"I have something for you," Right said, rolling over and digging in the closest pocket of his backpack.

"Oh?" Zevran said interestedly, lifting his head, then rolling over to sit up cross-legged as Right shyly held out something. Zevran frowned, puzzled. "Gloves? You're giving me gloves? What for?"

"I, um, thought you might like them..." Right said nervously.

"I did not mean to sound ungrateful, it is just..." Zevran said, staring at the gloves in his hand in confusion, then abruptly stopped, and took a closer look at them. "Wait... these are Dalish, are they not? My mother was Dalish and had a pair very similar to these. The leather was less thick, and it had more embroidery... but these are very close. And quite handsome," he added, giving Right a pleased smile.

Right smiled. "You're welcome," he said.

"I admit I am surprised. No one has simply... given me a gift before. And now this is the second time you have done so. Thank you," he said, and leaned forward to give Right a kiss.

Right grinned, looking very pleased. "It was nothing. I just... remembered what you'd said about her, once. As soon as I saw those among the things for barter at the camp, I knew I had to get them for you."

Zevran nodded, looked down, smoothing the leather gloves onto his own hands. Ran a fingertip along the embroidered lines on the back. Drew them off again and put them away in his own pack, carefully. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. Right just smiled, then stretched out again on their shared bedroll.


Over breakfast the next morning, discussion moved to travel plans. Now that they had agreements from the dwarfs, mages and elves to fulfil all three of the treaties they carried, it was time to head back to Redcliffe and see Arl Eamon again. And then, most likely, on to Denerim.

"There's one other thing we'll have to try and find time to do," Right said slowly.

"What's that?" Alistair asked.

"The archdemon is basically just a great big tainted dragon, isn't it?" Right said. "That dragon we encountered in the ruins here got me to thinking – we do know where a real high dragon can be found. It might be worth returning to that mountaintop by Haven to try killing it, if we don't run out of time."

"For practise, you mean?" Zevran asked, sounding interested.

"Yes, exactly," Right said.

"The archdemon will probably be much worse then a high dragon," Alistair said, frowning.

"I know," Right agreed. "But in theory it should be like the difference between fighting a regular wolf and a blight wolf; blight wolves are worse, but they use more or less the same attacks. And have a lot of the same weaknesses. And if we can't handle a high dragon... we haven't a hope of handling the archdemon."

"Good point," Alistair agreed. "All right, that sounds like a good plan."

"Good. Then let's get moving; it's a long walk to Redcliffe," Right said, and got to his feet to begin packing away his things.


When they arrived at Redcliffe Castle, Right was pleased to see groups of dwarven warriors, elven archers, and human soldiers practising their skills in the courtyard. Inside, they found mages sitting around studying. There weren't many of any of these groups yet – these were just the first to arrive. More should arrive over the coming weeks, swelling this tiny beginning into a real army.

Pleased at the progress that had been made, Right led the way to where Arl Eamon was standing in his great hall, talking quietly to Bann Teagan, his wife Isolde at his side.

Eamon and Teagan were both pleased to see them, but Isolde gave them an icy look and withdrew from the room.

"Greetings, Grey Wardens," Arl Eamon said, nodding his head vaguely toward both Right and Alistair. "I understand you've acquired all the allies you could? That's good... we can call the Landsmeet, if you are ready. I would prefer not giving Loghain time to consider, but it is up to you. I do not wish to go to Denerim unless you are with me."

"We're ready to go," Right told him.

"Excellent. I've had my things packed and waiting since the first of the elves arrived; I knew you couldn't be far behind. We can depart within the hour," he said, then turned to his brother. "Look after Redcliffe and Isolde for me while I'm gone."

Bann Teagan nodded. Right was slightly disappointed to hear that the Bann would not be accompanying them to Denerim; he rather liked the man.


Their journey back to Denerim was at a considerably slower pace then Right and his group were used to; Arl Eamon had a large party, including a sizable guard contingent, and not only did it take them a while to get going in the mornings, but the stop for the mid-day meal took longer as well, and they invariably stopped marching for the day several hours earlier then Right would have liked. The increasing feeling that they were running low on time made him feel antsy.

The sudden lack of any real privacy was irksome too. Right was used to it being just a small group, himself and his companions and the occasional presence of Bodahn and Sandal, all of them adept at politely ignoring the relationship between Right and Zevran; even Oghren in his cups had never done anything worse then joke that they needed to keep it down. And suddenly there were stranger's eyes on them all the time, strangers patrolling within earshot of their tent at night, never any moment that was truly private any longer.

