The trip flew by after that. They stayed in the cabin most of the time, only going on deck at night when there was less chance of being recognised. Winds were fair and Alistair's seasickness hardly bothered him - a combination of Miranda's excellent distraction techniques and an elfroot concoction of Rowan's meant he had an opportunity to actively enjoy the sensation of being at sea for the first time.

When Val Royeaux came into sight he was almost disappointed. There was something to be said for having a lockable cabin and very little demands on their time. They had abandoned their warden emblazoned wardrobe in favour of plain armour and robes - Miranda's were the same style but without the griffon on the back. Although the crew raised their eyebrows, at the change, no one said anything, and Alistair had a moment to mentally thank Sigrun for choosing a crew who were obviously used to being discreet.

They had decided not to go near the Orlesian Wardens, considering their usually dour demeanor and tendency to stand on ceremony Miranda had reasoned they would have a much better chance of remaining anonymous if they travelled as regular merchants rather than wardens or nobility. Any pretense of being Orlesian would have to go once they disembarked as well. Although Miranda spoke the language (having been tutored as a Teyrn's daughter) she was by no means fluent and Alistair mangled the accent hopelessly.

They took rooms at an inn that would have been fit for a palace in Denerim, and cost nearly as much as one. Alistair whistled when Miranda translated the amount they would have to pay, but they didn't want to linger in the city and find somewhere cheaper.

They met in Alistair and Miranda's room. Sigrun had provided them with maps to help them plan their route to the Tevinter Empire.

"It's a two month journey to Tevinter," Alistair said. He looked at Miranda. "I don't want you giving birth on the road, my love."

"Believe me neither do I," she said.

"That's something we'd all like to avoid," Anders said then. "But the Queen is only five months along - she won't give birth on the road unless something goes seriously wrong."

"But two months back again - supposing we're luckier than we've been so far and find out who's behind this as soon as we enter Minrathos? She will give birth on the road back."

"Alistair, you are not going to suggest leaving me here."

He shook his head. "No, I just want to make sure we're prepared. If we do have to have this baby on the road - do we have what we need?"

Miranda looked at Anders. He spread his hands. "You know, I'd prefer it if we had a traveling midwife with us. I haven't attended any births myself. For some reason women's husbands' aren't keen on me being the main attendant at the birth, despite my eagerness to learn."

Rowan snorted. "You wouldn't want to be at a birth, Anders."

"Why not? It's not as though I'm not familiar with all the mechanics..."

"Because, you mad, skirt wearing freak," Oghren said suddenly, "it's a bit like watching your favourite inn being trashed by darkspawn." They all looked at the dwarf. "What?" he said blearily.

"Have you been at a birth, Oghren?" Alistair asked.

"'Course I have. Dwarven women aren't stupid enough to let their husband's think it's easy. We all have to be there," he looked suddenly queazy. "Had to be sober, too. Worst thing I ever did."

"Worse than killing a broodmother in the deep roads?" Alistair asked. He knew he shouldn't, but couldn't help himself.

The dwarf shuddered. "You have no idea."

"Do we need to kidnap a midwife then?" Miranda said. She looked a little pale.

Rowan shook his head. "Don't worry, your majesty. I have attended many births. And I'd like to assure you that despite our short friend's opinion, it's not nearly as traumatic as you might think. Women do it all the time - often without the help of a midwife - or anyone else for that matter."

Alistair couldn't help but think of his own mother, dead in childbirth. The thought had been at the back of his mind ever since Miranda's first pregnancy and now it loomed large and terrible in his head, so much so that he had to almost physically push it away. This was an enemy he couldn't fight for her, a blow he couldn't take.

"We're counting on you, then Rowan," he fixed Wynne's son with a stare that he hoped conveyed exactly how much.

That night he held her in their bed, his head tucked on her shoulder and his arms resting lightly on her belly, as though she might break. She could sense that something was bothering him, he knew. She had always been able to read him - not that he was a particularly difficult study, he thought wryly, but from the moment she'd met him, in Ostagar, she'd always said the right things to make him feel better.

"Don't be afraid," she said.

"How can I not be?" he asked. "You know what happened to my mother. What if..."

She twisted around to face him. "You didn't kill her, Alistair," she said, cupping his cheek with her hand. "No matter what that harridan of a sister of yours said. Women die in childbirth sometimes. Not as often as they used to, thank the Maker, and usually not if there's proper help available. Which I'm guessing your mother didn't have."

