Prince Cavan's horse danced in a circle as the people of Denerim cheered, Maric's armor catching any weak finger of light to flash back gold. Don't watch him go, whispered Zevran, people will mark your glance and you will be a target, but it was of no use, for it was noted that the blue sash that snapped in the wind from the hilt of Cavan's sword was embroidered in an arched design. Perhaps the Prince was honoring the elvhen goddess Mythal, but the rumor went that he was honoring the Dalish girl, Neria's child, and the marks were made to match the lines on her face.

"Yes, I did understand that you are still my guest."

Surana looked up and the Queen was standing there, a white shadow at the top of the stairs, her hand against the wall. Her head trembled slightly as it sometimes did. "Yes," answered Zevran's daughter. She hesitated. "My father and I are in gratitude for your hospitality."

"Just as I am grateful for your aid in resolving the succession crisis." Anora lifted her head as Surana climbed nearer. "Though to be honest, I believe that the Landsmeet was on the verge of accepting him."

Surana studied her. Her eyes were a sharp and clear blue, but her hair escaping its confines in wisps like spider's silk and her fingers were white against the wall to stay the trembling. "I did wonder why he needed me," she confessed.

"I wonder why he has kept you here instead of Gwaren," Anora answered in a lower voice, and for a moment the trembling in her body stilled. "But he is powerful and intelligent as much as he is good and kind, and it is the best that I will hope for."

"I am not giving you a 'look,' my treasure," Zevran said under his breath. Surana followed him, his steps smooth and yet she was nearly running to keep up.

"Yes, yes, you are, that look, the one you give to the nobles and," Surana waved her hands. "People. To the threats. Why are you giving me this look?"

Zevran stopped and set his key into the lock that opened the suite of their rooms. "Is it anything like the look that you give me after I have been about my business? Truly, Surana, I wonder who has raised you, that you think that I should be some pure prince like those that you associate with. You have grown too much like an Antivan woman, I think." There was a snick as the tumblers finally turned and he opened the door. "Or no, it is not the Antivan in you, it is the Dalish. Bless them with whatever gods you like, but my own daughter is a prude, save for her own bed."

"Padre!" hissed Surana, eyes narrowed. "I have no idea what I am doing and must drag you away from some Shemlen whorehouse for help!"

Zevran turned at her, his own eyes narrowed. "Listen to me, little one—"

"Yes, yes, this is rather how I expected things were going, to tell you the truth," said an amused voice in the room, for there was Shartan, sitting in one of the chairs before the hearth, his lips curved in a smile that made a lie of his emotionless eyes. "Should I douse you both in ice? Padre told me to do something like that once as I remember."

The other two stopped. Surana was flustered, her hand on the closed door, but Zevran hesitated only a moment in the argument before striding to the chair. "My son," he said, voice a little rough, as Shartan stood. The men embraced, Zevran's muscles standing out, Shartan's head dropping to his father's shoulder. Surana came to one side and the pins in her hair were tugged free as she pushed herself under their arms.

Shartan ate his Fereldan stew without comment and Surana reached forward, flicking his hair up to study how his skin melted into scar. "No mana at all then?"

Shartan swallowed and reached back to brush her fingers away from his skin. "Yes, that is the funny thing about Templars. Also, let me tell you, don't try to heal with blood magic. Madre never wrote that down. Very powerful, yes, but no good for healing. Don't try it." He took a breath and pushed away his dish. "What are we arguing about?"

Surana took a seat closer to the fire and both of the men watched her. "Your sister," said Zevran with a smile, his Antivan words half-whispered, "she is thinking maybe she should be a Queen."

"I have said no such thing," she snapped.

"And why should she not be, if she wants to?" Shartan glanced at Zevran, heat in his voice. "These humans, that Chantry, they take our land, they make us run. They made Madre run, they made you a slave boy, they make me run, they make the Dalish run. Let them run, I say. If my sister wants to be their Queen, let her be." Shartan's voice raised and Surana watched his brown eyes narrow, his face turn red. "They took my vineyard and I say that is enough!"

The words filled up the room even in the silence that followed and Shartan took a deep breath, his eyes turning to his food again. Zevran laughed. "The words of a dead man, I would say, but look at your old papà, I've forgotten that you are my Warden's children as well. Fine then, change the world if this is what you want."

"I did not say that this is what I want," said Surana again.

"You are safe, Ana." She looked back to Shartan, his merry face made firm. "You know that I would know this better than anyone. He is capable of seeing to it. You are safe to even walk away from him, if you wish it. He values your freedom very much."

She nodded slowly, then smiled. He grinned at her and was briefly like the same brother that she'd always had. "Thank you, Shartan."

"Of course."

AN: Thank you, xogs, for the wonderful beta job! And thank you all for making my day by reading my little story!