A/N: Just want to thank my beta Gorg for going over this as usual. Also, thanks so much to chipmouskin and Viedyn for continuously helping out as well.

Chapter 37- Perfect Disguise

-The Arl of Denerim's Estate-

xxXxx

…

"Alright, everybody just act normal."

Alistair gave the order in what he hoped was a confident tone. He didn't have a concrete plan at the moment, but he didn't see any reason to tell the others that. When Anora had said that she needed to be rescued, he had hoped that things would end up being rather straightforward. It shouldn't have surprised him that this was turning into quite the chore.

Although Anora was being held in a stateroom on the top floor, Alistair and the others were currently exploring Howe's dungeon. It was cheerful place with a large assortment of iron cages and wicked-looking instruments of torture. Every once and a while, a piercing scream of agony would sound from some unseen location. At the moment, they were standing in a narrow chamber that Alistair hoped was the processing room. It had a desk with a single candle set on the top, but the chair behind it was empty. With any luck, the jailor would soon come back and be willing to give them some directions.

"How is one normally expected to act in a dungeon?" Morrigan sounded more curious than anything else. She was acting as though this lovely trip into Howe's torture chambers was an opportunity to learn something new and exciting.

"Menacing, unapproachable, inhumanly sadistic." Zevran rattled off the list before pausing for a brief moment. "Perhaps with an underlying current of misplaced homoeroticism."

"Can't forget that," Alistair muttered as he peered into one of the cells that had been carved out of the sides of the room. It was empty, but the floor of the cell was liberally stained with what looked to be blood. "Okay, so remember to let me neutralize this mage when we find him. I'd prefer to get out of here without raising a fuss."

Morrigan made a huffing sound. "I still do not understand why you did not just let me unbind the ward on the Queen's door. 'Twas a clever bit of work, but I would have been able to shatter it without too much difficulty."

Alistair shook his head without looking back at her. "Yeah, no offense or anything, but I've seen the way you work magic. Be honest: if you were to break that ward, how much of the wall would be left over afterwards?"

"…Enough to continue supporting the structure."

"Uh-huh, and what about the Queen? Any chance you would accidentally blow off a nonessential part of her in the process?" Alistair smiled thinly and then glanced back at the witch. "It's best if we just remove the mage who cast it in the first place. Anora said that he was somewhere in the dungeons."

"'Tis your decision to make. I just assumed you would have wanted to make this easier."

"Easier, but not better." Sten rumbled from somewhere over Alistair's left shoulder. "Such it is with all magic."

Morrigan released a short, mocking laugh. "Ah, I had forgotten that you were such an expert when it comes to the Arcane. 'Tis so easy to dismiss you as a thick-skulled primitive whose few thoughts are mired in the collective ignorance of his culture."

Sten didn't seem to react to the barbed comment. "I have seen enough of magic to know that it is profane."

"You know nothing aside from the barbaric reasoning of this religion of yours. If your people were to take the time to study magic instead of merely condemning it, they might see that 'tis the most powerful and useful force in this world. Your ignorance does nothing but deny your people."

"Our ways protect us from abominations."

"I've heard of this so-called 'protection'." Morrigan's voice turned acidic. "Cutting out the tongues of your mages and binding them like animals? 'Tis beyond comprehension."

Sten grunted. "There is just cause for removing their tongues. Listening to you prattle just reinforces that position."

Before Morrigan could reply with something equally venomous, Alistair cleared his throat loudly. Glaring at them both, he held out his arms to indicate the empty cells on either side of the room they were in. "As lovely as it is to hear the two of you snarl at one another, could you both shut up? We're in a bloody dungeon right now."

"Speaking of which," Zevran's voice prompted Alistair turn back around. "I do believe that we have company."

Alistair felt his heart leap into his throat when he realized that he could hear footsteps approaching from behind the wooden door that led deeper into the prison. A moment later, a glimmer of torchlight could be seen underneath the door-jam as someone fiddled with the latch. Motioning for the others to fall in behind him, Alistair straightened up and tried to look like a guard.

The man who stepped through the door was dressed in a cloth uniform with the insignia of a lieutenant on the lapels. He was young for an officer, but his sandy hair and mustache were immaculately groomed. Snapping a crisp salute, Alistair silently prayed that the others would follow his lead. Peering at them all for a moment, the man slid the torch he was holding into a bracket mounted on the wall and then approached the table.

"Guardsmen?" The officer's voice sounded imperious and faintly annoyed. "Why are you down here? The next shift is not due to begin for another three hours."

Alistair gave a quick, apologetic nod. "Pardon us, ser. We've been sent on orders to retrieve the mage. Apparently, the ward on the Queen's door is looking weak."

He had been hoping that the guard would just pass them along out of laziness or boredom, but the young officer frowned and walked around the edge of the desk. "I've heard nothing of this. Agacius is currently assisting in the interrogation room and has asked not to be disturbed. Who is it that sent you?"

"Our sergeant, ser." Alistair mentally cursed but kept his face composed and plain.

"Sergeant Alden? What does that incompetent know about wards?" The officer stepped close and peered at Alistair suspiciously. "You know, I don't recognize you guardsman. Are you part of that group the Teyrn sent over?"

"Yes ser. We are somewhat new." Alistair felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of his face. "Maybe Sergeant Alden is playing a joke on us. Some type of—"

Alistair's words were cut off when Sten abruptly reached over and grabbed the officer's head in one large hand. Ignoring the man's squawk of surprise, the qunari brutally slammed the officer's skull down against the table with a meaty "thunk." Releasing the lieutenant, Sten stepped back as unfortunate man collapsed to the floor.

For a moment, the four of them just stared down at the motionless officer. Exhaling a long breath, Alistair clapped a hand to the side of his head and gripped a handful of his hair. "Uhhh…Yeesh."

"I felt as though the discussion had run its course." Sten offered by way of explanation. "This seemed like way to expedite things."

Zevran knelt down on one knee and prodded the corpse with his fingers. "Qunari conversations must be short and brutal affairs."

Alistair shot Sten an exasperated look before forcing his mind back to the situation at hand. "Ok…Zevran, check to see if he has any keys on him. It looks like we're going to have to do this fast. We've got to be out of this place before he wakes up and sounds the alarm."

"I wouldn't worry too much on that account. The poor fellow is bleeding from his ears." Zevran said off-handedly as he patted along the officer's belt. "I suspect that does not speak well for his immediate recovery. Let's see now…Ah-hah! Here we are."

With a jangle of metal, the assassin produced a thick key-ring with four iron keys hanging from the circle. Glancing at if for a moment, Zevran walked over to one of the holding cells and began trying the different keys on the lock. After his third attempt, there was a solid clank as the heavy lock sprang open.

Motioning for Sten to grab the man's feet, Alistair slid his hands under the officer's arms and the two of them hefted him off the floor. They carried him over to the cell and dropped him on the straw pallet that had been stuffed into one corner. As they exited the cell, Zevran locked the door behind them.

