Author's Notes: So…it seems there are those (mainly Judy—Hi Judy!) who would like to see the warden end up with someone else other than Alistair. I must admit, though I adore Alistair, when he did that to me (in the game) I could've cried…and skewered him all at the same time. *sniff* Anyways, I was toying with the notion and I think it would interesting to bring back Cullen. For those us who don't remember, Cullen was the Templar from the circle who was secretly in love with our mage. I once watched a mod where the mage and he share a passionate, forbidden kiss and I about keeled over. Bioware should've definitely done more with his character. Hmm…I can't make any promises, but I promise Alistair isn't going to get off that easily…if he gets off at all. Anyways, it is too early to tell…but I do appreciate the input. Alas, let us pick up where we left off…


Chapter Two: Sweet Dreams

"I presume that could have gone worse?" Eamon, the once Arl of Redcliff, and now Alistair's most trusted advisor as well as acting chancellor of Ferelden appeared at Alistair's back. It used to be that Eamon's rather stealthy approaches used to startle him. Any more, Alistair had come to expect the man's presence anytime something was amiss. It was like he could smell an opportunity to bear witness to yet another one of his adopted son's downfalls. It was part of his charm.

"Perish the thought," Alistair smirked, "that went as well as it could of. I was sure I'd end up with my hair on fire."

"If you say so, Alistair." Eamon remarked, his voice light the amusement the elderly so often displayed toward youth.

It often annoyed Alistair. If the elderly knew so damn much, why were they intent on letting the young fuck up their lives? He sighed. Maybe because we never listen. He turned toward his most trusted advisor and resisted the urge to ask him yet again why anyone thought he was a worthy king. It went without saying that he'd never wanted the crown. Actually, he'd never really thought past ending the blight. Back then, it hadn't seemed…right…to think about a life afterwards, especially when none of them had been sure they would live to see the end of the year.

Alistair shook his head as if to clear it. "In any case, she has agreed. That is all that matters."

"Is it?" Eamon lifted a bushy grey brow, his old eyes glittering.

Alistair tensed as he lifted his gaze from his boots, a rare flare of anger burning his thoughts to a crisp. "Speak your meaning."

Eamon clasped his hands behind his back and spoke evenly. "I only wonder if it wise for you and the warden to work so closely together. There is obviously much that remains…unfinished between the two of you."

Alistair's jaw clenched as his heart shuddered at the memories Eamon's words brought forth. "There is nothing between Neria and I." He let out a resigned breath as he realized just how true the statement was. "Her presence is needed." Wandering toward the throne, he plopped down on the cushion with all the grace of a drunkard.

Exhaustion tunneled through his body and mind and he rubbed his temples. What he wouldn't give for the good 'ole days when his idiotic choices affected no one but himself. "If we are to rebuild the order here in Ferelden, she must be a part of it. She commands the respect of the nobles and the love of the people. There are still those who tense at the thought of establishing the wardens as a power. Ferelden needs its wardens. I will not let the fate of this kingdom fall rest of the wisdom of just one or two people again. I will not risk it."

"Yes, I understand all of this. I dare say it is extremely wise to take measures to prevent a reoccurrence of the unfortunate events that led us in this direction. " Eamon towered over him, his fine clothes shimmering in the candle light. "My concern isn't for Ferelden, Alistair." He spoke gently, concern creasing his forehead. "My concern is for you. I was a young man once, and though I like to believe myself a noble one, I understand the…pull a woman can have on a man."

"You fear her influence?" Alistair furrowed his brow, utterly confused.

"Maker's breath, but you are thick boy." Eamon muttered to himself as he shook his head.

"Yeah, well, tell me something I don't know." Alistair rolled his eyes, resting his head back against the high-backed chair. Neria had always been a plague upon his already addled wits. It had only gotten worse the moment she'd decided that he wasn't a complete idiot and allowed him to kiss her. His lips warmed with the memory and he couldn't help the small smile that won out over his face. He'd been such a mess. And she'd handled the situation with a gentle teasing and even gentler encouragement. And she had become no less alluring since then.

If anything her time spent outdoors amongst the Dalish had only made her that much more alluring. Her skin had taken a pleasant tanned glow. He scanned his memory for the way her simple green robes had clung to her lithe body. She'd never been overly curvy, but her strong legs and elegant bone structure had been enough to torment his dreams night after night. He chuckled, remembering the nights he'd lay awake afraid to ease the ache thoughts of her created, less the maker strike him down for being a pervert. In those days, cold water had been his greatest ally. That is, if Wynne's disapproving looks hadn't done the trick.

Ah, good times. Alistair glanced down the hall to the doors Neria had just flown throw and his heart ached. She did not love him anymore. And he didn't blame her. Ending their relationship had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. Back then, he'd been new to politics. And Ferelden had been under so much unrest he was almost positive a war would break out amongst the nobles should he even dare to declare a foreign woman, who was also a mage, as his bride. Not when he'd so causally dismissed Anora, a queen very beloved by all. It would've been chaos. Not to mention, there was almost no way they would've been able to produce an heir.

