ONE YEAR LATER

Leliana

Varel nudged open the door, sifting through a stack of folded parchment. "Royal correspondence for you, arle…" he looked up and I smiled at him, watching as he closed his eyes and sighed. "My apologies, Lady Leliana, but would it be too much of an imposition on your wife to keep set times in her office?"

"Varel," I rose from behind Salem's simple desk and relieved him of his burden, "why do you ask questions to which you already know the answer?"

He nodded in mute resignation and removed the letter he had been seeking from the beginning. It bore the Theirin seal in crimson wax, and had been addressed to Salem.

"And where would I find our errant arlessa?" he asked, a longsuffering look in his kind blue eyes.

"I shall deliver it." I replied, plucking the missive from his hand. "If I must read and sign one more document, then I believe my eyes shall cross and remain there, forever fixed in that absurd position. Besides," I looked through the window to the sun, savoring the slight, warm breeze that entered, "it is quite a beautiful day, and it would be a shame to waste it within four walls."

"Signing documents?" Varel's eyes narrowed. "Is that not a task reserved for those who wear the title of liege lord?"

I tossed a canny smile at him. "Did I never mention that exact forgery was among my many dubious talents?" I asked, grinning as the man paled to a delightful shade of ashen grey.

"I am beginning to have sympathy for that viper accountant sent by the wardens." Varel bemoaned his fate. "However, none would believe the tales that come from this province…"

I patted the man on the shoulder as I made for the exit. "Do not begrudge her a day in the sun, Varel." I said, my throat tightening with repressed sorrow.

I did not say the words that we both knew followed my first statement. That there might not be many days left. This past year, I squeezed my traitorous eyes closed as they threatened me with tears, has been so wonderful. Amaranthine is prospering again; the dark times have faded. Yes, there were trials, discontented nobles stripped of their high standard of living, court squabbles, the typical bandits, mercenaries, wild animals…but the guard and militia do not lack for soldiers in their ranks, and Salem's form of justice has been greeted with respect and approval from her people. The commoners know that they have her ear, her respect…they trust her…they love her.

Even now, I smiled as I shielded my eyes from the sun as I walked into the field's that lay beyond the keep, searching for Salem's tall, broad-shouldered figure, she works among her people, sharing in the hard labor of the harvest.

But, it was no secret to any who worked in the Keep and knew Salem well…her vibrant life was fading. I rose each morning, despising the fate that had done this to the woman I loved so dearly. Her sleep had grown more troubled than it was during the Blight…she scarcely slept at all. Her right leg, permanently injured at Fort Drakon, had grown weaker still, though Salem remained too stubborn to resort to a cane.

I caught sight of her, standing tall in the field of billowing, golden wheat. I stopped, watching as her powerful arms swung the sickle as dexterously as she once wielded her blades. In this moment, I could pretend that all was well, that her skin had not paled further, that the dark circles beneath her eyes were a temporary malady. In this moment, I could reflect on the perfect year we had spent with each other, in love, in life, in utter and absolute bliss…and not torment myself with the knowledge that it would end.

So beautiful, I thought, treading delicately amidst the shorn wheat. Maker, when you formed her from the beginning, did you know you would create something so flawless? Did you know that her trials and troubles would but brighten her steel, and cut her diamond into a gem of such magnitude and worth that the world trembles?

"Salem?" I called, watching as she turned, as her silver-blue eyes sparked with heat and passion, an expression that had never changed, no matter what we endured.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" she asked, rubbing sweat from her brow and leaving a roguish streak of dirt. "Or do the gods walk among men?"

Still, still, I blushed at the compliment, delivered in a low voice that sent shivers down my spine. I gathered my fraying composure and managed to conjure a look of playful disapproval.

"Flattery will gain you nothing." I chided, though I did not mean it. "You are in quite the bit of trouble, Arlessa Cousland. Varel is not quite pleased with our arrangement for your signatures."

Salem laughed, a song whose melody I would never tire of. "Is that so?" she asked, leaning down and stealing a kiss as I approached. "I thought my scheme quite brilliant…alas…it would seem I have no skill for dodging the iron-clad rules of law."