Taking the keys from the elf, Alistair crossed the room and took the torch from the bracket. "He said that mage was in the interrogation room right?"

"I believe he said that someone named Agacius was in the interrogation room." Morrigan corrected as she moved to follow him. "Whether the mage and this person are the same individual was not made clear."

"Good enough for me."

Moving to the door, Alistair pulled it opened and held it for Morrigan as the witch strode pass. Stepping in after her, Alistair lifted the torch up to reveal that they had entered a short corridor that branched off into two directions. Each of the separate paths sloped downwards, and Alistair couldn't see much farther than a few feet down either one.

"Which way should we go?" Zevran asked in a hushed tone as he drew up behind them.

"No way of knowing." Alistair scratched his head and then shrugged. "Hell, let's just go down the right one and hope that brings us where we need to go. We can always double back if it leads to a latrine or something."

Taking the lead, Alistair kept the torch held aloft so as to provide light for the group. He briefly wondered about the kind of person who would choose to spend their lives hurting people in a place like this. The Darkspawn may be monsters, but these people were the ones who truly frightened him. If by some miracle he survived long enough to sit on the throne, Alistair promised himself that he'd make sure that things of this nature stopped.

The pathway soon led them to a large room with a vaulted ceiling. Torches had been set into the supporting columns that were spread around the space, and their flickering light revealed the room's purpose. It was clearly a torture chamber, and Alistair felt a twinge of revulsion as his eyes landed on a spreading rack set into the center of the room. It was a device made for no other reason than to cause agony. What the hell was wrong with people?

There were more cells set alongside the sides of the room. Unlike the ones that they had encountered in the processing room, some of these were occupied. Holding the torch up, Alistair peered into the nearest cell to see a naked form curled into one of the corners. It shuddered when the light fell on it, and Alistair grimly noted that he couldn't tell whether the pitiable creature was a man or a woman.

"Despicable." Sten's rough voice made him jump. "And they call my people savage."

Zevran clucked his tongue and circled around the torture rack with a curious expression on his face. "We are all savage, my friend. Some of us simply hide it better than others."

Alistair occasionally found Zevran's outlook on life to be unsettling, but right now, he was inclined to agree. Slowly walking around the room, he felt a sick feeling rise up in his chest as he saw how many of the cells were full. Most of the inhabitants just cringed away or whimpered as he passed, and Alistair realized that they just thought he was another guard. A few of them called out with weak pleas for mercy, but the rest stayed silent as though they wanted to avoid calling attention to themselves.

"You wish to help them, do you not?" Morrigan's voice sounded from just over his shoulder. "To free them from this?"

Alistair turned to regard her. Morrigan was watching him with a perfectly neutral expression. Waving a hand to indicate the cages, Alistair met her eyes. "Of course, who wouldn't?"

"Will you?'

"No, not yet at least." Alistair clenched his jaw and looked away. He hated the words, but they were the truth. "We came here for a reason. If we were to release them, they'd give us away for certain. This has to be stopped, but that will have to wait for another day."

"A sensible decision."

Wondering if he was being mocked, Alistair looked back at her. Morrigan didn't seem like she was trying to needle him, so he just nodded in acknowledgement. An instant later, an audible "bang" drew his attention to a small door that set into the western wall. Trading a quick look with Sten and Zevran, he lifted a finger to his lips and then gestured in the direction the sound had come from.

Moving quietly, the four of them all met up at the door. Straining his ears, Alistair could hear the sound of muffled voices from beyond. He checked back to see if the others had heard, and was pleased to see three faces all staring back at him expectantly.

"If it's the mage, we kill him quick. Don't act until I do." Alistair reached down to loosen his sword in his scabbard. "If we've got the wrong room, we'll try to talk our way out of it."

Zevran tilted his head. "And if that fails?"

"Expedite things."

After giving them a moment to prepare themselves, he took hold of the door's latch and opened it. Stepping inside as if he had every right to do so, Alistair tried to look unsurprised as he beheld the sight before him.

Three men were standing in front a wooden chair in the center of the room. Bound to the chair's thick arms, a forth man was sitting with his head lowered. Blood seem to cover every inch of the man's exposed skin, and Alistair had to suppress the urge to flinch as he looked at the prisoner.

Two of the men who were torturing him were dressed in the same armor that Alistair and the others were wearing. The third man was wearing long, flowing robes that were of obvious quality. If this was not enough to identify him as a mage, the long metal staff he carried certainly was.

"What is it?" The mage flicked a glance at Alistair. "I asked not be disturbed."

Alistair took a few steps into the room and felt the others fan out behind him. Shrugging, he spoke up in a bored voice. "I was sent down here by the Arl. He wants to know if there's been any progress with the prisoner."

"And he sent four of you to deliver the message?" The mage scoffed and turned his attention back to the man strapped to the chair. "That hardly seems necessary. Very well, you may tell Howe that the prisoner remains unresponsive. If I continue to heal him at this rate, his heart will give out within a day or so. You may also say that I recommend execution. If this man was going to break, he would have done so weeks ago."

One of the guards cracked his knuckles. "Maybe we just aren't hitting him hard enough."

"He's barely alive as it is." The mage inspected the prisoner with a critical eye. "Hit him too hard, and you'll kill him outright. I doubt he's going to last long in any case."

Alistair took another discreet step forward and then made his move. Out of consideration for Morrigan, he refrained from simply neutralizing all the magic in the room. Instead, he focused his will and traced the Sigil of Retribution in the air in front of him. Some of the Templars in the barracks had referred to the technique as a "Smite", but Alistair simply knew it to be the most formidable weapon in his arsenal.

Rather than simply suppress the mage's magic, Alistair targeted the source itself. Clenching his fist tightly as he finished tracing the sigil, Alistair cleared his mind of distractions. Visualizing the wealth of magical energy that emanated from the man, he mentally recited the chant that formed the structure of the Smite.

Immediately, Alistair felt a dull ache blossom near the back of skull as the technique activated. All at once, the energy that the mage had been storing dissipated in an explosive burst of energy. The backlash was lethal, and the mage was both unshielded and unprepared for the sudden assault. His life was ripped away in an instant, and he dropped without even crying out.

The other two guardsmen didn't even realize what had happened. All they saw was the mage crumple to the floor for no apparent reason. With matching exclamations of surprise, they both reached out as if to help the fallen man.

Sten darted forward with a quickness that was surprising for someone of his size. Wrapping his arms around the head of the nearest man, the qunari wrenched his body to one side and snapped the guard's neck with horrifying crack. Alistair started moving towards the last guard, but Zevran got to him first.

Clamping a hand over the guard's mouth to stifle his alarmed shout, Zevran jerked a dagger from his belt. Quicker than a thought, the assassin stabbed the man in three places: once under the arm, and then twice to the sides of his neck. The entire thing was over in a few short seconds.

Alistair grimaced as he watched Zevran lower the guard's corpse to the ground. He knew it was necessary, but this type of killing left a bad taste in his mouth. It was one thing to face a man in battle, and it was another to murder three men while their backs were turned.

