 
# Guarded Love

by

### Sabrina Zbasnik

A Sequel to the  _My Love_ Series
Table of Contents

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

## 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 off 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 past into the unmappy bits."

"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 Vhenedhal 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 in a panic. So many of them bought 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 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 Banns 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 glittering 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 around 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 leaped 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. Normally, the bones that 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 to 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 even 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 suit coats 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 entire 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 paler 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 Lunet 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 her backwards, 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 -- a way to weasel back in. 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 better skilled 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 attempted 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 by lopping off my ears 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, cold dread choking out her gut. Blinking in agony, she took 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 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 to 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 his attentions 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 his own 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 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 at the hopping stage 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 parade 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. 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' dance. There was probably a special term for a faster waltz, but Alistair knew pretty much that word and nothing else. "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 to watch 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 sounded 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  _balor'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, "If true, then you need not have a thing to fear, madam ambassador. If being the sticking part."

"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 allied 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 flautists 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 and 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 bad 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 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 cursed eye in the castle watching. They were all hoping for him to finally end this damn stalemate and what better way than 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 the 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 at 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 cut 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 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 tinny 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 unbuckled her sword and tugged off her gloves and tossed it all 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 while 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 within 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 blighted 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, up onto 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, 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 a bunch of 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, as they kept insisting, the lone wanderers didn't build cities 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 homemade quilts on every corner.

Instead, about two dozen hardened Dalish warriors watched the human caravans with wary eyes, their arms all crossed tight 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 specially welcome 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 a question in her ear 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 bickering over the proper shade of red to paint a barn, 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 over 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 wanderers 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 party 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 of 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 of being _with_  him, 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 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 surprise. "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 squirrels 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 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 normally 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 in a single night.

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 attempting 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 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 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 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 the bank. "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 by 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 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 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 reinforced 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 wobble. "You have to help me!"

Alistair tried to politely pick the distraught man off the woman, which earned the shemlan the wrathful glare he'd been expecting. "I can help you. Show me where your son is," he said quickly, the man nodding wildly. He didn't put up much fuss about a human offering a helping hand, there weren't a lot of options.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," the man 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 about all of 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 gestured out towards the river. He couldn't be serious. Alistair yanked 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 would 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 sandbar 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 grip onto the rope with his 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 the strangled gargle of a mabari 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 and he tried to cower tight to 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, when 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 boulders 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 the boy 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 would 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 too 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 flood slopped filthy water into his mouth, some of it he swallowed, more 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 he felt the section behind him fall slack.  _Oh shit!_  It finally snapped free. 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 impaled nails into every joint, crushed the nerve and begged 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 sprouted 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 waterlogged stick jammed against his skin, "Please tell me you got the damn dam fixed."

"Yes, thankfully. It should hold until the rains stop and we can properly reinforce 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 tight, and quickly learned it was only a foot deep. But I did learn to swim after that."

Laughing 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. That 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 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 Alistair's limp form.

"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 ramping up in speed to try and get their King somewhere 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 in the heat of the moment. Proper healing was beyond her. 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. "I'm here, for what little that counts." 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 and houses whipping past 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, "The King is ill!" and a dozen heads all rushed from the front of the carriage to reach hands 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 to 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 his 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 savages 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 tried 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 known 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, they 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 while 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 stand 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 room, 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 pull 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. What was she doing here? Accepting that Lanny 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 befell 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 think 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 of his political 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'll 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 his 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 griping 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 reinforcing 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 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 assembled 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 the 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. He remembered every time the old Warden Commander dared 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 near 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 the truth of his origins. 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 icy cold choice, and..." the growl and bile he'd kept tamped down erupted, spilling across the woman sitting beside him. "It was your decision 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 popped 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 and 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 that studious and dangerously smart mage who 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 skirted 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 there 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, stretching 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 twisted 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 extent 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 small, pointless 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 for 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 he fully missed it 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 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 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, using the 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. When 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 her eyelids drew 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 standstill 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 at her, 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'm...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. Was that special? 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 one, 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 enough 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 crate 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 Reiss' 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 sunbeams across the bricks. "She sacrificed herself in 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 confusing 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 the woman would 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 every hand in thedas 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 shit 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 Lana's 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 care was blisteringly obvious. Perhaps even more. What are you going to do, Rabbit, if you stepped in the middle of their long term affair?

