Author's note: Thanks to clafount once more for her excellent beta-reading skills, and thanks to everyone who's read and enjoyed BoP, especially those who've reviewed!


The parade actually started well before Denerim; the Commander and Oghren rode a pair of enormous black horses bedecked with Warden emblems, the fighters resplendent in heavy arms and armour. The healer, Friga , canted to the Commander's left in a smaller chestnut mare, her armoured robes similar to Bethany's. Bethany herself rode in the second rank with the rest of the Fereldan Wardens, those who'd been called to service after the end of the Blight. They'd rode that way for more than two days, all the way from Redcliffe.

But now the Wardens rode at the head of an impromptu column of men and women, ahorse and afoot, some of whom had begun following them as early as Lothering. The Commander had given the recently-knighted Valena the charge of organising these civilian hangers-on, some of whom had fought just as bravely as the Wardens in defence of their capitol city, more than two years before. Bethany was too far behind her Commander to hear the words that the elf shared with her two fellow Senior Wardens, but the occasional chuckle that trickled back to the rest of them let the human mage know that spirits were quite high indeed.

As the sun rose bloodily in front of them, the Wardens and their followers crested the final hill on the West Road, and Bethany got her first glimpse at Denerim's gates and walls. In truth, it wasn't nearly as impressive or intimidating as her first foray into Kirkwall had been, but the mage still sat in awe of the centre of Fereldan politics and culture. The city had endured, and from afar it looked majestic enough to have been Andraste's birthplace.

The Commander drew to a halt at the very beginning of the slope down to the city's gates. Slowly the dozens of men and women following the Wardens caught up with them, spilling off of the confines of the West Road as the elf turned her crimson eyes on them. Backlit by the morning, Bethany couldn't help but give her Commander an admiring stare. The woman's wild, black hair was tied back, giving them all an unimpeded view of her melted right ear and the burns on her neck, courtesy of the Archdemon.

"Some of you have been here before," the Commander began, her battle-roughened voice bringing the crowd to silence. Her eyes scanned around. "Matthias," the elf called, nodding to a middle-aged man who appeared to lack an arm. "Ingerd," the Commander continued, indicating a young woman near the centre of the throng. She went on naming individuals and gesturing for them to step forward, until more than twenty Fereldan civilians had moved to the place of honour in the vanguard. Bethany could see that having their names acknowledged by the hard-bitten woman was higher praise than any of the veterans had been expecting.

"Of the thousands of us who stood firm to this spot, we few remain to bear witness," the Commander intoned. "Doubtless there are hundreds within the city behind me who also fought bravely, and many more who could not make it today...but too many of your sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers, daughters and sons were put to rest within Denerim's walls." The elf's head tilted for just a moment. "Let's not forget them ."

With that, the Commander of the Grey wheeled her horse around and took the lead, as she had done so readily before. Now separated from the Senior Wardens by the mass of honoured civilians, Bethany and her fellows picked their way down the West Road in silence. The sky was blessedly clear of clouds and dragons, yet the still-new Warden couldn't shake the sombre mood that her Commander's reflection had evoked. They'd been warned that King Alistair and Queen Anora planned to make the day a grand spectacle, a day of celebration, but Bethany was almost certain that the Commander and her two Senior Wardens would rather not have come at all.

Before the procession reached the gates, the massive doors swung outward, and Bethany heard the Chantry's bells ringing from within the city's high walls for the first time. Her attention was soon taken up by their welcoming party, however; a crowd easily thrice the Wardens' own was massed just within the walls, headed by none other than the nation's rulers. Unlike the Wardens, however, none of the royal party were on horseback.

The man who could be none other than King Alistair Theirin stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and the Commander with surprising agility, given the great weight his gilded armour must have burdened him with. His hair was golden as well, nearly down to his ears and kept from his eyes by a casual part down the centre. His chin and neck also had a smattering of straw, though his upper lip and cheeks were bare.

What struck Bethany most, however, was the tingle in her blood that his presence elicited . It was enough to tell her that he was indeed a Grey Warden in his own right, regardless of his crown. She strained her ears to try and catch his opening words to the Commander, but the mage only made out the elf's low growl, and then the king's full-bellied laugh.

