Title: When It Rains

Summary: The Maker works in mysterious ways, but so do the Grey Wardens. Sequel to Hunger.

Notes: This is a sequel to Hunger, which might be worth reading to avoid some confusion.

*

"A man is made by the quality of his enemies."

--Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir

*

Amell is licking her fingers, and making noises that Zevran thinks should be illegal in public.

"It's so…sticky," she says, and there's more licking.

Zevran sighs; sometimes he thinks his life isn't fair.

Peter, the bartender of the Roasted Pig, is nodding appreciatively. "I thought you'd like it, Warden-Commander," he says, proud as a mother hen. "My creation, it is."

Amell nods, because her mouth is full again. "Zefran," she says, still munching. "You fould fry this. It's sho good."

"You are a very intriguing woman, my Grey Warden," Zevran says, and hands her a napkin.

"What is in this?" Amell asks.

"Dwarven chocolate, dipped in cake dough. Then I get this pot of hot oil, and just…dump it in," Peter explains.

It sounds disgusting to Zevran, but Amell is already having thirds. "This…this right here," she says, in between bites, "could end the Blight."

A goop of chocolate and fat drips down onto her plate. "Ah, yes, clog their arteries, indeed," Zevran says, appalled.

Amell pushes a small bag of coins to Peter, who looks very pleased with himself. "You're a good man, Peter," she says. "I'm happy you decided to stay in Amaranthine."

Peter laughs. "I'd be a fool to leave when the Grey Wardens are here, Commander. Business has never been this good."

Zevran takes Amell by the arm, and gently prods her towards the door.

It's a beautiful day, and Amaranthine is full of people, Grey Warden recruits who are getting ready for the Joining, as well as tourists who have travelled to see the Hero of Ferelden.

"I don't want to go back yet," Amell whines.

Zevran uses his thumb to wipe away at some crumbs on her lip. "Ah, mi amor, but duty calls. You have papers to sign off on, two new Grey Wardens to meet, and, I believe, Leliana has arrived."

Amell smiles. "I can't wait to see her! Do you think she brought some of those butterballs she found last time?"

Zevran rolls his eyes. It's been six months since Alistair died, and Amell's sweet tooth has only gotten worse. "I think," he says, carefully, "that it would not be Leliana if she did not bring a present, yes?"

Amell skips her way back to the estate.

*

Queen Anora was every bit as beautiful and as intimidating as the bards made her out to be. There were rumors that she had conspired with her father, the late Teyrn Loghain, to have her husband killed. And, when her crown had been threatened, she had ensured that Alistair of the Grey Wardens had sacrificed his life for Ferelden.

Cullen didn't particularly care for politics or rumors, and while he didn't think Anora was as conniving as they made her out to be, he couldn't help but feel that there was a certain possibility that Queen Anora had mapped out a lot of her future.

"Do you know why you here?"

They weren't surrounded by guards, which already made Cullen suspicious.

"I—there's a bounty of my head," he says, warily. There's a pause in the room. "For my termination of mages.

"Termination is not quite the word I'd use, but yes," Anora says. "You are wanted by the Chantry and the Circle for your crimes."

"I only do what the Maker asks of me," Cullen says. He knows he should be afraid, and yet….

Anora raises an eyebrow. "Yes, well." She clears her throat. "I have a proposal for you. It requires discretion."

"And what do I get in exchange?" Ask, and the Maker will provide.

"I have heard that you have been quite successful in your…termination of mages," says Anora, and her voice is firm. "I would like to hire you to exterminate one for me. In return, I shall wipe your record clean. Start a new life, perhaps as one of my own private guards."

Cullen doesn't care much for a new life, much less as a private guard. Yes, Anora is pretty, but he knows that her court is full of backstabbers. And, yet, he wants to say no, wants to say that if death is what awaits for him, he'll take it, and yet—

"Who is this mage?" he asks, carefully.

Anora turns around, and there's fury in her eyes. "Sarina Amell," she says.

Cullen chooses his words carefully. "The Grey Warden."

"Yes," she answers.

"The Grey Warden who is called the Hero of Ferelden?" Cullen persists.

"Yes."

"The Warden that you—"

"Yes," Anora hisses. "She lives in Amaranthine now. She's become a Mecca for Maleficarum who have nowhere to go. Those who hope becoming a Grey Warden will shield them from the Circle."

Cullen nods; he has been aware of this. He still has the directions that Amell gave him.

"Very well, I will take your job," Cullen accepts.

Anora looks very pleased. She pulls out a medallion from the drawer of her desk. Her husband's crest gleams at Cullen. "Wear this, and use it if everyone should give you trouble. Right now you are under the order of the Queen of Ferelden."

Cullen accepts it. It feels cool under his touch and against his chest. "If you don't mind me asking, Your Highness, why are you trying to murder the Grey Warden who put you on the throne?"

Anora turns her back on him again, and he thinks it's a dismissal, and then she says, "She killed my father."