Zevran didn't seem to care, but it bothered Right. Worse, it bothered him that it bothered him.

"Are you... having second thoughts?" Zevran asked quietly one night as they lay side by side in their tent. Things had started out well enough when they'd first retired for the night, until a flare of campfire had cast a silhouette of someone on the canvas overhead, reminding Right all too forcefully of how close other people were. He'd... lost his enthusiasm, after that.

Right turned his head to look at the elf. Zevran was stretched out on his stomach, his torso raised up on his elbows, head turned slightly away, looking down at his hands. "No," Right said quietly, rolling over on his side, and reaching up to brush a finger along the tattoo on Zevran's cheek. "Just... feeling inhibited, I guess. It makes me self-conscious, knowing strangers are... looking. Listening. Especially when you're doing things that are making it very, very hard for me to keep quiet," he added ruefully.

Zevran laughed, and turned his head to look at him, teeth gleaming in a pleased smile. "And here I've been thinking you were so quiet because I wasn't exciting you any more," he said, and made a tsking sound. "You should tell me these things sooner. I would have been... less enthusiastic in my attempts to draw you out..."

Right gave a strangled laugh. He could feel himself blushing.

Zevran leaned down and kissed his shoulder. "What about if we both try to be very quiet then," he said, voice a low growl that made Right shiver. "That could be an interesting challenge... seeing that we both enjoy ourselves as fully as possible without undue noise," he whispered, and slid closer to lean over Right, beginning to kiss his way down his throat.

Right gave in. And closed his eyes, so that if the firelight flared up again, he at least couldn't see how close others might be.


He couldn't decide if it was better or worse once they reached the Arl's estate. He had privacy again – a large bedroom all to himself, with its own sitting area. Wynne, the only noticeably female member of their party, had been given a private room as well.

Alistair also had a private room, on the other side of the castle, close to Arl Eamon's own. The Arl had been keeping Alistair close to him since Redcliffe, endlessly drilling him about protocol, etiquette, the genealogies of the lead families of the kingdom, and whatever other social skills or information he felt Alistair was lacking in as a claimant to the throne. Alistair was looking half-panicked and more then a little put-upon every time Right saw him. Which wasn't frequently; the Arl didn't seem particularly interested in his company. Happy to make use of him and his allies, yes, but not interested in actually socializing with him when it could be avoided.

Their remaining companions – Sten, Oghren, and Zevran – had been given a room of their own. Shale presumably was in with them as well, but seemed to prefer just standing around motionless in odd corners of the estate. Oghren lost no time in ensconcing himself in a comfortable chair in the spacious dining room, and kept a servant busy bringing him food and drink. Mostly drink. Sten wandered the areas permitted to him, happily spending hours at a time looking at the paintings decorating the walls, or sitting in the library or Right's room, reading quietly.

Right wasn't in the least surprised to see that Zevran's bags were piled in one corner of his room, along with his own; clearly the elf had no intention of paying attention to where he was officially supposed to sleep. And Right certainly had no intention of ordering him to do so. The Arl could just keep his overly large nose out of their business.


He bumped into Alistair and Arl Eamon in the front hallway the morning after their arrival, having emerged from breakfast to find the two of them on their way to the dining room. They'd barely said two words to each other when the front door banged open, and a guard scurried in, pale-faced.

"Beg your pardon, sers," the guard stuttered out, "But the teryn..."

"I can introduce myself," snapped Teryn Loghain, as he swept into the hall, his aide Ser Cauthrian to his right, and a weasel-faced man that matched the descriptions Right had heard of Arl Howe to his left.

"Loghain. This is... an honour, that the regent would find time to greet me personally," the Arl said, drawing himself up and giving Loghain a rather chilly little nod.

"How could I not welcome a man so important as to call every lord in Ferelden away from his estates while a Blight claws at our land?" Loghain sneered.

"The Blight is why I'm here. With Cailan dead, Ferelden must have a king to lead it against the darkspawn," Eamon retorted.

"Ferelden has a strong leader: its queen. And I lead her armies," Loghain snarled.

"Considering Ostagar, perhaps we need a better general," Right said quietly.

Loghain looked down at him, eyes narrowing angrily. "And who is this, Eamon? Some new stray you picked up on the road? And here I thought it was only royal bastards you play the nursemaid to, not Orzammar's rejects."

"Well, you're admitting the 'royal' part. That's a start," Alistair muttered under his breath, drawing glares from both Loghain and Eamon.

