I know, it's long. I'm sorry! Thank you for bearing with me, and special thanks to heroic beta rescue by mille libri! Also extra thanks for everyone who reviews, especially Stickki, Cruellye, roxfox1962, Raven Jadewolfe, serenbach, The Fall., Arsinoe de Blassenville, Eva Galana, Nithu, interesting 2125, bioncafemma and Enaid Aderyn – your support means everything to me!


I woke the following morning to find a very large nose snuffling my ear. The nose was much too big, not to mention cold and wet, to be Alistair, so I grumbled and pulled the blanket over my head. Rocky waited several seconds to see if any other acknowledgment would be forthcoming. I lay still and hoped fervently he would go away.

He whined, an incongruously high-pitched sound like steam escaping from a kettle: Feeeee...

Alistair groaned and rolled onto his back, rubbing his eyes. Rocky trotted to the bedroom door and whined some more, his paws dancing with urgency. Alistair glanced at the window and started with surprise. "Maker, look at the sun! It must be almost noon!"

"Wha'?" I squinted at the narrow band of sunlight that squeezed around the heavy velvet curtains. "So?"

"I feel so lazy, the Mother Superior would have had me sleeping on the floor if I got up this late at the monastery." He adopted a shrill, effeminate voice. "Beds are a privilege, my son, reserved for those who can resist the lure of sloth."

"I take it you spent most of your nights on the floor?"

"Ha ha, very funny." He pushed his blankets aside and stood, frowning at the coldness of the stone floor, and opened the door for the waiting dog. Rocky shoved his way through it, flinging the door wide in his haste, and galloped for the exit. "Ugh, no wonder I'm tired," Alistair continued, shutting the door again and slumping back onto the edge of the bed. "Isn't it weird how when you oversleep, it just makes you feel worse?"

"Yeah. Clearly we need to take a nap, since we're so tired." I pulled the blanket back over my head.

"No." He heaved a deep, resigned sigh. "No, we have to get up. Specifically-" He stood up and came around to my side of the bed, yanked the blanket out of my hands and scooped me up into his arms. "You have to get up."

"Why?" I complained, kicking my bare feet in a halfhearted struggle.

"So we can have breakfast, and take Rocky for a run, and maybe see if we can destroy a few of Perth's practice dummies before supper, and hopefully by then I won't feel like my head is full of wool. Come on," his eyes became pleading, "don't make me go to the dining room by myself. What if the Arl is out of bed? You promised you'd back me up, remember?"

"Astyth's arse, that was ages ago, I can't believe you remember," I grumbled. "Fine, but I want payment. One hug, at least ten seconds long, or three kisses."

"Sounds fair," he agreed, dipping his head to deliver three long, slow, thorough kisses before setting me down on my slightly unsteady feet.

His fears were unfounded, however, the dining hall deserted except for Leliana and Zevran playing some sort of elaborate card game that I suspected was merely a stage for their equally elaborate flirtation, as Zevran's fingers lingered over hers a moment longer than necessary during a card exchange.

"Oh, hello, Wardens," Leliana chirped, her cheeks and lips flushed and her eyes bright.

"Are we interrupting?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You are always more than welcome," Zevran said smoothly. "Shall I deal you in?"

Since we had little to do but wait for Eamon to be ready to see us, I agreed, and we played a couple of rounds while Alistair and I wolfed down some food. Eventually, though, Alistair started to fidget and glance at the door, so when that last round of cards ended I stood up and said, "Alistair wants to take Rocky for a run, you coming?"

Zevran shuddered. "Running? In broad daylight? With no guards chasing me? No, thank you. I prefer to take my cardiovascular exercise after the sun sets."

"I'm going to assume you're talking about dancing, and leave you to your cards, then." I laughed at Zevran's smirk and followed Alistair to the kennels to retrieve Rocky from where he'd gone to get his own meal.


My favorite defense had always been my feet, and there were few I'd met who could make me eat their dust, but Alistair was used to carrying a heavy load of armor and, free of its weight, his long legs gave him quite an advantage. So by the time we staggered back into the castle, my first act was to dunk my head under the water pump.

"Me next," Alistair panted, leaning forward with his hands braced on his knees while Rocky slurped at the water that poured over my face. I straightened, swiping water out of my eyes with the back of my hand, in time to see Leliana stand up from where she'd been reading on a bench and approach us.