He shrugged, unable to keep the tears from his eyes. "I don't know," he said. "They never told me the details."

"I'll have Rowan, and Anders. And you."

"I just.. keep thinking. We wanted this so badly and I never really thought about what would happen if we got it."

"Hey," she said, pinching his chin with her fingers and giving him a little shake. "I'm not dying. Most women don't, you know. Otherwise we'd have a little bit of a population shortage."

"I can't protect you from this," he said. "That's why I'm frightened."

She looked at him for a long moment before reaching up and pulling his head down to hers, kissing him deeply and soundly. When they parted, she was smiling. "If you're there, I won't be frightened," she said. "Try not to be? For me?"

He swallowed and stroked her hair away from her face. There was no way he could explain to her how precious she was to him - what it would mean to him if he lost her. She couldn't ask him not to be afraid - she knew him too well for that. He answered her with the only thing he could say honestly.

"I'll try."

They needed horses for their trip, and a wagon for their gear, which was arranged for them by some of the ship's crew at Sigrun's orders. The next morning they met the first mate at the city gates - a burly red haired man called Delbert, who had their supplies.

They could take the Imperial Highway all the way to Minrathos. Alistair wasn't entirely sure it would be a good idea to do so, but with the wagon it wasn't practical to strike off into the wilderness so he was happy enough to follow it for now.

Eamon had insisted he study the political and social systems of Orlais for hours. Despite Leliana's insistence that it was a more complex society than that of Ferelden, he actually found it simpler to understand. Although he was somewhat puzzled by why the aristocracy held absolute power without any support base, he could see how it would make a country easier to run. The thought of not having to meet with the arls and banns every time he wanted to make a decision was very appealing. He would have so much more time for... well, everything.

"There are disadvantages," Miranda said to him as they walked. "You've not been into the countryside of Orlais before, have you?"

"Not without a massive entourage, no."

She looked uncharacteristically grim. "You'll see what I mean."

He did on the third day from Val Royeaux. They were passing through a tiny village, surrounded by farms. Anders (who for some reason spoke better Orlesian than anyone else in their party) was negotiating with a farmer for some supplies - cheese mainly, although Miranda had convinced Alistair that they needed bread and vegetables as well - when a chevalier on horseback arrived.

The farmer tensed as soon as he saw him and shouted something over his shoulder in Orlesian. It was studded with expletives and Alistair had no idea what he'd said. Within the minute the farmer's wife appeared - a woman with blonde hair who probably would have been a beauty only a few years ago, but whose face was now haggard and worn and her back bent from hard work. The farmer apologised to Anders and continued his bartering, but the woman approached the chevalier, bent almost double and fawning.

Alistair couldn't hear the exchange, but it ended with the chevalier casually leaning down and backhanding the woman across the face with a gauntleted fist before riding off. Alistair had taken two steps with his hand on his sword hilt before he felt Miranda's hand on his arm. "It won't do any good," she said. "They have complete power here. She probably just told him she was out of milk."

He growled. "She was helpless!"

Miranda nodded. "Yes, she was. But we're not here to change the political system. We're just passing through."

When the woman came back to her husband, who's face was set and grim, she had blood running down the side of her face. Anders said a few words to the man, who's eyes lit up and he nodded. The mage turned to the woman and held up a hand over her wound - healing it rapidly with a burst of green light.

It wasn't the first time he had to use his healing magic for the people of Orlais.

Alistair's blood seemed to be in a constant state of boil as they traveled. Orlais was a fertile country - its farms were productive, yet the people of the villages were suffering from malnutrition and disease. The aristocracy taxed the people mercilessly, the chevaliers treated them as though they were personal slaves, yet the people did not revolt. In Ferelden if a Bann or an Arl tried to treat his people this way, they would leave for another Bann, or simply kill him and have him replaced. Here... well there was nowhere to run to that wasn't exactly the same. And the people were defeated - crushed.

"They won't rise up against it," Alistair said in wonder one night at camp, angrily breaking sticks and throwing them in the fire. "They don't even know that they have the power to!"

Anders sighed. "Justice once asked me why we mages didn't stand up to the templars at the circle," he said. "He said that apathy was a weakness. I said 'So is death'. When it gets down to it, the first person who stands up to a chevalier is going to become a corpse. Who wants to be that person?"

Alistair pursed his lips. "Only a fool," he said. "Or someone who has nothing left to lose."