The Warden's traveling party made good time to Redcliffe Castle.

The villagers welcomed their saviors back with open arms. Bann Teagan greeted them personally on their arrival, a good sign that Arl Eamon's son, Connor, was not beyond saving. Arian confirmed with him and the Arlessa that the child was still passive and content to stay in his room. By some miracle, his condition hadn't worsened.

The Ban had knights and servants escort the various members of the Warden's company to private quarters. Astenos was given a royal welcome in the stables and although the Arlessa had a thing or two to say about Strezark being allowed indoors, the Ban silenced her complaints with swift efficiency.

The servants had done a marvelous job of washing the blood and stench of rot from the stone, but even new rugs and tapestries couldn't quite erase the somber atmosphere. Especially since they all knew a demon lingered in the royal quarters. The thought made them all uneasy, and Zevran couldn't imagine that any of them might sleep well in such a place.

Zevran appreciated the Ban's gesture, but after the trials they'd gone through in the castle, somehow the place didn't feel quite welcoming. It wouldn't have been his first choice for a place to stay. In fact, he found himself longing for the warmth and comfort of his Warden's tent.

Arian spent most the day in the library, hoping to find any information that might help their cause while they waited for the arrival of Irving and his mages. Unfortunately, all the best books on the Fade and Demonology happened to reside the in the Tower. Zevran had a laugh when Arian asked the Arlessa about the tomes. Her outraged expression was quite amusing. How dare the Warden imply that they would keep such heretical items in their castle?

What did that make her son, then?

Isolde truly was an ugly woman. Not physically. Just in every other way. Her moods were unpredictable, made worse when there was a young beautiful woman in the vicinity. Any time Elissa passed her by, she gave her scathing glares that would have melted rock. Zevran couldn't understand her jealousy, but it was a trait shared among many noble women he had met in Antiva.

She was selfish, and that's all there was to it. She had allowed her own people to face unspeakable atrocities in the name of the love for her son. Even now, after so much death, she insisted that the child was innocent. Honestly, when the maleficar had first offered to sacrifice her life in order to save Connor before their journey to the Tower, Zevran was certain Arian would accept. Yet, she had not.

No child should have to grow up without a mother, she'd explained.

Zevran wasn't sure the logic applied in such situations. Not all mothers were created equal, after all. But, he could tell that the Warden's decision appealed to Alistair at least. He, too, didn't seem to understand the gravity of the Arlessa's actions. Either that, or his favor for the Arl outweighed his moral sense. Had they been in Antiva, the Arlessa's own husband would have likely executed her himself for her behavior.

Fereldens are soft, Taliesin often joked in the past. They don't sleep without a dog in their bed. Perhaps they prefer their dogs to their women.

Indeed.

The Mages from the Circle Tower arrived at Redcliffe just half a day after the Warden's party. First Enchanter Irving wanted to begin the ritual immediately, but his mages needed a full day's rest after their march. The ritual was planned for the following evening with Morrigan chosen as the one who would enter the Fade to save Connor.

After this announcement, the Wardens were called away for further discussion in a private room, and Zevran wandered the halls for a time. He stopped by courtyard to train, restless and uneasy. He thought about the plan he had made in the forest, wondering when the best time might be to bring up the topic with his Warden. He did not want to delay. Even now, he could hardly take a step without thoughts of her stalking him. It was unhealthy; it was dangerous.

Perhaps after the child was saved, he would speak with her about it. When Arian focused on something, it was impossible to divert her attention elsewhere. And, for some reason, she was quite desperate to save this boy. Was she desperate because of how much the Arl meant to Alistair? He didn't like thinking that a single person might influence their leader's decisions to such a degree. That was also unhealthy; that was also dangerous.

Without his bidding, his feet carried him to Arian's chambers. He thought he might wait for her there and see how the conversation would flow. Perhaps he could learn more about her motives, too. As was natural, his imagination took him elsewhere, to thoughts of other things they could do to occupy the time. He shook them off. No. He would not - could not - touch her again. Not until he could reign in this unhealthy yearning.

As he approached his Warden's room, he heard voices echoing off the stone. Instinctively blending into the shadows, he hung back just at the edge of the room to listen in. He recognized his Warden's voice immediately. The other was the young Templar's.

"Arian, are you sure about this?"

"It's my responsibility, Alistair. I could have saved him much sooner was I not bound as Elissa."

"It's dangerous. You...I've seen you do it before, remember?"

The sound of shifting leather. "I know. I am sorry you had to."

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

Arian's voice gentled. "I will be alright. The Fade is not a realm for me to fear."

A pause. Then - "You can't lie to me about that. I saw your face after what happened at the Circle. I should have been there for you, and instead I shut you out. If what I saw there was even half as horrible as what the demons did to you..."

