AUTHOR'S PREFACE:
Some readers may already have come across this story published under the pen name 'Sentogray'. That account was irritatingly broken, and rather than continue to wait for support to answer my pleas (maybe, someday), I decided to just make another account and hope for the best. If you have any queries regarding this, please contact the email in my profile (that is the same email used for Sentogray's account that no longer works).
Enjoy.
CHAPTER ONE
A surprise visit
Ferelden breathed a collective sigh of relief… twice.
The archdemon at the forefront of the latest Blight was defeated and the creature known to those who were involved in the following campaign, as the Mother, lay rotting where she had been slain. Few knew that the Warden Commander of the Grey Wardens had spared the life of the one who called himself the Architect; most were simply glad that for now it seemed that the darkspawn had retreated.
It was many months from Denerim, overseeing repairs to the city of Amaranthine and to Vigils Keep, that Salana Cousland finally had time to return to Ferelden's capital.
" Yanno Commander," Oghren mused as they walked their horses through the city gates. " You make the cutest face when you're thinkin' about that royal screw up."
On her other side, Nathaniel Howe, a most unlikely confederate, rolled his eyes.
" That royal screw up my husband?" Salana inquired lightly, far too used to the dwarf's satirical sense of humor to get upset over snide little jabs meant to provoke a reaction.
" You ask me," he continued.
" We're not," Anders dropped; despite fighting side by side in the Deep, the mage and the dwarf had never really warmed to one another.
Oghren simply ignored him and forged onward with his statement.
" You ask me," he repeated. " That Anora wench might have been the better choice."
" Except maybe the part where she worked with her father to destroy all of the Grey Wardens?" Anders sniffed. " Sure, I'd vote for that."
" No one gives a sodding, nugsnuggin' toss what you'd vote for," Oghren grunted.
" I'm sure you were about to make a point Oghren," Salana prompted as they headed for the royal palace.
" I ain't sayin' the woman doesn't have her faults, but let's face it, your boy Alistair ain't exactly a political genius."
" And yet the people seem happy," Salana smiled, casting her eyes around the market quarter.
There was little, if any evidence now, to suggest that the ultimate battle of the Blight had taken place in the city. Buildings stood proud and sturdy; people moved unhampered by fear, seeing to their business, and there were more traders attempting to entice passers by to inspect their wares than Salana had ever seen. There were smiles upon faces that had seen so much horror, and though Salana would not deny that the politics and the intrigue of life in the royal court was far from Alistair's strength, his approach to being king worked well enough.
" Happy now," Oghren nodded when they entered the barracks stable yard and dismounted. " But I bet there's already a healthy dose of conspiracy just lookin' for a chance to seize power."
" Not for long if I catch them," Salana declared, and though she smiled as she said this, there was a vicious undercurrent to her tone. " Don't feel like you need to stay here in the barracks," she went on, transferring her gaze to her three companions. " Enjoy your time in the city, for it is a rare privilege."
" Ya mean, get out of your hair so you and his royal eloquence can play hide and seek with the crown jewels?"
Nathaniel pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled a slow breath. Anders held his breath, rather hoping that the Commander would backhand the diminutive walking brewery across the yard, but Salana blinked slowly down at the dwarf before offering her measured response.
" Please excuse me. I have some crown jewels to seek."
There was absolutely no fanfare for their arrival, even though Salana was of course the hero of Ferelden, the Grey Warden Commander and technically the queen. Salana was glad, for the knot in the pit of her stomach was already tight enough without having to smile graciously at two-faced lords and ladies who only wanted her favor for personal gain.
It seemed like a lifetime ago that Alistair had been crowned king, so long since she had seen him at the beginning of the campaign against the mother. There had simply been too much for her to do for a return trip to Denerim to be viable, and Alistair had been occupied with restoring confidence in the crown across the kingdom; apparently confidence was fine at Vigils Keep.
As she passed through the corridors of the palace, even as preoccupied as she was with smoothing the frazzled, coiled braid nestled at the back of her head, she noted how hastily the servants got to their feet and then bowed their heads to her. They averted their eyes like they were afraid of her, though she had certainly never given them any cause to; she had even been very careful to remove all traces of blood from her armor.
Even growing up in a noble house, the bowing and scraping of those not born to privilege had never really sat well with her; she would much rather have people show genuine respect if they indeed held her in esteem, instead of observe meaningless platitudes that hid true intent.
The king was not in the throne room when she entered, but that was hardly surprising. Alistair avoided politics as much as he could, delegating responsibility to people he liked to think he could trust. She knew where he would most likely find him, and yet she took the most round-about way to get there.
Why?
How many nights had she laid awake, body weary and heart heavy? How many mornings had she awoken and wallowed in her loneliness?
Too many for a Warden Commander.
So why was she putting of the reunion that she had been longing for?
" Oh, Warden Commander!" Ser Jerome, one of the King's Guard exclaimed when she nearly collided with him. " My apologies."
" Not necessary," she smiled sheepishly. " I should have been looking where I was going."
" If you're looking for his Majesty, he's in the east wing cornered by the Orlesian emissary," Jerome chuckled.
" The Grey Warden, Orlesian emissary?" Salana sought in clarification and suddenly Jerome seemed less sure.
" Ahh, I believe he is, yes my Lady," he nodded, and looked like he might have liked to scowl as a frown bloomed upon Salana's features. " I, it is my understanding that he was to leave for Vigils Keep on the morrow, but was…"
" It's all right Jerome," Salana said, but her tone was thin. " You are not responsible for the movements of the emissary."
Jerome's shoulders relaxed a little and he shifted his weight, indicating that he was eager to get moving again.
" Don't let me keep you," Salana declared, forcing a smile back to her lips. " Carry on."
