9 Cloudreach, 9:31 Dragon, Denerim

Not long before midnight, Alaric emerged from his room at Eamon's estate, bathed, dressed in brown and forest-green, and fed. It had been a long day and promised to be a long night, but at least he felt a little more human than he had, fresh out of his cell at Fort Drakon.

Time to visit the dragon in her lair, he thought. Never mind that the dragon is an – admittedly quite beautiful – young woman. She has one of the best minds in the kingdom, and she very much has plans of her own which may not march with yours.

The hallway was quiet. Most of Alaric's party had already gone to sleep, except for Morrigan and Garm sitting up by a fire in Eamon's study. The witch glanced up at him with a golden-eyed stare when he looked in on them, and then nodded. For his part, Eamon dozed in a chair before the fire, an old campaigner catching a few winks while he could.

Interesting. Eamon and Morrigan seem to be easy with one another, almost like friends. I wonder how that happened, given her usual opinion of "dog-lords."

Further down the hallway, Alaric encountered Alistair, emerging from his own room to seek out the pantry for a midnight raid. Giving in to a toasted-cheese craving, no doubt. The other Warden perked up at the sight of Alaric, and moved to intercept him. "So, I'm guessing someone has told Anora I was planning to steal the throne she's sitting on," he said in a low voice. "That woman has a nasty glare."

"I imagine Eamon discussed it with her while waiting for us to return from Fort Drakon. We thought it would keep her distracted, less likely to try to overrun Eamon's position."

"Did it work?"

"Apparently. She's waiting to speak to me right now."

Alistair sighed. "She wants to be queen. I get it. I don't trust her any more than I trust her father, but I get it. From all I've heard, she wasn't that bad at the job when Cailan was alive."

"Have you thought any more about what we discussed in Fort Drakon?"

"About me marrying Anora?" Alistair glared at his Warden brother, his usually amiable manner quite vanishing for the moment. "I still don't think I like the idea at all. I'm not convinced she's entirely free of complicity in everything that's happened. If you're right, she's a far more talented chess-master than her father. So how could we ever know for sure?"

"Once I have a chance to talk to her, I think I'll know. That part of her story rings true, at least."

"Maybe." Alistair took on a thoughtful expression, the calculating look that was new to him. The one that made him look like old portraits of Maric. "You're right about one thing. If I'm going to be a king, I'm going to need a queen who can do more than just look at me admiringly and pop out heirs. I'm going to need a woman who can help me rule. Anora's not the only woman in the kingdom who could do that, but I can't think of a better candidate. If we can trust her. If we can talk her out of trying to make a figurehead of me."

"That's the plan." Alaric clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Thank you for trusting me with your interests in this matter."

Alistair grunted, a rueful expression on his face. "No one else is going to be able to take her on. The problem is, of the two of us, you're the one who likes difficult women who are also scarily smart. Maybe you should marry Anora."

Alaric shook his head. "That's not in the cards, and I think we both know it."

"Why not? I could go find one of those other candidates. I understand Bann Alfstanna is still single, and she's much more my type."

"You have a type?" Alaric teased him.

"It turns out that I have a weakness for pretty red-heads who can fight with dual blades. Who knew?"

"Alfstanna doesn't have that enchanting Orlesian accent."

"True." Alistair's good humor vanished. "You shouldn't have reminded me. I'm going to lose Leliana over this, aren't I?"

"I don't think you will ever lose her love, Alistair." Alaric sighed. "I wish we could just let Anora rule alone, or find some other husband for her that everyone could agree on. Nothing would please me more than to see you and Leliana go away and be happy together. But the one is far too risky, and the other may not even be possible. It doesn't help that Loghain and Howe massacred the only other family in Ferelden of anything close to royal rank."

"The Couslands. I know." Alistair shook his head and took a step over to the railing, looking down to the main floor of the house. "You're right, as usual. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate it when you're right?"

"I don't always enjoy it myself."

Alistair sighed, then stepped back from the railing and stood tall, squaring his shoulders as if taking up a burden. "All right. I'll do it. I'll marry Anora. But I'm trusting you to make sure it's on the right terms. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need to go and have a small heart attack somewhere. No big deal, right?"

"Good night, Alistair. And thank you."

Alone again, Alaric finished his journey down the hallway. He rapped softly on the door at the far end. Within moments, Erlina opened the door a crack, glanced out, and then closed it again. Then opened it wide, admitting Alaric with a deep curtsey.

Queen Anora sat on a couch near the hearth, her back straight, like an icon of herself. Eamon's people had found a gown for her, a confection in deep blue velvet and white lace, and her hair was done up in its usual paired buns. In the light of hearth and candles, she looked very beautiful, and queenly, and somewhat afraid. "Hello, Warden . . ." She stopped, and visibly decided to start over. "Ser Alaric. It is good that you came to speak with me."

