Thanks to my beta, finding_marie, for making sure I don't subject any of you to purple prose.

Chapter 6

The land around them was changing, as they ventured further south. The dry scrubby forests of the Hinterlands gave way to softer ground and damp, mossy trees. Ophelia was unsure how a land that seemed so much wetter could still be colder, and she dreaded camp that night. It didn't seem as if she had been dry for days. She led their small group, her dun gelding eating up the rough road with his long loping gait with Dog trotting alongside her, dashing off every so often to chase an errant squirrel or bird before returning. Behind her Alistair sang a silly song softly, something about a barmaid and a nug, and she smiled to herself. Zevran was behind him, and Brennan followed in the rear. He had been avoiding her since the revelation about their defeat of the archdemon, and the distance between them felt far greater than the yards between their horses.

Alistair pulled up alongside Ophelia, his song dying away. "You've been very quiet, these last few miles."

She stirred from silence, watching as her gelding's ears flicked back to catch her voice. "Yes, I suppose I have. Just thinking about where we're going. And what we might be facing."

His voice was pitched low when he spoke again, and she strained to hear it. "Do you really think that Morrigan is out there? With the child?"

Opehlia shrugged. "I don't know Alistair. I hope not. I like to imagine that she fled west, to Orlais or beyond, with a perfectly normal baby in tow and no evil plans in mind. But with our luck, we should know that's not the case." She looked away, her voice a rough whisper. "Do you think you could do it? If we have to, could you kill your own child?"

The color bled from Alistair's face, emotions roiling in his eyes. "I have been trying not to think about it. I wonder sometimes...does it look like me?" A spun-glass silence tangled in the air between them, brittle and dangerous. She waited for him to thread his way through it. "But if the situation arises, yes. I think I could. Being king the last three years has taught me that my duty is to protect my country, regardless of my own feelings." At Ophelia's pained smile he reached out across the space between their horses, gently clasping her hand as he held her gaze. "But that still doesn't make it any easier."

"No, it doesn't. I just pray that the Maker will lend us the strength to do what needs to be done, if that is the case."

"I have no concerns about your strength, Ophelia. It's myself I worry about. I can barely summon the nerve to open a closet at night. You, my dear lady, are a slayer of demons."

She felt a reluctant smile plucking her lips at his irreverent tone and she pulled her hand away. "Were you always this much of a flatterer? Or has the court taught you this?"

"And were you always this much of a skeptic?" He laughed at her frown. "Being King has taught me many things. Such as...what to do with that second fork they always put next to your dinner plate. That socks are supposed to be changed daily. Who'd have known? Seems like a lot of wasted laundry to me. And most importantly,the proper way to intimidate servants which, believe me, is no small feat considering most of them scare the pants off me. There is one cook in the kitchen who is the closest thing to an ogre I've seen since the Blight. I never know whether I should compliment her cooking or climb up her back and hack her head off."

Ophelia threw her head back, her laughter winging through the trees and drawing Dog's curious glance.

"Ah." Alistair said softly, a small smile whispering around his eyes. "So she's not gone. Only hiding."

"Who?" Ophelia asked through the scraps of her humor, confused.

"The Ophelia I used to know."

Her face fell. "I prefer to think she is gone. And good riddance. She was always too much of an idealist anyways."

Alistair made a soft noise of dissent and watched her with hooded eyes until she felt like squirming.

Zevran rode up on her other side, an unusual gravity shadowing his eyes as he looked between the two Wardens. "I think we may have found our lodgings for the night."

Ahead was a small village, little more than an inn for travelers and a few small houses huddled around it. Above the doorway hung a faded sign painted with a griffin and the words 'The Grey Mount'. Ophelia took this as a good omen and four of them rode up to the door of the inn, halting as a small towheaded boy came tumbling out the door.

'Evening." He skidded to a halt before them and tugged on his forelock in quick salute. "Can I take your horses for you?"

"Certainly," Ophelia slid wearily down the shoulder of her horse, taking a moment to steady herself as she felt the ground continue to sway. She had always felt that being on horseback all day was worse than a boat.

"My da is inside. He's the keeper of this inn. If you need a room for the night we have plenty available, this time of year. Not much travel going on."

Ophelia glanced up at the steel grey sky, feeling the chill bite of winter through her thick cured leather. "I think that sounds like a fine idea. Thank you." She handed the small boy a few coppers and he grinned, lost teeth creating gaps that she couldn't help but smile back at. The boy gathered up the reins of their horses, two in each hand, and began slowly leading the exhausted animals towards a small stable behind the inn. The four headed inside, stamping a light dusting of snow and mud off their boots and blinking as their eyes adjusted to the dim interior. The yeasty smell of brewing beer and the round greasy scent of sausages trailed flirtatious fingers down their throats, setting more than one belly rumbling. A small fire winked inside a stone hearth, radiating warmth and the only light besides the thin sunlight that trickled through the cheap glass windows. This late in the year they were the only patrons inside the cramped room.