"Andraste's grace, you look a fright," she said affectionately, pushing a strand of hair out of my eyes.

"How else am I supposed to keep my girlish figure if I don't exercise," I huffed. Alistair waved toward the pump handle, so I gave it a few more pumps, sending cold water gushing over his head.

She laughed. "You don't want to meet Arl Eamon Guerrin of Redcliffe like that, though, do you?"

That was a sobering thought. Alistair seemed to think so, too, straightening so fast he hit his head on the faucet. "Ow!"

"You should take a bath and put on clean clothes," Leliana advised. "I can do your hair if you want."

I smiled wryly at her offer. Evidently, persistence was about to pay off. "Fine. It's way too long and if I cut it myself, I'll end up half-bald."

When I was bathed, dried and dressed, Leliana sat me in a desk chair in front of a mirror and pulled out a pair of rather frightening shears.

"Do you want it short, like it was when we met?"

"Yes, please. Long enough to tuck behind my ears, though, so it won't get in my face."

"What about bangs?"

"I've tried them, but I get zits on my forehead."

"Really? Are you sure? You'd look so cute with bangs, with those cheekbones. Maybe just on one side-"

"No, thank you. Bangs are a total pain. Just chop the whole thing chin-length and be done with it, all right?"

"But you're so exotic-looking," she wailed. "With those great big brown eyes and cute round face and button nose-"

"I'm not exotic, I'm a dwarf," I grumped. "Not even a particularly pretty one, so just relax, all right? Don't get all worked up. It's just hair."

"Just hair?"

This cry was echoed from the bedroom doorway as Zevran strolled into the room just in time for my sacreligious comment.

"Now you've done it," said Alistair, coming in after him with a towel around his shoulders and his chin remarkably stubble-free. "You're going to have to let them do something fancy, or we'll never hear the end of it."

"What if I leave the front long so you can push it back, but cut the rest in lots of short layers? It would have lovely body," Leliana practically begged.

"Fine," I sighed. 'Short' sounded good, at least. Fewer tangles. "But only if Alistair lets Zev cut his hair."

"What? No!" Alistair blanched and backed away from the perfectly-coiffed elf. "I cut my own hair!"

"That explains so much," Zevran murmured.

Leliana went to work, humming happily to herself as bits of mousy brown hair sprinkled the floor. Rocky came in after a bit and sniffed at them with interest, promptly getting hair up his nose and scampering around the room, sneezing and pawing at his face.

We made it down in time for dinner, looking reasonably presentable. Eamon walked into the dining room with Teagan on one side and a cane on the other. To me he looked much improved, compared to the corpse-like pallor and stillness he'd worn before, but Alistair's clear concern told me Eamon wasn't normally so wan and thin. He started toward the older man, but stopped, holding his arms awkwardly as though he wasn't sure what to do with them.

"Alistair," Eamon said warmly, patting his hand. "You've grown into a fine man."

"You can say that again," I said in undertone to Leliana, who bit her lip to keep from giggling.

I left my place at the table and sidled up beside Alistair, to be moral support I guess, though I didn't know what I could possibly do. Arl Eamon was the most powerful noble I'd met since the ill-fated King Cailan, and I felt very conscious of the callouses and scars that crisscrossed my hands and the blood stain on the left knee of my trousers that I hadn't noticed when I put them on.

"Th-thank you," Alistair stammered, flushing at the affectionate gesture, and followed along behind him as he made his painfully slow way to his seat.

At Eamon's gesture, Alistair sat stiffly to his left, and I plopped down beside him, finally attracting some attention from the older man's surprisingly penetrating grey eyes. "Ah," he said, straightening slightly in his chair as the butlers began setting bowls of soup before us. "You must be the young woman to whom we owe so much. I cannot thank you enough. For my own life, and that of my son, not to mention my lands and my people."

"No, ser," I shook my head, seizing an opportunity to back up my fellow Warden. "Thank Alistair. My guts would be decorating your battlements if I'd come here alone."

Eamon blinked. "A good point. Very... colorful. I would like to give you – all of you – some public recognition for your actions. It's no less than you deserve, and it couldn't hurt to give you whatever edge we can in swaying public opinion. Has Teagan explained the nature of the Landsmeet to you?"

