Despite the catharsis of their make-up sex the night before, Moira realized, when she awoke in the morning, that she hadn't entirely put her frustration with Loghain behind her. She'd dressed and retreated from their shared room quickly, unable to explain why her pique had returned so intensely, and felt it better to remove herself from Loghain's presence before she snapped at him. It was not so much that he'd allowed himself to get baited into a fight with Alistair – though that was bad enough – but that he'd ignored her own attempts to calm the situation and make peace to do so. Was he so filled with contempt for Alistair that he could not behave rationally, even when Moira had begged him to do so for her sake? What was it about the younger man that had caused him to abandon his reason so thoroughly? She didn't know, and she knew she couldn't avoid such a conversation for long, but she did not want to deal with a surly, defensive Loghain in the same morning she had to try to convince a reluctant Grey Warden to return to Ferelden. Maker, couldn't anything ever just be simple for once?

When Hawke arrived to escort them to his family's residence in Hightown, Moira concentrated on making small talk with the Fereldan rogue, asking him about his family's experiences in Kirkwall and the circumstances of his sister's recruitment into the Grey Wardens. He was slightly more forthcoming than the night before, and Moira learned that he'd agreed to accompany a dwarven expedition to the Deep Roads as hired muscle, and that, against his better judgment, he'd taken Bethany with him. The expedition had gone terribly wrong, and Bethany had contracted the Blight sickness in a darkspawn attack. Had the expedition not happened to cross paths with a patrol of Grey Wardens, she would have died, but as 'luck' would have it, the Wardens were able to administer the Joining and save Bethany's life – though at a steep price.

"I think Bethany's still angry with me, though whether that's more for taking her along, or letting the Wardens 'save' her, I couldn't say," Hawke confessed to Moira as the party approached his Hightown residence. Moira's eyes goggled as she took in the imposing manse – she hadn't been expecting such opulence.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Hawke said, his tone saturated in bitterness. "Welcome to the grand Amell estate. It was my mother's proper inheritance, or, at least, it was until my uncle squandered it away through gambling and whoring. I thought to set up my family in our old ancestral home, so I took the expedition job with Bartrand Tethras. I hope all these posh furnishings are worth the poison in Bethany's veins. I find it a poor solace myself, but it's better than Gamlen's wretched shack in Lowtown, and beggars can't be choosers, right?"

Moira felt Hawke's pain keenly – it was the exact sort of no-win situation that had forced her own Joining, although at least Bethany truly hadn't had any other options. "I'm sorry," she said. "My own Joining was not my choice, although I was not suffering from the Blight sickness." At least, not until Duncan forced the poisoned chalice and its tainted blood down my throat. "You mustn't blame yourself."

"Mustn't I?" Hawke said quietly. He opened the front door and led them into the foyer. "Well, enough of that. Mother won't want her visit ruined by my maudlin guilt. Make yourself at home. It's too early in the day for drinks, but that's never stopped me before. Brandy?"

"Please," Moira affirmed, taking a seat on the plush divan near the fireplace while Hawke went to fetch the drinks. Hawke's mother was not present, and Moira could only guess that she was still in her room. It was probably for the best – between her own lingering irritation at Loghain, and the revelation of the unfortunate circumstances behind Bethany's Joining, Moira was not overly in the mood to wear her Hero of Ferelden mask.

"Hey." She felt Loghain's presence a half-moment before she heard his voice, and he settled himself onto the divan next to her. Despite her annoyance, she found the warmth of his presence comforting, and she pressed her leg against his in wordless greeting. "You've barely spoken a word to me all morning. Are you still angry with me?"

Well, leave it to Loghain to lay everything out baldly and without pretense. With a sigh, Moira turned to him. To her surprise, she saw no surliness in his expression, and the sincerity in his eyes emboldened her. "Honestly? I'm upset you didn't respect my wishes last night. I was dealing with Alistair perfectly well, at least until you decided to barrel in with your bellowing war cry and start a bar brawl over my 'honor.' I can defend my own honor just fine, Loghain."

He huffed an impatient sigh. "You expected me to ignore the vile things he said –"

"Yes! I did!" Moira interrupted, feeling her irritation mounting anew. "That's my entire point! Alistair was lashing out because he's hurt and angry, and you only made things worse when you took his bait! I was handling him just fine – I could have talked him down, made him see reason, but no, there you were, confirming every terrible thing he's ever believed about you!" She exhaled noisily, running her hands through her hair. "Maker, I don't want to fight with you."

He harrumphed softly, a thoughtful scowl creasing his brow. Moira reflected, with a welcome tinge of amusement, that she now knew him so well that she could differentiate the moods of his various scowls. "I don't want to fight either," he said. He placed a hand on her thigh. "My intention was not to disrespect your wishes, Moira. But I confess, I still cannot for the life of me understand your lingering affection for that boy."

"You don't have to understand it," she said wearily, resting her own hand atop his. "But Alistair was my friend, whether you like it or not, and I'm not going to cheer while you humiliate him in front of a tavern full of people." She glanced up to meet his eyes, and was relieved to find only a wry puzzled exasperation in his expression. "Frankly, I can't understand the depth of your animosity for him. I know you abhorred Eamon's schemes to depose Anora, and I can't blame you for that, but you have to know Alistair had no part in that. He never wanted to be king, Loghain, no matter what you or Anora want to believe."

"Maybe he didn't," Loghain grudgingly allowed. "But he still allowed himself to be used by Eamon to undermine my daughter. He was still a living reminder of Maric's infidelity and fecklessness. Maric was a great king, but the man himself had feet of clay." Loghain sighed. "As we all do. But Maker forgive me, I can't look at that lad without seeing what his father's indiscretion did to Rowan."