"Alistair is a person 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, "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 persistence 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 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 so 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 with 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 attempted 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, found Lunet, or walked around outside the palace walls for awhile to 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 as 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 butts 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 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 saved the world the due she deserved. But none ever did, most of the servants doing the 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 for over two years of her life. She never saw him much beyond the occasional furrowed brow and stomping boots when he'd dart in and out of barracks for inspections. But everyone in the Inquisition knew of the Commander, many holding opinions that tended to range in respect from the soldiers to caution in the mages.

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 he planning to rip off all your clothes and have his way with you? 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 being 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 elsewhere, 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 feces 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 withers 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 vhenedhal 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 require any, and I shall," she smiled and dipped into the empty barn. Jaylen kept the windows closed causing an impenetrable heat to buildup inside the wooden structure. Absently, Reiss shrugged inside her armor heating up fast and transferring the boil 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 looming danger.

Clopping over the wooden boards, Reiss stood in the doorway to the kennels where a few of the dogs slumbered away 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 in the 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 the heat deadening her limbs...

"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 scrabbled 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 in the door 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. Cages for us all," 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 frame. "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 yellow 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. Make 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 level 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 brussels sprout dinners for the past few days may have been overkill on my digestion bits. But the best part, the coup de fart 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 wander across a bawdy joke or dirty book. After stumbling upon any involved and descriptive romantic scene in a book, she'd lay the tome upon the bed at arm's length, 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 would manage to 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 my inspection, 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. Why's 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 thinking about you, a lot. All the damn time it seems. 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 that she practically panted for him. 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 the 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 broke out 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 of shame 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 with that want. 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." 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. Each freckle darted along that fair acreage pleaded for her fingers and lips. 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 waistband, 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 caressed and gently squeezed. Each playful pinch drew a rush of excitement through her insides, Reiss lost in 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 instead of feeling so very right?

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 intoxicating and infuriating as her body begged for him to touch her lips, to rub against her clitoris, to delve deep inside her.

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 and 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 above 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, her fingers drawing 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 across 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 step Reiss knew well; 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 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 sensible measure she'd thought 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. "Keep going," 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 under 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 around 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 strained 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 bounded 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 and 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 placed 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 flit 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 piggyback 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 chest 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 thigh 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 had 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 Markham 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 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 full body flinch as he kept droning on and on about Mouthrat. I wish I could have somehow captured that speech for posterities sake. Everyone in thedas must be required to hear about the betrayal of Mouthrat."

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 he clung 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, an 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 at 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 is 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 rolled up piece of bread 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 up 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 pulled 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 first from 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 crawl 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. At the moment he hated it because Alistair feared that wall 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 weren't any Knights scattered through Denerim 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 that mage away and nearly dying in the process.

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 in 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.

"'kay," 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 the 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 servant's entrance he wasn't supposed to know about Alistair called out, "You mean talk now, right? No waiting a few weeks while the 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 halfway 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, of course, but all of them were 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 for once 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 twelfth 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 fretting. 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 vivid 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 a breath away 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 on average; 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, with 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 in the Blessed Age, 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 other 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 eyes shut tight before glancing over to the woman staring a hole through his chest. Warm fingers glanced across her cheek and then 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 lover." 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 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 to 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 couldn't 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 ever 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 line of Alistair's body. The taut muscles that curved into flat plains, fluffy white blonde hair across his body that was both exotic and enticing to an elf. 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. Seeming to have no opinion, Alistair always 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. By 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 nothing fresh would replace the desiccated husks?

But Reiss shook most of the dour fears 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 overtook 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 onto a lumberjack's axe.

Reiss barely stepped into the 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 when we raid their home to go searching for any ingredients to brew poisons."

"Of course," Reiss nodded. She didn't realize she'd looked perturbed by Harding 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 this was done on purpose 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 a gust of wind accidentally 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'm not officially trained to do 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. The three lines 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, "You're sleeping with her so..."

"Oh, well, uh," Harding's freckles burned like a beacon against her cheeks at the insinuation of Lunet in her life. 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, now with special emphasis on guarding 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 Sugarbelle, 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 becoming 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 the 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 her, 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 horse's reins 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 short on brains 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 bounce of waves would attract a potion brewer. Rum brewer certainly, but not a frilled potion distiller. 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 trees and shops 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 were 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 him 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 the weather shifting across them, and all 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 against her cheek, 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 sure they made certain 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 off of her tongue and 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 likely 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 into 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' hands skimmed 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 area, 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 bite out of any who passed under, while a small river of water dribbled through the middle. She noticed someone took the time to lay 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 all the dusty barrels she ignored sat stacks of cards, books left open, and a piles of kindling to light the fire. Where was it? She had to check for ashes to see if they were warm...