"Strezark will guide me, as he always has. Connor cannot wait until tomorrow night, Alistair. He needs me now. I must go."

"Then why even ask the mages to come?"

"I thought..." she hesitated. "I thought we might find a way...without doing this. Without risking exposure."

They went silent for a moment, and Zevran melded deeper into the shadows. He pulled the darkness tighter around himself and leaned farther out over the edge of the doorframe. Ban Teagan had given the Warden a grand guest room for her use. It had a sitting room separate from the bedroom, lavish tapestries decorating the walls, and a high ceiling with rafters that made a perfect hiding place. Fortunately, the two were in her bedroom, leaving the sitting room empty.

Slinking around the corners of the vacant room, Zevran traversed the darkness until he sat up in the wooden rafters. He balanced on the balls of his feet, keeping most of his weight on the stone so the wood wouldn't creak. Perhaps spying on his Warden was not the most moral thing to do as her lover and ally, but something about her and Alistair's voices suggested theirs was a private conversation.

As it happened, Zevran specialized in eavesdropping on such things. He wanted a chance to see another side to Arian, the side she only showed to Alistair and Morrigan, her oldest companions. Surely there was nothing wrong with a little curiosity.

In the room below, Arian stood by a small table on the far side of the chamber while Alistair sat on the edge of her bed. They were as far away from one another as could be, but an intimacy lingered between them, an unspoken bond. His Warden's face was schooled into the careful mask Zevran frequently saw when she was dealing with people as Elissa. Her small shoulders were squared but tense. Her fingers fidgeted with something in her satchel.

"What if..." Alistair began. "What if you can't come back?"

Zevran's eyes snapped to the Templar.

"I won't leave you to fight the Blight alone," she promised.

Alistair stood up and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, don't get me wrong. I am grateful that you want to protect the Arl's family. Maker knows, it would have been easier to do what that maleficar suggested in the first place. But, you chose to go out of your way to do things right." He rubbed his forehead. "I'm grateful to you, Arian, but I can't..." he cut himself off, biting his lip, "...that is we can't lose you to this."

"Alistair..."

"Wait," he cut in. "Just...let me say my peace. I may not be a full Templar, but I saw what the Harrowing was like. I saw mages going into the Fade and never returning. Either they were lost or they came back as abominations."

"My cup isn't empty," Arian said cryptically. "That won't happen."

"But you can still get lost."

A beat as Arian considered his words. She picked up her satchel and walked over to him, her gait hesitant. She stopped just a few steps from him, worrying her bottom lip. Zevran knew that expression too well.

"I've been walking the Fade since I was a child..."

"Not since Highever," he said. "Not since that bastard took everything from you."

She paled. Frustration gnawed at Zevran's thoughts. He knew the reference. Or he thought he did. He'd spent weeks researching his mark before coming to slay her. He knew of Elissa Cousland's bloody past, and consequently Arian's. The truth hadn't been difficult to find. Arl Howe, said to be Bryce Cousland's closest friend and confidant, had betrayed him in the worst way imaginable. He'd sacked Highever, slaying the entire Cousland line, his men raping and pillaging like barbarian scum.

"I'm sorry...I shouldn't have mentioned it..."

"It's part of my past, Alistair. Whether you mention it or not, I see it replaying in my dreams too often to forget." Her voice quavered, and she cleared her throat. "Listen, we don't have much time. I need you and Morrigan to trust me."

"We trust you with our lives, though Morrigan would never admit it."

Arian smiled. "Before I do this, there's something I've been wanting to give you." She reached into her satchel and pulled out the glowing blue flower Zevran had discovered in her possession the other day. She took another step towards Alistair and held it out to him.

Alistair's eyes went wide. Zevran heard him take in a shaky breath. He reached out for it; hesitated.

"What...you...kept it? All this time?"

Arian nodded shyly as Alistair took the flower in his hand. His big hand dwarfed the glowing rose.

"But, why?" He swallowed thickly. "Why would you...after everything I said...?"

"I kept it because you were right about a lot of things," Arian said. "You were right when you said it was beautiful. And you were right when you said that love would only distract us both right now." Her small fingers tightened around her satchel. "But still...even so...I will always care for you. As a friend. I wanted to give you this so you would know that."

She was letting him go. Or trying to. Zevran looked on, his chest churning with unfamiliar emotions.

"You're saying I'm right? But, what about you and Zevran?"

Arian turned away. Frustrated when he couldn't see her face, the assassin slid through the shadows until he could see it once more. He held his breath, not knowing why he did so. Arian didn't answer for a long time, long enough to frustrate Alistair.

"Arian," he snapped, stepping to her and putting a hand on her shoulder.

