Loghain Mac Tir moved amazingly quietly for a man both his size and his age. He mounted the steps to the battlements almost completely noiselessly, dressed in leather armor rather than his more familiar Chevalier plate.

He had been a farmer's son, a poacher and bandit long before he had been the hero of the River Dane, and felt more comfortable lightly armored than when he clanked about in a metal shell. The plate armor he wore was to remind everyone of how Fereldens had thrown those Orlesian bastards – better trained, better armed, better armored, and with better numbers – out of their home. He'd stripped that armor from a Chevalier right on the battlefield, the body not even cooled yet, and wore it to frighten the cheese-eating, painted, poncy bastards every time he met them on the field. It made him look even more intimidating than his natural height, sharp, craggy features, and piercing ice blue stare did. But he saw no need to wear the armor at the Keep unless there were business afoot – and at six o'clock in the morning, there should be nothing terribly exciting or dangerous going on.

He slipped up the steps to the battlements. At this early hour, he passed one of the sentinels with a nod. Even without the darkspawn having surprised the Keep from its cellars – and they were on the way to ending that threat as soon as the men were able to dig through the rubble caused by that fool dwarf and his explosions – the sacking of Highever Castle was an object lesson to all about complacency. He would never allow the Vigil to be so surprised, and had made that plain to Varel and Garahel – no doubt making himself even more popular as he doubled the normal patrols.

Such were his responsibilities as Risa Aeducan's second.

A year ago, he would have scoffed at the idea of taking direction from a dwarf girl less than half his age, but then – a year ago he had not imagined that he would have made such fatal mistakes in his quest to protect Ferelden that he had nearly caused her destruction. And this dwarf had, in fact, been the instrument of Ferelden's rescue – quelling the civil war by beating him senseless in the Landsmeet, sparing his life much to the rage of his son-in-law, who'd abandoned his oath to defeat the Blight in a fit of pique. Maric's bastard had married Anora willingly enough in order to rule Ferelden.

Maric's bastard – Loghain thought on that young man and his fist clenched unconsciously. The boy had been Risa's lover, and had broken it off with her in the most acrimonious way possible. Loghain suspected that the dwarva had been prepared for the break, but not for Maric's bastard abandoning his responsibilities so abruptly – and not for the vicious things he had said to her, personally. Loghain would have preferred not to have been privy to what had been said, but as he'd been preparing to take the Joining in the next room, he had heard every spiteful word.

Loghain knew he was exiled from Denerim; he had not even been able to stay for his daughter's wedding to the man. All he knew was that exile or no, if he ever heard word of the oaf treating Anora anywhere near the way he'd treated Aeducan, whatever Anora left of him would be Loghain's to crush, king or no.

As he made the top of the steps, he caught sight of his Commander leaning against the wall, watching the sunrise. She wore only a simple dress, blue, with the skirts slit up the sides so she could move freely in it. It was belted tightly with a sash of gold, and she looked every inch the lady.

Risa was small – nearly two feet shorter than he, and didn't they look ridiculous next to one another? – but people never really seemed to notice. Her… presence – some might say ego, but they'd be wrong, or only speaking out of jealousy – made her seem a giant, in truth. On the battlefield, in command – no one doubted or hesitated to carry out her orders. He had seen grown men flinch back from the sharp edge of her tongue when they failed her – and sigh with relief when she flung herself between them and impending doom.

Here, though, he was seeing her in one of her rare, unguarded moments – her raven-black hair freshly washed and shining in the morning's tentative golden light. Her face had smoothed in relaxation and wonder as she watched the sun peeking up from the horizon – a sight few dwarves could claim to have seen. There were signs of the hardship of their fight against the Blight – crows' feet at the corners of her onyx eyes, a furrow in her brow that never quite went away – but for the most part, she looked a young girl, enjoying what was becoming a spectacular sunrise.

Maker's breath, he thought as he stopped to regard her. The girl deserved so much more than she had.

He realized he'd drifted too close to her when she stiffened, her head cocking attentively. He felt the faint buzz of her taint behind his eyes, and knew she must be feeling him as well. This was confirmed when she turned and, though her eyes became a touch more guarded, she beckoned him over.

"I never get tired of seeing sunrise and sunset," she murmured when he drew near, her voice as dark, rich and sultry as melted chocolate. Then a quirked half smile, her eyes a little sad. "A view only a surfacer can appreciate."

"You could go back to Orzammar at any time, and you know it, Paragon," he said, reminding her that a new house – House Warden – had been created in her name. Gorim something or other – her old lieutenant – had been given the responsibility of recruiting into the house. Risa had broken from tradition by also allowing the casteless to be elevated into the house. He smiled slightly to himself, looking forward to someday seeing her tell off some arrogant noble when she went home and was censured for it. She may not have held the title any longer, but she could be every inch the Royal – with all the command and ego that went with it.

"Warden," she said in a mock-stern voice, "Have you failed to report to me that the darkspawn have retreated back to the Deep Roads for good?"

"Nothing of the like, Commander."

"Then stop talking idiocy." The words were softened by her tone, and he came to stand beside her on the wall.

"It is a pretty morning," he said finally, leaning against the battlements. "I had almost forgot how pretty a sunrise could be…."

"Ancestors, Loghain, you must be a cold-blooded bastard if you could," she said in surprise.

He looked down at her, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly, and his crows feet deepening a touch.

She nodded, looking back over the sunrise. "Point taken," she said softly, simply enjoying the quiet, the light show, and his company.