"Psst," Faenathiel mumbled from Bethany's right. "Don't give yourself a stroke, shem. Wanna know what they're saying?"

Bethany arched a brow at the elven Warden beside her; since their inaugural trip through the Deep Roads and then their initiation into the Commander's ranks, they had grown a bit closer than either of them could claim to the others. "Sure, Fae," the mage answered, under her breath.

"Mostly it's boring," the elf informed her. "King made some crack about her nameday and getting older, and she threatened to show his wife his teeth, one at a time ." Faenathiel tilted her head toward the Commander. "Now he's telling her about the parade route. It'll take all fucking morning," she swore, and then laughed, a half-second after the Commander herself barked bitterly. "He said that they'd end at the Chantry," the elf explained.

Bethany shook her head, but when the Commander, Oghren, and Friga all dismounted, she did likewise. A few city guards came to collect the horses, and King Alistair busied himself with walking amongst the Denerim veterans that had followed the Wardens back to the battlefield. The Commander rounded on her troops, casting a sidelong glance at Faenathiel for a moment. "We're gonna walk through the city," she barked. "Everywhere that I went here to kill the sodding dragon...and then they want to go to the Chantry to sing their songs," she snorted, dismissively. "Try not to kill anyone ."

"Commander," the Wardens replied, nearly as one, and the elf so named turned back to take her position beside the king. Friga and Oghren were not long in following.

There must have been three hundred or more paraders who mingled just within Denerim's gates, and even more spectators peeking from the ditches or the windows of stone buildings. "Thank you," Bethany offered to Faenathiel, who'd elbowed her way beside the mage as they mingled with the marchers. "For helping me out a few minutes ago."

The elf shrugged. "Whatever. We gonna start this walk before the sun goes down?"

Bethany breathed a laugh and rolled her eyes. Just a few moments later, however, a surprised cry sounded from near the head of the still-forming column. The human mage couldn't see clearly through all of the bodies, but a wave of tension was soon rippling through the crowd.

Faenathiel elbowed the tall Ander Warden, Jarvik, who stood stoically nearby. "Big guy," the elf greeted him. "Can you see what's holding up the show?"

Jarvik inclined his head briefly and rose to the balls of his feet, which must have given him a clear line of sight. "Commander has taken arms," he announced in his thick accent. "Three templars stand between her and some mages." He sounded amused, rather than alarmed. "They will not stand for too long, I think."

Bethany took a steadying breath. "What is she doing? Trying to start a war?"

"The Commander has her reasons," came Stroud's leathery voice, from somewhere close behind her. Though he'd had more years as a Warden than half of the Fereldan corps put together, he had not faced down an Archdemon, and so he loitered in the middle of the crowd. "I believe she wishes to integrate the mages into the parade; they also fought bravely."

Faenathiel snickered. "Bet the sodding bucket-heads think they're doing them a favour just by letting them out of their prison." She eyed their tall companion. "Any news?"

"The king is now standing between the Commander and the templars, but the Commander is still armed," Jarvik reported. He didn't sound so amused, now . "Perhaps we should make our way forwards."

Stroud agreed, and so the four Wardens began picking their way past the mass of civilians. Nathaniel, Sigrun, and Monroi had remained behind in Redcliffe to oversee the teyrnir and tend to the not-insignificant threat of darkspawn that remained within it.

The distinctiveness of their armour gave Bethany's troop ample respect, so it took a scant few minutes for them to arrive where Friga and Oghren both waited. The two Senior Wardens seemed relieved for the reinforcements, but none of them spoke, all eyes fixed on the tense scene still unfolding a few yards away.

"I said," the Commander insisted through clenched teeth, "no tin-tops. They'll get to walk with us like proper warriors."

It couldn't have been the first time she'd repeated the phrase, for the evident leader of the templars rolled his eyes. His hair was more salt than pepper, and his face had seen better years, but he did not seem intimidated by the sword-wielding elf. "I have offered no offence," the templar insisted, "by following both canon and civil law. Surely you do not expect me and my lieutenants to drag all of you back to the tower?"

"Wait a moment," the king entreated, holding his hands out toward the two feuding parties. "Surely we can have some sort of compromise? Like...maybe let the mages go in front, with a few templars at their flanks?"