"That went smoothly." Zevran gave the three bodies an appreciative look before glancing up at Alistair. "They never even knew what had hit them."

"No, they sure didn't." Alistair tried not to let his discomfort show on his face. He had to act like a leader no matter what had just occurred. "We got what we came for. Let's get back up to the estate and free Anora. That ward will fade quickly now that the mage is dead."

"It's that simple?"

"Wards are kind of weird." Alistair shrugged as he thought back to the lessons that had been drilled into him at the Chantry. "They are tricky to deal with when the mage who cast them is still alive. A good ninety-percent of magic is focusing your intent, and it's hard to do that when you're all corpse-y and stuff."

"I learn something new every day. May we go on then?"

"A moment," Morrigan clucked her tongue to draw their attention. The witch had wandered over to the man strapped to the chair while they had been talking. Leaning down to study something on the man's bare shoulder, Morrigan cocked her head to one side. "I do believe you will have an interest in this."

Alistair stepped over the mage's corpse and moved to join her. Feeling a brief flash of guilt as he realized that he hadn't given the prisoner a second thought, Alistair bent down next to Morrigan. Being careful not to accidentally burn her, Alistair brought the torch closer. "What do you see?"

"A symbol has been tattooed onto his flesh." Morrigan moved to the side to give him better access. "Unless I am mistaken, that is a griffin."

Alistair shot her a startled look before quickly leaning in to examine the prisoner's shoulder. Although the inked design was obscured by dirt and dried blood, Morrigan was absolutely correct. Whoever this man was, he was marked by the heraldic crest of the Grey Wardens.

"Maker above," Alistair murmured softly as he drew back from the prisoner. "He's a Warden."

Zevran moved to look over Alistair's shoulder. "Is that so? I was under the impression that you and Kallian were the only surviving Wardens in Ferelden."

"We are, technically speaking." Alistair drew his dagger and began sawing at the man's bonds. Even if it was a risk, there was no way he was leaving a fellow Grey Warden in this hell. "I don't recognize this man, and the tattoos aren't a Ferelden thing. I think Duncan once told me that Wardens from the Orlesian chapter receive them as a rite of passage or something like that."

"An Orlesian?" Zevran started working on the ropes that were tied around the prisoner's ankles. "How did he end up in this place, I wonder?"

"I don't know, but I'd bet Loghain had a hand in it." Alistair said grimly as he freed the man's arms. "We're going to have to take him out with us. Whatever he has to say, it's got to be important."

"That might be difficult to explain to the guards upstairs."

"We'll manage. If anyone presses us, we'll just say that we're disposing of a corpse. He looks bad enough that people probably won't question it." Alistair turned to face Sten. "Do you think you could carry him? It'll leave the rest of us free to act if we run into trouble."

Sten nodded. "I will do this."

"Okay, let's go get the queen and get out of here." Alistair watched as Sten gathered the mysterious Warden in his arms as though the man weighed no more than a cat. "Let's hope that no one stops us. Quite a few people have died considering that this is supposed to be a rescue mission."

Zevran shrugged. "At least it's them and not us."

"Don't jinx it."

…

xxXxx

When she opened the door to her stateroom, Queen Anora proved to be a pleasant surprise.

He had formed a mental picture of what she looked like the moment Eamon had brought up the idea of a political marriage. If he was being perfectly honest, Alistair had more or less envisioned a younger version of Loghain with breasts. It was not a terribly appealing concept, but the mental image had stuck with him.

As it turned out, Anora must have taken after her mother. Although Loghain was a greasy bastard with a stupid face, his daughter was unaccountably beautiful. With her long, blond hair and elegant features, Anora looked like something out of a painting. Her appeal was only heightened by the fierce intelligence behind her ice-blue eyes. Unlike so many of the noblewomen that Alistair had met, Anora met his gaze with a boldness that was striking. She exuded self-confidence, but not in an arrogant way.

Alistair had to admit that he found her attractive, even if she was wearing a rather unflattering suit of plate armor.

"Queen Anora? Nice to meet you, I'm Alistair." He bobbed his head at the Queen and quickly pointed out the rest of the party. "That's Morrigan, Sten, and Zevran. We don't know who the bleeding guy is, but we're taking him with us."

Anora took the abrupt introduction in stride. "The pleasure is mine. I hope it was not too much trouble for you to remove the ward."

"No more difficult than infiltrating a heavily-guarded estate." Morrigan muttered in an unpleasant tone. The witch was studying the Queen with a look of distaste, and Alistair thought it was best if the two of them didn't start talking. That wouldn't end well for anyone involved.

"So," He interjected before Anora could reply. "Where did you get the armor?"

"My maid, Valerie. You might remember her as the girl who delivered the sets of armor to Arl Eamon's residence." Anora stepped out of her chambers and raked an appraising look over the group. Alistair wondered what she thought of them all. "I was unsure of whether or not you would believe her, but I felt it best to be prepared if you decided to come. If I am dressed in this way, we will be able to leave the estate without attracting suspicion."

"Ah, lovely and resourceful," Zevran gave Anora a suggestive smile. "I can see why your father had locked you away. Surely, the sheer volume of suitors must be—"

"Zevran." Alistair cut the assassin off with a glare. "Do you think you could turn it off for the next hour or so?"

"As you like."

Turning back to the Queen, Alistair gave her an apologetic look. "It was a good thought, Your Highness. We're going to drawn enough attention as it is."

"So I see," Anora's eyes flickered briefly to the bloody man that Sten was holding in his arms. "It would be best if we left quickly. I overheard some of my captors speaking about a possible visit from Rendon Howe. We should not be here when he arrives."

Alistair nodded and pointed back into the stateroom that the Queen had just left. "No arguments there. Do you have everything you will need?"

"I do. There's nothing I would like more than to leave this place behind."

"Alright, please stay at the center of the group, Your Highness. We don't want to risk having someone recognize you." Alistair motioned for his companions to fall in. Aside from a few odd looks in Sten's direction, they hadn't received any undue amount of attention since leaving the dungeon. If everything went as planned, things would stay that way.

With the Queen in tow, the party edged their way out of the guest quarters and back into the main hallway. The Arl's estate had a layout that was very similar to a castle's keep. Long rows of richly-furnished apartments made up the eastern and western sections of the estate, and a large reception hall dominated the center of the building. The entrance to the dungeons and the barracks were to the south, so Alistair hoped to avoid running into any of Howe's men on their way to the northern exit.

Really, they didn't have that far to go. The reception foyer was just outside of the hallway they were currently in. Barring some extremely unfortunate stroke of luck, this rescue mission was going to turn out to be a tremendous success.

"I wish to thank you." Anora flicked a quick glance at Alistair as the group shuffled down the long hallway. "I truly was not expecting you to come, and I cannot express how grateful I am that you did."

Alistair gave her a tight grin. "I'll be honest and say that we almost didn't. If it wasn't for the fact that Arl Eamon argued on your behalf, I would have been inclined to dismiss this all as a trap. You have to admit, it was a little suspicious."