Alaric seated himself on the couch opposite Anora, very consciously taking a relaxed posture, as if he was in command of the situation and had not a care in the world. He said nothing at all, a move which he could see surprised the queen. For several minutes, the two of them watched one another in silence.

Anora finally broke the impasse. "I will be blunt. I can see that your voice will be a strong one in the days to come."

"Yes," said Alaric at last. "It will. Despite your efforts to silence me and my associates."

That got a response, although not much of one, no more than a momentary flutter of her eyelids. "I do not take your meaning."

"I think you do, your highness. Don't mistake me, it was a masterful ploy." Alaric smiled at her, as an artist might appreciate the work of a rival. "To provoke Rendon Howe into imprisoning you, just as you knew our party was about to arrive in Denerim. To ensure that we would eliminate Howe, the one man in Ferelden most dangerous to your father and yourself. To see to it that Ser Cauthrien was on hand at precisely the critical moment, to capture Alistair and myself, and possibly kill any of my associates who tried to resist.

"No doubt the two of us were to be kept safe in Fort Drakon until the Landsmeet, at which time . . . what? Without us to support Arl Eamon, without Alistair to appear as a visible candidate for the throne, you take command? Swaying the assembled nobles to depose your father's Regency, and accept you as a ruling queen in your own right? After which you could safely release us, knowing that Alistair would no longer be any threat to your rule. For you, my lady, unlike your father, are not so foolish as to think you can defeat the Blight without a single Grey Warden to support your armies."

A single cocked eyebrow, that was all the reaction he got from her. "A most interesting theory."

"Oh, it's far more than a theory, your highness. Not only does it fit all the facts . . . but Erlina was seen meeting with Ser Cauthrien, the night she came to us to beg us for your rescue. She was heard, passing along all your instructions. How else do you think I knew to surrender to Cauthrien on sight, without revealing your presence to her men? I knew that she would permit my associates to leave unharmed with you, so long as we put up absolutely no resistance."

Finally, Alaric saw a hint of discomposure. Anora's hands shifted in her lap, the fingers twining together, a small nervous gesture.

"Really, your highness," he said, lowering his voice to an intimate murmur. "I wish to remind you that I am of noble family, even if I wasn't born in Ferelden. Not only that, I am a mage of no small talent, I have other mages in my party, and I also enjoy the advice and services of both a former Orlesian bard and a former Antivan Crow. Do not think that you can blithely maneuver me like a pawn on your chess-board."

"I . . . see." Slowly, Anora leaned back, relaxing and permitting one arm to stretch out across the back of her couch. She mirrored Alaric's comfortable pose, watching him now with a look of frank appraisal. "I appear to have underestimated you. I apologize."

"Accepted. So long as we speak to one another honestly from this point forward, your highness."

"It seems I would be a fool to do otherwise. Very well. You will agree, I think, that my father must be stopped, but once that is done, Ferelden will need a strong ruler. I would welcome your support for my claim to the throne."

Alaric nodded. "That may very well be possible. Working together, we can accomplish all that you had in mind for Ferelden's defense, and perhaps more. But before we discuss the details, I must bring another matter to your attention. When you saw to it that I would be forced to venture into Howe's dungeons, I'm not sure you realized what else I would find there."

"Was it very bad?"

"Worse than I hope you can imagine, your highness. Maker grant I should never see such a thing again. Yet I was also able to rescue several of Howe's prisoners, and gather a great deal more evidence as to both Howe's crimes, and your father's complicity in them."

She saw the implications at once. "Evidence that would sway the Landsmeet."

"Very much so." Alaric stared intently at the queen. "Your highness, you should be aware. Now that Alistair and I are not safely locked away in Fort Drakon, now that I am in possession of a great many arguments to bring before the Landsmeet? Your personal bargaining position has been considerably eroded. I may be able to bring your father down on my own terms, with or without your support."

He might have expected her to fly into a rage at the implied threat. Instead, she only sighed in resignation and nodded. "I feared as much. Can you understand that I hoped to preserve my father's reputation, and possibly his life?"

"I understand it very well, but I fear it will not serve. Your highness, your father must answer for all that he has done. Otherwise the rule of law in this kingdom falls to dust, and what does that leave for you to govern?"

Anora sat silently for a long time. Her eyes were shadowed, and they might have gleamed in the firelight, but no tears fell. "I know," she said at last. "As a great man's daughter, I can think of nothing but how far he has fallen . . . but as the queen, I must think of what is best for Ferelden."

Slowly, Alaric nodded, and reached the decision he had been considering all evening.

She is worthy of the throne after all. That makes the rest of this easier.

"I am sorry," he said. "I tell you this, not to threaten you, but to make certain that it is the queen with whom I bargain. For I have a proposal for you. One which you may not like, but which I believe will be best for Ferelden."

She blinked, setting aside grief, and looked up at him. "What is it?"

"Have you considered that ruling would be easier with a strong king by your side?"