The greying templar chewed on the suggestion for a moment. "I would accept that," he allowed.

Athadra snorted. "I won't, Greagoir," she spat, and Bethany realised that the man she was threatening had to be the Knight-Commander of Ferelden. "They walk with me. You don't."

The man looked to sneer at her yet again, but a finely-dressed elf appeared seemingly from nowhere, right beside King Alistair. His presence must have come as no surprise to the man or his guards, for no one sent up an alarm. Bethany blinked, trying to get a better look at the stranger; he had smooth, nut-brown skin and gold-white hair trained back in a braided queue.

The elf's presence seemed to still the Commander's protests, and when Bethany saw his lips moving, she understood that he was speaking privately, even amidst the hundreds of onlookers. Another minute passed, but finally, the Commander growled and re-sheathed her longswords. "Fine," she grudged, shooting the knight-commander what must have been a scathing look. "You take them out in front. But the king and I will discuss this matter later," she vowed .

Bethany blinked, confused for a moment, for the dark-skinned elf had simply disappeared as easily as he'd shown up. Oghren grunted from two paces ahead of her. "Sodding Antivan always did cheer her up," the dwarf observed. "Bet he just earned himself one hell of a long night , though." He laughed lecherously, and kept laughing even when no one else joined in.

"Okay," King Alistair shouted, as the templars and mages arrayed themselves at the very front of the parade. "It looks like we're ready to begin!"


The afternoon sun seemed so much larger from atop Fort Drakon, though there was an unseasonal bite to the air, so high up. Athadra hadn't remembered feeling cold during that long fight up to this very plateau, two years before...but then again, she'd had to fight nearly every step of the way.

From this vantage, she could watch the parade move on, the great mass wending through streets of varying widths. She'd enjoyed marching with her fellows through the market square, and the Alienage, but she would not lead anyone back to the Chantry; rather than ask for permission, the Commander of the Grey had simply broken off from the king and her companions when they reached the fortress.

She knew better than to think she was alone, however. Her head tilted to the left almost imperceptibly, so that her good ear could fix on the slight scratching of a discreet footstep on the stone of the roof. "You can come out, Zev," Athadra allowed. "I willn't kill you...today."

The Antivan rogue stepped from a convenient shadow, wearing a smirk that didn't quite meet his eyes. "I have missed your threats of murder, querida," he chuckled. "Nearly as much as I have missed you."

Athadra rounded on the man more fully, her eyebrow arched in suspicion. "I saw Isabela," she pronounced without preamble. "Couple of months ago."

By the practiced calm that stole over the Antivan's features, the Warden could tell that her diversion had worked. "...And?" He probed, after a handful of heartbeats.

"She's got herself situated," the Warden allowed. "Has some powerful friends." Athadra thought she might have detected a hint of relief shimmer just under the surface of Zevran's mask, but it was soon replaced by a lascivious grin.

"And?" He asked again, his eyes sparkling dangerously. "Was your reunion all that I could have dreamt of?"

The Warden rewarded him with a tight smile. "She lived," Athadra assured him. "I were careful ."

Zevran heaved a sigh, shaking his head. "One day soon, I should get you to give me a demonstration...but it must wait, I fear." Casually, the Antivan polished his fingernails on the fine cloth of his doublet, inspecting the results for a moment. "It is convenient that you have sought refuge from the crowd, querida," he mentioned, with a quick glance to the doorway through which Athadra had come not half an hour before.

She was somehow not surprised when a pair of women filed through it, though neither of them brought a smirk to her lips. The red-haired woman gave the Warden a heartfelt grin. "It is very good to see you, Athadra!"

The elf inclined her head. " Leliana ," she acknowledged. "Your Majesty," Athadra allowed, with a bow to Leliana's taller companion. She glanced at Zevran, loitering near a shadow. "Meet me later."

"As you wish, querida," the Antivan vowed, before he melted back into the walls.

Queen Anora stepped forward, holding onto her fine, green skirts to keep them from dragging on the dirty rooftop. "Commander," the queen called in greeting, plying the woman with a saccharine smile. "It is wonderful to see you at last. I hear your travels to the Anderfels were profitable?"