"Eamon," Alistair spoke softly, "do you think I did the right thing?" Even as he asked the question, shame threatened to suffocate him. Neria had all but ripped herself away from his touch and though he couldn't blame her, and didn't, he felt…low. Being king had a way of doing that on a regular basis as he'd come to understand since he'd accepted the mantle of rulership.

"For Ferelden?" Eamon asked quietly, and then sighed. "I do, Alistair. Anora has proven herself an able queen. I no longer hold any doubt that it was she who saw to the ruling of this nation during her marriage to your brother. The people love her, and more importantly, the people love you and her together. They've all but forgiven the horrors that had surrounded the last landmeet simply because of your and Anora's ability to rule together."

Eamon's words offered little respite from the pain echoing in her heart. The Alistair Neria knew was all but gone. He stared up at the high ceilings wondering how long it would be before "Alistair" ceased to be completely. He couldn't even recognize himself in the mirror. The only time he even remotely felt like himself was when he was being lectured by the revered mother or surrounding himself with drunkards and cut throats at the local tavern.

"Alistair?"

"Hmm?"

"Perhaps, you should speak to Anora-"

"Speak to me about what?" Anora's crisp accent disturbed the relative quiet of the throne room and Eamon turned, bowing his head in respect as the queen of Ferelden strode down the aisle, clad in heavy robe, her sheer sleeping gown peeking between the lapels of the heavy material as she walked.

Alistair watched his wife's progress down the aisle, with visions of how she'd taken the very same path on their wedding day. The court had all but buzzed with excitement in the moments before her appearance, and when she'd finally appeared at the threshold of the large doors the room had fallen in an awed silence. Clad in a silk wedding dress, her sandy blonde hair resting down her back beneath a gauzy veil, she'd been a vision. Alistair had almost hated to admit just how perfectly this woman was suited for the role of queen. She was gorgeous, graceful and more cunning than any thief or assassin he'd ever seen. Well, almost. An image of Neria's face, the one she got when she was hatching a plan, one that usually involved using him as bait bloomed in his mind, and he nearly laughed.

"It seems you're in good spirits, dear husband." Anora greeted him warmly a she came to stand beside Eamon.

The observation sobered Alistair immediately and suddenly, he felt like a cad. His smile hadn't been for Anora and the knowledge that he would never say as much made him feel…dirty. But politics had all but engrained how to guard his real feelings and he offered a smile to his wife. "Your presence is always cause to be in good spirits."

Alistair didn't miss the knowing and disapproving glint in Eamon's eyes as he excused himself, bidding the monarchs a pleasant evening. Alistair resisted the urge to grimace. Maker's breath, would he never be able to escape from Eamon's all knowing, all-seeing gaze? Probably not. Figures. Anora and he waited in silence until Eamon left, the throne doors closing behind him.

Anora took her seat his side. "How did your meeting with your former companion go?"

Alistair slanted his wife a suspicious glance. He'd never spoke to Anora of his relationship with Neria. She'd never asked, but he did not think his affection for the other woman had escaped anyone during their time spent together before landsmeet actually took place. Maker's breath, they'd shared a room during the stay at the Arl's estate. Even if it had escaped everyone else's notice, he was positive his wife had missed nothing. She never did.

"It went as well as expected. She agreed to aid the wardens in the coming weeks as per her duty."

Anora lifted an elegant brow, "At what cost?"

Andraste's flaming nickers, women will end me. Alistair sighed and slouched farther into the throne. "I promised the Dalish lands of their own."

"Good." She remarked shrewdly. "That will gain you much favor amongst the second class citizens. I shall do my best to smooth the temperaments of the nobility. And I will leave the Chantry to you."

"Gee, thanks." Alistair remarked dryly, noting the sheepish smile tilting his wife's lush mouth. Anora's mouth was surely her prettiest feature. It was full and reminded him of Lelianna's pouty lips. And like Lelianna, his wife could con a miser out of his last coin. Why he had allowed himself to be surrounded with such crafty women was beyond him. He thought of Wynne and Morrigan and shook his head. Perhaps, it wasn't his choice of company. In general, it seemed women as a gender were a sly group.

The corner of Anora's mouth curved as she noticed his regard had fallen to her lips and she spoke to the few guards posted in the throne room. "Leave us."

They bowed and immediately vacated the throne room, leaving them completely and utterly alone. Alistair knew what was coming and lolled his head to the side as a mixture of relief and boredom made his limbs heavy. Yes, it was true Anora was a beautiful woman. It was also true that they'd somehow managed a tentative friendship. Sometimes he'd even contemplated what it would be like to love her as a true wife.

