Chapter Twenty-Five - Breakfast

'…And furthermore, the Assembly has taken into account that your husband, another Grey Warden, will second you, as always,' the Deshyr read from the scroll, delivering news that Nyra expected after all the negotiations – her nephew was so predictable. 'As we all know of the Grey Wardens' formidable strength and agility, the Assembly grants Lord Endrin Aeducan-' She smirked as she heard her nephew growl at the title, another sore point between them, 'the concession that no additional Wardens may be part of your retinue.'

Nyra simply raised her eyebrow at the comment. If Endrin thought that this was going to cause her an issue, he truly had not studied her.

'Noble Assembly,' her speech was as refined as it had been the first time she had been presented to the parliament by her father decades before. 'I accept those terms for the proving, they are fair and understandable. However, in order to fulfil them, I request a short grace period to organise my team: twenty days.'

'No!' Endrin stood quickly and Nyra turned to face him, her face impassive. 'She has been here for four weeks already and all we have done is agreed that I have the right to challenge her and – finally – lain out the terms. This should have been over by now! Do you not have the courage to face me?' he demanded as he turned to confront her.

'Nephew, I have no problem in facing you – as has been proven in the past, I am more than accomplished to tackle you one to one – it is you who has requested a group challenge. I have agreed to this... highly unusual request and as it is so rare in matters of honour to face one another as a group, I am merely requesting some time for my team to arrive.'

'Arrive?' another Deshyr asked.

Nyra nodded. 'I cannot have my Grey Wardens, nor can we choose our companions from our own house, and as I do not reside within Orzammar – as much as it breaks my heart – I do not know who could fight as my brother or sister would next to me.' Not that I'd want a brother of mine fighting next to me, she added silently as she looked towards Endrin, thinking of his father. 'Therefore, I must seek assistance from those outside of the jewel of our people. Twenty days should be long enough for me to send note, have them arrive and train before the event.'

A murmur went through the hall as the nobles quickly discussed the matter, and just as she knew they would-

'The Paragon's request as been granted. Twenty days, no more. If your chosen team is not within Orzammar by that time, the Assembly shall choose it for you.'

With a genuine smile upon her lips, Nyra bowed to those gathered, turned and left.

o-O-o

'Take this letter, William,' Nyra handed the scroll to the young man. 'Ensure that it arrives at the Peak in all haste – it is imperative that you hurry them. They must be here no later than ten days from today.' The young Warden nodded, tucked the scroll into his chest piece and, with a final bow to his Commander, turned and left the compound, and thus the city in a hurry.

'Don't worry,' Alistair's deep, warm voice rumbled behind her as he dipped his head and kissed her neck, 'they'll be here quicker than you think.'

'Alistair if they-'

The knock at the door stopped the words on her lips, her brow furrowing. Alistair stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder, as Justine opened it.

'Lowena?' they heard the Head-Warden's surprised voice greet the scholar, before turning in question to the couple on the other side of the room. Nyra groaned, she'd forgotten she'd granted the girl an hour of their time that morning. Sighing she motioned for the Warden to allow the girl entrance.

'I'm afraid that we are really limited on time this morning,' Nyra spoke over the girl as she made to greet them. 'And I'm afraid that I am unable to spare any at all, so Alistair will take you through the next part.'

Alistair cordially bowed to her and then gestured to the seating area near the door as Justine and Greigson gathered the papers they had been perusing and moved towards the desk Nyra commanded.

The girl beamed at him as she took a seat and pulled a sheet of parchment and her favourite quill from the bag she had taken to carrying since her near death experience.

'So,' she chirped happily. 'Where do we continue from? The Brecilian Forest? Dragon's Peak? Oh! Perhaps something happened in South Reach?'

Alistair grinned, 'Something did happen in South Reach, but we'll get to that eventually. No we simply continue from breakfast the next morning…'

o-O-o

As Alistair and Nyra stepped from their room – finally ready to face the day now that Wynne had healed his face – the scent wafting from the parlour made his mouth water and sent him hurtling back in time to when he was a small boy raising hell in Arl Eamon's kitchens. Isodel had friends from Orlais staying at the castle and was ordering all sorts of delicious things to be cooked. The chef grumbled as time after time his creations were returned, deemed as unacceptable to the Arlessa, but to Alistair's grubby little hands and greedy mouth they were perfect. His stomach rumbled, jarring him from his thoughts and Nyra gazed up at him, her brows raised.

