"Your Majesty, don't you think it's time you," Sigrun clenched her fists in helplessness, "took a break?"

He lifted his head from his desk, and squinted at her, as if he was having trouble seeing her. "No," he said eventually. "Everything must run as usual. It's what Lorelai would insist on." He lowered his head back down to the myriad of papers spread out in front of him.

Sigrun held back the deep sigh that threatened to pass her lips. He couldn't go on like this, not much longer. His clothes seemed too big for him now, with all the weight he'd lost, and his eyes were sunken hollows in his face. At the risk of sounding absolutely horrible, the man wasn't going to be able to wear his own damn armor at this rate. The weight of it would crush him.

At the news of Leliana and Zevran's impending arrival, the King had appeared a bit better. For a little while, anyway. But as the days turned into weeks, and there was still no sign of the former companions, he had reverted back to this strange, empty man in front of her.

Sigrun had only met the King a few times before this, and she'd usually been too terrified to notice much. She did, however, distinctly remember what a warm and friendly man he was. She'd always tried to use that to convince herself to be more...normal, but it had always failed.

Now, the King had become someone else. Someone Sigrun never would've felt comfortable warming up to. He was not mean or violent, of course not. But he was hollow.

And here she was, saying more to the man than she'd ever said before. Wonders never ceased.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty," she said, mustering up all her courage, "I don't think the Commander would insist on your new habits of insomnia and starvation."

His head lifted again, this time sharply.

Sigrun swallowed hard. Perhaps this hadn't been the most appropriate time to develop a spine with the King.

To her utter surprise, he gave a startling burst of laughter. "By the Maker, Sigrun. Did you just make something vaguely resembling a joke?"

The dwarf felt a lop-sided grin slide across her face. "Of course not, Your Majesty."

"Silly me. What an awful thing to suggest," he agreed, frowning in mock-severity.

"Terribly, truly."

He heaved a great sigh, then – by the Stone – pushed himself away from the desk. "Perhaps you have a point, anyway. If I go to the kitchens and get something to eat, will you stop all your glowering?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," she breathed, not daring to believe her eyes as he came around to meet her. Joy threatened to burst out of her chest. She couldn't remember being this happy. Something she had said worked. She had done something.

The King bowed to her, holding out a hand. He cleared his throat officiously. "Would you kindly be my escort, madam? You know Kings aren't supposed to go about by themselves. If we're by ourselves, how would anyone know how important we are?"

Sigrun giggled, then clapped a shocked hand over her mouth.

"Oh, please laugh," the King protested. "If I'm not funny anymore, I'll have nothing left to live for."

More giggles escaped, and she dropped her hand. Whatever the man wanted, she would give him. He hadn't spoken this much since the day she and Oghren had arrived. If he wanted her to take him through the marketplace and show him how to pick pockets, she'd only pause long enough to grab a cloak. "Off to the kitchens then, Your Majesty?" she asked, waving her arm toward the door in a grandiose gesture.

He nodded, and they started walking. Sigrun couldn't stop grinning; she couldn't wait to tell Anders what she'd accomplished. Caution whispered through her mind, and warned her not to get too ahead of herself. One meal wasn't going to fix all the King had managed to do to himself.

"You must miss Vigil's Keep," the King said suddenly. "I hope it hasn't been too hard, staying in a strange place."

"No, Your Majesty, it's fine," she assured him, a bit taken off-guard by the question. "Vigil's Keep always feels...strange without-" She shut her mouth so fast her teeth clacked.

"Without..." the King prompted.

Now she had to say it. How could she be so stupid? "Without the Commander," she finished quietly, unable to look at him.

There was a sharp intake of air. "I know exactly how you feel," he answered after a few moments.

Sigrun thought as fast as she could, trying frantically to come up with something to say to fix what she'd just done. If he turned around and went back to his office, she'd never forgive herself.

Approaching footsteps filled the awkward silence. Sigrun lifted her head to see Mistress DeWitt coming down the hallway. "Your Majesty, Warden," she said, gathering her skirts and curtsying before the King.

"Mistress DeWitt," the King answered.

"A couple visitors have arrived for you, Your Majesty," she responded, rising. "They are waiting for you in the throne room." She turned to leave.

The King's hand shot out, grabbing the woman's arm. Sigrun's eyes widened considerably. He wasn't hurting her, the dwarf could tell that, but it was a bit...unsettling anyway.

Mistress DeWitt seemed to think so, too. She froze, and turned back to face the King with as much poise as she could muster. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Who are they?" he whispered hoarsely. "The guests. Who are they?"

Sigrun reached up and touched his arm. He looked down at her with a jerk of his neck muscles, as if he had forgotten she was there. "I'm sure she was just about to tell us, Your Majesty," she said, making her voice as normal as possible.

