to find what looked like stables to the right side, a few horses stamping around the bed, and the definite sound of goats or sheep bleating in the air. Myra'd been to a few farms but more as a state visit, never to stay. Would they expect her to milk things? How did that work?

Tiny doors led into the open walkway on the second floor, a few people shuffling between them. She couldn't spot anyone who looked like the supposed Hero of Ferelden, but from her angle all she could make out were their torsos in shadow. Myra was about to risk rising enough to stare at the ground floor, when the door behind her opened.

Spinning in place, she spotted the guard standing patiently, "Ma'am, if you please." The woman waved towards the exit. Myra knew that there was a good chance if she refused she could be dragged kicking and screaming out of the carriage. Her dignity wouldn't allow that and even as her limbs turned to jelly, she eased out of the seat to plop into mud. Red mud. It was so vibrant, Myra tried to vainly search for blood that mixed into it but there didn't seem to be any bodies. Her next thought was to take her shoes off and dig her toes into it.

A bag landed near her feet and Myra practically jumped out of her shoes. Catching her breath, she picked up her only luggage. There wasn't a lot to her name, but her mother let her pack only half of her clothes. Was that a sign she'd be back home soon or...?

"Could you step back, ma'am?" the guard asked and good little girl Myra, her luggage clutched in her fingers, shifted out of the way. Without so much as a bye or leave, the woman swung back up into the driver's seat, turned the carriage around, and drove the damn thing back to the road.

Her jaw dropped, Myra frozen as her only connection back to the real world bounced and jangled its empty way to return to her home without her. "Wait..." she began, but by the time her voice returned it was too late. Even running at her top speed wouldn't help her, the horses having reached a gallop to freedom.

Nervously, she worried her fingers tighter to her luggage's handle, staring around at this strange place. What if it was wrong? What if the owners didn't know who she was? What if they kicked her out and she had to find a way to get back home by herself? She had a bit of coin but how much did it cost to travel cross-country? Could she even find her way back home if...?

"Myra?"

Her head whipped around to find the voice and a small woman stepped out of a room on the second floor. A puff of purple smoke followed, which she quickly shut away behind the door. Gripping tight to a cane, the woman slowly eased herself towards the staircase while Myra remained rooted in the spot. Should she climb the stairs to greet her? Was that the polite thing to do? It didn't matter because her bones were fully boiled to soup by now. Taking a step would end in her face down in the mud.

"Forgive me," the woman continued, "I thought I heard a carriage but I was in the middle of a...it's not important." She smiled wide, her teeth so white against her dark brown skin it reminded Myra of the moon. At first Myra chalked it up to the shadows, but as the woman limped to the ground floor and into the sun, her skin only lightened a shade. "Maker's breath," the woman tipped her head back, unable to reach Myra's eyes, "when did you get so tall? Alistair never mentioned you reaching his height."

"I'm not as tall as..." Myra began before her eyes cinched up and she shook her head, "Excuse me, who are you?"

"Ah, sorry. I'm Lana, Lana Rutherford if you need the whole spiel. Well, that's not quite all of it," she dug her cane in and reached a hand out. It hung a moment until Myra thought to release her tight grip upon the luggage and shake it.

"You're..." Myra blinked, unprepared for this. Sure, she knew what the Hero of Ferelden looked like. She was a seven foot tall statue made out of onyx with a death date that her dad called more of a guideline than a rule. This woman was so tiny Myra feared she might step on her. She was supposed to believe this woman with smiling wrinkles and grey hair who barely skirted to her chest stopped a blight? Was the greatest mage in thedas?

"Let me have a look at you," the woman ordered. Myra expected her to do the usual once over so many of the Queen's sisters and relatives did. Spin around, show your teeth and eyes. They in particular honed in on her ears, but this one didn't seem to care. Instead she drew her fingers together, then yanked them apart, and tiny, blue glowing threads appeared between them. It looked like a ball of yarn that exploded but made out of light.

"Touch this please," she asked. Slowly, Myra's trembling finger slipped into the light strands and, as it glanced upon one, the entire mass lit up bright white and began to hum. Myra yanked her hand back afraid she started an explosion but the woman only smiled.

"Hm, your father doesn't know the half of your power."

"Can...?" Myra's eyes lit up, sad when the mage brought her hands back together to cut off the glow, "can you teach me how to do that?"

"Of course, it's nothing too spectacular. Looks rather impressive I suppose, but it's a simple veil testing spell. Though I do put my own spin on it."

This was her. The great mage, the one everyone else thought was dead. "Lady Rutherford," Myra began, but the woman frowned.

"That's a bit too formal for my tastes, Lana will do."

"Uh..." Myra staggered, her tongue locking in her jaw.