"Believe me, I know." The Queen's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "I was sure that you would laugh in Valerie's face. She's a good girl, but her nerves are terrible and I feared she'd botch things."

Alistair checked over his shoulder to see if the hallway was still empty behind them. "She did fine. The Arl's given her a set of rooms in his estate. Once we get out of here, she can go wherever she wants."

"Thank you for that."

"Of course," Alistair turned back to her. "Will you be coming back to Eamon's estate with us? There are some things we will have to discuss."

Anora nodded slowly. "Yes, I suspect that there are. I'll go with you. I doubt I could very well return to my father's house after all of this."

"Probably not."

They lapsed into silence as they drew close to the door leading to the reception foyer. Feeling confident now that they were so close, Alistair let himself relax a bit. All of this sneaking around wasn't really his thing, and he was rather surprised at how well it had gone.

Once they had reached the end of the hallway, Alistair craned his head around and gave his companions a victorious smile. Placing a hand on the brass knob, Alistair opened the door leading into the foyer and stepped into the foyer…

…and froze in place.

The room was full of armed soldiers. Alistair counted at least a score of men barring the double-doors of the main entrance. Each man was armed with both sword and shield, but Alistair could see that several of the guards were wielding bows in addition. Unlike the sloppy guards that had been lazing about the Arl's estate, these men held themselves with the focused competence of professional soldiers. At the forefront of the group, two armored figures stood apart from the rest of the warriors.

Alistair instantly recognized the woman on the left. Ser Cauthrien looked no different than she had when he had first met her at Ostagar. Tall for a woman, she wore an unadorned suit of plate with the relative ease of someone used to the weight. Her brown hair was pulled up into a short ponytail to reveal handsome features and earnest eyes. Protruding over her left shoulder, the ornate hilt of the fabled Summer Sword glinted in the flickering light of the torches. She was Loghain's most trusted confidant, and her prowess in battle was all but legendary.

Although he had only heard descriptions of Rendon Howe, Alistair somehow knew that the man standing to Cauthrien's right was the supposed Arl of Denerim. He had a slimly look that was reinforced by his lank mop of white hair and gaunt features. Where Cauthrien simply looked determined, Howe's face was twisted into an unpleasant smirk that made Alistair want to punch something.

Slowly trailing his eyes along the wall of soldiers, Alistair released a breath. "…Balls."

"I will take that to mean you understand your situation." Howe leered at the party as he spoke. "Lay down your arms and surrender."

Alistair stepped into the room and heard the others following behind him. Holding up his hands when several archers leveled their bows at him, Alistair forced himself not to remain calm. There was a way out of this. He just had to count on Ser Cauthrien's sense of honor. "We are operating on behalf of the Grey Wardens. Under the statues of the Neutrality Agreement, only a presiding monarch can order our arrest. Am I to understand that you are acting for the Crown?"

"No need for that," Howe folded his arms over his chest. "Loghain is a busy man and I wouldn't want to trouble him with a few vermin. Tell me: did you really think that this would work? That fool Eamon isn't the only one with a few spies. We knew what you were up to before you did."

Ser Cauthrien gave Howe a sharp look before addressing Alistair in a formal tone. "The Teyrn has ordered that you be arrested for trespassing and attempted kidnapping. As Lord Regent of Ferelden, his word may be equated to that of a monarch's."

Alistair smiled thinly. "True, but that is only if he isn't contradicted by an actual monarch. Your Highness, would you mind stepping in?"

He turned and held out a hand to draw Ser Cauthrien's attention to the Queen. Stepping away from her position at the center of the group, Anora moved away from the party with a few quick strides before rushing towards Ser Cauthrien with a terrified expression on her face.

"Ser Cauthrien! Thank the Maker you are here!" Anora stabbed a finger in Alistair's direction. "This brigand is trying to capture me!"

Alistair felt his jaw drop. "What!"

Behind him, Zevran heaved a breathy sigh. "Lovely, resourceful, and a traitorous bitch….Oh, but I am falling in love."

"It would seem that the Wardens have sunk to new lows." Ser Cauthrien gestured for Queen Anora to get behind the wall of guards. "Well then, unless you wish to incriminate yourself further, I would suggest you surrender yourselves and spare any unnecessary bloodshed."

Pushing down his outrage at Anora's rapid betrayal, Alistair paused for a moment to consider the options. In an effort to stall for time, he gave Ser Cauthrien a nod. "We will be taken for immediate processing at Fort Drakon I presume? It is our right."

"You would think so," Howe cut off whatever response Cauthrien was planning. "However, the Lord Regent takes a dim view of those who would cause his daughter harm. I fear that he has requested we handle this off of the record. I trust you caught a taste of the hospitality of my dungeons?"

A cold feeling trickled down Alistair's spine as he thought back to those dark tunnels and the horrors within. Despair seized him for a few brief instants as he silently regarded the overwhelming number of soldiers that faced them. With Ser Cauthrien and Howe included, it would be five to one odds.

Just as he was about to surrender and pray that Kallian would mount a rescue, Alistair felt something that had escaped his noticed up to this point.

Magic was gathering in the air. To be more precise, Morrigan was surreptitiously calling forth a veritable hurricane of magical energy. Alistair didn't recognize the direction her spell was taking, but his training told him that it was going to be big. Risking a quick glance over his shoulder, he locked eyes with the swamp witch.

Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead, but she showed no other outward signs of casting a spell. In spite of the circumstances, he took a moment to privately marvel at how powerful Morrigan actually was. He doubted that there were even a handful of mages who could draw this much magic without using their staves as a conduit.

Morrigan smiled when he met her gaze, and Alistair was suddenly struck with the unshakable certainty that all hell was about to break loose.

Howe's voice drifted over from across the room. "This is your last chance to surrender peacefully."

The acrid smell of ozone filled the hall like a grim herald of what was to come. As he turned back to face Ser Cauthrien, Alistair felt the hairs on his arms and on the back of his neck stand up. Everyone else was beginning to notice these things even if they didn't understand what they meant. Bracing himself as he felt Morrigan's spell approach its fruition, Alistair watched as sudden realization spread over Ser Cauthrien's face.

"One of them is a mage! Kill th—."

Her words were lost as Morrigan's spell snapped into being. In a cataclysmic explosion of light and sound, the room was plunged into chaos.

Spheres of light burst out of thin air and rocketed through the room at a speed that was too swift to follow. Varying between small, dust-like specks and orbs as large as a man's head, the glowing spheres hummed and crackled as they shot in every direction. The display was so dazzling that it took Alistair a moment to realize the horrifying damage that was being wrought. Every time one of the balls struck against a surface, an intense charge of energy suddenly erupted at the point of contact. All around them, chunks of stone were torn from the walls in great clouds of razor-sharp fragments. The air was soon choked with dust, and the light from the spheres illuminated the particles like fairy-fire in a misty swamp.

Amidst this confusion, men were dying.