The King looked back at Mistress DeWitt, and then at his hand. He let go quickly, as if her skin had suddenly turned to something he didn't want to be touching. Squeezing his eyes shut, his shoulders hunched forward. "Forgive me, Mistress DeWitt. That was most inappropriate."

"No worries, Your Majesty," she answered, a warm smile on her face. "It was remiss of me not to share their identities with you. It is your former comrades Zevran Arainai and Leliana. We haven't seen them for quite some time." The woman shot an intense glance at Sigrun.

The King's eyes flew open. He looked down at Sigrun, then back at Mistress DeWitt, then took off down the hallway at a run.

Sigrun felt all her nerves tighten. Well, she wasn't going to catch up just standing there. She cursed thoroughly as she took off after the King. Her people weren't exactly built for running. Well, that wasn't entirely correct. They were built for running just fine. What they weren't built for was catching up with humans and their entirely-too-long legs.

When she reached the throne room, and shoved the door open, it appeared she hadn't missed much, however. The King was gripping a red-haired woman in a hug so tight it looked like he was trying to crush her.

"Alistair, darling, it's all right," she was saying, despite the obvious fact that she could barely breathe. She rubbed his back in soothing circles. "We're here now."

"My friend, I do believe you might kill our lovely Leliana if you hold her much longer," drawled the silver-haired elf standing nearby.

The King released his death grip on the woman immediately, embarrassed. Taking several paces back, he ran nervous fingers through his hair. "Sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Leliana answered, shooting the elf a quick, yet vehement, glare. "I wish all my welcomes were as sincere and warm as yours." She reached out to lay a cream-colored hand on the King's arm. Her pretty face darkened in a frown, and she gave his face a second look. "You have not been taking care of yourself."

The King blushed furiously like a young boy, and he shot a guilty glance at Sigrun. "Um, no. I suppose I haven't."

Leliana's eye narrowed sternly. "We'll have to fix that, won't we?"

"Yes, Leliana."

Sigrun was fairly sure her jaw was laying on the floor of the throne room. She ran questioning fingers along her chin. Nope, imagine that, it was still attached to her face like it was supposed to be. For the display she'd just witnessed, the dwarf was prepared to worship the ground Leliana walked on.

"Ah, now you see why I kept her around, yes? She has such a way of ordering you about that feels positively...delicious," the elf said, holding out a hand to the King.

The King let out a rough chuckle, and blushed an even darker shade of red. "I'm not so sure about delicious, but you definitely listen." He took the elf's hand in greeting. "Thank you for coming, Zevran."

Sigrun watched as the elf's eyes widened a bit. What could be surprising about being greeted by his old friend in such a way? She gave a mental shrug; she was not about to attempt to understand the bonds built or broken during the Fifth Blight. There were more important things to do. The former legionnaire started making her way closer to the three.

A near stumble almost caused her to lose her footing as it dawned on her who she was approaching. The Orlesian bard and the Antivan assassin. Fabled companions to the Warden King and Queen. Legends in and of themselves.

Hopefully, she had the Stone-sense not to embarrass herself.

"No need for thanks," Zevran was answering as Sigrun drew near. "It is what friends are for, yes?" He frowned comically. "At least, I assume that's what they're for. I, myself, never really had any friends before I had the opportunity to throw myself at your lovely wife's feet and beg for my life." The elf craned his head around, taking in the throne room. "Where is your lady love, anyway?"

"Yes, dear," Leliana said, the hand on the King's arm tightening a bit. "Where is she, so we may sort out the problem all together like we used to?"

Face crumbling, he spun away from them. He ran shaking fingers through his hair again as he paced to the throne. Once there, he slumped into it, and buried his face in his hands.

Sigrun's chest ached, and she found it hard to breathe. She hadn't realized the King hadn't told them in the messages. She supposed it made sense, in case someone had intercepted the vultures. But it left his friends woefully unprepared for the shock he was about to deliver.

"Alistair..." Leliana took a few steps forward, her tone filled with concern. "What's going on?"

"Lorelai's been taken," he answered, voice muffled by his hands.

Sigrun couldn't help but wince. Hearing it again didn't make it any less painful.

"Taken?" Leliana echoed, freezing in mid-step. "Taken by who?"

"I don't know."

"Where?" Zevran demanded. The friendly, debonair demeanor was gone. Now, Sigrun saw the assassin, the former Crow, as the muscles in his lithe arms twitched.

"Outside of Lothering," the King answered.

Zevran began speaking rapidly in a language Sigrun didn't recognize. Leliana spun and darted back to him, answering in the same language. Taking off the pack she wore, the bard began rummaging through it, still talking. The elf responded. They continued this rapid-fire discussion as she pulled things out of the pack, gathering them in her arms.

