Disclaimer: Bioware owns them, I just play in the sandbox.

A clear dawn breaks over Ostagar as the Lady Cousland, her hound Chester, and her savior Duncan wearily approach the camp. She holds her chin high despite all she's faced in recent days, vowing to do her duty regardless of her feelings on the matter.

The King is, simply put, ecstatic to see her and simultaneously mournful at receiving the news of her family's death. Loghain spares nothing but hatred for her, not that this is anything new. He never appreciated the popularity the little "Cousland spitfire" gained as being a noblewoman with well-known battle prowess; especially when his own daughter, the Queen, was known for cowering from the blade and bow.

The General watches with dark eyes as the King leads the young lady aside and speaks to her in hushed tones, tracing his hand down her arm in a too-familiar way. Yes, he's heard the rumors same as everyone else, but he'd hoped they were simply that—rumors. It would appear though that the King did indeed have eyes for someone other than his own Queen.

Giving a polite curtsey to her King and Warden-Commander, the Lady Cousland slips away to attend to personal matters, leaving her hound under the watch of the old Warden. The General wishes to smack the goofy grin off the King's face, but to do so in front of the army would be unwise. The Warden-Commander casually observes the emotional undercurrent before bidding goodbye to seek out the Warden encampment.

The Lady Cousland's presence at Ostagar is highly spoken of and she garners looks from nearly everyone she passes. Well, everyone except for the one person she is seeking out, however. After he finishes antagonizing the mage, his demonstrates his apparent lack of intelligence by then asking if she herself is also a mage. As if any well-bred noblewoman could be mistaken for a mage.

She's not sure if it's his obvious stupidity, his hair, or the definition of the his chin that tips her off. But she knows something about this young man, a scant few years younger than Cailan himself.

She storms to the King's tent with purpose the first chance she gets. The guard at the front tries to stop her so she tersely says, "I am the Lady Cousland, you will let me pass."

A familiar voice calls out from within, "It's alright, Rupert, let her in."

She quickly brushes the tent flap aside and practically smashes her face into the golden cuirass of the King.

"Now, Arleigh, what has got you worked into such a tizzy?" he says calmly, carefully taking her hands in his.

She lets out a big breath to blow a stray lock of auburn hair out of her eyes before fixing them on his. "Why didn't you tell me you had a brother?"

Cailan only showed his shock at her knowledge by a slight release of his grip on her hands and a miniscule widening of the eyes. "Did Alistair tell you himself?"

"I've spent enough time around you and your father that I can easily spot your kin, Cailan."

He exhales and pulls away to pace the room. "I suppose we do look rather alike."

"Why is his existence a secret?"

"My father merely had a…dalliance with a serving girl, which resulted in my brother."

"Yes, I've heard of your father's indiscretions. I'm honestly surprised he only had the one bastard."

"That I know of, anyway. I only learned of Alistair because Eamon insisted on looking after him. If my father had his way, no-one would have even known of his birth."

"Does he know?"

"Yes, he's always known."

"And he had no problem with being sidelined as a regular citizen?"

"It is my understanding that Eamon took great care to instruct him that he is not in line for the crown, ever since he was a child. He seems happy enough as a Grey Warden, at least much happier than he was as a Templar."

"Your father let him become a Templar?"

"Isolde put him in the Chantry to stop the rumors that he was Eamon's son. She holds that arling with a death grip and is so insistent upon Connor taking power when the time comes. If anyone else took it, she wouldn't be able to pull the strings any longer. Anyway, Duncan was quite impressed with Alistair's battle skill, and I may have…encouraged him to take him into the Wardens. I couldn't let him be enslaved to lyrium with the rest of them."

"A wise course of action. But Cailan, has it ever occurred to you, Alistair, or Eamon that you and he are the last remaining Theirins and you have no heirs and we are on the eve of a Blight in which you could very easily perish?"

"What are you getting at?"

"I think it wise for the stability of the nation that you announce the existence of Alistair, officially put him in line for the throne, in case something should happen to you before you produce an heir."

"My dear," he steps over to take her hands again, pulling her close to him, "once you become my wife, I don't think it will be long before I produce an heir," he says suggestively, leaning down to kiss her.

She turns her head aside at the last second, taking a moment to say softly, "Even so, I still think it would be prudent to acknowledge Alistair's lineage."

Cailan sighs at her stalling. "Yes, I suppose you are right. Once we get back to Denerim, I will make the preparations. Of course we'll need to discuss this with Alistair as well, although I doubt he'll like it much."

"It doesn't matter if he likes it, it's his duty."

He leans down to kiss her again, working his lips along her jaw to her neck while his fingers stray to the laces on her bodice.

"Cailan, we shouldn't, not until your marriage to Anora is annulled."

He sighs, resting his forehead against hers. "Of course, you were always the wise one. At least give me a kiss." He presses his lips to hers expectantly, seeking entrance which she hesitantly gives. His warmth envelopes her as his grip about her tightens until she squeaks from being pressed against his armor. "Sorry, I forget how much armor gets in the way." He gives her a light kiss on the check. "You'd best get some rest before heading out to the Wilds. Be safe, my love."

She gives him a weak smile as she exits the tent, giving a sigh of relief at having again dodged being taken to his bed. It may be her duty to marry him, but until they are wed she need not behave as his wife.