It was a rare quiet moment in camp. While the others headed off to a nearby hot spring to bathe and relax the two wardens had remained in camp. Dinner had been a loud and raucous affair—there had been lots of laughter and good-natured teasing. Even Morrigan had joined in at the main fire for food and chatter. The Blight didn't lend itself to frivolity so they tried to make the best of what they had. There was a lot riding on their shoulders and Cadhla knew if they didn't enjoy themselves when they could the chance might never come again.

Cadhla had shed the armor she normally wore in favor of a light linen shirt and breeches that had been stuffed in the bottom of her pack since she had left home. They were loose now; she had definitely lost some weight while travelling the whole of Ferelden. She shrugged to herself, I should just be thankful my armor still fits. It would be no good to her if it was so big it fell off her frame like some of her clothes now did.

Alistair had settled in front of the fire and Cadhla touched his shoulder as she came up behind him. "I have a question for you, if I may?" She eased herself down beside him.

He looked up, surprise on his face, but he nodded, "Of course. I'm at your service, as always."

Normally she would have laughed softly at this response. He was always eager to please. This was a serious question though and required her to be serious as well. "Why did you keep your birthright a secret for so long?"

His face fell slightly and his throat convulsed as he swallowed hard. "Uh, you never asked?" His chuckle was shaky and told her he didn't like where she might be going with this.

Cadhla sighed and propped her chin in her hands. There was a slight breeze that sent the flames dancing and their heat warmed the warden's faces. They both knew his answer was only an attempt to deflect the question. "That's a cheap answer, Alistair, and you know it."

It was his turn to sigh. "I know." He ran his fingers through his hair, which showed just how uneasy this made him. He had a thing about his hair and she rarely saw him muss with it. "I do owe you an explanation."

He paused, waiting to see if she would speak, but Cadhla remained silent. Despite having known each other for less than a year she was surprised to discover she knew her fellow Grey Warden well. He was drumming his fingers against the side of his knee as he searched for the best place to start. "It's always been a secret for me. First when I was training to be a Templar and then later in the Grey Wardens. People always treat me differently when they find out. Suddenly I'm the royal bastard instead of just Alistair. Even among the Grey Wardens only Duncan knew."

He looked at her, trying to find some hint of what she was thinking in her expression but Cadhla kept her face carefully blank. She wanted him to tell the whole story and not tailor it to an interpretation of her reaction.

He continued. "I was going to tell you!" he exclaimed in a rush. "I really meant to tell you, but the battle happened and everyone—" he cut himself off and took a deep breath at the memory of the loss they had suffered there. "Well after Ostagar it seemed like it was too late. I tried to tell you when we were at Flemeth's but then I thought how do I just tell you after everything that's happened?"

They had both been fighting for their lives as soon as they had entered the tower and they had almost lost them once the beacon had been lit. It was only Flemeth's intervention that had saved the two of them and not before Cadhla had incurred some serious injuries. The better part of the week spent at Flemeth's she had been comatose in bed and after that they had been focused on what to do as the last of their order, noting the fact that they were now outlaws.

But he said he had tried to tell her. She thought back to those days at Flemeth's before they had begun the quest they were now on. There had been a time when they had found themselves alone, very much like they found themselves now, and he seemed like he had something on his mind. Had it been then?

She had been sitting outside near the cooking fire. Her arm was still in a sling and the pain from her other wounds combined with the noxious potions Flemeth made her drink left her mind hazy. Alistair had offered her a cup of tea but she had politely declined. Her stomach was churning already and she didn't want to throw up all over the man who was the only other warden left in the whole of Ferelden.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. Worry was evident in his voice.

Cadhla forced herself to smile, "Better," she assured him.

He opened and closed his mouth several times like he wanted to say something but eventually he closed it and remained silent.

"Do you have something on your mind, Alistair?" she asked. "You can tell me if you do."

He had sat down across the fire. "I, umm, well there was something I should probably…"

He had cut himself off when she had doubled over in pain. Flemeth had ordered her back to bed. While Cadhla suspected it was more because she didn't want to heal her again than from any concern for her wellbeing, she listened. She was no good to anyone dead.

"I guess I can understand that," she said thoughtfully.

He made like he was going to leave and she grabbed his wrist. Cadhla wasn't intending to push him away with this topic, but they had grown close and she wanted to know why he had waited so long to tell her. "Don't go," she said softly. "I'm not mad, I just want to know."

