"Duncan!"

The boy skidded cross the stones, whirling to look back at her with a hand already on the gate. He was grinning, delicate features flushed with the excitement of finally being out of doors, of being allowed down to the yard. But there was something almost impish there, knowing and chiding. Still he was young, but old enough now to find her exasperating.

"Not to worry, Your Majesty." The houndsmaster, too, was watching her now. "The mabari like him just fine. He's got a way with them, you could say. Not that I'm surprised."

"Thank you, Adin."

Still Duncan watched her, bouncing on the balls of his feet, eagerness barely restrained. His hair was growing long now, her same brilliant, autumn gold. His eyes, though, bore nothing of her darkness. They were hazel sometimes, sometimes grey, but always flecked with shifting gold. Now they sparkled, pleading, excited. She had to laugh.

"Go on then."

He was through the gate in a flash, already bending to the old hound as she made her way down the broad stone steps. The dress was new, fine and pressed and properly binding, though it was the shoes that plagued her most. She thought of Leliana, then. How had the woman been able to stand it? But there would be no asking her now; her friend had left long ago. Again the realization came heavy, the taste still bitter after all these years. The time for adventuring had passed. She was queen now and she had guests to entertain.

The chuckle was whispered, but she could feel herself stiffening. He sat behind her, deep in the shadow of the steps, one leg resting across the low garden wall.

"A new dress, is it not?"

Turning to meet that piercing grin, she couldn't help but smirk. "It is." Her hands fluttered now, smoothing, shifting across the bodice. She would think she would be used to it, those openly appraising eyes, the wicked quirk of his brow.

At her obvious discomfort, the elf only laughed. "It is… flattering to be sure. But it does not suit you."

"Tell me about it." She moved stiffly, smoothing the skirts beneath her to sit beside him. "It's for the welcoming. The delegates from Orlais."

"Ahh."

They fell to silence, then, but there was something old here, something familiar. Of all of their companions, he was the only one who had stayed. She had wondered at that for a while, was sure that Alistair wondered still but… She shook her head.

In the pen, Duncan was offering a thick lamb bone to one of the younger pups, Master Adin hovering protectively at this shoulder. There were others, ranging about their business in the yard, guards, mages, Wardens. She had never wanted him to feel suffocated, never trapped, but there had never been a choice, really. He was the heir of Ferelden, possibly possessed of the darkspawn taint, his very birth a miracle. Six years now and he had shown no sign, but already she could see the attention, the protectiveness wearing on him. He wanted to be free, and that he could never be.

The bone looked overlarge in his hand, still so small, so slight for his age. As he darted near, the mabari lunged close, sweeping a long, wet tongue over the length of his face. Duncan fell to giggling and she could hear Zevran chuckling beside her.

At that the boy looked up, grin splitting to mirror the elf's. "Uncle Zev!"

Zevran was on his feet, gliding to lean elbows on the fence with an easy grace. She was left to struggle behind, pushing awkwardly to her feet, again smoothing the stiff and unyielding skirts.

"Do you want to try, Uncle Zev?"

Again he laughed, running an affectionate hand along the boy's cheek. "Ahh, but I have never been able to abide the smell of dog. This whole country smells of it, in fact."

"Not like – whatsit? – Amtiva?"

"Antiva. Yes, not like Antiva at all. But I suppose it is merely a matter of what we know."

"Master Adin says they like me. Says I'm good with them."

He smiled. "As was your mother."

She had reached them now, leaning a heavy hand against the fence. Maker, but it was hard to breathe in this thing.

Still Zev watched her, clearly amused, but there was a lingering stillness there now, a growing discomfort. He shook his head. "Ahh, but I would bore you with stories. Go. They wait for you."

Duncan offered her one more smile, almost a smirk, before bounding away. Zev watched him go, shoulders hunching against the fence with a bemused snort.

"He… likes you."

"And I him." There was something cold there, something strange. Still he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"I saw what you gave him." It had lay against his chest, beneath the folds of his nightshirt as she bent to tuck the covers round. Duncan had only smiled, showing her the delicate chain, the gemmed earring hanging there. She had seen it once before, once and only once.

"And you are angry, I suspect?"

"I–I'm not. I just…" She shook her head.

He turned to her then, stillness pooling behind those gold-flecked eyes, pointed features falling to familiar stiffness. "Then we will not speak of it."

There was nothing to speak of, she had told herself that time and time again. And yet, now, these past few years… And still he had stayed, he who perhaps more than any other should have gone his way. Again, she opened her mouth, the familiar excuses refusing to come.

"Duncan!" The laugh boomed behind them, trailing down the stairs.

"Daddy!"

Alistair paused at the gate, laying a quick kiss upon her forehead. "You look… wow. Just… wow." Laughing still, he lifted her, twirling her round. That crooked smile, the wide brown eyes; she couldn't help but smile with him.

Setting her down, he nodded to the elf. "Still here, Zev?" It was an old joke, the mocking long since faded.