'Let's get you some of whatever that divine smell is,' she said stepping down the corridor, clearly amused as his face turned a fetching shade of pink. 'Clearly you're on the brink of starvation.'

'Hey, we didn't eat last night, remember,' he said with a half-joking pout.

'And I forgot that if you don't eat every- what in the name of the Ancestors-'

'Surprise!' Zevran, Leliana and Wynne called out, throwing their hands up, out and every which way as the pair stepped into the parlour. Alistair blinked rapidly as he saw the bounty of Orlesian pastries, ripe exotic fruits and a pot full of warm sweetened porridge the threesome was trying to display to them.

He froze in fear, his mouth suddenly dry, his breath caught in his throat as his eyes wandered from the spectacular breakfast bounty over the small group to land on the aging mage. Why? His eyes begged her, and she flushed slightly under his hurt gaze.

Leliana was saying something to him – no, to Nyra who, for some reason, looked furious at the group. She demanded something – he could tell, her hands were balled up into fists on her hips as she glared at them all – but he couldn't hear what they were saying, the sound of his heart thumping in his chest drowned out the noise as his eyes travelled around the room again, this time taking in the Qunari and the witch by the windows.

Morrigan, looking as unruffled and calm as she always did amidst the shouting – which was starting to become more common place, he vaguely thought – strode across the room and shoved something… fragrant under his nose. He blinked, the scent of roses and rain with a hint of grass waking him from his state and forcing him to focus on the witch.

'Here,' she huffed, and her usual calm composure was tainted by her warmed cheeks; clearly uncomfortable in presenting him the little parcel. 'I see not the reason to celebrate another year closer to death, but the others insisted that 'tis a custom amongst civilised society,' she explained, dropping the linen wrapped soap in his hands. 'I am sure 'tis more a present to us than you.'

'I did not get you a gift,' the giant said when Alistair's surprised eyes passed over him. 'In my lands when a man comes of age he is given over to his role. You already have yours. I do not understand this custom.'

The room had fallen silent as they watched the exchange with curious eyes, waiting to see his reaction. Nyra, who had stopped shouting at Morrigan's presentation, was instead now staring up at him with something akin to surprise, bewilderment, and complete and utter shock. Her pretty little mouth, which Alistair often found his eyes drawn to, was opening and closing in a rather good imitation of a fish.

'I have a gift!' Leliana breathily exclaimed, clapping excitedly again and acting as if the giant hadn't spoken, and causing Alistair's gaze to refocus upon the meddling threesome who had caused so much mayhem already this morning. Maker, it's not even the eighth hour!

'It is only petit,' she continued, having caught his eye and pulled him down onto the cushioned bench as she sat and presented him her offering, 'but I hope that you like it.' She thrust the gift, delicately wrapped in red parchment, into his hands.

Who on earth would dye parchment?

Forget the parchment, another part of him chided. Why are they giving you gifts? You don't get gifts –ever. You're not good enough for them, no one ever remembers you; why are they remembering you? Drawing attention to you?

'Oh, Alistair!' the bard cried in exasperation, cutting off his thoughts as she lost her patience and leaned over to assist him. 'Just rip it open! There,' she proclaimed happily as a small carved figurine of a robed woman rolled out of its wrapping. 'It is Andraste – I think. I found it in Lothering only the morning of your arrival; it appears to be very old – I have never seen one like it.

'Do you like it?' she asked hopefully.

They got you gifts… his mind repeated sceptically. They got you gifts and are celebrating today – they want you to forget, they want you to enjoy yourself when she lies cold and dead-

'Alistair?' the bard forced him to refocus his attention back upon her question. She pouted at him, her red lip pouting provocatively, drawing his eyes and causing a flush to his cheeks as other thoughts began to drift- 'You don't like it.'