"'Ey. No animals allowed inside the inn. Your dog can stay in the stable with the horses." A gruff voice called from behind the bar, and Ophelia turned to see a large man wiping down the scuffed oaken counter, a rag clutched in one beefy hand and the other pointing at Dog. Dog looked at her quizzically and she shrugged. He picked his way across the sanded wood floor, pausing a moment at the base of the heavy bar while the innkeeper spluttered, his face turning red with anger. "I said no ani-"

His protest was cut off as Dog reared up, placing his front paws on the edge of the counter and staring intently at the barkeeper, his canine head even with the man's and a low growl trickling from his throat.

"He's a Mabari warhound. Would you care to try and make him sleep outside?" Ophelia said mildly with an arched brow.

"Er. No. My apologies, lady. I didn't realize...is he tasting me?"the innkeepers voice ended in a squeak as Dog licked the man's face, his mouth agape in a doggy grin. The innkeeper jumped as Dog barked, and the wagging of his stubby tail shook his whole body, leaving gouges where his nails dug into the bartop.

"Oh no, he likes you." Ophelia smothered a smile as the innkeeper looked ill. "The name is Ophelia. We would like to see about some rooms for the night."

The innkeeper cocked his head. "Name's Dougal. Ophelia, eh?" He pursed his lips thoughtfully, looking between her, her scar, and the Mabari. "Only one woman I've ever heard of who had a Mabari, and she had that same name. You're not...that Ophelia are you?"

"That depends on which Ophelia you might be talking about." She evaded.

"Andraste's Blood. The Grey Lady? Here in my inn?" Dougal looked around nervously, swiping at an errant ring mark on the countertop. "Please forgive my rudeness, Lady. And who are your companions?"

She turned to introduce them, gesturing at each in turn. "This is Zevran, a friend. Warden Brennan, and," she hesitated a moment at Alistair's widened eyes. "Warden Alistair." Alistair let out a small breath of relief at her choice of titles.

"Pleased to meet you." Dougal bobbed his head in greeting. "I am sorry to say that I only have three rooms to rent. We are a rather small inn, you see."

"Not a problem," Zevran cut in smoothly. "Brennan takes one, Alistair the other, and Ophelia and I can share."

"Absolutely not!" Alistair exploded. "Ophelia has a room, I'll take another, and you and Brennan can share."

Brennan growled. "What, you think just because we're both elves we should share a room? He annoys the hell out of me."

At his words, Zevran pouted. "Stabbed in the back by my own kind. And here I thought were were getting along so well too...I was beginning to think you were cute, in a prickly sort of way."

Brennan gaped at Zevran in horrified silence, and Ophelia broke in, barely restrained laughter trembling her voice. "Ok, enough. I'll share my room with Dog, Brennan you can have one to yourself. Alistair and Zevran can share the last room, since they know each other."

Zevran waggled his brows suggestively at Alistair. "I must admit to not knowing Alistair as well as I would like though. Perhaps this will be my chance to remedy that."

Alistair glared daggers at her, although his voice lacked true venom. "I hate you."

She smiled sweetly at him before digging coins out of her purse and placing them on the counter, where Dougal was watching the entire exchange with a bemused expression. "Three rooms, Dougal. And I think we could all use a hot meal and a bath, if that is possible."

"Certainly." Dougal bobbed his head, pocketing the coins. "I'll have my wife and daughter get right on it." He hesitated a moment, twisting his hands in the apron at his waist. "May I ask why The Grey Lady is here, so far south of Highever? Does it have anything to do with the missing children around these parts?" The hope shining in his eyes as he looked over their small group was a fist in her guts.

"Yes, Dougal. We are here to see if we can help." The words were sawdust in her mouth, acrid and dry with shame.

"That's good, milady. That's real good to hear." His face broke into a relieved smile, and his shoulders sagged slightly. "I've got me a cousin, in the village a bit further south of here, Ardenwalde. His little girl..." Dougal's face screwed and he struggled for a moment before regaining his composure. "She's one of the missing. Just a tiny mite too, only four years old. What would the darkspawn want with someone like her? It just doesn't make sense." His eyes bored into Ophelia's, confusion and futile anger etching his brow.

"I wish I knew, Dougal." Ophelia replied softly, guilt pressing down like a hand on her head. How many stories like this would there be? How much innocent blood was potentially on her hands? Exhaustion tugged at her limbs, dragging her like a child with a toy. "If you would show me the room now, please."

Dougal nodded, and she trudged wearily behind the rotund man, ready for the first dry bed she'd had in days.

