Shianni felt sick as she approached the Royal Palace. When the dwarf Oghren and the Orlesian bard Leliana had appeared in the alienage, looking for Naia's family, she had volunteered to go immediately. Her uncle Cyrion had taken a Darkspawn arrow to the thigh during the defense of the alienage; he would be all right, but she didn't want him moving just now. And Soris was the one with the herbalist skills, they needed him back home. But she hadn't realized how frightening it would be to enter a shem lord's palace after … well, after.

Her dwarven companion mistook the reason for her nervousness. "That Warden's tough as a bloody golem. Gonna take more than a knock on the head to do her in."

Shianni forced a laugh. "Trust me, I know."

"I didn't think they made elves that tough—no offense," the dwarf continued.

"You should have seen her mother," said Shianni, smiling faintly.

The chamber where they'd taken Naia was large and luxurious, but despite its size it felt very crowded. Alistair, Naia's fellow Warden, sat hunched over in a chair, his face drawn and worried. The qunari, Sten, stood next to a hulking stone statue—Maker's breath, what isthat?—at the far wall. The mabari hound Duncan sat at the qunari's feet, his intelligent head tilted in concern for his mistress. A grey-haired mage, the one who'd fought aside Naia at the alienage, was kneeling by her bedside, murmuring quietly and examining the patient. Add in Leliana, Oghren, and Shianni herself, and there was barely room to move.

"Naia?" asked Shianni, pushing her way to her cousin's side. The pretty elf seemed to be sleeping, though she'd clearly had a rough night even after killing the Darkspawn general at the alienage. The tunic she'd worn underneath her armor was stiff with grime and sweat and blood. Someone had made an effort to clean her hands and face but her hair was still matted and filthy.

"Don't worry. Blood's not hers," Oghren said.

"Who … oh, of course, Shianni," said the mage. "I'm Wynne. How did you …?"

"I sent for Naia's family," Alistair volunteered. "I thought, in case …"

"She is not going to die!" cried out Leliana.

"She certainly isn't," snapped Wynne. "Will you stop worrying, Alistair? She's sleeping. The woman stops a Blight and you're alarmed that she wants a bit of a nap?" When no one looked less worried, the mage stood, placed her hands on her hips, and issued a withering glare at the room. "Enough. Everyone out. Everyone not related to Naia," she amended with a quick smile at Shianni.

With varying degrees of reluctance, the rest of the room obeyed the healer's orders—except for the dog, who gave Wynne a defiant sniff and planted himself at the foot of his mistress's bed. Wynne pretended not to notice.

Shianni waited for the companions to trudge out before turning to the mage. "She's really all right?"

"Of course," Wynne replied. "She took a hit to the head and she was a bit confused before she fell asleep again—she thought we were back in the thrall of a demon we defeated—but she's fine."

"I thought you weren't supposed to let people sleep when they hit their heads," Shianni said, staring doubtfully at her cousin's still form.

"I assure you, I know what I'm doing," the mage said dryly. "I healed the head injury, but she needs sleep to recover her strength. That's all."

Shianni looked back at the mage. "Then, I think you could use some rest yourself. I'll watch her and send for you if I need anything."

Wynne looked as if she was about to argue, but she chuckled and nodded instead. "Indeed. I am in the room next door if you need me."

As Wynne made her exit, Shianni pulled a comfortable chair up next to her cousin's bedside, wondering if she should have sent Soris after all. Aside from the blood, Naia looked well, her breathing even and her coloring good, but would Shianni really be able to tell if she needed help? "Cousin?" Shianni whispered.

"Mmmm. Go 'way, Shianni. I don't wanna get married," Naia mumbled, turning on her side. "My father can't tell me what to do."

Shianni laughed under her breath. "Somehow I don't think anyone's going to be telling you what to do ever again," she said fondly, pulling the bed's quilt over her cousin's form.


Shianni soon fell asleep in the chair, but her light dozing was interrupted some time later when she heard a creak outside Naia's door.

She paused for a moment, listening, and then heard another creak. Her heart began to pound. I knew these damned shems couldn't be trusted. Frantically, she looked around the room and spotted Naia's daggers, neatly sheathed and set on the bedside table. She slid one from its scabbard, gripped it tight, and pulled the door open just a crack.

A familiar-looking elf was pacing the floorboards in front of Naia's room, his arms crossed tight across his chest and his face grim. Zevran, that was his name—one of the companions Naia had brought to the alienage when she'd come to clean out the Tevinters.

Shianni raised an eyebrow. "You want to come in and see her, or are you just going to wear out your boots?" she asked, setting the dagger on a nearby table as she opened the door.

The elf met her gaze, startled, then he smiled at her. "Ah. Shianni. I remember you, of course. As lovely as your cousin."

"You said that in the alienage too. Are you coming in or what?"

"I … I do not wish to disturb her," Zevran said hesitantly. "I just wanted to know if she is all right."

"Wynne says she's fine," Shianni assured him. "I'm keeping her company for now. Me and the dog. She's sleeping, she seems pretty peaceful."

As if to spite her cousin, Naia suddenly cried out, and Shianni rushed back into the room. Naia was fitfully kicking the blankets and thrashing about, her face frightened and her breath ragged.

"I'm getting Wynne," Shianni snapped, rushing towards the door.

Zevran stepped in her path and gently caught her shoulders. "It's all right. This is normal for her. She has … dreams. It will pass in a moment."

Shianni looked back at her cousin doubtfully, but indeed, Naia's terror soon subsided and her breathing evened. Shianni pulled at the bedcovers to smooth them, then turned back to Zevran. "It seems you were right. Just how do you know what my cousin does when she sleeps, anyway?"

"When you camp together under the stars it is hard not to notice things like that," the elf said casually. "For instance, the dwarf, Oghren, snores like a giant bellows. It is most unpleasant."

"Naia said you'd been sleeping in tents," Shianni replied. "Why do I get the feeling you've seen the inside of hers?"

Zevran laughed. "You Tabris women. Do you all have red hair, devastating smiles, and an endless supply of probing questions?"

"Do all Antivans avoid answering questions?" Shianni rolled her eyes. "Go get some sleep. I'll tell her you were here."

"No!" said the elf quickly. Shianni blinked in surprise, and Zevran continued. "I mean, there is no need. I will see her when she wakes. You need not tell her … I am sure she will be busy tomorrow, no?"

Shianni shrugged noncommittally. "I suppose."

"Good night, Shianni. I am glad you are here for her." Zevran bowed to her and quietly left the room.

Shianni watched him go with raised eyebrows. Now, what was that all about?