'No- Ah, I mean yes, yes I do,' he said turning it around in his hands and examining it, trying to ignore the voice that had kept him company for so long. She had found this in Lothering the day they had arrived… it was so unusual and definitely old as she said; she was giving this to him? Just like that? He hadn't had a gift given to him in years, and never on this day. The only gift he had ever been given was a little miniature golem doll that Arl Eamon had given him when he was small… really small. A slight twinge caught his chest as he thought of it lost with the rest of his meagre possessions at Ostagar…

A number of pairs of socks from Wynne was his next gift; What is it with women and colours? What's wrong with grey? he wondered, as he held them up tentatively for inspection before they were rudely yanked from his hands and another gift was pushed towards him.

'Zevran…' Nyra's voice from behind his shoulder rumbled with a warning. He had almost forgotten about her, she had retreated behind him when it became clear that he was the focus of the celebration.

'Mine next,' Zevran grinned impishly as he thrust a book under Alistair's nose. Nyra huffed and he imagined her rolling her eyes and turning away in frustration. His stomach suddenly lurched as he took in the deep brown leather-bound volume that had no writing up on it to indicate the book's topic. He glanced up at the assassin and swallowed at the mischievous gleam in his blue eyes. What had the elf gotten him that made him grin so? His face flushed tomato red as he opened the cover of the book and was presented with a woman and a man in a very complicated, compromising position.

'Oh my…' Wynne exclaimed as she caught a glance at the page.

He stared at the book, blinking rapidly, and yet the provocative image didn't register, instead his mind focused on the laughter that surrounded him from the three conspirators.

How could they? They know! his mind snarled. They know and they make light of it – as if it is nothing! They were mocking him, mocking the death of her, the only woman who had ever loved him…

Morrigan stood from her corner, a frown upon her face as she saw the young man's eyes harden and turn inward, his hands clutching at the book. Nyra was behind him, her hands resting on the back of the bench she leaned over, glaring at the three of them, heavily disappointed with the lot of them and completely unaware of the sudden hard set of Alistair's shoulders, the pulse throbbing in his neck and his knuckles white as he gripped the final straw in his hands.

'Nyra,' she muttered, trying not to draw the Templar-Warden's attention; he held onto too much dislike for her not to become the focus of his unsurprising anger. She had tried to warn the three the night before when Wynne had told them all of the young man's secret, but they had simply shushed her protests and refused to listen and so she left them to it – ensuring that her offering was given first, whilst he still suffered with surprise, with enough of her usual disdain that he wouldn't see it as an act of kindness.

'Nyra,' she tried again, a little louder. The bard was nattering on, loudly, gesturing wildly as she told some kind of story that had the elf looking at her as if he wanted to mount her right here in front of them all like a Mabari on heat.

'Nyra!' she hissed and finally got the dwarf's attention. She pointed at Alistair and then jabbed her finger to the door. If the woman could get him out of here before he blew she might be able to get him to calm down before-

Alistair slammed the book down on the table as he stood up and roared 'Shut up!', his breathing laboured and his eyes screwed shut as his hands clutched at his hair as he tried to get a grip on his anger.

They shouldn't be doing this, the voice within him raged. They should respect you, but then, it returned to its usual mocking lilt, no one respects you – you don't deserve respect, you deserve to be laughed at and mocked-

'Alistair,' Nyra's soft voice interrupted the taunting of his inner mind and he found himself surrounded by three pairs of wide eyes all staring up at him as if he had two heads. He stared at the floor, his face ruby red at his actions when all they had been trying to do was-

Belittle her memory.

'Alistair,' her soft voice called to him again and he turned to see her stepping around the seating, her tiny hand outstretched towards him. He gazed down at it and then back to her grey-blue eyes that looked at him with kindness, no traces of mocking, anger or disappointment at his actions, simply… understanding?

'I should pack these,' he muttered, his hand waving in the general vicinity of the gifts he had been graced with. She merely nodded and dropped her hand to her side.