"We are friends, too," she said at length.

"I saw him leaving your tent. That isn't friendship."

The tips of Arian's ears flushed red. "He isn't serious about me, Alistair."

"So what, it's a game to him? Toying with you?"

"It's not like that," she protested. "He's a good man." She paused. "He's been entirely honest with me about the nature of our...dalliance. For now, I am simply glad to have his company. I don't hold any fancies beyond that."

"So what, when he gets bored he just leaves?"

She flinched at that. Visibly.

"I don't have an answer for you," she said. "I'm sorry. I just feel like this is between me and him..."

"Like hell it is," Alistair growled. He moved so quickly that Arian didn't have a chance to resist. In a swift, almost violent, motion he pushed her back against the wall. At least he had the sense to cradle the back of her head so he wouldn't hurt her. Still, Zevran frowned. He expected the Templar to protest, to say something along the lines of 'tell me what's going on between you' or 'why him?'.

What Zevran did not expect was for Alistair to tilt up Arian's face and seal his lips over hers. It wasn't a shy boy's first kiss. It wasn't an inexperienced pecking or bumping of lips. It was molten fire - dominating, fierce, demanding. Arian pushed against his chest, a bird trying to move a mountain. When she gasped for air and tried to speak, Alistair drove his hot tongue into her mouth.

The flower dropped to the ground as he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up against him. One hand supported her neck while the other snaked around her waist. She trembled as she fought him, but then her cheeks flushed a pretty pink and her hands slid from his chest into his hair. She moaned in the back of her throat, and the sound broke whatever restraint held Zevran immobilized.

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Alistair was lost. If he had to admit it, he had been lost for a very long time. Not on some sort of path in his life, but in the woman before him. The one he was now kissing and touching in ways he was certain the Maker would have disapproved of. He couldn't think that far though, not with her warmth and softness pressed against him, not when her mouth tasted like heaven, and especially not with her breasts pressed up against his chest.

Creators, how long had he held himself back? How long had he been wanting to do this with her? Since Highever? Since Ostagar? He couldn't recall. In this moment, it felt like he had always wanted her, like there had never been a time when she hadn't been the center of his world. And to feel her now - to feel her heated skin, to feel her tongue molding with his, her small breasts rising and falling with gasps of passion. To feel her delicate fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to cause him to shiver in pleasure.

He fell into her, felt himself disappearing in his need for her.

Stop. He had to stop. He couldn't let himself love her any more than this. He just couldn't. To think he might lose her like he'd lost Duncan, like he'd lost his family - he couldn't fathom it.

Just thinking about what she was going to attempt, to let her go into the Fade where he knew demons stalked her steps. He may not have seen what happened to her at the Circle, but he knew her nightmare. He'd been there at Highever. He'd ripped her broken, crying form away from Elissa's dead body himself. To let her face that again? It was unthinkable. Insanity. He wouldn't allow it.

Then, something ripped him from her, a force so strong he couldn't process it right away. All he knew was that in one moment, he was melting into the woman he loved and the next something had pushed him several strides back. He stood there, stunned, his lips still burning with Arian's kiss, his senses still reeling with her scent. And there, before her, stood Zevran.

Alistair had never feared the elven assassin. Perhaps because he had never been on the receiving end of the look he saw in the Crow's eyes right now. His amber orbs simmered with bloodlust, the pupils shrunken. His expression was one of deadly calm. He held no weapon, but Alistair knew that should he move now, the Crow would definitely try to kill him with his bare hands.

"I think you should leave," Zevran said in a cold monotone.

Alistair didn't move. Couldn't move. He looked to Arian, saw her flushed face. She covered her mouth with her hands and her expression crumpled into one of shame. She turned away from him - from both of them - and ran out the door. In her haste, she stepped on the rose, crushing it beneath her heel. He watched her go, would have preferred Zevran's dagger in his heart to the crushing agony of her rejection.

Zevran did not turn to look at her leave. His eyes did not stray from Alistair's face. He stood so still that even his chest did not rise or fall. Alistair recovered, straightening himself from his awkward stance. What was he supposed to do in a moment like this? Apologize for his behavior? If anything, Arian was the one that deserved to hear that, not the elf. He cleared his throat.

"Is this the part where you tell me I'm an idiot and I should go throw myself into the Deep Roads?"

Zevran's expression did not change. "She is still going to do the ritual, no? This will not stop her. You know this. But now she must do it with her mind in such a state..."

Alistair's throat constricted.

"I never thought you an idiot," the elf said. "A fool, yes. Certainly. For how you push away your happiness, for how you trip over your feet because you are afraid to look ahead. But now, my friend...now I think you may be as dimwitted as the witch has labeled you."