"More or less. It sounds like the dwarven Assembly." I picked up my soup to blow on it.

"Close enough. I can call a Lansdmeet, assemble the other banns. If we can gather enough support, we can overthrow Loghain and seize control of the throne." Eamon held up a fist, his face transformed with determination.

"That sounds good," Alistair said, glancing at me. I nodded enthusiatically. "What do we have to do?"

"I'll need time to get messengers to everyone, and they will need time to assemble in Denerim. As soon as I'm strong enough to travel, I will move to my Denerim estate to be ready to meet with anyone who arrives early and wants to talk. Even a single vote can sway the outcome of the whole Landsmeet. During that time, I suggest you continue to gather martial support from unconventional sources, as you have done with the mages and the elves. Well done, by the way. I would never have expected the elves to lift a finger in assistance to humans."

"The Blight endangers us all," Wynne stated.

"It does indeed, my good woman." Eamon smiled at her.

"We just have one treaty left to fulfill," I said. "We have to go to Orzammar and see if we can get the nobles to honor their agreement."

"Why do I think it won't be easy," Alistair groaned.

"Because it won't," I answered. "They fight like rats in a sack. When they're not busy having dusters drawn and quartered, they're exiling each other or, worse, siccing their lawyers on each other."

"Sounds like home," Zevran drawled.

"Surely you are exaggerating," Wynne said, frowning.

I shrugged. "I might be slightly biased, but that's what I've heard. It'll be interesting, that's for sure. Not least because the first cops I meet are likely to try to throw me in jail. The Warden griffon on my new armor will be helpful there," I added, looking at Wynne.

"I'm sure the dwarven armies would be invaluable," Eamon said, observing this interaction with interest. "Your people have greater familiarity with the darkspawn than anyone."

I grimaced. "Eurgh, yes. Don't remind me. It'll be good to get back in the earth, though. Sky is all well and good, I suppose, but it's not a pox on a good hard stone ceiling. Speaking of which, Ea – Arl Eamon, did you know that tunnel you got under the lake is dwarven?"

Eamon pursed his lips, nodding thoughtfully. "That makes sense. This castle was originally built to defend against dwarven invasion."

I stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Good one!"

"I don't get it," Alistair said.

"A castle? To defend against the dwarves?" I said, grinning. When he still looked blank, I prompted, "Dwarves who dig tunnels? Do you really think we would bother to lay siege to a castle when we could just walk underground all the way to Denerim and dig a mile-deep sinkhole right under the palace?"

"Good lord," Teagan said. "I never thought of that. Ha!"

He chuckled, but Eamon's smile was a little cold, and I turned back to my food, wishing I'd thought before I'd laughed in his face and called his castle useless.

"Anyway," Teagan said, glancing at us and leaning forward to redirect the conversation. "Eamon, our young friends here have been up to quite a bit of excitement."

"Yes, please, do fill me in," Eamon nodded.

"Leliana, can we impose upon you once more?" I asked, but she was already taking a sip of water and clearing her throat. Her narrative took us through to the end of dinner, and we were demolishing a tray of apple turnovers when her tale wound to a close.

"Maker's breath," Eamon said into the silence that fell after she finished speaking. "You must be exhausted!"

"Ha! A bit. We slept in this morning," I admitted, surrepticiously dropping a turnover into Rocky's waiting jaws. An elegantly tapered gray muzzle replaced his blunt brown one, and I palmed a second turnover for Morrigan.

"Alistair," Eamon said after a thoughtful pause. "When we call the Landsmeet, we cannot simply remove Loghain. We must fill the vacuum his absence will leave. We must have a new king for the nation to rally around."

Alistair licked crumbs off his lips and sat back in his chair. "We sort of thought that would be you – I mean, if you don't mind my saying so."

"I could make a claim, yes, but my claim would be no better than Loghain's. I would look like an opportunist. No, we need real royal blood. We need the legacy of King Calenhad. I never thought I would ask this of you, but your actions prove you are up to the task."

Alistair flinched back from the older man and turned panicked eyes on me. Eamon saw where he looked for support, and leaned forward to talk past Alistair and directly to me. "Latitia, you seem to think highly of Alistair. I wish to present him as the alternative to Loghain. Do you not agree he would make a fine king for Ferelden?"