****

Alistair sighed and sank further into the bath. Perhaps he was going a bit soft, as King, since all he could think about was how the small tub could hardly compare to his bathing room at the castle, but he was willing to take anything warm at this point. He'd been nothing but damp and cold for the last two days, ever since they'd come out of the Hinterlands. The warm water lapped softly at his chest and he reclined back, enjoying a few minutes of quiet solitude.

Solitude that was brought to a crashing end as Zevran stalked into the room.

"Zevran!" Alistair shot up before realizing he was dangerously close to giving the elf a show, and quickly sank back into the water, scrunching as much of his body below the surface as he could and covering himself with his hands. "I thought you were eating downstairs." He squinted at the elf, suspicion in his eyes. "You haven't come up about that 'knowing me better' thing, have you? Because I can promise you, as long as you pee standing up I'll never be interested."

"Hardly, Alistair. Although I'm glad to hear you still feel that way. I do so love a challenge." Zevran leaned up against the small table near the foot of the tub with folded arms and smirked at Alistair's discomfort.

"Do you really...uh...have to stand right there?" Alistair stammered. He had to fight his natural instinct to gesture, lest his royal bits be put up for examination.

Zevran shrugged, a languid roll of shoulders. "Seems as good a place as any, considering I'm planning on talking to you."

"Right now?" Alistair squeaked.

He began reaching for a nearby towel, only to have it plucked away by Zevran's swift hands. "Ah ah, Alistair. I think I like you right where you are, while we have our little discussion. I find a little humility breeds attentiveness." Zevran's mouth curled in a movement that was less of a smile and more the baring of teeth.

"And what is it that is so bloody important for us to talk about?" The words were hot with Alistair's frustrated ire.

"Ophelia." Zevran tossed the name like a rock into Alistair's pool of anger.

"Oh." He slumped back into the tub, and watched Zevran warily. "What about her?"

"I've been watching the both of you. I come with a...warning, of sorts. I consider her an important person, and I care about her welfare." Zevran withdrew a flechette from some secret place on his person and began to idly pick at his fingernails with the sharp point.

"I wasn't aware you had become so close with her, frankly." Alistair retorted. His envy at the elf's freedom to see her over the past three years was a whetstone, sharpening his words.

"For some time, Brennan and I were all that she had. I stopped in Highever, when I could." Zevran halted, and when he spoke again his voice was rough with suppressed emotion. "You know that she came to me, don't you? A year ago, after she and Brennan and I celebrated the solstice a bit too hard. She never drinks, but that night she did. And later, she knocked on my door. She came to me."

The intensity of his last words sent tension clambered into the space between them, thick ropey vines that knotted around Alistair's midsection. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, and the echoes of Zevran's statement spilled in, washing away his power of speech.

Zevran began rolling the flechette, weaving the deadly little dart between his fingers. He locked eyes with Alistair, and the emptiness in them frosted Alistair's nerves with fear. "And then I held her as she cried afterwards. I can tell you now that if you had been anywhere nearby, that night would have been the last night of your life. And I would have felt no remorse at killing you despite our friendship, because I know that you were the reason for her tears even if she won't admit it."

"I never meant-" Alistair's broken whisper was chopped short by the motion of Zevran's hand.

"She's never been the same since you. I suppose her men cannot tell the difference, all the Warden's she had exiled herself with in Highever. They do not know her they way that we do. But she is like a bird now, with a broken wing that never set quite right. Ophelia may still fly, but she never soars the way she once did. And I could have - would still - cheerfully kill you for that."

Zevran pushed away from the table, burying the flechette in the hard oak top with a thunk that rang of finality. "So have a care, Alistair. Because when you are gone, back to your castles and your courts and away from her, I will still be here. Because I am still her man as I swore I was, even if she doesn't want me. I will be the one to put her back together again, and it is for her sake that I beg you - please do not make my task any harder than it has to be. And pray to the Maker that I can put her back together, for if I can't..." The casual tone of his voice was mocking in its unconcern, as if Alistair's life was worth less than a fly one would swat carelessly. "You would not be the first royal to fall under my blade. And it would be a shame to turn such a beautiful man into wormfood."

Alistair felt as if he had walked out onto a frozen lake, only to find that the ice was much thinner than he had thought. He measured his words carefully. "Point taken, Zevran."

"Good." The elf barked a short bitter laugh but behind it he seemed weary, as if the conversation had fed on his very bones for fuel. "I am glad we were able to come to an understanding. I will go back downstairs and allow you to finish bathing." Zevran turned in the doorway and sketched a satirical bow to Alistair. "Your Majesty."

Once he heard the door latch seat properly and he was sure Zevran was truly gone, Alistair stood chattering from water that had gone ice cold. He reached for the towel on the nearby table, only to nearly overbalance as his hand grasped empty air. He gritted his teeth and slammed an open palm down on the table, shaking it with the violence of his frustration.

That bloody rogue had made off with his towel.