He stilled and met her eyes. There was sadness and a little bit of pain in them, like he didn't believe her. "Honestly, I think part of me liked you not knowing," he admitted. "People always treat me different when they find out. I'm not Alistair anymore, I'm the bastard prince. Even Duncan treated me different. He kept me out of the fighting because of it."

He clenched his hands into fists. "I've always been told that I'm nothing, that the throne is not within my reach and that's fine with me. I know that must sound stupid to you, but I hate how it's shaped my entire life. I never wanted it and I certainly don't want to be king. The very idea of it terrifies me."

Cadhla placed her hand over one of his, still clenched in a fist. "It doesn't sound stupid," she assured him.

He offered her a tentative smile, but his handsome face was still troubled. "For all the good it does me. My blood seems destined to haunt me no matter what I do and now Arl Eamon plans to put me forward as heir." He sighed. "It never ends, does it?"

"Not for us. We still have much to do it seems." Her lips quirked up in a small smile.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "For what it's worth I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. It was important and you should have known. I guess I just wanted you to like me for me."

In truth, wasn't that what everyone wanted? We all just wanted to be liked for ourselves. We didn't want to be judged by our parent's actions or inactions. We wanted to make our own place in the world and know that that's where we belonged.

Cadhla leaned over so she could look up into his face. "You don't need to apologize and I assure you that I like you for you. Nothing will change that."

"Even if I told you I don't think I'd make a good king. That I don't want to be king?"

"Even if you wanted to run away to Rivain and be a woodcutter," she assured him.

"You think I'd make a good woodcutter?"

His attempt at humor succeeded as she laughed. "You've pulled off being a Grey Warden, haven't you? If you can do that I have no doubts you'd make a fine woodcutter."

Now it was his turn to laugh. "You're serious, aren't you?"

She blinked. "Of course."

He brushed a lock of hair out of her face and she felt his fingers linger on cheek. His touch sent little shivers down her spine. "You looked very much like an owl there, my love."

"Whoo… me?" She laughed softly at herself and he leaned in until their lips were almost touching.

He tilted his head slightly so he could move just a hair closer, so close that she wasn't sure if she could feel his mouth move against hers or if she was simply imagining it. "I'm a lucky man."

She made to move forward and he sensed her intention and pulled back just enough so she couldn't press her lips to his. He was smiling. "Lucky yes, but you're also teasing me," Cadhla retorted.

He tugged on a lock of her hair. "Tease you, dear lady? Perish the thought!"

Two could play this game. She shrugged and pulled back, "You're right. I'm probably overreacting. You never tease anyone."

She made to stand up and he grabbed for her waist pulling her back down so they both spilled unceremoniously to the ground. "Now who's teasing who?"

Cadhla laughed and turned towards him, "If you had just given me what I wanted in the first place we wouldn't be having this discussion."

He framed her face in his hands, "You're right, of course."

Her mouth was soft as it pressed against his and she felt his lips curve up into a smile. They had had precious few moments to sneak a kiss or touch in the past few weeks so this was a nice change.

"This isn't just because I told you I'm a royal bastard, is it?" he asked, teasing her. His breath tickled her skin as he feathered kisses down her jaw.

She sat up and smacked him on the head. "I could care less about your royal bloodline," Cadhla retorted, though she found it hard to contain her smile. "However you may yet prove to be a bastard," she teased.

He laughed and rubbed his head, "I guess I deserved that."

She was leaning down to kiss him again when the sound of voices approaching made them jerk apart. Their romance was the worst kept secret in camp, but as innocent as they were they tried to hide it anyway. By the time the others melted from the tree line the two were sitting by the fire trying unsuccessfully to find an neutral conversation topic.

Zevran grinned devilishly as he passed by Alistair.

"Something on your mind, Zevran?" Alistair asked gruffly, purposefully not looking at the woman next to him.

"Not at all, my good friend Alistair. I was simply thinking that I agree with our dear Warden."

Alistair was practically growling when he replied. "About what?"

"That you would indeed make a marvelous woodcutter."

Cadhla felt her cheeks turn red as she realized just how much the elven assassin had heard and seen. It was Zevran after all. She bowed her head in both amusement and embarrassment. Ah Zevran, you may want to run. Fast.

She found herself laughing as she watched Alistair launch himself at the rogue, who avoided him with ease. Whatever he was; whoever he was she found his birthright mattered little to her. It was only a matter of blood after all and if she had realized anything on this journey it was that some ties were quite simply stronger.