'I have some things to pack too,' she advised him, her voice softer and warmer than he had ever heard it. 'You carry your… offerings, and I'll grab some food – we can eat while we pack. Don't want to march on an empty stomach do we – not when you're so close to starvation as it is.' She offered him a winning smile and he remembered her joking with him earlier. He shook his head as he blinked at her; the fury he felt at the others was still there – oh he'd be more than happy to challenge the rogues to a sparring session later and ensure he gave each of them a good thrashing – but with just a few words from her it became a simmering anger, rather than a boiling rage.

Nyra watched as he gathered the items up, holding them close to his chest, and stepped to one side allowing him to leave. She frowned as he kept his head ducked as he hurried back the way they had come just minutes before when their tones had been filled with amusement and gentleness after reaching an accord the night prior.

When she heard the door close behind him she turned on the three – on Wynne in particular. 'So, it was meant to be kept to yourself I gather.'

'I confess he did say he didn't want a fuss made when he let it slip that today would be-'

'So, he said "no" and you said "yes"?' The mage opened her mouth, but Nyra was quicker. 'Did you think that perhaps there might be a reason for it? Probably not, you interfering old bronto. I swear,' the dwarven Warden snatched a few pastries and a piece of fruit as she addressed the woman, 'one day that nose of yours is going to get you into a whole heap of trouble – and I'm not going to be willing to get you out of it.'

Turning on her heel, her long, loose white hair swirling around her, Nyra followed Alistair's trail back to their room, shutting the door firmly behind her, giving the others a clear indication that they were not to be disturbed.

o-O-o

The book hit the wall with a satisfying thud; the idol smashed the mirror; the shattering of the glass soothed his rage slightly; the socks sailed harmlessly above Nyra's head hitting the door with no sound before they bounced into her hands.

He hadn't heard her come in, yet she stood leaning against the door, holding the pair of green socks in one hand with a bemused look upon her face. His anger left him immediately. What if he had thrown the book or idol in that direction; what if it had hit her rather than the door?

His cheeks flamed red as he muttered an apology; could he do nothing right? He sat down heavily on the bed and sighed, holding his head in his hands as he tried to gather his thoughts together. How could he have done that, screaming at them like a child throwing a tantrum? Today he became a man; more was expected of him now.

'I came in to apologise,' Nyra said quietly, as she moved towards where he sat. 'I didn't know what today was; I didn't get you anything.'

'I don't want anything,' he murmured into his palms, his eyes still closed as he pressed his fingers into them trying to keep all the anger, the burning resentment towards everyone he had buried deep within himself years ago, at bay. 'I didn't even want today acknowledging.'

'I know.' He heard her sit on her bed and imagined her back pressed against the wall, feet dangling off the end, just a breath from his knees. She'd be watching him with her blue-grey eyes, her eyes laughing at his childish outburst, waiting to-

He heard a page turn, and a small inhalation of breath. A page turned again.

'Oh,' she breathed. Another turn of the page. He frowned. What was she reading? The only books they had were kept primarily by Morrigan, he had the- Oh.

Oh! No! She isn't... he peaked through his fingers. She is… Maker! Have mercy! he prayed as he watched her turn another page of the book that Zevran had gifted him. She sat in the middle of the bed, her legs crossed, nibbling on her lower lip with a look of pure concentration on her face as she turned her head slightly this way and then that way, before finally turning the book upside down.

'Oh my!' Her cheeks turned pink, decorating them daintily; her lip, that had been captured between her teeth was red and swollen and looking utterly kissable to him at that moment. She pulled it back between her teeth as she continued to study the book, leaning more towards it as she tried to see something within the image.

His anger vanished completely with the thought of ripping the book from her hands, grabbing her and pulling her flush against him, informing her that only he was allowed to nibble such a beautiful lip before claiming her mouth as his and showing her exactly what he could do with such a delicacy. He groaned ever so slightly at the thought, feeling his own cheeks warming, and counting himself lucky that he had his head hidden, and even luckier that he was sitting the way he was – he was positive she couldn't see the new state he had gotten himself into; a clear reminder that he was, indeed, a man.

