Chapter 2:

Far across the Ferelden countryside, worlds away from the trivial monster troubles of the Royal family, a young man huddled close to a dying fire, his body wrapped tightly in his thick traveling cloak in an attempt to stave off the encroaching chill of dawn and beat back the more constant icy teeth of early winter. Held tightly in his hands were a pair of Dar'Misaan, elven long swords, the exposed handles and worn filigree of the scabbards glinting in the sputtering firelight. Beside him, a large she-wolf snuffled in her sleep. Her body was curled up close to his, her thick coat and very presence lending him unbelievable amounts of heat.

A short ways off, a blanket was thrown over a low hanging tree branch and served as some shelter, offering a warm bedroll and thick blanket to any who would take advantage of such. Tonight, the tent sat empty, however, save for the few belongings piled just inside. Its owner preferred the vantage point of the outdoors to comfort on this particular night.

The hunt had been good that day, and not just for food. Scattered about the small campsite like fallen leaves were the various bodies and limbs of a mixture of hurlocks, genlocks, and blight wolves, their corpses in various states of dismemberment and mutilation. The area was rank with death and amidst it all the man slept close to a dwindling fire and empty stew pot, his mind ever alert, even as his body rested. Head lowered in repose, his dark brown hair flopped carelessly over his strong brow and framed a rugged, unshaven face full of sharp planes and angles.

At the sound of an unknown creature approaching far in the distance, the wolf's head lifted, bright yellow eyes opening to scan her surroundings, and her body shifting into a crouch in preparation for possible trouble. As if in sync with his canine companion, the man's deep-set eyes flashed open, revealing a pair of steely orbs the colour of an angry thunderhead. Rising, he unsheathed one of the Dar'Misaan, and belted the other securely across his body. Something was approaching, something more formidable than wild game, and he would be ready.

"Senses sharp, Alora. The real game approaches," the man muttered to the large canine. The great beast huffed her acknowledgment and bobbed her head knowingly. She was more than ready, eager even, for a chance to stretch her muscles and sharpen her claws for a second time since the sun had set.

Around the campsite, the air was still and silent. The forest spoke nary a word, whispered not a sound. For several long moments the pair stood tensed beside the dying campfire, waiting for their adversary to make itself known. Alora cocked her head to the side, her ears alert. The man noticed and strained his own hearing. Just at the edge of his ability to perceive, a low thudding could be heard drawing nearer to their position, growing louder as it did so. As it advanced towards them, they felt the ground shudder with each step the creature took.

With a snapping of branches, crunching of foliage and uprooting of small trees, a monstrous ogre burst through the cluster of oaks in front of them, halting and roaring its displeasure and rage to the predawn sky, waves of saliva raining down in the wake of it's outburst. This was the true prize, the creature they had killed all the others to reach.

Moving quickly, the wolf and her man leapt over their pile of glowing embers, charging the massive beast. Just before they plowed head on into the awaiting claws and dripping fangs, the pair swerved in opposite directions around the monster. The man lashed out with his Dar'Misaan as he sprinted past, his blades dripping with a bright, greenish liquid and slicing skillfully at the creature's legs in an effort to cripple it, the poison coating the blades hissing as it made contact with it's thick hide. The wolf snarled menacingly, and ignoring the ogre's own bellows of pain, leaped upon the creature's back, her teeth and claws taking hold and tearing the muscles and sinews to shreds.

The ogre howled and stumbled about, swatting at the wolf eating through the tissue of its shoulder. While the great wolf gnawed and tore at the creature, the man circled back around to it's front, and getting a running start, leapt onto the ogre's chest. Using his swords as a mountaineer would use climbing spikes, he buried the blades deep several times, stabbing furiously, before slashing swiftly across the great darkspawn's gullet. The roar that had been building in the back of the ogre's throat came out as little more than a pathetic gurgle as blood showered in great spurts and it's body toppled clumsily backwards in defeat. The man kicked off from its chest, landing with cat-like grace on the ground in the pools of blood both fresh and hours old.

The body of their would be attacker twitching in the throes of death, Alora trotted gamely back to her master, her thick grey coat mottled by the blood and gore of the ogre which now lay dead before them. The man stood, panting, covered in death and flicked his blades smartly to remove the lingering carnage before sheathing them and walking back to his place by the embers. Adding an extra log, he stoked the fire back to life as he settled in once again. Stroking the wolf's great head, he wrapped his cloak tightly against his body once again and mumbled softly to her, his own eyes drifting closed.