The oily stench of burning flesh rose to accompany the screams of agony as Morrigan's spell ripped into the soldiers. Their deaths were awful things. The hissing spheres blackened flesh, tore limbs from bodies, and sent men into violent convulsions as the eldritch energy coursed its way through their bodies. Alistair saw one man's head simply vanish in a shower of red mist.

For nearly ten seconds, the disaster raged around the party. Alistair flinched when several of the shining orbs shot towards them, but each time, the balls vanished several feet from where they stood. Even the shrapnel from the walls was mysteriously stopping before it could hit them. Checking back on Morrigan, Alistair saw that she was in the midst of some chant. He assumed that she was warding them from the horror she had created.

"Maker's mercy…" Alistair breathed out the oath as he stared at the devastation. He wasn't sure whether to be amazed or horrified. Morrigan was more powerful than he had ever imagined, and all he could think about was how glad he was that she was on their side.

The furious storm of energy vanished a bare second later. Morrigan fell silent and sank down to the floor as she let the ward drop. Lifting her head, the witch coughed a few times and gestured weakly at the carnage in front of them. "'Tis not finished. Take them while they are stunned."

Shaking off his own shock, Alistair drew his sword and moved forward. In his peripheral vision, he caught a glimpse of Sten lowering the wounded Warden to the floor. Certain that the qunari would follow in due time, Alistair swept his gaze around the room to assess the situation.

Most of the men in the foyer were dead or dying. The few who looked like they might live were in no condition to fight. Among those on the floor, Arl Howe was little more than a mangled corpse. Ser Cauthrien had somehow survived, but the knight had a nasty wound on her temple that had probably been the result of a flying hunk of stone. In spite of this, the woman was struggling to rise off of her back. Her sword had fallen from her hand, and it lay several feet from where she lay. Motioning for Sten and Zevran to halt, Alistair sheathed his sword and walked over to her.

"Just stay down," Alistair knelt beside her and gently pushed her shoulders back to the floor. Cauthrien groped for her sword's hilt, but Alistair used his free hand to nudge the weapon away from her grasp. "Be reasonable, you aren't in any condition to fight."

She glared up at him with bleary eyes and spoke in a slightly slurred voice. "You will pay for what happened here."

"I'm sure I will." Alistair hardened his expression as he stared back at her. "Right after Loghain pays for what happened at Ostagar. I want you to tell him that the Grey Wardens haven't forgotten his treachery."

"He did..." Ser Cauthrien blinked a few times and seemed to lose focus for a second. "He did...what was necessary to save Ferelden."

Alistair straightened up and spoke in a quiet tone. "He killed his king and his countrymen. That makes him a traitor and a coward."

Ser Cauthrien didn't reply. Alistair glanced down to see that the woman had lost consciousness. Shaking his head, Alistair walked back over to Sten and Zevran. While the elf was studying the room with casual disinterest, Sten was staring at the damage with a perturbed look on his normally-blank features. Alistair didn't have to guess what was bothering Sten. The qunari was open about his distrust of magic, and this had been the most terrifying display Alistair had ever seen. Clearing his throat to get their attention, Alistair jerked a thumb over at the main entrance.

"C'mon, we need to get moving right now. There will be soldiers and Templars here soon."

"What about the survivors?" Zevran indicated the men who were writhing on the floor. "They will be witnesses."

"It doesn't matter. Loghain wanted to play this one off the books. If he accuses us after the fact, we'll just demand evidence." Alistair turned his attention over to where Morrigan had yet to rise from the floor. "Tell me we did not just kill the Queen by accident?"

Zevran shook his head in denial. "She slipped out of the doors the moment the guards turned their backs. She was long gone before that little nightmare began."

"Good. They wouldn't be able to ignore regicide." Alistair sighed as he surveyed the carnage. "Loghain will want to sweep this under the rug. Howe was unpopular, and unless Anora publically denounces us, Loghain won't have enough to bring formal charges against anyone."

"She might do just that."

Alistair grimaced. "Then we will claim we were never here and let Loghain try to prove otherwise. Speaking of which: grab the Warden and let's go."

Sten nodded and stomped off towards the spot where he had left the prisoner. Trading a look with Zevran, Alistair hurried over to where Morrigan was sitting. They needed to start moving immediately, and the witch seemed in no hurry to rise. Once he had reached her, he knelt down and placed a hand on her shoulder to get her attention.

"We need to move. Are you ready?"

Morrigan gave a jerky nod and planted the butt of her staff on the ground. Using it for support, she tried to stand up without much success. She was obviously worn out from casting her spells, and Alistair realized that she would never be able to keep up with them like this. Before he could convince himself that it was unwise, Alistair bent down and picked Morrigan up in his arms. She made a surprised and indignant sound, but she did not struggle against his grip. Carrying her bridal-style, Alistair started walking over to rejoin Zevran and Sten.

"Sorry about this," He gave her a sheepish look. "We don't really have any time to spare. You can poison my ale or something once we're out of this place."

Morrigan stared back at him with an unreadable expression on her face. "...'Tis necessary. I would not have been able to leave on my own accord. You are not to blame for recognizing this."

"Oh, okay then."

After falling in with Sten and Zevran, Alistair led the way to what remained of the main entrance. Morrigan's spell had ripped the wooden doors to pathetic shreds, and the sight of them made Alistair shiver. He didn't want to let his mind dwell on what had happened here. Morrigan had saved their lives in the most terrible way imaginable.

As he stepped out into the cold night air, Alistair found himself sneaking glances down at the woman in his arms. Even in her borrowed suit of armor, Morrigan did not look like someone capable of massacring twenty people in few seconds. It had been a sobering reminder that for all of her beauty, Morrigan was a tremendously dangerous individual.

Averting his eyes when she glanced up at him, Alistair checked his surroundings before heading off to the right. They had used a side entrance to infiltrate the castle, and with any luck, it would still be available to them now. From various points in the distance, Alistair could hear the clamor of raised voices as guards and servants all tried to figure out what had happened. It wouldn't be long before someone discovered the foyer, and then the Arl's estate was going to be overrun by Loghain's men.

Alistair intended to be miles away when that happened.

…

xxXxx

Nearly eight hours later, Alistair collapsed into the chair behind his desk and rubbed at his eyes with both hands. He only just gotten the opportunity to change out of his armor, and the relief of wearing something comfortable was making him sleepy.

There were no words to describe how weary he felt. Ever since returning from that catastrophe of a rescue mission, Alistair had been rushing to set things right. The hardest part had been trying to pacify Eamon. The Arl of Redcliffe had been horrified at the way things had gone with the Queen. Somehow deciding that this was Alistair's fault, the Arl had launched into a tirade of epic proportions. After listening to Eamon rant for nearly an hour, Alistair had finally snapped and started yelling back.

Things might have escalated to blows if it hadn't been for the timely arrival of one of Eamon's spies. In a development that none of them could have predicted, it turned out that the chaos at Howe's estate had miraculously worked in their favor.

