9 Cloudreach, 9:31 Dragon, Denerim

Morrigan saw the entire series of events, of course.

She and Alaric had agreed that she would not attempt to enter Howe's home, but there were any number of places where a flitting raven, or a passing mabari, or a tiny wolf-spider could keep the building under close watch. She saw Alaric's team infiltrate through the servant's entrance. Some time later, she saw when Ser Cauthrien arrived, striding through the crowd of petitioners in the courtyard and all but breaking down the house's front doors. A few minutes after that, she saw Erlina flee the confusion, accompanied by what appeared to be three smallish soldiers in Howe livery.

Leliana, and Zevran, and that third must be the queen. All as foretold.

Morrigan remained just long enough to verify that Alaric and Alistair were under arrest but not in immediate danger of being harmed. Then, with a loud kaw-kaw sound, she took wing as a raven, shadowing the queen's party through the Denerim streets. When it became obvious that they were heading for Eamon's house, she easily outdistanced them. Within minutes, she flew through an open window on the second floor, and returned to her human shape in mid-air in front of a startled arl.

"Maker's breath," said Eamon, rising from the chair where he had been fretfully smoking a pipe. "No matter how many times I see you do that, lady Morrigan, it remains a wonder."

"They are on their way," she told him.

"What of the Wardens?"

"Under arrest, but unharmed as far I could tell. I saw and heard no sign of a struggle. Alaric must have surrendered to Cauthrien, as he planned."

Eamon's shaggy head shook, his face a study in deep worry. "He is taking a terrible risk."

Then there came a commotion downstairs. Moments later, the maid Nigella appeared at the door of the room, wide-eyed with fright. "My lord, the queen is here!"

"Right on time," Morrigan said, withdrawing to sit in the far corner of the room.

"Please, bring her highness here at once," Eamon ordered.

Before long Anora burst into the room, Leliana and Zevran close behind, all three of them still in Howe livery but with their helmets and weapons set aside. Erlina followed, alert and ready to aid her mistress. "Eamon!" the queen called. "We have a problem."

"We have more than one, I think," said Morrigan. Anora's eyes flickered in her direction, and then lingered for a moment, in surprise but without recognition.

"Calm down, Anora. What has happened?"

"The Wardens have been captured, by my father's men under Ser Cauthrien's command."

Eamon turned out to be a competent actor. "Sweet Andraste! How could this happen?"

"Never mind that," said the queen impatiently. "The question is how to free him."

Morrigan felt her eyebrow climb for her hairline. Oh, you only think of one Warden, do you? Have a care, woman. Beautiful you may be, and ambitious, but I have my own plans, which do not involve giving him up to such as you.

Eamon caught the nuance as well. "Surely you mean them, your highness. We need Alistair as well."

"Yes, of course," said Anora, suddenly a little flustered. "I am concerned for them both."

"I know where they are," said Morrigan, interrupting the byplay. Eamon and Anora both stared at her, Eamon not needing to feign surprise. Not even he had been told of this element of the plan.

"Who is this, Eamon?" asked the queen.

"My name is Morrigan. I am one of Alaric's associates."

"Another Grey Warden?"

Morrigan snorted in derision. "Most certainly not. I know, however, where the Wardens are being taken. Alaric wears a ring, and I wear its match, and thus I can locate him at any time. I sense his presence, south and west of here, in the direction of that great fortress on the hill."

"Fort Drakon!" the queen exclaimed in anguish, and Morrigan was almost convinced of her sincerity. "They are lost, then. No one escapes from there."

Eamon made a soothing gesture. "I'm afraid that is out of our hands, your highness, but have a little faith. The Grey Wardens are resourceful men."

"Be that as it may. We have much to discuss, Eamon."

"Certainly. Why don't you change out of that gear, and then join me in the solar over some bread and wine? You must be in need of refreshment after your ordeal." With that, Eamon politely ushered the queen out of the room, Erlina trailing behind. At the last moment, before the door closed behind him, the arl glanced back and caught Morrigan's eye.

"Well," said Zevran, as soon as they were alone. "Now comes the difficult part. I trust the arl will be able to stall Anora for a few hours."

"Oh, I think Morrigan and I have this well in hand," said Leliana. "Come sundown, we will go and fetch our men, and hopefully give Queen Anora a considerable surprise."

Morrigan sighed theatrically. "No doubt. Although I must object to this stage of the plan. Most strongly."

"Don't worry, Morrigan. Just let me do the talking. All you need do is look arrogant and disdainful. It should come naturally!"

Morrigan glared down her nose at the bard, proving her point.


While the last light of the setting sun faded in the west, two Chantry sisters arrived at the gates of Fort Drakon, in the full regalia of their office. The sight of a pair of priests in the looming shadow of the great fortress was not a surprise. Yet the usual priestly emissaries to that place were old and wizened, the Chantry's castoffs who could get no more pleasant assignment. These two were young and quite attractive, one a red-head with bright blue eyes, the other dark-haired with startling golden eyes. All across the great courtyard before the gates, soldiers and guardsmen stopped to stare. For their part, the priests took no notice, walking up to the men on watch, the pretty red-head slightly in the lead.

"State your business," said one of the guards.

"We have come to perform last rites for a condemned prisoner," said Leliana, her voice gone soft and sweet.

Unfortunately, the guard was a confirmed skeptic. "What for? Mother Augustine is already here."

Leliana let her eyes go wide, giving the man a look of affronted innocence. "Let us pray, sister." As one, she and Morrigan took a knee, assuming the Andrastian posture of prayer.

"Maker," cried Morrigan, uncomfortably aware that she had no idea what someone praying out loud should sound like. "Forgive these godless souls, they know not what they do. Spare them your wrath, we pray. Do not torment them with boils, and festering rashes, and lesions."