"Well done, Alora. Our job is done this night."

The wolf snuffled happily, snuggling closer to him and closing her own yellow eyes once more.

**

A small distance off, walking slowly through the thick woods, a young woman dressed in little more than rags carried a staff crafted of a dark, gnarled and twisted wood, bead charms, feathers and animal teeth dangling from it's length. As she walked, she chattered peacefully with her companion, her voice ringing out loudly in the silence of the wood. Fastened about the woman's throat, a maroon cloak lined with dark grey fur shielded her from the chill of the early dawn and the more vicious bite of the new winter whilst the large man beside her appeared to be content to wander about barefoot, clothed in only a thin tunic and trousers.

"So, tell me, Arzul: Have you the slightest idea where you're leading us to or are you just guessing and hoping something suddenly appears in our path that provides some sort of entertainment?"

"I was always under the impression you were leading, child. I follow wherever you go."

The woman sighed, flicking her long blonde hair in exasperation. Beads strung randomly throughout her locks clicked and jangled with her motion. "Arzul, if you continue following me, we'll end up back in Antiva, and that's the last place we need to be right now."

"You don't miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"Your home, Aelyn."

She scoffed, "I have had many 'homes,' Arzul. You'll have to be more specific."

The man smirked and rolled his eyes.

"The most recent, then. Don't you miss it? You seemed quite… happy there."

Aeyln tossed her head and turned away from him, focusing instead on a suddenly very interesting pile of herbs clustered at her feet.

"What's to miss? We lived in a swamp. Not exactly ideal scenery," she replied off-handedly.

Arzul frowned. "Aelyn. You didn't always live in the swamp. Don't you miss any of it? Your mother?"

She stopped, and her eyes, an unusual hue of bright gold and carmine smeared with dark shadow, flashed angrily. "Hardly. She's the reason we left. Remember? It was either stay and be enslaved by her and her... sorcery," she scowled at the thought. "Or we could do what we did, which was to hex the bitch as she slept and leave to seek our own way. We didn't really have a choice."

"You say that as if you need justification for your actions."

"I don't need justification for anything," Aelyn snapped. "I did what I had to do in order to survive. And it just so happens survival brought us here, to this... this... frozen wasteland. It reminds me of those wretched mountains we lived in when I was very small." She frowned and glanced around wistfully. "The Kin have a cruel sense of humour."

Arzul chuckled softly and fell into step beside her. "Aye. That they do."

"So. Where shall our wandering feet carry us to, Arzul?"

"Wherever you wish, child."

Aelyn growled. "Stop talking me in circles and answer my question."

The man was pensive for a moment, contemplating.

"If you recall, there was an old hut your mother spoke of a few times, in the Wilds where she was raised. She dared not return to the spot –"

"Out of some foolish superstition of a spirit, yes, I remember. Then that is where we should go. That's the last place she'll think to find us, once she finally manages to free herself, that is. Where was it exactly?"

"Just to the south of an ancient fortress once owned by the Grey Wardens, deep in the Korcari Wilds. With enough searching I'm certain we'll stumble across it eventually."

The woman smirked, satisfied. "Perfect. Arzul, my love, you're absolutely brilliant."

**

In the Royal Palace of Denerim, King Alistair Theirin strode quickly through the cold hallways of his vast home, eager to return to his waiting wife and their massive, warm bed covered in piles of thick furs and blankets.

His daughter, Ayla, the jewel of his heart, was settled once again back into her bed, permitting the rest of the castle a small measure of peace. After borrowing a sword from one of the corridor guards and swishing it around menacingly under the bed and in the armoire, Ayla had been satisfied that her father had completely annihilated any and all possible monster threats; he had been allowed to leave. He had probably torn through a few of the child's garments when he had flailed the blade about in the armoire, now he thought of it, and Meriam would certainly have his head when she discovered the damage. He swore the elf had studied under Wynne, for to learn how to chastise someone so soundly was certainly a skill that was taught and not bred.

Returning to his own chamber at what seemed like long last, he slid beneath the blankets quietly, trying not to disturb his wife, who apparently had returned to sleep in his absence. It was rare for her to have a night pass in which dreams and nightmares didn't torment her slumber.