Just as Alistair had thought, the Chantry had swiftly mobilized in response to the tremendous outpour of magic that Morrigan had produced. In less than twenty minutes, a full platoon of Templars had arrived at Howe's estate and demanded entry. The remnants of Howe's household guard had attempted to deny them entry, but the Chantry's soldiers had not backed down. Using the very real possibility of an Abomination to justify their intrusion, the Templars had invoked divine jurisdiction and forced their way onto the grounds.

Although they had found no apostates, the Templars had not left empty-handed.

It turned out that the prisoners in Howe's dungeons had not been simple criminals. In fact, none of them had committed any crimes aside from disagreeing with Loghain. When all was said and done, the Templars pulled just under thirty political prisoners from the cages and torture chambers underneath the estate's grounds.

Already, this terrible revelation had caused a political outcry of incredible magnitude. Many of the prisoners had turned out to be members of noble house who had mysteriously disappeared overnight. One of the freed prisoners was even related to Bann Alfstanna. A Templar to boot, the delirious man had been abducted by Howe's soldiers after he had been sent to track down a blood mage.

Not just any blood mage either; he had apparently been tracking the very same mage who had tried to poison Arl Eamon.

Taken collectively, it was the most incriminating wealth of evidence imaginable. Loghain had been left with no choice but to denounce the late Howe and claim complete ignorance of everything. It may have been enough to keep a lynch mob from forming, but Loghain's reputation had taken a serious blow. Arl Eamon had already received a number of envoys from various nobles that subtly expressed support. In one night, their fortunes had changed completely.

In addition, any chance of Loghain pursuing them for kidnapping or any other crime had vanished. He couldn't risk associating himself any further with Howe, and it would be interesting to see him try to explain Anora's presence in the Howe's estate.

No, Loghain would just have to accept this loss. Any investigation or inquiry would be tantamount to political suicide.

So, in retrospect, Alistair had to admit that they had come out ahead. That didn't mean that anything was certain as of yet. Loghain was still a popular figure, and Anora had vanished from sight. Whether or not the two of them were working together was unclear, but Alistair now knew that Anora was not an ally.

Still, Bann Alfstanna had come to Arl Eamon's estate in person to outright declare her support for Alistair. She was fiery woman with a strong sense of honor, and her brother's mistreatment had made her absolutely livid. Alistair didn't know how the Bann knew that he was responsible for Howe's death, but she had thanked him personally and promised her vote when the time came.

With Arl Eamon and Bann Alfstanna on his side, Alistair now had two of the five necessary votes. Their request for a Landsmeet had been approved, and the date was set for two weeks from tomorrow. The only presiding member who would not be attending was the Arl of Denerim. This was on account of him being very much dead.

Along with several other corpses, a badly-decomposed body had been found in Howe's dungeon. Based on the signet ring found on the corpse's finger, it appeared as though Howe had replaced his predecessor in a violent way. The previous Arl had only produced one heir: a son who had been murdered several months prior.

Even though this lack of an heir would work against Alistair, he found that he didn't mind very much. He knew enough about Kallian's past to draw his own conclusions about the Arl's murdered son. As far as Alistair was concerned, that rapist bastard got what he deserved.

Unfortunately, it meant that Loghain would now be appointing a successor to the title. Without question, he would appoint someone who would support him unconditionally. It meant that no matter what, one of the Landsmeet votes would be against Alistair. It wasn't an insurmountable disadvantage, but it would complicate things.

A firm knock sounded against his door.

Alistair suppressed a groan. If it was Eamon coming to talk about political alliances again, Alistair was going to lose his mind. Pulling his hands away from his face, Alistair heaved a sigh and turned the chair so that he was facing the door. "Come in."

There was a short pause, and then the door open to admit Morrigan into his rooms. The witch had fallen asleep before they had even reached the estate, and Alistair was a little surprised to see her up and about. Overextending one's magic was a bit like running a marathon in full armor. Most mages would be laid out for a day or two after exerting themselves like Morrigan had.

"Hey," Alistair managed a tired smile. "Glad to see that you're doing better."

Morrigan glided over to stand in front of his desk. There was something different about her, and Alistair realized that this was the first time he had seen her without her staff. Tilting her head in acknowledgement, she replied in an uncharacteristically polite fashion. "I am much recovered. You have my thanks for the sentiment."

Alistair raised a brow. This was not how their conversations typically began. Sensing a trap, he sat up straighter in the chair to give her his full attention. "Sure...so, what's up?"

"I wished to speak with you." Morrigan folded her arms across her chest and gave him a measuring look. "If now is an inconvenient time, I would understand."

"Now is fine, I guess." Alistair scratched the side of his head and then used his hand to indicate the two chairs that stood on the opposite side of the desk. "Err...would you like to have a seat?"

"I would."

As Morrigan situated herself in one of the cushioned chairs, Alistair couldn't help but notice how out of place she looked in this room. The small office was one part of the quarters Arl Eamon had provided for him. Much like the adjoining bedroom, the office was modestly-sized and decorated with elegant wooden furniture. In accordance with the cold weather, Eamon's servants had laid fur rugs down over the stone floor and filled the room's brazier with hot coals. In her cobbled-together outfit adorned with feathers and small charms of bone and wood, Morrigan stood out in stark contrast. Against the lavish backdrop of the room, she was like an island of untamed wilderness.

Alistair waited for Morrigan to start speaking, but she seemed content to study a mostly-empty bookcase along the western wall. Drumming his fingers against the desk as the silence stretched on, Alistair finally cleared his throat and said the first thing that came to mind. "Did you happen to notice that Kallian and Leliana aren't around?"

"I did." Morrigan's yellow eyes snapped back to stare at him. "I assume that they might be found in some private corner."

Alistair shook his head. "They aren't in the estate and they didn't see fit to tell anyone where they might have gone."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Alistair leaned over the desk and gave her a teasing smirk. "Are you sure that you didn't ask Kallian to bump off a distant cousin of yours or something? She apparently just sneaks away and does that kind of thing if you ask her nicely."

To his surprise, Morrigan smiled back. "No, I have asked her nothing of the sort. Wherever they are, they are there for their own reasons."

"That actually makes me worry more." He shook his head and settled back into his chair. "So, what is that you wanted to talk about? Is it about what happened today? I never got a chance to thank you for that."

Morrigan gave him a blank look. "Thank me?"

"Well, yeah," Alistair shrugged his shoulders. "You saved us with that spell. It was quick thinking and pretty damn impressive."

She blinked a few times before nodding. "You are welcome."

Alistair waited for her to continue, but Morrigan didn't seem inclined to speak. Fidgeting in a way that reminded him of Kallian, the witch glanced around the room before settling on the bookcase once more. Following her gaze, Alistair realized that she wasn't staring at the bookcase so much as she was staring at what was on one of the shelves.

When he had first settled into these rooms, Alistair had made a sole concession to making the space his own. On an impulse, he had carefully arranged all of the figures he had carved during their travels on top of the uppermost shelf. While there were a few on display that he wasn't necessarily proud of, it had seemed like as good a place as any for his hobby. Even Morrigan's creepy monster statue had made its way up there with the others. It may be a bit grotesque, but it was marvelous craftsmanship and Alistair had thought it to be appropriate.