"I can understand you, you know," the King called from the throne, lifting his head from his hands to give them a steely glare.

The pair stared at him for a moment in astonishment, before Zevran lifted a sardonic, silver eyebrow.

"Well, OK, maybe not all of it," the King admitted with a bitter shrug. "But most of it."

The bard and the assassin looked at each other for a moment, then started talking again. This time, they used a different language. Sigrun still couldn't understand a word. Leliana stood and Zevran turned his back to her. She began shoving things into his pack. The back and forth chatter continued. Sigrun narrowed her eyes as Leliana removed something from Zevran's pack and, with a quick flick of her wrist, tucked it into the front of her leather armor.

What was the Orlesian hiding?

"I can understand that, too," the King interrupted.

Again, he was treated to twin stares of amazement.

"We've certainly been a busy school boy, haven't we?" Zevran said, grinning lecherously. "Tell me, what else have you learned?"

"None of your business," the King answered, but a ghost of a smile crossed his face. It was gone almost before Sigrun had a chance to register it. "You'll have a trail to follow when you get there, Zevran."

Sigrun narrowed her eyes for a moment, glancing back and forth between the pair by the door and the King on his throne. Apparently it had been agreed upon that the elf was going after Nathaniel's trail. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. He was an assassin, so she guessed he was good at tracking people. But for some reason, the decision made her uneasy.

Perhaps because it had been done without including her, or any of the Commander's Wardens for that matter. Or maybe because it had been decided in either of the two languages she hadn't understood in the slightest. Maybe that was it. A wry smile touched her lips. Here she was, complaining about not being included in decision-making when she didn't even really like being leader in the first place.

"Indeed?"

"As soon as her Wardens noticed her abduction, one of them followed the trail while the rest came here," the King explained. "Nathaniel Howe is an excellent tracker, and he knows someone was going to be sent after him, so-"

"Howe?" Zevran interrupted, and his entire body tensed like a bowstring. "As in someone related to Rendon Howe?"

The King nodded. "His son."

"Son." Zevran repeated, as if the word were strange. He turned to Leliana, who raised her hands in a cautious gesture. "Son of the man who murdered her family? This is who was trusted to follow her trail?"

Sigrun's blood turned to ice, and a contrary heat burned between her temples. She didn't care how famous this Antivan was, if he said one more thing in that line of thought, she was officially not responsible for her actions.

The King was giving a similar look of warning. "He is one of her Wardens. Has been for five years. She trusts him. I trust him."

"Oh, how lovely," the elf sneered.

"Zev," Leliana said sternly, grabbing her companion's arm. "Stop it."

He shook off her grip, and continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Never mind the fact that he may have masterminded this entire thing for revenge for his father's murder and the loss of his lands. What a silly thing to consider! How childish of me."

"Considering that he was made a Warden for breaking into Vigil's Keep in an attempt to steal it back, I'd say it's a safe assumption that he's put all that behind him." The King rose to his feet, his hands clenched into angry fists. "Lorelai has put it all behind her, as well. If you don't respect me, respect her."

"Perhaps your naivety has infected our dear leader, since he should've been tossed on the rack instead of being made a Warden!" the elf countered, his fine features twisting with contempt.

"Enough!" Sigrun shouted, drawing all eyes. Part of her mind wondered what she thought she was doing, but it couldn't be heard over the rest, which was drowning out all common sense and appropriateness. "Tell me, elf, were you there when the Commander took over Vigil's Keep?"

The assassin's jaw tightened as he stared at her, but he didn't answer.

"Were you there when darkspawn slaughtered all the Wardens sent from Orlais, leaving the Commander with three recruits to take on an unknown threat? Oh, excuse me," Sigrun laughed harshly, "make that two, since one of them didn't survive the Joining. Were you there to address the issue of talking darkspawn, and the moral implications of that?" She'd been walking closer to Zevran without even realizing it. Now the toes of her boots touched the toes of his. Looking up into his face, she hissed, "Were you there to take down the filthy abomination called the Mother?"

"No," he finally answered.

"I didn't think so!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "But I certainly was, and so was Nathaniel Howe! Don't you dare speak ill of him, since you were too interested in carrying on with your life to stick around and help the Commander! He is a kind, caring, decent man. His only 'crime' is being related to a man who let power consume him.

"You want to blame Nathaniel for his father's actions? I think, if we looked at what you've done, we'd find a whole lot more to condemn!" Sigrun took a deep breath, keeping her arms locked at her sides. She feared if she didn't, her hands would be reaching for her blades.

"Are you this Nathaniel's lover?" Zevran asked.