Those thoughts always died against the knowledge that his heart did and always would belong to another. Even if he could somehow love Anora, there was always Logain's betrayal and Anora's willingness to maintain power at any cost. He just didn't think he could trust her. Not when she'd been so willing to sacrifice them all, and she'd all but admitted that had she been made queen she would've not spared him. Not when he'd pushed so hard for her father's immediate execution. But then, was he any different? He'd done what was necessary to ensure his rule over Ferelden would be a peaceful one and he'd come to understand perhaps too late that nobility was a luxury no ruler could truly afford.

When he'd released her from the tower, it had been a show of mercy on his part. When he'd agreed to entertain an alliance, it had been for the sake of keeping his friends close and his enemies closer. When he agreed to their betrothal, it had been for the nobility. And when he'd lain with her, it had been for Ferelden. Alistair guarded a grim smile from creasing his lips. How easy it was for him to cast the blame elsewhere even as he wallowed in shame. Yes, he could blame his willingness to lie with Anora simply toward the need for an heir. But that wasn't entirely true.

Anora stood from the throne and began to undo the line of buttons of her robe. He watched from hooded eyes, giving into the inevitable. She was an attractive woman and a skilled lover, and she well knew it. He titled his head and wondered how much of his attraction to her was due to his loneliness. Maybe that's why he'd accepted the betrothal. Neria had all but sworn she'd never return to Denerim. What was he supposed to do? She hadn't wasted anytime leaving him to his fate after the final battle. None of them had.

Morrigan had left as soon as the battle had ended, though he wasn't exactly sorry to see her go. Wynne and Shale had traveled to the tevinter imperium. Zeveran had left, eager to travel and take advantage of his new freedom. Sten had returned to his people. Ogrehren had gone to Lake Callinhad to start a family. Lelianna was the only one who had stayed at court for a time, before returning to do "the maker's bidding" at a chantry in Orlais. They'd left him to his fate, and gone about their lives as though their time spent together in that camp, becoming a family of sorts, had been nothing but a blemish on in their lives. Neria's departure rivaled Morrigan's in quickness. She hadn't even said good-bye, she'd simply disappeared into her adoring public never to be seen again…until now, that is.

What did expect? They all had right to live their own lives. He couldn't hope for them to stay by his side and hold his hand forever. Frustration burned away the self-pity distracting him from the fact that Anora had all but finished the buttons, and was in the process of shrugging out of the habit. The material fell to a pool at her feet, revealing a sheer night gown. His eyes drifted down her shoulders, her pert breasts, the slope of her stomach, the thatch of hair between the apexes of her thighs, down her long legs to the sway of fabric dancing about her ankles. She truly was a vision.

Even as his body responded to her invitation, his mind drew a comparison between Neria and his wife. While his wife was courteous and dutiful in her desire to pleasure him, Neria had been wild. The passion leaping between them had all but consumed them. There had been times, they'd both become so drunk on blood-lust, so crazed and wild that they'd stopped mid-battle to kiss one another. He remembered the way the blood of their enemies had smeared across their skin as they ate at each other's mouth, moments before another wave of darkspawn had crashed down upon them. It had driven Sten to distraction, while Ogehren and Zeveran had thought the display most appropriate. He smirked. Sick bastards.

Lust snaked down Alistair's spine and his cock thickened as a rush of adrenaline and desire so strong it was almost painful nearly made him wince. Anora closed the distance between them, coming to stand between his legs. She leaned forward, dragging her fingers up his thighs as she pressed her mouth against his. Alistair kissed her back, closing his eyes as memory after memory of Neria's frenzied kisses and murmured curses blanketed his mind.

He reached up and grabbed her waist, hauling her onto his lap. She straddled him and deepened their kiss, holding his face gently between her hands. Alistair squeezed his eyes shut tighter as Anora's tongue teased his. This wasn't Neria. Anora would never be able to set him aflame the way she had. He'd never burned for another woman the way he had for Neria. But this was his lot in life. These were his consequences to bear and though he knew he would hate himself later, he gave into it.

Anora reached between them and unfastened his trousers as he cupped and squeezed her breasts. This was a match made in the maker's eyes. His wife craved power and he craved distraction. They were a fitting couple. Within minutes, Anora seated herself on his cock and he let out a harsh breath, clinging to the faint memories of a passion he would never feel again. I'm a bad, bad man.


Author's note: Now, I know Alistair doesn't seem nearly as loopy as he did in the game, but I think ruling would've hardened him somewhat. Never fear though, I intend to keep him as "in-character" as I can through this story. What do we think of Anora? I think I kept her IC, considering we didn't get to know her very well aside from the fact that she's a bit of a treacherous bitch.

Special Thanks: Thank you for the comment, Judy. I'd already written this chapter but I didn't want to post it if the first one didn't peak interest. I'm glad you liked it and I hope you get an account so I may PM you from time to time for ideas.