"Only until I am certain that you can go a week without stumbling into a poisoned blade."

"Well, I hear the Orlesians have brought a bard. You may well get your chance."

He leapt the gate easily, Duncan bounding into his arms. Any smiles that he had had for her, for the elf paled next to this. His father, his king. Her own smile came easy now. Alistair knelt unmindful of his new-polished armor, one of the hounds laying heavy, muddy paws against his chest. Still he kept one arm round Duncan's waist, encircling the small boy easily, the other giving the mabari a hearty scratch behind the ear.

Zev, too, followed her gaze, scowl softening into a familiar smirk. "Your Orlesians will arrive soon. And now you have two boys to wash, yes?" He straightened, making for the steps.

"Zev…"

"Worry, too, does not become you. See to your guests." With a parting bow, he was gone.

Cold fear, the dread twisting deeper than anything she had ever known. She had leaned heavy against the wall, the cold stone of the Arl's unfamiliar halls. Through Ostagar, the loss of the Wardens, the ever-looming Blight, countless battles in between… never had she let herself buckle, let herself cry. She had seen her entire family murdered, every servant, every knight, everyone with whom she had ever shared a smile butchered. Why then, did it feel like she was living it all again?

Had it been Morrigan's smile as the door fell shut? The echo of Riordan's words? She had found everything, more than she had ever dreamed, only to lose it again. Lose it unless… It was Alistair's face that had haunted her most, the terror behind his eyes as she explained the witch's plan, what he must do to save them both. And she had begged him, begged him to trust her, begged him to do a million other things that now danced behind her eyes.

Just there, just behind the door, with Morrigan.

She had run then, steps echoing down the hallway, turning corner after corner, not truly knowing, not truly seeing. But she had known, hadn't she? How else had she ended up there?

The door had opened slow, his eyes still fogged with sleep. But at the look on her face he had stiffened, the concern coming quick and staggering and real. She had had no words, had needed none. Zevran had drawn her close, hands working across her back, fluttering fingers wiping the tears from her eyes.

She had had no right, no right at all. Not after those words, the gift she had turned away. She was going to be queen, and the queen couldn't… But he had sensed it there, something greater, something deeper. There had been no protest.

He had held her eyes as she drew close, pressing him back, letting the door fall closed. He had—

"—Your Highness?"

She blinked, the smile coming too slow, too timid. The woman smiled up at her, the pile of strange curls shifted as she tilted her head.

"My apologies."

Still the woman smiled, the bow coming stiff. "I was only hoping to say how much I like your dress. It is of the spring style, no?"

No, yes, maybe… She straightened, feeling the flush fade away. "It is. Arrived only this afternoon."

"Lovely. Truly lovely." The duchess moved now to Alistair, seated beside her, Duncan resting stiffly on his knee.

Both had been hastily scrubbed, though there had been little cure for the boy's hair, wild as it seemed to be turning. They had thankfully explained this to him long ago, the reception of important guests becoming something of a game. Somehow, she expected it was much the same for Alistair.

But he met the woman's gaze with an easy smile, the nod of his head taking in the retinue of servants and chevaliers waiting just beyond. In this hall, everyone was welcome. She smiled.

"And your boy. He is beautiful."

Duncan needed no urging, his bow perhaps only a bit more clumsy than Alistair's. Otherwise, it was a perfect imitation. "Thank you, My Lady."

The woman grinned at that, stepping back as if to savor the image. "I had heard that it is… difficult for Grey Wardens to conceive, no? I would imagine it is more difficult with two such as yourselves." She looked to Alistair then, to the sudden stiffness there. "Ahh, forgive me, I meant no offense."

"The Maker has blessed us."

Bowing, the duchess blinked for her. "Yes, he truly is a marvel."

Marvelous indeed. And almost impossible, from what little the boy's namesake had told Alistair. But after all that they had been through, he had agreed that there was much they did not know. They had survived Ostagar, found a way to defeat the archdemon without falling to the taint, reunited a kingdom almost irreparably shattered. Duncan, perhaps, was their reward.

The night that she had told him there had been disbelief, of course, but it had been nothing to the smile spreading there. They had been trying, quite often and quite eagerly, but never had they expected it to happen so soon. Ferelden would have its heir and they would have thirty years of something like happiness.

Most of their companions had stayed for the birth, Leliana to recite the blessings, Wynne to probe the child for any sign of the taint. But one by one they had slipped away during that first year, leaving to find happy endings of their own. Only Zev, only Zev had stayed.

There had been another conversation, well before that time, back when she had been able to escape for nighttime walks amongst the castle gardens. He had found her there, again somehow knowing, somehow speaking the words before she could. It was a conversation that she had tried long to forget.

"We don't know that."

"Do we not?"

"It's… difficult, not impossible."

"For a Grey Warden to conceive, yes. For two…?"

"We don't know anything."

She had seen the anger there, the trembling stiffness of his arms, but the eyes had been even more unsettling, soft and tender and refusing to look away.

"Don't."