There was obvious relief in his eyes, as Jerome moved away from her and disappeared down the corridor, leaving Salana to ponder this development. She had known that an emissary from the Grey Wardens in Orlais was on his way to Ferelden, but had been under the impression he would be travelling directly to Vigils Keep to meet with her. Of course Alistair was still a Grey Warden, despite his royal title, but as far as the Wardens of Ferelden were concerned, she was top of the food chain.
With greater impetus she began toward the east wing, not even looking at the two guards standing silently outside one of several rooms designed for diplomatic meetings. They did not move to stop her when she pushed the doors inward, but both men beyond them seemed surprised that they were interrupted.
" Warden Commander," the fully armored Grey Warden said, his thick Orlesian accent betraying his origins. He spoke first, as it seemed the king took longer to gather his thoughts.
" My Lady," he began, the words sounding almost hesitant, before a smile lit up his face and he approached her. " What a pleasant surprise."
" Warden, your Majesty," Salana reciprocated, inclining her head to both.
" Arturu, it is my very great privilege to introduce you to a woman of many titles," Alistair went on, looking back at the Orlesian Warden when he had reached Salana's side. " Lady Salana Cousland of Highever, Ferelden Grey Warden Commander, queen and my wife, the latter being the most important of course."
The king blushed a little; still after all this time, some parts of his rather innocent nature endured despite the rigors of court life and the perils of battles he had faced.
" It is indeed an honour," the Warden, so named Arturu declared, actually bowing as best he could in his heavy plate-mail.
" Likewise," Salana nodded, maintaining formality. "I apologise for the interruption your Majesty," she went on. " I wished only to inform you of my unscheduled arrival, however, a chance encounter with Ser Jerome occasioned me to discovered that the Orlesian Warden emissary set to arrive later this month at Vigils Keep, was already here."
" It was an, unplanned, detour," Arturu explained, but Salana was far from convinced.
" And I will interrupt no longer," Salana declared evenly, though she felt irritation scratching beneath her skin. " By your leave," she then added, unable to keep the ice from her smile as she turned it to Alistair.
A chill that he was not oblivious to.
" Ahh actually, Arturu, it has been many months since I last saw my wife," the king said. " Perhaps you would grant me the indulgence of a little time to…"
" Properly welcome her home?" Arturu filled in, and Salana's brows twitched downward; why did everyone assume that her reunion with Alistair would be nothing by a rampant sex-fest?
" We have a lot to catch up on," Alistair clarified, taking the heat out of Arturu's comment, and the Warden nodded his assent. " Excellent!" Alistair chirped.
With his hand in the middle of Salana's back he nudged her gently towards the door and she moved in that direction.
Despite her armor, somehow he could still feel the tension within her, and why wouldn't there be tension? She had spent the last four months fighting darkspawn and rebuilding a city, not to mention the Grey Warden stronghold of Vigils Keep, and what was her welcome home to Denerim?
In her position, Alistair thought that he would have been angry to find that an emissary of the Grey Wardens in Denerim, rather than first presenting themselves to the one under whose jurisdiction Warden matters truly fell.
They said nothing as they walked down the corridor side-by-side, Alistair's hand sliding down to rest in the small of her back. It was not until they moved out of the east wing, heading towards the residential quarter that Salana sliced through the awkwardness.
" When did our friendly Orlesian emissary arrive?" she inquired quietly, aware of the heavy press of eyes as they passed through one of many common rooms; it was almost as if this was the first time she had been inside the castle and people were unsure why she was really there.
" Two nights ago," Alistair answered, studying her from the corner of his eye with increasing worry; everything about her was straight and rigid, from her posture to the crispness of her voice. Even her eyes were focused ahead of them, fixed there without deviation.
" I dispatched a messenger right away," he rushed, cringing inwardly at how defensive it sounded. " Ha, you probably passed her on the road."
Silence descended once more, a heavy shroud that followed them into the antechamber of the royal bedroom and was punctuated by the closing of doors behind them.
" Have you discerned the purpose behind his, unplanned detour?" she asked, turning to look back at her husband.
" You know politics is not my strong suit," he chuckled wryly as he approached, but the slight twitch of her cheeks told him instantly that humor had been the wrong path to take. " I'm sorry," he frowned apologetically, reaching for the fastening of her left pauldron, but she caught his wrist.
The moment endured, her dark brown eyes reflecting the king's image back at him, not allowing him beyond; those were walls he used to know how to scale, and it was not until she exhaled a heavy breath and pressed the back of his hand to her lips, that he knew she wasn't going to just leave him there staring helplessly at the battlements.
" No, I'm sorry," she declared, lowering her chin, wearily giving in to the emotional part of her that she kept buried beneath her Warden Commander attire. " It was disrespectful of me to just storm in here and demand explanations and…"
" Hey," he interrupted, smoothing his free palm against the side of her face. " You are the queen; it is your right to storm in and demand."
She was the queen, but she wasn't apologising on behalf of the part that made her queen and she thought he should have seen that; maybe he did, and simply chose to ignore it?
" I wanted your return to be perfect," he told her, turning her slowly so that he had better access the straps that kept her locked inside her breastplate. " But, as usual, I've made a terrible mess of it."
Her armor pulled apart and revealed the truth of the woman beneath. Alistair remembered those contours well, their shape, the feeling of them beneath his fingertips.
" I had planned an entire festival," he continued merrily as he stripped other pieces of protective metal from her figure. " Parade, singing, dancing… pony rides."
Slowly Salana turned back around, her eyes hard and filled with expectation and the king faltered.
" Euh… you don't like dancing?" he offered.
" Alistair," she said slowly, the word emerging from between her lips woven with restraint. " If you don't kiss me now, ponies, will be the only thing you'll ever get to ride."