Lady Rutherford's head tilted to the side, confusion increasing when she seemed to suddenly figure it out, "Let me guess, your mother. Or Alistair pulling one of his jokes."

"It's my mom, like you guessed," Myra raced to protect her dad, but she needn't have bothered.

The woman smiled brighter, her face so inviting -- like a pancake breakfast during a snow day when the syrup sat warming on the stove. "It seemed a bit too sophisticated for him. If Lana's out, how about teacher?"

Nodding, Myra smiled, "Okay teach."

"You seem to travel light," she tipped her eyes down at the luggage and Myra shrugged.

"Ma'am, um, teacher, how long do you think this will take?"

"I cannot say for certain, learning spells requires time, study, but I think we can make real progress for the next few summers."

Myra blinked at that, "Summers?"

"Your father didn't tell you? Maker's blighted sake, I told Alistair a dozen times over I..." she waved her hand through the air and Myra was even more bowled over. No one treated her dad like the bumbling fool he could be because they were all worried about the king part. No one except for her mother, anyway. "We can only take time out during the summer for teaching you. Well, I. My husband is around here somewhere, I imagine you got the briefing."

"Don't call him Commander," Myra repeated.

She snorted at that, "More or less. There's a special area set up for you to practice in. Protected from any spray off, and to allow you to fully let loose. I imagine you're itching to see how high that fire of yours goes."

That drew a smile to her face and she tipped her head down. "I am, ma'am. Uh, teach." It was strange to have someone who wanted her to use her magic, to encourage it.

"But," Lana patted her arm, "that can wait until tomorrow. First things first are getting you settled, oh and Maker's sake you must talk to your parents."

"My..." Myra stuttered, glancing around as if she expected to find them hiding behind one of the doors. "My parents?"

"Alistair's been calling through the sending crystal every day. As the week grew on, it became every hour. Your mother too. They're very worried about you. If you..." the woman paused and she folded her hands together. An aloofness wrapped around the inviting mage like she was trying to protect herself from something. Weary eyes, the kind that looked as if they were staring back at themselves in a mirror, turned to Myra, "If you need me to do it because you're not in the mood to speak to them, I can for you."

"Uh," Myra gasped to find a strangely shared sentiment between a woman so much older than her. The woman her father and mother were in cahoots with. "No, that's okay. I can do it."

"Good," she smiled, but the sting didn't vanish. _Was she one of them?_ One of those people the neighbors turned into the templars? Or a kid? Did her parents send her to a circle knowing they'd never see her again? Myra ached to ask her, but it seemed impolite to call out on the first meeting. Maybe later, maybe in a few days time she could bring it up and ask her about the old ways of the mages.

Lady Rutherford glanced up towards a door and groaned, "Ah, blighted void, your room's not quite finished yet. Alice!" She waved to a woman passing in and out of the narrow doors. "Grab some fresh linens and meet me in 5." Turning back to Myra she added, "Give us a few minutes and you can settle in properly."

Unable to offer anything, Myra nodded limply as the woman took the grueling steps up to what would be her room for the summer. Slowly, Myra spun around the courtyard, trying to take in this new home. At least the Hero seemed nice, nice enough. Her tone would probably change after having to deal with Myra for more than a few days. A few younger adults continued to shuffle around, eyes darting towards her, but most too dedicated to whatever they were doing behind the doors. Something told Myra it wasn't anything interesting. What could be out here?

Aside from learning magic and having to fill out her studies for back home when she had free time, the abbey stank of boredom. People were quiet, holding their breath and softening their words while they passed in and out of passageways. Even the doors barely squeaked. Back home she'd have already heard a good five curse words through the walls before getting out of the door. Her ears itched from the silence. What was she going to do here all summer?

The pervading silence was broken out of nowhere by the sound of someone smashing into a low bar and then cursing. When Myra turned around, she spotted a boy rubbing his curly head. A book lay open in his hands; no doubt he was so engrossed with it he wasn't paying attention to where he was going. After checking himself for any serious damage, he glanced around to see who spotted him. Over the left shoulder was safe, but when he turned to the right, breathtaking amber eyes landed right upon Myra.

A blush rampaged up his brown skin a shade or two lighter than the Hero. Who, she just realized, was probably his mother. He awkwardly glanced down at the book, stuffing the pages higher to try and hide his defined chin and thick lips struggling through a horrified smile. Still, those amber eyes remained focused on Myra, peering over the top of the book as he attempted to slide backwards to get away from his humiliation.

"Gavin!" a man's voice echoed from a lean-to set up on the side. The boy whipped his head over to the taller man in the shadows and he gulped.

"Yes father," Gavin called, racing to vanish inside with whatever work he was needed for.

Myra smiled to herself, the amber eyes clinging to the back of her eyes like a vision. Maybe there were a few things interesting here after all.

THE END