I took her hand in mine, startled to find that, even in the heat of the day, and despite the work she had been doing, her skin was cold. I tried to control the worry that flitted across my face, but I had never been able to hide anything from her.

"What troubles you, dear heart?" the familiar question, in a tone that had rescued me from nightmares, eased my frantic thoughts, comforted me in my darkest moments.

"Are you certain you are not over-exerting yourself?" I asked, dreading the calm, flippant answer that had always greeted these inquiries.

Salem looked to the sky, her brow furrowed with thought. "I would not contest the notion." she grinned, but her honesty touched me. "I must say I would not mind escaping from the heat and partaking of food and drinking with an extraordinary goddess."

I wrapped my arm around her, providing intimacy and support, for both her and myself. "Unfortunately, the goddess sent word. Her caravan was delayed, and you shall have to make do with my company."

Salem laughed at the weak joke. "I suppose I can resign myself." she pressed her lips against my hair, her gentle touch quickening the beat of my heart.

"You are incorrigible." I muttered.

Several of the workers called out to us as we continued towards the keep, thanking Salem, smiling widely at a noble woman with dirt caked beneath her nails and smudged across her face. A woman who wore roughspun linen and dull, patched leather boots, who held herself as one of them…a servant and worker of the land. Pride surged through me and I held her tighter, cherishing her nearness, her strength, her magnificence.

We entered the Keep and adjourned to Salem's office. She sat down and stared at the mountains of paperwork with such dread that I laughed, her expression was so comical. She glared at me with false anger.

"By all means," she instructed, gesturing to the mess, "mock me in my misery."

"Misery that you have managed to thrust upon me." I nodded, wagging my finger in a decent mimicry of Wynne's disapproval. "Countless times, might I add. You are fortunate that I have not incited a rebellion against you."

Salem smiled and I shook my head as I thrust Alistair's letter into her hand. "Varel was adamant that you receive this as soon as possible. Water or wine, my love?"

"Water, please." she requested, her smile replaced by a look of smouldering desire that made me weak in the knees.

I fetched our drinks and returned to find Salem pondering the letter, scarcely looking at me as I handed her a cup of water. "Is everything all right?" I asked, taking the seat across from her and lifting my wine to my lips, savoring the delicate favor of Amaranthine's finest vintage.

"We've been summoned to Denerim." Salem said, still examining the letter with a dubious expression. "In three months time."

"Not another Landsmeet, I should hope." I shuddered, remembering the last one that had been called, the hours of endless debate about King Alistair's proposed integration of mages into the populace.

The king and my wife had won the day, persuading their fellow nobles to see the unfair restrictions that had been placed upon the mages, promising careful monitoring by the templar order. Eamon had backed them, though his own experience at the hands of magic had been anything but pleasant. The fact that the man placed such trust in Alistair had swayed many of the other recalcitrant nobles, and Salem had been naught but laughter and smiles during the journey home, her eyes alight, thinking of Wynne, no doubt, who would see those she considered her siblings and children at last allowed to live life in the manner they saw fit.

"No." Salem's eyebrow quirked upward. "It would seem that Alistair is to take a wife, and we are required to be at the wedding."

"Truly?" my heart filled with delight, pure, unadulterated joy at the thought of Alistair at last having found one to stand with him, to rule by his side, to be a support and friend in dark times.

It was no secret that the king had loved Salem, with all of his heart. I knew the grip of that love, its fierceness, its unending ache and longing. That he had managed to sever himself from such pain and find peace gladdened me to no end.

"Yes." Salem nodded, tracing her scarred fingers over the words I could not see.

"What are you concealing from me, Salem?" I asked. "I would have thought such news would thrill you as it does me."

"Make no mistake, I am thrilled for him...but I am afraid this news will not please you, Leliana." my wife looked across the desk, the mirth in her eyes dampened by wariness.

"Tell me, Salem."

"It would seem our beloved king has at last found one worthy to rule at his side." Salem handed me the parchment, and I paled as I took it, reading the name as Salem spoke. "The first knight of the realm…Ser Miranda Cauthrien."