Anora's eyes went wide. "What are you suggesting? Are you saying that you . . ."

Alaric suddenly felt himself strongly tempted.

She is very beautiful. Not to mention just the kind of woman I appreciate, one who would keep me on my toes every day of our lives. We would probably fight like wildcats, and have wonderful reconciliations, and provide better rulership for this country than it's had since Maric's day.

Then reality reasserted itself. Alaric grinned at the queen, shaking his head slightly. "Your highness, I am flattered that you should even think of it, but no. I am a Grey Warden, and a foreigner, and a mage. Your people, the Bannorn, most certainly the Chantry, none of them would stand for it for a moment."

"I am glad to see your ambitions have not robbed you of sense!" Anora ventured a small smile. "I suppose you are going to suggest that I marry Alistair."

"It would make sense on several levels," he pointed out. "He does have the Thierin bloodline, even if it comes out of wedlock. That would bolster your claim to the throne considerably. He has not been a Grey Warden for long, so it is at least possible that he could give you an heir."

"I suppose you are right. Although, Andraste's grace, he resembles Cailan altogether too well!"

"Would that be a problem?"

Anora gave him a very direct look, as if to suggest that he was forgetting his place. "If we are speaking to one another honestly, then you should know that my marriage to Cailan was not a happy one. We were friends from childhood, and I suppose we remained friends until the end, but our love did not last long. He was a poor king for Ferelden, and a worse husband to me."

"I see." Alaric leaned back, thinking, reviewing memories. "I only met your husband briefly, your highness, so I doubt I have the same depth of perspective. He was amiable enough, with an honest and sunny personality. Yet he did not strike me as . . . well-grounded. He lacked practicality."

"That was part of it. He wanted to be a hero-king from the sagas, and comported himself in that style, all flamboyance and showmanship. He had no interest at all in the pragmatic details of governance. He was content to leave all of that in my hands, or in the hands of the privy council." The queen glanced away. "He was like that with me as well, at first. Pretty words and romantic gestures. Until he tired of the novelty of having me in his bed. Until I failed to give him an heir. Then he found his consolations elsewhere."

Alaric nodded in understanding.

"Now I look at Alistair, and Maker's breath, he looks so like Cailan it is uncanny. For all that the match would make sense, I find it difficult to face."

Alaric sat quietly for a few moments, leaving the queen the privacy of her thoughts. Then he looked up at her and smiled. "Well, there are a few things about Alistair that you may not know."

She looked up at him, waiting.

"Alistair is an amiable man, and he is rarely serious. He has an abominable sense of humor, and he tends to use it as a shield whenever he is worried or uncomfortable. He has no ambition, and avoids accepting the burdens of leadership. These things are all true, and I imagine you would consider them liabilities in a king." The mage leaned forward and became serious. "On the other hand, he is far more intelligent than most give him credit. There is a thinking mind behind that smiling face, and it has a first-rate education. He is a battle-hardened veteran, a man of dauntless courage, who has seen and survived dozens of fields of combat. He has a strong sense of honor and justice, one which does not concern itself with a personal sense of privilege. Would he be a fine king from the moment the crown rested upon his brow? Perhaps not . . . but with time, and the support of people who care about him and about this kingdom, I suspect he would grow into the role very well. Ferelden could do far worse, and often has."

"The queen hears you," said Anora thoughtfully. "The woman is still unsure."

Well, tell the woman to be quiet and attend to her duty, thought Alaric, and then he quashed the notion as unworthy. "Alistair has little experience with women," he said. "Certainly, he has no history of casual dalliance."

"What of that Orlesian woman who travels with you?" she asked slyly.

Hah! A touch for the queen.

"They have been involved for some time," he admitted.

"Does he love her?"

"Yes, I believe he does." Alaric spread his hands wide, as if laying cards upon a table. "Both of them realize that it cannot last. They understand their duty in this matter. I believe Alistair will do his honest best to be a good husband for you, if you give him a chance to try."

Anora rose from her couch, turning her back on the Warden and walking over to a window. There, she stood looking out at the night sky above the city for a long time.

"Very well, Ser Alaric. My last reservation: I will not be reduced to the status of a figurehead. If Alistair is willing to stand back and permit me to continue governing the nation, then I would be willing to have him as my king. For the good of Ferelden."

"Alistair said something very similar, your highness. I believe that if the two of you can learn mutual respect, you will be able to build a working partnership."

"That will not be easy." Anora sighed, and Alaric could see her raise her chin in determination. "Nothing worth doing ever is, I suppose."

Alaric finally rose as well, and bowed low. "I will speak to Alistair and Eamon, and convey the news that our alliance has been confirmed. I thank you for listening to me, your highness."

She turned from the window to consider him. "Alistair is fortunate to have you as a friend," she observed.

"I hope that I may be your friend as well, my queen."

Anora heard it, the offer of fealty in his voice. Slowly, she nodded.