Alistair turned his attention back to Morrigan when the witch let out a frustrated sound and stood up. Shooting Alistair a narrow-eyed glare, she huffed and turned around so that her back was facing him. The sudden change in demeanor completely baffled Alistair. She had gone from pleasant to irritated in a heartbeat, and he had no idea what had triggered the shift.

"Hey Morrigan?" He spoke in a hesitant tone. Dealing with an upset woman was probably the one thing he was worst at. "Is everything…uh, alright?"

Morrigan didn't respond at first. She inhaled and then released a long breath. After a pause that stretched out for a few beats, she slowly turned around and fixed him with another glare. Flinging her arms out on either side of her body, she spat out an exasperated reply. "Am I displeasing?"

"Uhhhh…" Alistair stared back at her and wondered if he had heard incorrectly. "...What?"

"'Tis not a difficult question. A simple 'yes' or 'no' would suffice." Morrigan scoffed and then swept her hands in front of her body in an encompassing gesture. "Am I displeasing?"

Alistair was very confused. Unsure of whether or not this was a bizarre trick question of some sort, he studied Morrigan carefully in an attempt to gauge what was going on. She looked perfectly serious, and it was clear that she expected a response of some sort. Deciding that there wasn't a graceful way to escape this question, Alistair considered his reply.

She was beautiful. There really wasn't any other way to describe her. Even in a room full of the loveliest women in Thedas, Morrigan would stand out like a hawk amongst doves. There was an ethereal quality to her appeal that tugged at something in Alistair that even he couldn't identify. Whenever he looked at her, an aspect of his mind quietly acknowledged her beauty. She could be saying the cruelest thing imaginable, and yet that part of him would still be drawn to her.

It didn't help that her robes revealed an incredibly distracting amount of skin. Even though it would take countless hours of torture before Alistair would ever admit it out loud, he had spent more than a few nights thinking about Morrigan in ways that would not be considered appropriate. He doubted that there were many red-blooded men in Ferelden who wouldn't do the same.

Realizing that his thought process had brought him into bizarre territory, Alistair shook himself back into the present. Seeing that Morrigan was still waiting for an answer, Alistair mentally shrugged and decided to tell the truth. "You're not displeasing, Morrigan. In fact, you're pretty much the exact opposite of displeasing."

He expected that to make her happy, but Morrigan's eyebrows simply drew together in what looked like consternation. "Would you say that I am intelligent?"

"Of course, almost to a fault." Alistair scratched the side of his head in puzzlement. "What's this abou-"

"And I'm sure you would agree that I am capable." Morrigan cut him off without even seeming to notice that he had spoken. "Today must have proved that in some way."

Wondering if this was just an incredibly overt way of fishing for compliments, Alistair nodded in agreement. "I don't think that anyone could say that you aren't competent. You may be the most powerful mage I've ever met."

Morrigan tossed up her hands and released a frustrated growl. "So if all that is true, then why is it that you refuse my advances?"

It took Alistair's brain a few seconds to process that statement.

"Errm…a-advances?" Alistair reared back in his chair in a confused panic. "What do you mean by advances?"

"I should have known 'twould be a mistake to heed their advice." Morrigan scoffed and glared over at the statues on the bookcase. "Clearly, it did not work as they claimed it would."

"Advice? They?" Alistair shook his head and held up a hand. "Wait, could we back up a few steps?"

Morrigan gave him an impatient look. "I was led to believe that 'tis customary to exchange gifts when beginning a courtship. I had assumed that as you spend so much time fiddling with your statues, you would appreciate another one."

Alistair glanced over at the creepy figurine. "So, that was just a gift?"

"Of course, what else might it be?"

"Well, I don't know." Alistair decided not to bring up his original theories regarding curses and whatnot. Speaking each word carefully, he tried to wrap his head around what was going on at the moment. "Okay…um, I'm sorry, but I'm stuck on the word 'courtship'. Are you saying that you are interested…in me?"

Morrigan inclined her head in a jerky motion. "In a sense."

"Okay," Alistair exhaled in a slow hiss. "And…the way you expressed this was by giving me that statue?"

"'Twas either that or alcohol." Morrigan cleared her throat in a way that struck Alistair as nervous. "My thought was that you would enjoy the statue more."

Standing up because he was finding it hard to just sit in the chair, Alistair walked over to the bookshelf and picked up the figurine in question. Smiling slightly as he marveled at just how ugly it was, Alistair glanced over at Morrigan.

"That was really thoughtful of you, Morrigan." Alistair was surprised at how touched he felt. It had been ages since anyone had thought to give him a gift. The last time he could remember had been when Duncan had given him a new sword on the night of his Joining. "I'm sorry I didn't say so sooner."

"I am glad you find it agreeable." Morrigan nodded once and flexed her fingers before balling her hands into fists at her sides. "I fear I have no talent for woodwork, so I endeavored to create it with magic. 'Twas harder than I anticipated, and I was forced to destroy my first few attempts before I could form a good likeness."

"That explains the level of detail." Alistair examined the statue with a critical eye. "It's really quite impressive. Even though I've only seen pictures, I have to say this looks exactly like a Pride Demon."

"Demon?" Morrigan cocked her head and gave him a puzzled look. "'Tis a representation of you."

"Hmm?...Oh!...Yes, of course it is!" Alistair stared down at the statue as he scrambled to gloss over his blunder. Seen in a new light, the spiky protrusions from the statue's head revealed themselves to be the arches of a crown. Why the figure itself looked like the bastard son of a qunari and pig was anyone's guess. "I was just commenting on the…artistic impression it conveys. Kind of a…uh…sinister 'demon-y' type appeal that sheds light on the prideful nature of...um….the uh,..You know, I love it. It's lovely, Morrigan."

The witch looked pleased. "I am glad."

"Thank you again," Alistair set the figure back on the shelf and turned around to face Morrigan. "It was a really nice gesture."

Morrigan nodded in response. They stared at each other quietly for a few moments. Aware that things were going to get very uncomfortable if neither of them spoke, Alistair coughed just to make a sound and then walked over to stand a few feet from the mage. Unsure of where to go from this point, he shrugged sheepishly.

"You know, I'll be the first to admit that subtly is wasted on me, but I'm a bit surprised." He smiled in an attempt to hide his nerves. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but most of the time it seems like you can't even stand me."

"I am…aware of this." Morrigan folded her arms. "I have a tendency to focus on the negative attributes in those I interact with. Although I do find you to be headstrong and occasionally foolish, 'twould not be accurate to say that I only view you in such a light. You are better educated than many, and you've proved that your decisions are not entirely without merit."

Alistair blinked. "Ah."

"In addition, there is a certain appeal to your sentimental view of loyalty. Back when we were ambushed on the road, you helped me at risk to yourself." Morrigan paused and then gave him a prim look. "You are also not entirely unattractive."

"Stop, before I start blushing."