"Uh," Lunet called from the corner.

Reiss dashed off towards a pile of what she suspected was an abandoned fire 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 cloud cover? Perhaps they got lucky and the fog hid their delving. "Come on, come on," she kept repeating, 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 the 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 at 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, waggling her finger at her friend. But 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 and Alistair to secrecy, 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 a 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 the rising burn of shame 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. By the ballsack on the Maker, you've already been down this road before!"

"He's nothing like Ethan!" Reiss' voice cracked, the anger filling her marrow like hot lead. She was frozen in spot, but feeling more and more invulnerable with each verbal attack from what she thought was her closest friend and best ally.

"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 oh alienage knife-ear," 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 her side.

"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?"

"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 back 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 the 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 dare she stomp around assuming things about Reiss' life, a life she barely knew anything about. They never even spoke about...okay, that was all on Reiss because she'd been putting her all into this job. Into this job that was now inexplicably tied to 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 out of the gutter to wear frilly dresses and take tea with Dukes for the rest of her life. Reiss wasn't a fan of ruffles 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. All her knowledge amounted to was 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 -- 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. Chapped skin, pockmarks courtesy of childhood illnesses left to run their courses, bathed regularly in the perfume of sweat and blood, they were all things that had no chance of keeping a noble 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 add 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 a hold 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 of the cloak to drag her frown deeper. If it was just Alistair...but it wasn't. It would never be. Boss and monarch in one.  _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 crashed 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 rattled 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'm not certain 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 to  _if_  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 cautiously, 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 near. "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 there 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 forth, 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 would 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'll all but insist Karelle throw 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 shoving 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. Or realized how much it clung to your mind and soul. 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 when they fall," Reiss stuttered. There were so many mysteries in thedas she didn't understand, 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 an 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 Kings things like philosophy or...that math of the stars."

"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 to lean flatter against him. She felt oddly comforted by the move, certain that he'd hold her up. "The way I remember it, 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're 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 overrun with the rapids of stars colliding against the indigo beauty.

"Well, for what it's worth, I'm a complete idiot and it hasn't stopped people from looking to me when the shit's launched out of a 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 proper 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 she dare 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'd 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 her feet, 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 "Here's 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 overnight in his eyes 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 all by his little lonesome." 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 fully on accident and not because I was sword fighting with it. 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 the King 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 from the beautiful woman wrapping her body around his. Those succulent arms curled up around his neck, his instantly matching by cuddling the small of her back. It was a bit more of a reach thanks to all that armor, but even with the metal can acting as a buffer he still felt a wave of calm from 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 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 knocked 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 on 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 feared 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 flour in the ant kingdom. After all that 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 the man, 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. Very short, evil sounding words. 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 thin 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 his mile long stare 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. Reflected in her 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. The Fereldens 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 thought to reel it in.

Fiona didn't need to stare at her own staff to know the truth, "I do not require one as this 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 hard 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 burden with her overbearing affections."

"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 an old 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 in childbirth. 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 vanished 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 and 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 who wore 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 tiny insignificant speck I can possibly matter to you. 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 to 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 of truth 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 for nearly ten minutes, "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 worrying 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 Redcliffe palace. It seemed the most likely answer and also led him to that horrible 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 to 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 from all the self loathing 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 speak 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 really 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 slip 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 -- skin to skin. 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 always smelled of cinnamon and clove, her favorite two spices. She was dead certain that they worked in any dish my mother cooked. 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. You can stop. 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 unbaked 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 surprisingly sat in his throne, 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 workers 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 side 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 of the crown knowing at the end of the day he had her. 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, the entertainer 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 his 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 clumps of crowds awed by the juggler.

"Sire," the messenger didn't drop to a knee or even bow before the throne. She wasn't wearing the obligatory poofy hat the rest of them wore, this one all in traveling leathers. A serious messenger. "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."

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, unreachable air circling around her strangled body 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 so it caught them unaware. Despite a lack of evidence, the blame's been put upon the alienage. With summer's dry season the fire's been going for two days. Numerous deaths, too many to count now, lost almost half the east side of town."

