Disclaimer: See the prologue. Please read and review. Rated M for some implicit suggestions.

Chapter 2.

Rowena is dimly aware that Alistair was grasping her shoulders and shaking her hard, trying to stir her back to reality. But her mind swam with red and her body felt numbed and the only thing she was aware of was the sound of her own heart-beat roaring in her ears.

Her thoughts scatters away, darting into some deep, warm corner of her mind where her parents were still alive, where Oriana and Fergus were safe, little Oren running about the castle- where they were all together at Highever. She wanted to stay in this memory, tucked away in the warmth of her mother's arms and her father's love. She wished, not for the first time by far, that Duncan had not dragged her away from Highever that night when Howe´s men attacked. She should have stayed and died with her parents. Then she would know no Blight, no darkspawn and no Archdemon, and nobody depending on her for their survival.

Suddenly her vision re-solidifies, hurtling her back to reality. She sees Alistair, looking at her, fear incarnated in his usual mirth-filled eyes.

"You hit me." She says.

"I am sorry" Alistair murmurs and reaches out a hand to touch her chin where redness is spreading across her skin as blood rushes through the thin veins. His touch feels like a spider´s chittering down her spine and she shudders, pulling away from him. His lips thins in growing concern.

Rowena pushes herself to her feet and habitually brushes some dust off her leather leggings, surveying the room with the apprehension. Their cell is small, barley wider than the length of her arms if she spreads them out, and high upon the wall, several meters above them, is a small, slated window that emits a thin stream of grey light.

"We're in Fort Drakon" Alistair offers unhelpfully.

"I could have guessed" Rowena replies brusquely "Thank you for stating the obvious."

Alistair's hands clenches into brief fists and his eyes narrows to slits. "This is all your-" he starts, in the same tone of voice he had used when he confronted her about Connor's death at his mother's hands.

"- my fault?" Rowena snarls defensively, spinning around to face him.

"That's not…." He continues, his voice laced with aggravation and Rowena thinks he´s trying to contain his anger. But he his true feelings are evident in his brown, condescending glare.

"You were the one who suddenly decided to rise "to responsibility" of being king after insisting ever since Redcliff that you never wanted the throne. Where did this sudden ambition come from? If not for you, Anora might have remained Queen and we'd have our army to face the Archdemon with."

Alistair presses his lips together to a thin, white line, clenching and unclenching his fist as he absorbed this. Finally he speaks again, with such thick malice that Rowena is certain he no longer is the same the same man she has travelled with since Ostagar.

"She tried to have us all killed! How can you just ignore that!"

"And you could not see the bigger picture. What did her feint play at political prowess matter if we could have united the Landsmeet against the darkspawn?"

Minutes of heavy silence passes between them, and Rowena folds her arms across her chest, another retort ready on the tip of her tongue for his next accusation, aggravation oozing off her shoulders like thick fog.

Finally he says "then you should have let me faced Loghain in the duel. I would not have lost. Because of you, Arl Eamon is dead."

A hissing intake of breath escapes her lips as she leaps at him, her vision spinning in red rage. How dares he place all the blame on her?

With her thoughts caught up in a churning vortex of anger, Rowena barely registeres the annoyed grunt Alistair emits as her fist bangs against his chest with all the power of somebody accustomed to using speed, and not strength when fighting. She kickes his shin, familiar with Fergus' cries of outraged when she'd employed similar tactics when they fought as children. She has always been small and skinny and knows all the dirty tricks to fighting against a man much stronger and bigger than her. She smiles contently when she hears Alistair yelp in pain as the tip of her boot scuffs against his leg.

"This is" she gasps, bringing her fists against his chest again and again "not my fault", she gritts her teeth, hissing and sputtering some curses Oghren had taught her one wet evening deep in the roads of Orzammar.

His arm hooks around his waist, yanking her forward, closer and dislodging her from her attacks and suddenly Rowena finds herself bracketed against his chest. She can hear his rapid heartbeat thundering beneath his chest bone, and his embrace around her tightens as he presses her closer. Her rage thaws, strained against the unexpected embrace and the sudden proximity.

She shuts her eyes tightly. Please don't... but she isn´t quite sure what she doesn´t want him to do because suddenly she is aware that he is resting his chin on the top of her head and the thought of them wrapped together so perfectly, so intimately makes heat rush to her face. She can feel his warm breath run down her neck and it makes her shiver. For a moment her mind protests that he should not be able to elicit such a response in her, not a new one by far, that she thanks the Maker that her expression is hidden against his chest.

"I am sorry, I really did not mean to put it all on you," Alistair murmurs quietly against her hair. Rowena twists her fingers against his faded tunic, as if to draw him even closer.

"Through all this I've let you make….all the hard decisions and you've never failed us" there is a tender honesty in his voice, even optimism. For a moment she doesn´t know how to respond. But all she can do think to do, pressed so hopelessly close to him in the small cell is to wrap her own arms around his waist.

She feels him stiffen slightly at the sudden gesture and she makes to pull away, only to feel a content sigh as he exhales out in relief and hugs her to his chest.

Rowena is painfully aware that the thumping of her own heartbeat is growing embarrassingly loud. It is absurd to feel such sensuality, wrapped together in a small prison cell, await execution while the Blight spreads across Ferelden.

She cannot quite hear the words he says, only feel the murmur through his body from his stomach, making his body tremble as he softly speaks to the crown of her head. She´s never been wrapped up in an embrace like this and it makes her stomach tilts expectantly at implication. She cannot contain a small shudder.

Alistair must have felt it for he pulls away, his brows creasing in concern.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

Her head jerks up to stare at him for a brief moment before she finds refuge in hiding her blush against his chest again. "Nothing" she stammers, tightening her arms around him to still her trembling body.

But now she can feel Alistair shivers, a soft, quiet sigh escaping from the back of his throat. Rowena is confident that he will finally force apart the embrace, but then he relaxes against her again. She is suddenly afraid that her body will betray her arousal, and she makes to pull away, carefully sliding her hand down the length of side to break free from his embrace. Suddenly Alistair freezes in her arms and Rowena is painfully aware that it is her unintended caress that has caused it.

She turns her head to the side in an effort to gain enough distance to put her thoughts and raging emotions under enough control and to be able to string together a coherent sentence. She twists a little in his arms, brushing her chest unintentionally against his.

But Alistair is abruptly aware that the other person he has pressed against him is not only his fellow Grey Warden, she that is soft and warm in the cold cell, and very female in ways that only his guilt-ridden thoughts would admit.

As Rowena jerks her head to the side to break free, he suddenly dips his chin down to meet her lips in a clumsy kiss. Her hand falters against his back and her eyelids flutters open in evident surprised. His aim almost misses and for a brief moment it seems like he´ll bang his head against hers, when she had does the unexpected and manoeuvres her head just enough for them to properly meet.

And suddenly, the Blight doesn´t matter as much as all necessity to remove the barriers of clothing that separates their skins.