Tonight was no different. He returned to find her tossing restlessly and mumbling in her sleep, haunted by the nightmares again. Since the last Blight had ended, his dreams had lessened severely, though there were still nights when they were both awakened by the menacing snarls of darkspawn, terrorizing and killing in their dreams. Hers, however, remained a stain upon her nightly rest and sometimes awakened her quite violently. Crawling closer to her, he took hold of her, cradling her in his arms and whispering soothing words until she calmed, her eyelids fluttering open as the dream released her.

"Shh... Hey, it's okay. Hush now. Nothing will get you here."

In response she curled into him, seeking the safety he offered.

He said nothing; merely gazing at her for a moment, and even after twenty years was still marveled by her beauty. Skin, pale and soft as moonlight, was the foundation for a face unlike any he had ever seen. Lips the shade of a winter rose moved wordlessly and eyes a fantastic, almost electric, blue that sparkled even in the darkness. Silently, he used one hand to stroke her hair, a vibrant, fiery crimson streaked through with strands of silver, still styled the same way it had been when they had first met. Using his free hand, he bundled her tight to his body, holding her close, his thumb rubbing gently on her exposed shoulder.

"Bad dreams, love?"

She hesitated, trying to force her voice to work. The nightmare had rendered her throat dry and her voice useless. "...Not so much dreams as memories this time..."

A single gentle squeeze and she knew he understood. "Your parents?"

She clenched her eyes shut as she tried in vain to chase away the last dreadful wisps of the memory that clung stubbornly to her mind.

"Worse."

Wrapping her arms around his warm body, she clung to him. The dreams wouldn't dare haunt her whilst he was here.

"It was that night; the night when everything fell apart. The night before the–"

"Before the battle," he finished, his eyes becoming distant as his mind also went back to that same day. He agreed with her wholeheartedly; it had been one of the worst days ever. Riordan's news had come from nowhere, taking them by surprise like a sucker-punch to the gut.

She nodded against him. "Yes. More specifically, the... agreement with Morrigan and the next day."

"Ah."

After a moment of silence he chuckled darkly, his mind working again. "Well, it has been several years. If the world's lucky, maybe something's finally eaten her."

"Alistair!" Reina frowned up at her husband, his comment lightening her mood immensely.

"No, you're right; she's poisonous. Probably made whatever it was sick and killed it instead. Poor beastie..."

She laughed and smacked his arm playfully. "I may not trust her completely, but she did save our lives. I'll always be grateful for that."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. Her magical sex rite that unknowingly conceived my demon baby which she then made off with, never to be seen again, to do Maker only knows what with, was definitely the best thing that ever happened to me, what was I thinking?"

"Oh shut up," she laughed, rolling away from him.

"Hey, beautiful, where do you think you're going? I wasn't finished with you!" he pouted, pulling her back to him. She giggled at his statement, suddenly gasping when his cold hands found the warm, bare flesh of her belly.

"Oh dear Maker! Did you touch every stone between here and Ayla's room? Andraste's blood!"

"Yep. It's all part of my nefarious plan to return to you, pathetic and freezing, touch you all over, and thus giving you a marvelous incentive to warm me up," he smirked, his mouth finding hers in the dark and kissing it softly, sweetly, but with an underlying hunger. "Is it working?"

"Mmm... I should say so... Monsters all vanquished then?" she asked when he released her, suddenly feeling much more awake.

His clever hands slid along her abdomen, drawing ever closer to her bosom and warming steadily as they went. While his hands worked, his mouth began it's own form of torment, starting just below her jawbone and gradually drifting along her neck to trail kisses along her shoulders and collarbone, tasting everything and leaving no curve unexplored.

He ceased his torture long enough to reply, his lips tickling her skin as they formed the words. "Oh yes, in record time, in fact. Which leaves plenty of time for celebrating and…" he paused over her throat, lowing his mouth to the hollow of her throat and began to all but inhale the very essence that was his wife. "Joyous revelry, among... other... physical pursuits."

She gasped, her voice escaping in short bursts as his lips voraciously ate their way over her throat and down her chest, sampling flesh and leaving her skin ablaze.

"Dear Maker– How about mad, passionate love-making? Does that make the list?"

His only response was a low moan of assent as his mouth worked its way back up her torso, along her neck and jaw to gently press against her own.

"Mmm… I like the way your mind works, your Majesty," she mumbled, her mind beginning to go numb.

"That's nothing. Wait till you see what else I have in mind, my Lady," he managed, his voice husky from desire.

Smiling devilishly, Reina rolled onto him, eager now and sleep long forgotten as she and Alistair made love in the waxing light of the early, pre-winter dawn.