Her eyes flickered towards him, studying him for a moment, before looking back down at the book. To him. Then to the book. He swallowed, wondering if she was trying to picture him doing whatever the image was showing. His trousers grew considerably tighter at the thought of her imagining the two of them entwined intimately. She glanced back to him and then back to the book and then shook her head as if to dismiss whatever thought, or idea, she had been contemplating.

He watched as she gently pushed the book to one side, sighing softly, before he closed his fingers again, hoping that she hadn't caught him spying on her. Her knees knocked against his as she moved to the edge of the bed, sitting opposite him. His breath hitched slightly as he remembered her kneeling before him the night prior; boxed in on either side by his legs, and behind her by her bed. If he hadn't been in so much pain he would never have been able to hide how much he had come to desire her.

'So are you going to tell me what all that was about?'

'Are you going to tell me why you didn't say it was your birth date just a few days ago?' he retorted childishly. He sensed her stiffen, her whole body going rigid, her anger instantly flaring as she was caught unawares.

'Never mind,' he sighed and rubbed his face. 'Gorim said you wouldn't want to celebrate – you no longer have the right to, seeing as you're exiled.' He dropped his hands and finally looked at her. Their faces where mere inches distant, if he reached out… 'Don't worry I won't say anything. I might not understand, but I respect your wishes.'

'I see.'

'I don't celebrate this date, haven't since my fifth year when I finally realised that my birth caused my mother's death. How does one turn that into a celebratory event?'

'I see,' she repeated, and then drew that lip into her mouth again as she considered him. His thoughts quickly turned back to grabbing her-

'Stop that,' he hissed irritably, causing her to jump slightly in surprise. 'Sorry,' he muttered.

'Talk to me, Alistair, please.'

'Why?' He frowned at her; why should he when she gave nothing back.

That's not fair, his conscious reminded him. She has; she told you about her hair, about her step-mother… that's something big.

Not enough, he argued back. I want to know more – everything!

Selfish, his conscious hissed at him. You hide things, you keep things; lead by example…

She watched as he warred with himself, as he tried to decide if it was within himself to expose such a raw memory, an emotionally draining one at that, she guessed.

'My birth date celebrations are usually a big deal,' she finally blurted out. 'As… High Commander it became a bit of a public holiday, large celebrations were held throughout the city – a Grand Proving would be hosted and all of Orzammar's finest would participate, fighting for the glory to be named my Champion that year.

'My father consistently hoped that perhaps I would find a suitor amongst the… elite of the city on these occasions, that I would enter into a marriage contract and secure our family's position within the city, but-'

'You're in love with Gorim,' he sounded miserable – he was miserable. She held to a man who could not love her in the way she deserved; had never been able to!

'I was.'

'Was?' She bit her lip again at his question. 'Stop that,' he whispered this time, his eyes focused upon her lips. 'You have no idea what you do to me; no idea how you make me feel… how I desire you.'

Slowly, painstakingly slowly, she released her lip and licked it. He groaned and leaned closer, their noses just a fingers breadth apart; he wanted to beg, plead with her to love him, to take him, to teach him things that he could only imagine – what she had just been imaging as she looked at Zevran's damn gift. How many times had they been in this position; at the Peak, the Circle, camp, the side of the road… how many times had the spell been broken before it could be cast.

'Was.' It escaped on a breath, barely audible, but he heard it.

'Nyra,' he breathed; his hand reached out of its own accord and brushed her fringe out of her eyes, tucking her long, loose hair behind her ear and finally, with the slight tilt of his head, closed the distance, capturing her lips with his. She responded immediately, her mouth was warm, the caress of her lips softer than he could have imagined. She moaned against him and his hand tightened in her hair, pulling her closer, his other sliding around her waist to settle at the small of her back. He groaned as she parted her lips beneath his, inviting him to taste, to explore, to plunder.

His tongue tentatively traced her bottom lip; feeling the little dimple she had caused with all her nibbling sent a surge of desire through him. He deepened the kiss, tangling his tongue against hers; he wanted more, he needed to touch, to feel, to do… something! His body was taunt with frustration and want, the desire to know her on a level he could not yet ascend to, for surely when he knew her that way he would be transported to the heavens.