"They were," Athadra conceded , before she turned and stalked toward the edge of the roof, intent on tracking the parade's progress. "Is there a reason you wanted to see me, Majesty?" The fact that Leliana was with the woman was mildly intriguing, given the Orlesian's history with Alistair during the Blight.

He and Leliana had become friends, and then lovers, largely outside of Athadra's notice. Just before the Landsmeet that would see Alistair become acclaimed as the King of Ferelden, Athadra had suggested that he keep Leliana as a mistress.

Anora came up beside Athadra, seemingly fascinated by the far-distant sight of her husband, marching in front of the Wardens and behind the mages. They were nearly at the Chantry by then. "I love him," she said after a few moments. "It might sound like a calculation, but it's true." The queen sounded sad, all the same .

Athadra spared the monarch a crimson glance. "Does he not feel the same way?" She didn't even try to hide how little interest she had in the answer .

"No, he does," Anora insisted. "Yet…" The queen hesitated for the space of a breath, and then she took a step back. "Perhaps if you could explain, Leliana," she ventured. "It is...dismaying."

The queen's place on the wall was taken up by Leliana, garbed in sturdy though finely-cut clothes that she wasn't afraid to get a bit dirty, which she proved by resting her elbows on the stone. "What my queen cannot bring herself to say is that she has been unable to produce an heir for our king."

Athadra wondered if the our in our king referred to herself and Leliana, or to Leliana and Anora, but she did not seek to clarify. "That ain't surprising," she said, dismissively. "Wardens hardly ever have children. It ain't Anora's fault."

"I had heard much the same, from my own inquiries into the subject," Leliana affirmed. "Yet I have also heard of certain magics that might be used to counteract such a deficiency," she said airily, looking out into the pale blue sky.

The Warden remained silent for a few heartbeats. "From where did you hear this?"

The queen spoke up, from behind them. "Does that really matter?"

"If either of you want to walk out of this tower alive," Athadra replied evenly, not bothering to look back at Anora, "it does ." She had her own secrets to keep, and she did not trust either of them, no matter how close they were to Alistair.

Leliana tried to cover the awkwardness with a laugh. "Worry not," she insisted. "Alistair would probably disapprove of my spying on you, in any case." The Orlesian shook her head. "Shortly after the Rebellion, the Fereldan Circle of Magi helped to develop some magics to counteract the taint. From some very reliable sources in the Circle, I have ascertained that a female Grey Warden, well into her service, conceived and delivered a healthy child while under the influence of these magics ."

Surprise rose within Athadra; she'd spoken to the First Warden himself many times, but never had she learnt of that sort of research. Avernus would be curious to learn more, certainly. "I had no idea such a thing were possible," she admitted. "Do you want me to find someone who can do that kind of spellwork on Alistair?" She doubted that the king would accept drinking a modified concoction of her blood to achieve the same ends.

"No," Leliana replied, with a regretful sigh. "We have already done so, in fact...but we have had no luck." Athadra heard a small sob come from behind them, but she didn't turn away from the sight of the city, and so Leliana continued. "My queen has suffered...injury, during her marriage with King Cailan."

The Warden fixed the Orlesian with a skeptical look. "What kind of injury?" She'd never been particularly fond of the man, having met him only once before his own gallantry got him killed and got her and Alistair outlawed.

A grimace of distaste danced over Leliana's lips. "You already know of his penchant for...dallying," the Orlesian said. "From what we can piece together, one of these dalliances had an unintended consequence...perhaps even his first encounter." At the Warden's nod, Leliana cast a sympathetic glance to Anora before continuing. "I believe that in Ferelden, it's called 'the Orlesian disease', though it is not called so in Orlais."

"Syphilis," Athadra supplied, looking from the orange-haired woman to the queen and back again. "You're saying that he carried this back to Anora?" The other woman still wept, more or less silently.

"It is quite likely," Leliana confirmed. "Of course, Anora sought out a healer when the symptoms became too much to ignore, but...by that time, the damage was too extensive to correct for, even after the disease was purged ."

"Ahh," the Warden hummed, turning to face Anora head-on. "So your former husband made you barren before he went off and got himself killed, and your new husband needs an heir to continue his legacy," she summed up. Anora nodded, evidently not trusting herself to speak. "Knowing Alistair, he probably don't care about having an heir, but the bastards in the Landsmeet will want one, or they'll take to squabbling over which one of them should rule instead."