My eyes widened – King Alistair? I mean, I knew he said he didn't want to be king, but I was sure that was because he was afraid of the responsibility. I could help, we could marshal the armies of the entire nation against the Blight, Alistair would live in a palace and (I remembered watching him bleed on the Harrowing chamber floor, sweat and vomit in the Brecilian forest, stagger away from a mound of walking dead so caked in gore he was unrecognizable) he would never have to march to battle again. He would be safe.

All that flashed through my mind in an instant and I blurted out, "I think that's a great idea!"

"What?" Alistair gripped the arm rests of his chair so tightly the wood creaked. His look of flat shock transformed into hurt, then anger, and he rounded on Eamon. "What about me? What about what I want?"

"Do you not want to do what is necessary to preserve Ferelden?" Eamon said calmly. "We cannot allow Loghain to win. We must control the Landsmeet. You are the only man who can rally the banns, the only man who can defeat the Blight. Would you really refuse the throne, knowing what your selfishness would cost?"

"I..." Alistair's face hardened, and he looked away. "No. I'll do it." He folded his napkin in half and dropped it on the table, then stood up and pushed his chair in neatly. "Please excuse me. I need... to go."

"Of course," Eamon agreed. He could afford to be magnanimous. He'd gotten what he wanted.

I glanced from one man to the other, not sure if I should go with Alistair or not, but the look of black betrayal he shot me when I reached for his hand pinned me to my chair. I watched him wander out of the room. Rocky got up and trotted after him, whining softly. After he was out of sight, I felt his movement in my blood as he kept going out the front door and away.

"He'll be all right," Eamon assured me after a few minutes, when I kept looking in the direction he'd gone. "He just needs some time for himself. He's always been like that. When he comes back, he'll be as sunny as ever."

I nodded, sliding down in my chair another couple inches. I felt sick and wished I hadn't eaten so much. Leliana started a conversation about the workings of the Landsmeet, and I probably should have been paying attention, but I couldn't have even if someone paid me.

This was the right thing to do, right? For Thedas, for Fereldan, and for Alistair. Right? I would explain. He would understand. Being a king couldn't be that bad. Everyone else seemed to want to be a king. And anyway, it's not like he'd have to do it alone, after all. I would tell him all this, as soon as he came back.

Actually, sod that. Eamon was hardly the right person to judge what Alistair needed. How could he know whether Alistair needed to be alone or not? It's not like Alistair could ever have talked to him about anything that bothered him.

"I'm going to go after him and explain." I stood up abruptly, interrupting a lively discussion of the politics between the Chantry and the throne, and started from the room. "Goodnight, all. It was nice to meet you, Eamon."

He inclined his head at me politely before turning back to Teagan. I'd forgotten to call him Arl, I realized, but didn't much care – I was thinking about the way he'd so smoothly bypassed Alistair and gone straight to me, using me to bully him into agreeing right away when surely, surely, if it was such a good idea then he would have agreed on his own once he'd had time to think.

I followed the pull of his Warden blood through the courtyard and into the training ground, where he was demolishing a practice dummy with all the grace and sophistication of a miner swinging his pickaxe. He made no move to acknowledge me, but he must have known I was there. When he stopped for breath, I asked, "Alistair?"

He didn't say anything at first, just panted and leaned on his sword. Finally he shoved it into its sheath and turned around, folding his arms. "What do you want?"

"Are you mad at me?" Of course he is, I thought wretchedly.

"I wish-" He stopped and cleared his throat, and tried again. "I wish you had talked to me before you – I thought – I thought you were happy."

I frowned, confused. "What? What're you talking about?"

"Well, you could have just told me you didn't want – to be with me, anymore. You didn't have to sell me to Eamon like a side of bacon." He took three steps back and fell onto a bench at the edge of the training grounds, dropping his head into his hands.

"What? What're you-" I stopped before I repeated myself, and ran across the grounds, hesitating before I touched him. "I do want to be with you! I thought making you king would be great – you could live in the palace, with guards and servants and shit, and you'd be safe. You won't have to do it all alone, I'll be there and I'll help you!"

He laughed bitterly. "What, you're going to stay on as my advisor? Great."