"What?" Sigrun blurted out. His shocking question completely drained the righteous anger from her. Nathaniel's lover? What a ridiculous suggestion. He'd never have someone like her, a casteless dwarf. Not that he knew what "casteless" meant. Besides, who said she wanted a great, tall human? Sure, he was handsome in a roguish way, with the warmest laugh she'd ever heard. Not the point really, as the question was ludicrous. Totally. "No! I mean- Why would you even-"

"Then he is a fool," interrupted Zevran, "to let one who would so passionately defend him go unnoticed."

Sigrun blinked several times, still reeling. "I- I don't know what you're talking about."

"But you do," the elf countered, grinning suddenly. "I'm sure he and I will have a lot to talk about once I find him."

"Hello," said Leliana, coming around Zevran's back. "We haven't been introduced. Shame on you, Alistair," she directed the last at the King with a hurtful look.

"This is Sigrun, also one of Lorelai's Wardens for the past five years," he responded, managing to look embarrassed and exhausted at the same time. "She is formerly of the Legion of the Dead."

"Oh, a dead woman! How exciting!" Leliana teased, holding her hand out to Sigrun.

Her spine tingling unpleasantly at the teasing. Though she was no longer a legionnaire, it was hard to tolerate jokes about her "death". She had come to understand that humans and elves were very uncomfortable with the symbolic death all legionnaires went through. They joked because they were confused. In her infinite wisdom, she forgave them that. She took Leliana's hand and shook it.

"The most beautiful corpse I've ever seen," Zevran added, his grin a slick display of seduction. It might have worked, if Sigrun didn't have an intense dislike for him now. "So, shall I tell your Nathaniel anything when I find him?"

"He's not my Nathaniel," she managed between gritted teeth. How had the Commander not killed him during the Blight?

"Of course, of course. My error, forgive me." The elf's eyes danced. "Anything you want me to tell him, anyway?"

"That he better be taking excellent care of Jacob," Sigrun shot back, feeling like the elf would not stop unless she said something.

"We'll send your vulture after you," the King said. "When you locate Nathaniel, and the place they've taken Lorelai, send word."

"What an excellent idea," Zevran beamed. "I'll be on my way then."

"Stop at the stables, have the horse master give you one of those ridiculous demon-horses given to us by the Rivaini," the King added.

Zevran paled a bit at that. "Demon-horses, you say? How...comforting."

"They're fast, Zevran. That is what you need."

"Of course." The assassin turned to Leliana, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Farewell, my sweet. You will join me soon, I assure you."

"Be careful, Zev," she replied firmly.

Sketching an elegant bow to the King, then to Sigrun (accompanied by a dirty-minded wink), the former Crow turned to leave.

"Zevran," the King called out.

"Yes?" He turned back.

When there was no answer forthcoming, Sigrun turned to look, as well. The King's eyes were staring at the floor, and he was chewing stubbornly, compulsively, on one of his fingernails. "Find her," he finally said, and the thickness in his voice nearly broke Sigrun's heart.

The elf's face froze for a moment, as if unsure what to do with this display of emotion. "I will, Your Majesty. This I promise you." Then he left, the great doors of the throne room swinging shut behind him with an air of determination.

"Now," Leliana said briskly into the silence. "Let's get you something to eat, Alistair. I'll make that stew you like, hmm?"

"All right," he answered glumly.

"Excellent."

One of the side doors into the throne room swung open, and Anders rushed in, a blur of robes and blond hair. "Did I miss them? What's the plan? I-" The mage broke off what he was saying and staggered to a stop near the throne. His eyes had gone wide, and his mouth was hanging open, just a bit.

He was staring at Leliana.

Sigrun could barely suppress the groan that wanted so desperately to fall from her lips. She'd never seen the mage thunderstruck since she'd known him. Apparently, this is what it looked like.

A wry smile on his face, the King stood up and snapped his fingers in front of the mage's unblinking eyes. "Leliana, meet Anders. Grey Warden, mage, and Tower escapist extraordinaire."

"Oh, my word!" she cooed, clapping a hand to her cheek. "How many times did you escape, ser mage?"

"Seven times, my lady," Anders said quietly, his eyes still big as dinner plates. He'd managed to close his jaw, at any rate.

"How marvelous!" Leliana answered. "Come, I want to hear all about it while we fix something for Alistair to eat." Bounding (there was no other word for it) delightfully forward, Leliana linked one arm with the King, and the other with Anders. Chatting amicably, she led the men toward the kitchen.

Sigrun couldn't help it. She slapped her palm to her forehead in dismay.

"Come on, Sigrun!" Leliana called back over her shoulder. "I'm sure you're hungry, too!"

The dwarf began following, her mind spinning in a blur. A lovesick Anders? What was she supposed to do with that?