He left her mouth, trailing kisses from her lips to her jaw; he nipped at her earlobe and smiled against her neck as she gasped his name. Her fingers gripped his shoulders, her small nails digging into his skin beneath his tunic as she tilted her head back to allow him better access to her throat, and when he flicked his tongue over the hollow he found there, she begged him – begged him! – for more.

'Alistair,' her voice was husky as she pulled back slightly to see his face; her cheeks were flushed, her lips full and her eyes were glazed with want and need for him. He bent his head, inhaling her unique scent of fire and ice, and captured her lips in a bruising kiss, his body moving to join hers on her bed as she pulled him closer, closer until their bodies were flush.

She moved against him, causing him to moan as her hip rubbed against this throbbing-

'Leave them alone, old woman!'

The two of them flew apart; Alistair stood quickly moving towards his sword before he realised that it was Morrigan's voice he had heard… and then considered using it anyway.

'I just want to check he's okay,' came Wynne's tart reply.

Nyra snarled from her bed, her pillow clutched against her body as if she had been caught nude as she glared at the door. 'I'm going to kill the old cow,' she hissed.

He murmured his agreement and his stomach dropped as she turned her gaze to his, her face paling and her eyes widening as she realised what she had just done. With him. In their bedroom. On her bed.

She opened her mouth, but a knock on the door stopped whatever she was going to say to him.

'Alistair,' Wynne's voice called through the wood, followed by Morrigan's growl of irritation. He imagined the witch throwing her hands up before they heard her stomp away down the hall. The door opened a crack as she peered through, a frown on her face before she saw him standing at the foot of his bed. She smiled when she saw him and opened the door further, much to the indignation of Nyra, who was suddenly starring at Zevran's book again, turning the pages very quickly.

'I just wanted to check you were all… packed now?' she asked, her gaze travelling over the room. When they landed on Nyra, sitting on the bed with Zevran's book back in her lap, she frowned again.

'Yes,' Alistair began, his voice an octave higher than usual; he cleared his throat quickly. 'All packed, just about to bring everything down to the entrance.' His grip tightened on his sword, the hilt hiding his rapidly deflating excitement.

'Do you need help? I-'

'No!' Nyra slamming the book shut and jumping up announced haughtily. 'I'm sure the two of us can deal with any packing and carrying better than you're able to.' And to prove her words she grabbed her pack and hauled it over her shoulder. She moved quickly towards the door forcing Wynne to open it wider and step back. The mage shook her head with disappointment as she watched the dwarf storm down the corridor towards the parlour.

'Thanks, Wynne, but I think we have everything.' Alistair stepped past the aging mage with a look of apology etched across his features. She patted his arm and smiled softly up at him, cooing 'Of course,' before she followed him down the hallway.

o-O-o

She's not going to like this, she is not going to like this. He frowned as he left Gorim and his companion waiting out in the little courtyard that led to their small, soon to be former, lodgings. Relax, another voice within him spoke out. It's not you she's going to scream at.

'Where's Nyra?' he asked Leliana as the redhead walked passed him on the narrow corridor. 'She's not in the parlour.'

'I saw her go into Morrigan's room a few minutes ago.'

He froze. Morrigan's room? 'Would you-'

'Non.' The redhead shook her head fiercely and hurried on to the front door to drop her bag in the yard ready to leave in a few minutes.

Taking a steadying breath he moved down the corridor towards the witch's room. Even though it was partly ajar, he raised his hand to knock, but froze when voices floated through the small gap in the door.

'-but that doesn't mean I want a relationship with him!' Nyra's voice sounded panicked. His hand dropped to his side and he leaned towards the gap to hear better.

'You know how he feels and yet you allowed him to kiss you; upon your bed no less.'

'But- but that doesn't mean that he's going to think that we're suddenly together does it?' Her voice sounded higher than usual.

''Tis Alistair we're talking about, is it not?' Nyra groaned, and a look of indignation crossed Alistair's face. Nyra thinks that I think that we're automatically a couple? Because we kissed?