Morrigan sniffed. "Does there have to be a reason? I simply feel a certain way and wish to act upon it. If my advances are unwanted, I will drop the matter."

She gave him an expectant look, and Alistair realized that she had just prompted him for a response. It was a little sudden, and Alistair had to take a moment to gather his scattered thoughts.

His first impulse was to simply apologize and say that he didn't feel the same attraction. While that wasn't true, it was the safer option. There was absolutely no telling where a relationship with Morrigan might go, but Alistair was confident that it would be unfamiliar territory. He had a Blight to worry about, and there was a good chance this type of thing would be distracting and probably painful.

Yet, he was very attracted to the woman in front of him. Beyond that, Alistair genuinely liked a number of things about Morrigan's personality. She was witty and clever, and her insults had lost much of the venom they had once held. She had lowered some of her barriers during their journey, and Alistair had caught glimpses of her softer side.

The gift was one thing. None of the others had even recognized the fact that he liked carving, and then Morrigan had gone and given him a very eccentric gift. What was more, Alistair found himself thinking back to the day he had gone to his sister's house. Morrigan's comfort had been a little brusque, but the right thoughts had been there.

While she wasn't the easiest person to get along with, he mostly enjoyed her company. He was impressed by her self-confidence, even when she was being particularly irritating about her opinions. While he wasn't in love or struck by the crazy, head-over-heels affection that one might find in sappy poetry, Alistair was drawn to Morrigan.

So, after weighing his options for a few seconds, Alistair realized that he wanted to give it a try. If it worked out badly, he could always chalk it up to a learning experience. The Blight was still a priority, but he figured that there would be a little room for something personal. Feeling good about his decision, Alistair tried to think of something charming to say in response to her unasked question.

"Well, uh…I am, you know, interested in you also…and stuff."

Smooth. Real smooth.

Amazingly, his clunky response seemed to do the trick. Morrigan unfolded her arms and gave him a smile. It wasn't the sharp smirk she usually wore. It was a faint, pleased expression that was almost shocking in its delicacy. Alistair couldn't help smiling in response.

Morrigan dipped her head in a decisive fashion. "I am glad that is the case."

"Yep."

They lapsed into a shy, embarrassed silence that wasn't as awkward as it should have been. Having no experience with this type of thing, Alistair was uncertain of where to go from here. Now that they had brought everything out into the open, he felt as though there had to be a follow-up of some kind.

Drawing upon his vague notion of what courtship entailed, Alistair decided to ask Morrigan to do something with him. Denerim wasn't exactly a fun place to be at the moment, but maybe they could go on a walk or something. Whatever they did, it would have to be more comfortable then staring blankly at one another.

"So," He took a few steps towards her in an attempt to alleviate the bizarrely formal atmosphere that had settled in the room. "If you aren't doing anything right now, I was thinking that we could go and get some—mmmghmfh!"

His words were abruptly cut off when Morrigan yanked him down into a violent kiss. Wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, she slammed her body against his with an approving growl. It was a hungry and wild display of passion, and Alistair was completely unprepared for it.

It took him a good five seconds to even respond to the kiss. He had no experience with this kind of thing, but Morrigan didn't seem all that preoccupied with technique. The witch was rubbing against him in a way that Alistair couldn't possibly ignore, and the myriad of new sensations was making him feel lightheaded.

Also, he had no idea of what to do with his hands.

Eventually, he just sort of wrapped his arms around her lower back in a way that he hoped wouldn't offend her. Now that the initial shock had passed, he was beginning to see why people made such a big deal over this kind of thing. Morrigan was a pleasantly-warm weight in his arms, and Alistair very much enjoyed the soft feeling of her body as she pressed against him. He was even beginning to slowly grasp the concept of kissing.

Seeming to sense the fact that he was relaxing, Morrigan's death-grip on the back of his neck finally began to ease up. With a bit more freedom, Alistair began to tentatively experiment with guiding the course of the action. Morrigan didn't seem to mind when he tugged her closer, so Alistair brought one hand up to support her head as their kiss became more natural. Morrigan smelled like a forest after a fresh rainfall, and Alistair felt a giddy rush when she moaned softly into his mouth.

By the time they had finally broken apart for air, he was completely on board with the whole "kissing thing". Wanting to do something that he had always sort of fanaticized about, he pushed Morrigan towards his desk and lifted her so that she was seated on the edge. It brought them to eye-level, and Alistair felt like it was a manly and decisive thing to do.

Morrigan adapted to the change without missing a beat. Wrapping her legs around the back of his thighs, she immediately lunged forward to resume where they had left off. Her excitement was contagious, and Alistair found himself responding on a basic level to her actions. A distant part of his mind noted that this was always how he had pictured an encounter with Morrigan. She was equal parts sensual and savage. It was not unlike embracing a furious storm.

It took him by surprise when Morrigan eventually jerked away from the kiss with an impatient sound. Before he could ask if something was wrong, she had already slid off the desk in a liquid motion. Grapping his hand, she started tugging him across the room.

"Morrigan?" He blinked a few times to clear his mind. "Where are we going?"

She glanced back at him with yellow eyes that practically smoldered. "Your bed."

Those two words made Alistair stop in his tracks. A curious mixture of excitement and terror welled up in his breast as he realized what she had planned. In spite of the fact that he had spent the last ten years of his life imagining what this moment would be like, part of him was suddenly frightened at how rapidly this was progressing.

However conflicted his mind may be, his body did not share in his indecision. His abrupt introduction to the world of romance had left him aroused in every possible sense of the word. Instinct and a decade of pent-up sexual energy were telling him to shut his mouth and follow Morrigan. Unfortunately, Alistair's brain got in the way.

"Uhh…Morrigan?" He tried to think of a good way to express his concerns. "Well, I've never…err...well..."

Morrigan gave him an annoyed look as he let his words trail off. "Never what?"

Alistair cast about for a suitable euphemism. "I never lost my…you know."

"Your innocence?"

"Not quite the word I would have used, but yeah."

Morrigan clucked her tongue. "Have you ever lost a sock?"

"…yes?"

She gave him a sharp smile. "Then you shall find that the experience is just about as profound, albeit infinitely more enjoyable."

Alistair considered her words for a moment. Aside from the fact that the Chantry had spent hours hammering the importance of abstinence into his skull, he really couldn't think of a compelling reason to not go with Morrigan. He had never pictured his first time like this, but if there was one thing he was relatively certain of, it was that life rarely turns out in the manner one expects it to.

So, he just raised an eyebrow. "Like losing a sock, huh?"

"In a cosmic sense." Morrigan began to tug on his arm once again. This time, Alistair didn't resist as they passed through the threshold into his bedroom. "Do not give it too much thought. I intend that we both find our pleasure tonight, and I am well aware that thinking pains you."

Alistair laughed aloud and shut the door behind them.

…

xxXxx

I've spent the last two weeks immersed in Germanic Romance, so my brain is fried. All I can say is that the next chapter will focus on what Kallian and Leliana have been up to while all of this was going on. Other than that, please leave a review and thanks so much to everyone for reading!