"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 of her vision 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 gouge apart her brain.

"The Divine has requested aid from Ferelden, due to the closeness of the town to our border," the messenger continued, only focusing on her King. She said the words with urgency but devoid of any pain. The deaths were nameless to her, just bodies stacking up in the street void of faces or...family.

"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 scrubbed, wouldn't be forgotten.

Scampering away on her burning legs, 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 legs 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, hate her. Atisha...

Reiss glanced up to find her fist pounded 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 burned to a crisp in her fury and then burst to 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, 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 more of her weight to him, his strong arms propping her up as her body gave in. 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 upward on her wobbly feet, "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 needed 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 while knowing the likelihood that it'd be stomped from her body would end her. Elves didn't survive disasters, their bodies built the levies to hold back floods. Hope for a happy ending was idiotic. 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 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'll tell 'em 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. Flea bitten skin, salt stung eyes, eternal hunger for a year all to keep her siblings alive and now some knife-ear hating bastard might have taken her sister away forever. 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.

Her wanderings took her to 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's 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 across 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 over the stone floor her feet failed to feel, 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; it was the same for anyone else in thedas, though hers involved a lot more of the Maker's attentions and toppling of an empire.

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."

"I've 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 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 tight 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 to this unknown elderly woman. 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 since the blight, and maybe now just her brother.

Tears tumbled down Reiss' cheeks as her shoulders 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 were most happy with elves that frolicked, dressed in little more than strips of gauze to be pretty play things. When they stand up and start asking for more, then the claws come 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 believed 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 wishing to scream the belief out of 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 untoward of interesting for the gossip mill 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 and demanding they all dance. 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 earlier 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? Bringing a flower to her when she was in so much pain? 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 flowered herb.

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 pathetically trying to console a woman perched upon the edge of a cliff. Uncertain 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 wielded 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 lay scattered across her duvet, each one in very fancy handwriting. Scooping up the wayward letters, Reiss stacked them 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. "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 mage 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 do 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 be pathetic or a waste of her time.

"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 risking 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 and leggings while she stoked the coals and the man with fancy spectacles perched upon his nose was chiseling 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 wellbeing 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 teams 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's long shadow 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 and not the Bride of the Maker.

Things were supposed to be getting better. The new Divine threw open the chantry doors, invited all she could to join in. When at first 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 to places previously unavailable to them 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 Atisha 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 staring 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 return trip to the palace they'd ever made. Normally the King would take his time, trying to scrounge up any excuse he could find to avoid heading home but he was practically backseat coach driving. With his head stuck out the window, Reiss had to keep tugging him back in so Alistair wouldn'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 morning.

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 on the prisoners.

"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 an inner strength to protect himself, 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, hissing in rage 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 slice 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. After lifting his hands, one of the guards punched to the ground in the scuffle rose to unsteady legs. He 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 upwards to mash with dirt and sweat already upon her face. 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 every 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 added 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," she answered, "it'll take time to get the right interrogators in, break them down, and there's another problem."

"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 their 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 to steady herself, "Zea dogs homes. Would you like to read through them?"

"I doubt I can do more than color inside the lines, 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 eating, 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, and thanks to Harding's work 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 tumbled free from his mouth to 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 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 about Reiss and the King or somehow 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 very much alive. Jader is in a state of fear I have not experienced since the Blight itself, but the people are strong and bonding together to overcome some poor fool's misbegotten anger and wrath.

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 of them 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 means to have such a guiding 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 home for the Maker, for Andraste, for my soul, 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 cheeks 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...?" 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 a few of the people sent ask around for an elven Sister. I guessed she looked like you, but there was only one elf in the chantry so...," 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 come 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 fully dead while sitting in that cramped chair."

The guard glanced over at where the King had sat most of the afternoon away and sighed, "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 their monarch 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 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. She wasn't certain what he could do either.

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 into vibrant, 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 punch 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 going 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 upon 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 the 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 begged, 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 as stone 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 the 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 ruin 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 knuckles. 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 to a certain bald spot 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 given a "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 part 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, his 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 action 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 the truth 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 Alistair of the under tunics used in harmony with 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 anyone else. "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 Zea Dog in question. He looked like the kind of man 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, nose puffed out, 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 as he rubbed them together. 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.

"But there was a blood mage that you claim made you cut your tongue out." That got a vehement nodding of the head. "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 a turn on to watch her ratchet straight to can-do-anything. Her eyes beamed in on Mauro, "This blood mage, can you remember what he or she looking like?"