That was way more than any kiss you've ever had, a smug little voice chirped up, as his hand raised to touch his lips, recalling the way her own felt against his; soft, supple… delicious.

'To be fair to the boy,' the witch continued, 'he didn't come out announcing wedding plans. Perhaps you are being unjust to him – as much as that pains me to say.'

'But you know how he feels. I told you about when I found him in the Fade-'

'Yes,' the witch snapped. 'And I am still angry about that – I don't care if you are less susceptible to their lure, you never play along with demons! You both could have been lost within the Fade's clutches.'

Alistair's eyebrows raised at that. It almost sounded like Morrigan cared… about Nyra at least.

Nyra muttered another apology before the witch sighed. 'Forget that, 'tis past and you will not do anything of the sort again. Now,' a sound like the patting of a bed caught his ear, 'tell me why 'twould be a bad thing to be romantically involved with Alistair.'

Silence met his ear.

'Okay, demon, leave Morrigan's body and bring her back to me.'

'Ha ha,' Morrigan drawled. 'Truth be, 'twould be a bit sickening to watch you two, but I imagine 'twould take your minds from our… situation. You are the only two Grey Wardens in Ferelden, you understand each other far better than I or any of our company could.'

'I… I didn't think you thought much of love, Morrigan, after telling me how replaceable men where.'

'What an odd thing to say. Why must 'love' enter into the equation?'

'But you just said-'

'To indulge in love is to indulge in delusion. Surely a Grey Warden such as yourself does not believe otherwise? I was merely suggesting that you form a companionship, enjoy a warm bed of a night and the pleasures that a man can bring. He may be a simpleton-' Alistair bit back an angry retort, 'but I will not deny that he does have a fine body.'

'Morrigan!'

'What?'

'Well, first of all, he's not a simpleton!' Alistair's back straightened at Nyra's defence and a smile spread across his face.

'As you say.'

'Secondly, I do believe otherwise. Love is not a delusion.'

'I see. Well we all have our weaknesses, don't we.'

'Love isn't a weakness, Morrigan.'

'Really? 'Tis why there are many tales of men doing stupid things for women they profess to love, who have gotten themselves into silly situations that they could not get themselves out of. Those men would have been better getting new women who were not stupid enough to be kidnapped or cursed or whatever.' Before Nyra could respond the witch threw another question her way. 'So are you saying that 'tis because you do not love the Chantry-raised brat that you do not wish to become his heart's desire?'

'No, I never said that-'

'So you do love him?'

'I never said that either.'

'Then what stops you?'

Nyra hesitated with her answer and he imagined she was nervously nibbling on her lip again. When she finally answered, he had to strain to hear.

'He was my first friend.' A sigh. 'The first who was my friend simply because of me. Not my position, my power or my title. He just likes me for who I am; I don't want to ruin that.' The witch began to speak, but Nyra cut over her. 'No, what happens if we do begin a relationship, what if he falls in love with me-'

Too late, his mind whispered.

'And I don't fall in love back. Or the other way around. We're not farmhands and milkmaids, Morrigan, we're at war-'

'Alistair!' Zevran's voice called from the entrance way, causing him to jump and curse under his breath. Quickly taking two steps back he called to the elf that he was just seeking Nyra for Gorim. As he stepped back to the doorway and raised his hand again to knock, the door swung open and Nyra appeared, her face flushed and her eyes unable to rise any higher than his chest.

'You're looking for me?' she asked, a nervous tilt to her voice.

'Gorim is here… he brings a gift and a request. I, ah,' he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. 'I don't think you're going to like his request.' He stepped aside the moment the frown appeared upon her face, allowing her to hurry down the hallway, his eyes followed the sway of her hips as she went.

'Tell me, Alistair.' Morrigan's voice in his ear made him jump. 'What if a Grey Warden was forced to choose between the Warden he loved and ending the Blight? What should his choice be?'

'I- what?'

'Think about it, Alistair,' she said as she picked up her pack and pushed past the confused man. 'For one day it could be a question you shall have to answer – and quickly.'

o-O-o