Leliana took up the thread, her voice falling into a more natural cadence. "Although they call into question your wish to show compassion to the wretched, do not deprive them of compassion when they are in need . . ."

"Maker's breath," groaned the guard. "All right, all right! Wait over there, I'll get the captain to let you in."

Leliana rose to her feet, and bowed slightly over her clasped hands. "Thank you. Andraste smile upon you for your kindness."

As soon as the guards were out of earshot, Morrigan whispered, "How was my performance?"

"Not bad. You might have overdone it, but not by much. You reminded me of one of the sisters at Lothering. Are you certain you have no vocation for the Chantry?"

Morrigan made a disgusted noise under her breath. "Fate must have a sense of humor. That tale should have fooled no one."

"Everyone trusts priests. It's only natural."

"If you believe that, you are a bigger fool than these guards." Morrigan shot Leliana a suspicious glare. "I knew it. You are enjoying this."

"Aren't you? It's so much fun!"

Then a soldier wearing captain's bars approached, and they had to resume their act. "All right, what's this about?" he demanded.

"We have been sent to minister the Chant for the prisoners here," said Leliana, all sweet sincerity.

"How many priests does it take to pray for a handful of wretched prisoners?" The man shrugged. "Never mind. I'm not one to argue with the Chantry. You may proceed."

The two women passed through the great doors of Fort Drakon.

Twenty minutes later, Morrigan found herself admitting to grudging respect for her companion. Alaric seemed to have a natural talent for strategy, for planning and executing a campaign to gather broad political power. Leliana, on the other hand, was a master of tactics, negotiating her way through one immediate social problem after another. She played her role perfectly, every inch the young, dedicated priest. She talked her way past obstacle after obstacle, that musical voice with a lilting Orlesian accent her only weapon. She convinced the elderly priest already on site to abandon her post, stalking off to the Chantry to lodge a litany of grievances. She learned the name of the commander in charge of the fortress, and uncovered one of the night's passwords, all while innocently flirting with a male sergeant. She distracted a female lieutenant who looked unpleasantly alert, by causing a pair of male guards to come to blows over her. For her part, Morrigan simply followed along, looking arrogant and disdainful, and watched the expert at work. Making mental notes the whole way.

Finally, in a small room deep within the fortress, the bard sighed. "Maker's breath, I'd forgotten how much fun this could be. But if I remember the layout of this place, then not even real priests would have any business beyond this point without an escort."

Morrigan consulted her ring, casting about for its match. "'Tis just as well. We are very close. I am forced to admit, I am impressed. I did not expect we would be able to come this far without fighting."

Leliana grinned at her. "How is he?"

"Awake and in no pain, but not moving quickly. More than that I cannot say."

"All right. Are you ready?"

Morrigan nodded. Leliana opened the next door.

"Hey, who are . . ."

An eruption of magic stunned the three men in the next chamber. Morrigan took one by the throat, pulling the life-force out of him, leaving him a withered husk. Leliana took down the other two with Zevran's preferred style, lightning-fast blows with paired daggers. Quickly, they dragged their victims into a hidden corner, then moved on.

Where persuasion would no longer serve, stealth proved more effective. Here, Morrigan had no difficulty keeping up with Leliana, was indeed perhaps a little quieter and more graceful than the bard. Years of experience in stealing unseen through the wilderness, no doubt. She took the lead, following the ring's sense of Alaric's presence. The two women flitted from shadow to shadow, timing their movements to avoid groups of guardsmen.

Outside one large locked door, Morrigan put her lips next to Leliana's ear. "They are in here," she whispered. The bard nodded, and went to work with her lockpicks while Morrigan stood watch. Thirty seconds and a succession of clicking noises later, the door opened.

Beyond was a large room, lined with barred cells, full of racks and instruments of torment. Morrigan took in the whole place at once, saw a single guard just rising to his feet with a shout in his throat. As quickly as she had ever done, she hurled a winter's grasp and froze the man in his tracks.

A deep chuckle from one of the cells. "There you are. I was beginning to worry."

Alaric, stripped down to his smallclothes, but looking fit and confident. He smiled at Morrigan through the bars, as Alistair stepped up beside him in a similar state of undress.

Leliana seemed to enjoy the sight of two very . . . healthy Grey Wardens for an instant, and then pounced on the lock of their cell. "Let's get you out of there."

"I am surprised," said Morrigan dryly. "I had thought to find the two of you halfway out of the tower before we arrived."

"I knew you were on the way." Alaric held up his left hand, where Morrigan's rose-wood ring rested on his third finger. "Besides, neither of us can pick a lock, and the guard on duty was no fool. We had high hopes for the change of watch, if anything prevented you from reaching us."

The cell door sprang open, and Alistair strode through to take Leliana in his arms for a quick but fervent kiss. Alaric followed, not presuming to do the same with Morrigan, but standing and grinning down at her from very close. "You know, you look surprisingly good in Chantry robes."

Morrigan felt annoyance, but also a sudden surge of warmth. She set both aside and murmured, "Have you and Alistair spoken?"

"Yes," he said, his smile fading, replaced by an expression of grim determination. "He wasn't very happy with the idea at first, but I think he's starting to come around. Leliana will talk sense into him if he resists."

Morrigan snorted. "Only you would think to use a man's lover to persuade him to marry another woman," she murmured, low enough that Alistair and Leliana would not hear.

"Whatever works." With some reluctance, Alaric looked away from Morrigan. "There, I think all our gear is in that chest," he called. "Let's be on our way out of here. It's time to make our next move in this game . . . and capture a queen."