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 out 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 meal far more fascinating, but Reiss snapped in an instant at the fear of being caught out. Alistair chuckled, "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 the 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 Ferelden, but figured she owed him to 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 in 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 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. The cook had 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 too, 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. They 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 up her throat with the anger against 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 pressed 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 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 closer, 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 anything 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 light, 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 of the south. Tutting her tongue, she yanked up Reiss' arm. The 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 them 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 blood-let 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 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 was 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 meantime, 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 un-fun 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 to his ass upon the bed.

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 backside 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 far 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 blood-let 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 near on 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 skin, 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 castle 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 needed 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 Cailan 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 would often hear through her door the sound of a 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 weigh 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, lain 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 when 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, she 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 bobbed up and down, his eyes darting around the room to land upon this supposed tome.

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. "The scandals alone, people staring and... 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 from 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 in the air that something was wrong, Alistair shook his head and tried to scrub his face, "Look, I'm not saying the idea wouldn't be a problem for us to solve 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..." 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 fact 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 finally 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. Cade 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.

Even worse than Ethan.

"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 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 or 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 speaking to the horses like his peers. 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 people 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 to save him. From the hours of two in the morning until four, or whenever the Sister's sang, he kept trying to remember the exact lyrics to a bawdy 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 or turned on their heel and ran for the hills. 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. This was different, an accidentally swallow a dagger then realize it's gonna have to come back out kind of different.

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 ached to comfort her. As if he could be the one to help, 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'd 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 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 when 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. Everyone else had their duties to attend to and keep them busy. That foolish King, however, left himself with nothing but a block of free time to do nothing but wallow.

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 greeting 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 problems 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 Teagan's 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 ride out 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 the entourage 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 from the needy poor and sick. 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 harrumphed, "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 heartbreak 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 Anderfels 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. Again. 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.  _How dare she turn from him! He did everything he could for her! Gave her a job, better prospects than any random elf in the streets could manage! And how did she repay him? By crushing his heart in his chest as if it was nothing more than an errant mosquito._ 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, how he didn't want to lose 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 each 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 skirting over his shoulders to tug him to her for a hug. He didn't lift his arms, 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 together 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.

Cullen lifted his head, speaking loud enough the leaves on the trees rattled, "I am..." 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 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 an 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 Lanny 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 were 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 back end 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 overburdened with 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 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 had 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 were 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. Then again, 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. Rrrrutherford!"

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 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 weigh it down. 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 untouchable, 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. In her room she'd left everything gifted to her by the chamberlain and...him -- toiletries, towels, even the bandages. For a moment her fingers had 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 the palace 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 are you here for?"

"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 can vouch for her."

The guard knew Reiss, 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 the hold on her, but kept a hand up behind her back 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 without bars blocking the way back at the open door letting any and all walk inside -- at least until coming to a guard wondering why 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, then her eyes gazed back at the palace. "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 out of heartbreak. 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 the nickname much for him; 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 the cheap shit, 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 nipped 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 your shield.

"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. And needing supplemental bodies to go through the smoke cause we ain't worth as much as real guards. 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."

That rock caught her too, Reiss having to dodge quickly away. Something in the curve of the tunnel made it impossible to see on the way down, causing anyone who hadn't been in the tunnel often to bang into it. A person larger than her would probably crash into it more 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.

The memory flared back of the left side of a hilt smashed up, as if it were 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 to 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 prepare a 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 to that..."

"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 leg 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 for it. 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 fog 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. After riding past 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 while standing outside the door.

"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 rescuing Lanny 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 six or seven hours.

"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 were 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 with 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 to the Maker, or too terrified to engage him.

Alone was the frozen wastes blanketed in a never ending white of snow that 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 then 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. Surely that meant it wasn't a problem. Was it too little too late? He didn't really talk about the other ethically dubious 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 of them 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 band over his swollen knuckle when his heart thudded awake.

No.

It was a gift from the first woman he loved. And if the second 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, when she craned her head back and those summery green eyes tried to peer through every window.

"Reiss?" he gasped, his hands scattering from the pane. 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 skin clinging to his 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 stabber 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 in his panic 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. The table chipped, breaking off sections of its 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 Brunt 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 the gigantic paw gripped onto the Ferelden sword at his side 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. There was no choice 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 the sword slash 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. Alistair did 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 did 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 Alistair 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 snap up and 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 as he tried to blot away the pain only to find a dagger sticking into his gut. Hot and sticky, his internal viscera 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. 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 great gathering room.

