Chapter 1 : To singe a King's knickers.

As the heavy door of the keep closed behind her, the Warden-Commander felt a rush of warmth from the fire at the center of the main hall. It was late so she made sure the door closed as quiet as possible. Her knuckles cracked from the cold of the late fall country weather as she tucked away the letter she had retrieved from the private outside. She heard a hard wind press the door behind her and felt a small draft that tickled the hairs at the back of her neck. Her sparkling eyes scanned the main hall, dark, save for the grand brazier.

She knelt on the thin red rug, the chill of the autumn biting clear into the floor. Her shiver echoed into distant whispers in the vast room. The heat of the fire made her armor especially hot, so she didn't stay knelt for long. As she stood she heard movement behind her.

"Warden-Commander, good evening," The voice was her Seneschal. "Out for a late night stroll, as well?" His deep voice rang with a slight amusement with which she was familiar.

"Ah-ha, you caught me. Actually, I thought it might be amusing to singe a pair of Alistair's knickers. Loosen him up a bit. You know, being King is rather distracting… disheartening, and… displeasing. "

Seneschal Varel took a step forward. "Distracting, disheartening, and displeasing for his majesty, or… you, Warden-Commander?"

She was off-put by his insightful inquiry and it must have showed quite plainly.

"I fear the years I've known you has… caused me to speak too freely, forgive me, Warden-Commander." He said, clearing his throat after a pause, appearing taller when he pulled his shoulders back—as if snapping back into protocol.

She replied with only silence. Questions bubbled within her ears. Her gaze had grown distant, and for a moment, she did not realize it. She focused on Seneschal Varel and stared at him. The fire of the brazier flickered in his eyes and he lowered them from hers.

"No harm done, Seneschal Varel. You have proven a good friend… and it is friends who most often show us quite plainly, what we may not see ourselves; thank you."

There was a curt nod from the Seneschal. The fire crackled loudly.

"Goodnight, Warden-Commander. May you find peace before morning."

"Goodnight." With that she turned to walk toward the living quarters. She glanced over her shoulder back at him, thoughts wandering through her mind of the Seneschal. He was a good friend. Although in a short time… he had proven himself, time, and time again. Now, here, she has chosen to stay in Amaranthine… while her husband, King Alistair, must rule Fereldan.

When she entered her room she saw her mabari hound stand to greet her with a wagging nub tail. "You know, part of me wishes Logain had become king so many years ago. Then, perhaps… it would be me and Alistair wandering the country side… instead of me and you."

Dark beady eyes stared up at her and a heart-wrenching whimper sounded. She knelt and ruffled his face, coddling.

"Oh, I know, the smell wouldn't improve much, right?"

Bark!

She smiled and laughed.

She opened the letter she had retrieved earlier... reading it quickly. Her eyes scanned side to side... and paused on one particular part.

'I'm sorry, my dearest heart, but I'll be in Orlais for another moon, maybe more. We will have to postpone our vacation together to another time. It kills me to tell you this... and for what it's worth, I'm very, deeply, sorry. I promise I'll make it up to you. Did I mention I'm going to be spoiling you rotten when I get home? I have sooo many gifts for you-and the hound. I got this cute little bow to put in his fur. Think he'll like it? I do! Now what can I get for the stains...'

She tossed the letter to her bed, not having the heart to finish reading it. Instead of sleeping in the bed, she went and slept on the floor beside the hearth fire. It was something she did often. The smell of the soot… the firmness of the cold stones under her back… her hound alert and ever watchful by her side. It was familiar. It comforted her. Her heart ached for the days when she traveled with Alistair.

She even missed the smell of his dirty socks. Perish the thought.