"I am Right, of the Grey Wardens," Right responded calmly, choosing to ignore the by-play.

"You have my sympathies on what happened to your order. It is unfortunate that they chose to turn against Ferelden," Loghain said, his voice anything but sympathetic.

"I don't accept the sympathies of deserters and regicides," Right answered back sharply, annoyed.

Loghain's eyes narrowed. "You should curb your tongue. This is my city, and no safe place to speak treason. For anyone," he snapped, then turned away from Right to look at Arl Eamon again. "There is talk that your illness left you feeble, Eamon. Some worry that you may no longer be fit to advise Ferelden."

Eamon raised an eyebrow. "'Illness?' Why not call your poison by its true name? Not everyone at the Landsmeet will cast aside their loyalties as easily as you and these... sycophants."

"How long you've been gone from court, Eamon! Don't you recognize Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine, and Teyrn of Highever?" Loghain asked, gesturing to the man on his left.

"And current arl of Denerim, after Urien's unfortunate fate at Ostagar. Truly, it is an embarrassment of riches," Arl Howe said unctuously, an unpleasant smirk on his face.

"That's a lot of titles for one man to have," Right observed dryly.

"Don't interrupt, churl. Your betters are talking!" Ser Cauthrien snapped at him.

Loghain held up his hand, frowning at her. "Enough, Cauthrien, this is not the time or place," he said, then glowered at Eamon again. "I had hoped to talk you down from this rash course, Eamon. Our people are frightened: Our king is dead. Our land is under siege. We must be united now, if we are to endure this crisis. Your own sister, Queen Rowan, fought tirelessly to see Ferelden restored. Would you see her work destroyed? You divide our nation and weaken our efforts against the Blight with your selfish ambitions to the throne."

"What efforts can there be when you outlaw the Grey Wardens?" Right asked.

"Cailan depended on the Grey Warden's prowess against the darkspawn, and look how well that ended. Let us speak of reality, rather than tall tales. Stories will not save us," Loghain snapped.

Eamon shook his head sadly. "I cannot forgive what you've done, Loghain. Perhaps the Maker can, but not I. Our people deserve a king of the Theirin bloodline. Alistair will be the one to lead us to victory in this Blight."

"The emperor of Orlais also thought I could not bring him down," Loghain said, glaring at Eamon. "Expect no more mercy than I showed him. There is nothing I would not do for my homeland," he said, then turned and stalked out, Ser Cauthrien following, Arl Howe giving them a mocking bow before turning to follow him out.

"Well, that was... bracing. I didn't expect Loghain to show himself quite so soon," Eamon said quietly once the trio had left.

"Have you known Loghain a long time?" Right asked curiously. From the manner of the two men he'd guess there was a long history between them.

"My sister married King Maric while he was still in exile. At that time, he and Loghain were inseparable," Eamon explained. "The wild prince who'd never seen the inside of a castle, and the farmer's son. When Loghain joined Maric's rebels, he was just a rawboned boy. But he got on one knee to swear that he would see Ferelden free or die trying."

"You sound like you admire him," Alistair said, sounding surprised.

Eamon shrugged. "He made us a free people once more. You can't know what it was like to grow up as a vassal in your own land while poncy little Orlesians minced around in their silks. I would never have believed he would do anything but what was best for Ferelden. But now he kills Maric's son and steals his throne, and conspires with a blood mage to poison me. It is a bitter dose to taste. The Chantry speaks truly about the corruption of power if a man like Loghain could go and do this."

He frowned in thought for a moment, then looked at Right. "We need eyes and ears in the city. Loghain has been here for months. The roots of all his schemes must begin here. The sooner we find them, the better we can turn them to our advantage. Go have a look around and see what you can turn up. Better yet, find the nobles who have arrived for the Landsmeet. Test the waters, see how many will support us. When you're ready to talk strategy, come upstairs to my sitting room. We can lay out our plans for the Landsmeet then."

Right nodded. He didn't particularly care for the way the man was trying to order him around – he was a Grey Warden, not one of Arl Eamon's vassals, after all – but the basic idea was worth following up on, even if he didn't particularly care for the delivery. Though he suspected the Arl had made it mainly to get him out from underfoot; the nobles were unlikely to confide in a complete stranger, and certainly not one that was a dwarf as well. If they were anything like the nobles of Orzammar, they likely regarded anyone not a noble as a lesser being as it was; other races need not apply. Still, there were other way then sounding out the nobles directly to gather information. He'd have to see what he could do.