"That is very astute of you, Commander," the queen managed to say, her lips curling into something approaching an approving smile, though her cheeks were still wet.

Athadra shrugged. "I learned a little bit about politics in Weisshaupt...what I couldn't pick up during the Blight, anyway." She looked at the Orlesian, who'd followed her all over and under Ferelden on the mad quest to fell the Archdemon. "What do you want from me, then? Can't Alistair get a babe on you, or some other lass?"

Leliana took a deep breath and shook her head. "Any child of Alistair's and mine would not resemble Anora enough to pass off as her own, even if we could convince the Landsmeet that she and I had both quit the capitol for the duration of her pregnancy...and the king has refused to find a more likely candidate." She did not seem entirely displeased by that latter fact, however.

The queen took a step forward, until the three stood at equal distances from one another. "Yet we may have a...solution, if Leliana's suspicions are correct."

Nonplussed, the Warden could not immediately grasp Anora's meaning, but the apologetic look on Leliana's face caused the pieces to fall into place with painful rapidity. Athadra's throat dried and she thumbed semi-consciously at the ring she wore; her lobstered gauntlets only covered the backs of her hands and fingers, which left her thumbpad free to graze along the warm, worn pewter. "Morrigan," she breathed, unable to remember the last time she'd said the name aloud.

"Indeed," Leliana affirmed with a little nod. "You never specified the nature of the ritual that saved your life, but it is not a long stretch to suppose that a child might have been conceived."

Athadra leaned heavily back against the stone wall at the edge of the roof, grateful for her low centre of balance. "Did I threaten to kill you if you ever spoke of that night?" She wondered aloud, as though trying to remember where she'd put a pair of sandals.

The Orlesian rewarded the veiled threat with a giggle. "It must have slipped your mind, Athadra," she observed. "Alistair did intimate that he would be displeased, but...he does not need to know."

"Neither does anyone else," Queen Anora asserted, her voice perfectly level once more. "While I do not approve of your subterfuge with my husband, I can appreciate it. Not telling him that he would create a child was brilliant."

Leliana's brows twitched at Anora's possessiveness, but she was evidently too tactful to openly bridle beneath the presumption; the queen wasn't wrong, after all. "You must tell us whether or not our supposition is correct," she insisted. "It could mean the difference between civil war and continued peace."

Athadra blinked, her thoughts racing. Morrigan was a weakness that she hadn't been able to ignore, and yet she'd refrained from squandering her limited resources in tracking down the witch, as much as she yearned to see her again. "You mean to make Morrigan's daughter Alistair's heir?" The thought struck her as equally fitting and ridiculous, at once.

Anora's eyes lit up with triumph, though something darker lurked within their depths...jealousy, perhaps. Alistair had lain with Morrigan after his betrothal to the queen, after all, even if doing so had likely saved his life. "So the Witch of the Wilds did bear a child from their union?"

"She said that were the aim," Athadra confirmed, drawing herself back onto her feet. "And if I know her at all, she'll have had a daughter by now." Of course, she couldn't be certain that the prospective infant was a girl, but knowing what she knew of Flemeth and Morrigan, it was a reasonable guess. The Warden omitted that the child was supposed to have the soul of the Old God Urthemiel, whose draconic form had been corrupted to give rise to the Archdemon. Some things were better left unsaid, especially in front of civilians. "Do you mean to find her?" She directed the question to Leliana, and she tried to school her face to hide the yearning which threatened to show on it.

"I do," the Orlesian asserted. "The fate of the nation, perhaps of the whole of Thedas, depends upon it."

The Warden gave a single nod. "I should be the one to approach her, if you can manage to track her down," she said. "She'd likely kill you or anyone else you sent to fetch her."

"I agree," Leliana concurred, and her relief seemed genuine. "I promise that you shall be the first to know of Morrigan's whereabouts."

"Good," Athadra replied. "Now, both of you have a victory to celebrate."

Queen Anora stepped aside as the Warden moved past her. "Where will you go , Commander? If not to the celebrations?"

The elf paused near the door, throwing the monarch a backward glance. "You don't want to know, Your Majesty ."