He had sat beside her on the bench, hands running soft across her arms, sliding up to knead her shoulders. Still, she turned away from that searching gaze. "It is true what they say. You are… radiant. But what does Alistair think?"

"He's… he's happy, I think."

"And you?"

She had sighed, pulling away to stand. Those hands had been too warm, the touch too familiar. "I'm… relieved, I think. This is… what we needed."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Then we will not speak of it again. Even if it… The child will be human. Ferelden will have its heir."

"Zev…"

He had held up a warning hand, shaking his head. "It is a… good thing. For you, for Alistair. Fortunate, yes? Let us not ruin that."

She had opened her mouth to protest, but he was gone then, returning to the shadows of the trees. And still he had stayed, lingering all these years, trapped in his own way.

"Your Highness? Forgive me, but you do not look well." There was true concern on the duchess' face.

Alistair, too, was watching her now, laying a warm and squeezing hand on her arm. She almost jumped at that, but there was no suspicion behind his eyes. He turned to the visitors then, voice becoming firm. "Forgive me, but I'm afraid we will need to cut this short—"

"—No, no don't. I… I am fine. See to our guests. But if the Lady will excuse me."

Again, the Orlesian woman bowed. "Of course, Your Highness."

Alistair, though, still held to her arm. His voice came whispered, uncaring of the company. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Catching the duchess' eye, she did her best to flush. "It is nothing… nothing for men to concern themselves with."

The other woman smirked. "Ahh."

"Oh. Oh right. Okay. Do you… err… need anything?"

It was her turn to give his arm a reassuring pat. "No, no I'll be fine. Just going to… lie down for a bit."

Duncan smiled up at her then, one strand of wild hair falling across those strange and shifting eyes. "It'll be okay, Mommy."

Again her steps seemed much too loud, the halls shifting and blurring. But this was different, the cold, the fear, the guilt of her own making. These rooms were strange, empty of the guests that they had once held, paths she hadn't dared tread in six long years. But there was no knock this time, no doubt, no waiting.

The door slammed back, rebounding against the wall, his head jerking up in surprise. He was naked to the waist, coiled on the bed with a tunic spread across his knees, a mending kit open before him. She should have been surprised at that, but he had told her before that he wouldn't trust his leathers to untrained hands. Now, though, he set it aside, coming slowly to his feet.

Why was she angry? How could she possibly be? And why here? Why now?

"Ahh, I knew that it had upset you."

She blinked.

"I will take it back from him. Explain… somehow."

"The earring? I'm not angry about the earring."

"Oh?" He quirked a brow. "Then why are you here?"

"I…"

He moved closer now, the strange designs marking his chest and arms undiminished, unfaded. She found herself following them lower, the memory stirring unbidden. He chuckled beneath his breath, gentle fingers tilting her chin to meet his eyes. The smile, so familiar… but different now, piercing. The gasp caught in her throat.

"Ahh. It has come to this, has it?"

"I… I wanted to say… that I'm sorry. I—"

"—Did what you thought best, yes. As you always have. And I have not forgotten how much I have benefited from this."

"But now…?"

"Now I have the life that you spared, my freedom from the Crows. I have had grand adventures. It is because of you that I have—"

"—Don't."

"Fine clothes and a roof over my head? As you wish."

"It's not funny. You shouldn't be… you could have left."

"As could you."

She sat heavy on the bed. Were these thoughts so strange? Had she not had them herself, more and more of late? Moments of desperate fear? She shook her head. "I see it… in him. The guards, the tutors, the mages… he deserves… more."

He did laugh then, sinking beside her. "Your son will be king of all Ferelden and still you find cause to complain."

"You know what I mean. There is something there that wants to be free… needs to be free."

"Perhaps there is more of your Alistair there than you think. Did he not make these very complaints?"

"He seems to be doing well enough."

"And so will Duncan. It is what he knows. It is an advantage."

"And there's nothing to it of… of blood?"

"You worry that he will start… assassinating the guests? Reciting horrible poetry?" The chuckle came deep. "No, you have raised him to be something more."

She blinked at that, the closest that either of them had come to speaking the words aloud. "It doesn't… bother you?"

"It cannot be helped."

"So you're just going to… stay? Trapped here?"

"'Trapped' is it?" There was something more there now, thickening behind his eyes. His hand still rested against her back, she realized, warm and tensing.

"You wouldn't have stayed, otherwise."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But you told me once that you valued my company. So here I am."

Still she couldn't look away, those eyes, that smile so familiar. It stirred something deeper, deeper than lust, deeper than fear. She found her hand moving to his face, trailing along the whorls there, tilting his head down to meet her own.

He blinked once, twice, understanding at last. "And where is Alistair?"

"With the Orlesians. He'll be quite a while I suspect."

"Oh?"

Her hand moved lower now, following the designs, feeling the warmth, the tension, spreading across his chest. "Does this coy thing work for you much?"

He grinned then, setting her head to spinning. "On the odd occasion, yes."