"Where's the King?" she shouted.

The servant should have argued with her, asked who she was and demanded proof. But even when 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 upper floor she faced a multitude of doors, each of them shut tight. She threw open one, peering inside of a broom closet. The next was 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 servants had the same pink-cheeked plain scrubbed Ferleden look to them 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 sword 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 and shattering. 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 from nearly losing it. 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, the floor crushing into her ribs. With one hand on her wrist, Brunt 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 burning through her body knocking so hard her vision swam. Whistling roared in her ears, she knew a faint was quick on its way. Sitting on her knees and nursing her arm closer, 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! The monster grabbed onto Alistair's hair and tugged his head 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. Forgettable. Weak. Broken.

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 unimpeded, because she too wore that armor. Ignoring the blood gushing against the wound 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 the blade 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. The pair of them tumbled to the ground together, Reiss rising higher and her fingers never releasing even as he pawed at her arm. 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 freed before blood gurgled bubbles across the floor.

_Alistair!_

Forgetting the pain, Reiss scrabbled across the floor to him. His eyes were closed and 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 poison? What choice did she have? Tipping it in, most of the liquid gurgled down his throat. What didn't make it washed down his chin to join with the blood pooling down his side. 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 blood bubbling 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 the 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 was trained 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 plunged deeper into itself as if Alistair was fading away. Someone passed her another potion, which she was careful to get more of 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."

"Ma'am," the boy who looked older by the gristly work nodded at her, "Maker go with you."

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 horse's 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. Alistair's silent body lay prostrated where Reiss left him, the eyes shut tight and his face wiped of all emotion as Lana shifted closer to him.

"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. Shaking herself, 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 gore stained 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 stained 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 to help? Nodding at the order, Reiss tried to move to the Hero's side when the Commander, having finished shoving the servants out and 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 until it tumbled off and bounced 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 been with 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," Lana 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 chant' 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, having heard 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. Everything 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. Its 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, in between the dowager and empress and ambassador rumors, 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 that sun 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, rescued her and her family, and entire world.

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 moment 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. "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 former 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.

"I'm fine," she said, shaking her head despite all evidence to the contrary. There'd been a cold professionalism 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 the mask she 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 limply 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 like you were supposed to. 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 filling his body. 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 every 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 followups 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'd 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. He closed his fist and drew out the sword, grabbing onto his scabbard 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 for why he came out here in the first place 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 on the other side. 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 in one go.

More of the inane chatter erupted behind the door, when Cade grabbed onto the 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 to slam it shut behind him. 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 with bloodied bandaged wrapped around his gut 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.

Cade wanted to see fear in the King's eyes, but all the man could manage was to look 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 the bastard's 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 scapegoats 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 of a spymaster 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 the robes, 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, proper 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, like it was 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 first, 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. That any of this was real!

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 its warmth 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 magicker 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 no longer 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 laid 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 who heard the whole confession, 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 about.

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 of 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 un-stabbed, 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 my little stabbing and bleeding everywhere antics shouldn't keep you from it."

A snicker lifted her lips, but there was no mirth to it.

Half 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 extra 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 evil bear about to take my head 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 hand, 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 souls just bodies for a couple hours. 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 Shianni 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 pull 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 start. 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 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 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 in search of a quest all boarding under its one roof. There are these four lanterns in the sitting room 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. There's got to be a trick."

"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 into that tiny inn, 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 plucked from the streets and once declared unsolvable by the Watch, 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 bottom floor 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 space 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. Above the agency, Reiss rented her own little room for an apartment. It wasn't much more than one open room 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, her back  hovering in the free air and discovered 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, as she put it, noticey.

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 second 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 as if he shook off every worry in his life at the door 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 work for her when together, 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 where the door and windows were all locked on the inside and a traveling merchant trained a pack of nugs to scurry down the fireplace to 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 teach the recruits skills 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 hothouse 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 them. It wasn't the life of luxury and royalty she could have had, 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 be 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 were 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. Shianni 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 into her hand what looked like a desiccated apple core nearly picked clean of fruit 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 five in my office. She wanted you to have this one."

"That's sweet of her," Reiss smiled, happily placing 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 ear, his warm breath washed over it 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.

THE END