I just stared at him, bewildered, until he raised his head from his hands and said incredulously, "You don't see the problem at all, do you."

"No, I don't!"

"Latitia, if I'm crowned king, it would mean the end of us. I'd have to get married, have a queen, and you're not a Fereldan citizen. You're not even human, for Andraste's sake!"

I drew back, hurt. "So? I never expected you to marry me anyway." Never dared to hope, would be more accurate. "That doesn't mean I can't be..." I stumbled over the word, feeling my cheeks flush. What use would I be as a concubine? I couldn't bear his child. I couldn't even bear his touch.

"Be what? My mistress? A glorified prostitute?" He came to his feet again, balling his fists, and paced away from me. "No. I would never do that to you. Not to mention my ... wife. And the Landsmeet-"

"I don't give a nug's arse about the Landsmeet, or your wife," I shouted. "You said you weren't in line for the throne. You let me think what I was didn't matter to you, but now that you're a king, now it's suddenly a problem? A glorified prostitute not good enough for King Alistair?"

He spun to face me, appalled. "What? No! I never said that! Listen, you don't understand-"

"No, I don't. I'm an ignorant duster." I turned and plodded out of the training grounds, ignoring his frustrated calling. Rocky cast a reproachful look at Alistair and padded after me.

We walked through the castle's dark halls, needing no light as the sun set and the night brought its blessed privacy. My head felt like it had been turned upside down and shaken, and I wandered without thought or intention until I found myself following the faint song of the old dwarven tunnel. Rocky nudged his head under my hand, and I guided him down the slope as low as we could go without ending up in the permanent puddle that collected in its deepest part. I leaned against the wall for a moment, then slowly slid down it to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest.

A thump and a muffled curse floated down the tunnel, and I squinted in its direction as a match flared and lit a candle, casting Zevran's angled features into brilliant illumination after the blackness of the tunnel.

"That is better," he said, smiling. "Stone sense is all well and good for some, but others of us need a little artificial assistance."

"Hi," I said, resting my chin on my knees.

He folded himself neatly beside me, setting his candle into a notch between paving stones. "I may have eavesdropped, just a little."

"I'm not surprised."

"Fereldans like to believe they are great champions of the common man," he said conversationally. "They condemn Orlais, Antiva, Tevinter; they claim they are so very progressive. No slaves in Ferelden, they say. As though that makes their alienages any less dreadful. At least a slave is fed. A dead slave is no use to anyone, after all."

He glanced at me, then sighed. "That's right, you have not yet had the pleasure of a trip to an alienage. I expect you will find it comforting. A taste of home."

"I expect you're being sarcastic, or I'll give you a taste of my boot up your arse," I said without heat.

"Aha! There she is, mia sveglia bella," he chuckled. "In the Crows, there was no pretense. I was an investment, a tool. A valuable tool, but still a tool."

I snickered at his cheap double entendre, knowing he'd done it on purpose to amuse me. He flashed me a quick grin, and laid his arm gently across my shoulders.

"How glad they are, these men of state, to use us while we are useful," he said quietly. "And how quick to cast us aside, when we are not. Lost in hopes and dreams, we may forget what we are, but they never do."

I started to object, to defend Alistair as not being as bad as all that, until it occurred to me his words had an odd timbre of self-loathing and disgust. Zevran had spent a lot more time in high company than I had, and had many more opportunities to be reminded that he wasn't one of them. So instead I turned and pressed my face into his shoulder and wept in the silence under the stone.

"I want to go home," I whispered. I knew I sounded like a whiny toddler but couldn't help it.

"That is an achievable wish. We could leave tomorrow morning," he suggested.

I nodded and wiped my face on my sleeve. "Okay. Yeah. I guess there's no point hanging around here."

"It is late," he said gently. "May I walk you to your room?"

I shook my head. "I'm just gonna sleep here. You can go."

"On the floor?" he said with surprise.

I gave him a wry half-smile. "Wouldn't be the first time I've slept on stone."

"Dwarves," he sighed, rolling his eyes in mock-exasperation. He gave my shoulders a squeeze, and stood up, retrieving his candle. Rocky lifted his head and thumped his stumpy tail in farewell, and the orange light followed Zevran down the tunnel until the velvet darkness embraced us once more.