Moira stared searchingly at her fiancé. "Is that what this is about? You resent Alistair because he's proof that Maric was an imperfect man?"

"No," Loghain said, too quickly. "Of course I knew Maric wasn't perfect. No man is. But he should have been more careful! To have a secret bastard and hide him away with that scheming vulture Eamon and his Orlesian harridan of a wife – what good could come of that?" Loghain scoffed. "Bah. Perhaps you're right. None of this is the boy's fault, after all."

"Am I interrupting?" Hawke said, returning to the room with a carafe of brandy and a handful of glassware. "I do hate intruding on a good domestic squabble."

"Not at all," Moira said briskly. Brandy certainly sounded very good right about now. "We're just coming to an understanding."

"Oh, is this about the Prince of Ferelden incident?" Hawke said lightly, handing her and Loghain each a glass of brandy. "Don't worry, I made sure Isabela got him all tucked into bed." At Moira's scandalized glare, Hawke snorted. "Not like that, Maker's balls! Isabela does have some standards. She's not that shameless."

"Oh, dear, you didn't tell me we were having guests!" An older, refined woman descended the stairs, and Moira and Loghain stood respectfully as she gave Hawke a peck on the cheek. "I'd have worn a nicer dress!"

"I'm quite certain they don't care about your dress, Mother," Hawke said, in a good-natured but exasperated tone. "Mother, this is Lady Moira Cousland and Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, the Grey Wardens who ended the Blight. Wardens, this is my mother, Leandra Hawke."

Leandra stared in awe at Moira and Loghain, and Moira was quite glad she'd had the chance to get a bit of brandy in her to prepare her for a morning of hero worship. "The Heroes of Ferelden? Maker, Galen, why didn't you say – I would have prepared a feast worthy of such esteemed guests!" She returned her attention to Moira and Loghain just in time to avoid her son's rolling eyes. "What an honor you grant us with your presence! Though I cannot imagine what brings you to Kirkwall, of all places. Oh, what splendid timing! My daughter Bethany is coming for a visit today as well – I'm sure she'll be delighted to meet the heroes who ended the Blight!"

"Well, actually, that's why the Wardens are here, Mother," Hawke interrupted, and Moira found herself intensely grateful for the man's willingness to run interference with his exuberant mother. "They are recruiting more Grey Wardens to return to Ferelden, after so many were lost during the Blight. I… suggested that Bethany might want to go home."

"You did?" Leandra's tone was far more crestfallen than pleased. "Well… I suppose she might… but I don't suppose I shall see her as much if she's across the Waking Sea again…"

"Mother," Hawke said, his voice hardening ever so slightly. "Kirkwall is not our home. If Bethany has to be with the Grey Wardens, at least don't begrudge her the chance to be in a familiar place."

"I don't begrudge her anything, dear," Leandra said in a hurt tone. "But you have never given Kirkwall a chance. Neither of you have. Carver is the only one of you who has honestly tried to make this city a home! You could have joined the Templars too – maybe if Bethany had someone on the 'inside' she wouldn't have had to hide."

"You can't be serious." Hawke's expression was stony, and Moira turned to Loghain, with whom she shared an awkward glance. She took a sip of her brandy, trying her best to ignore the Hawke family spat – speaking of intruding on domestic squabbles…

Fortunately, a rap at the door precluded any further responses by mother or son, and with a huff, Hawke went to the foyer to retrieve the new arrivals. When he returned, a pair of Grey Wardens accompanied him – a middle-aged man with a mustache and kind but stern features, and a young, pretty girl with an open, unguarded expression. The girl, to Moira's surprise, had a mage's staff slung across her back.

"Your sister is a mage," Moira said, directing her surprise at Hawke. The rogue merely shrugged.

"Is that a problem?" The girl's voice was quiet but sure, and though her tone held no resentment, Moira could detect an undercurrent of wariness. "I'm a Grey Warden now, serah, not an apostate. If you've come to take me to the Circle –"

"The Circle?" Moira blinked, still piecing the puzzle together. Hawke's sister had been an apostate, clearly, if she'd been free to accompany him to the Deep Roads, and Leandra had said something about Bethany needing to hide. But if she was a Grey Warden now, then she was entirely correct – the Joining precluded all former responsibilities and obligations of the Warden's life, and the Circle held no claim over Warden mages.

"No, I'm not with the Circle," Moira said in what she hoped was an encouraging tone. "I'm Lady Moira Cousland, and this is Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir. We've just come from Ferelden."

"The Heroes of the Blight," Bethany breathed. "Here? Maker!" She hastened into an ungainly bow. "What an honor to meet you!"

Moira was spared the embarrassment of stammering a gracious reaction by Leandra, who bustled forward and enveloped Bethany in a crushing embrace. "My little girl!" she squealed. "How I've missed you!"

Moira and Loghain shared a glance, unwilling to interrupt the Hawke reunion. Their business could wait for a few moments, certainly. Moira's eyes met Loghain's, and he raised his eyebrows in silent agreement. Neither of them noticed the male Warden approaching them until he was at the crook of Moira's elbow.

"Pardon me," he said, and Moira saw Loghain's lip unconsciously curl in the corner of her vision at the man's Orlesian accent. "You claim to be the Heroes of the Fifth Blight? The Wardens who destroyed the Archdemon at Denerim?"

"There's no claiming about it," Loghain said brusquely. "Thousands of witnesses can affirm that Moira slew the Archdemon by her own hand."

"I apologize. I do not mean to question your sincerity," the man said in what seemed like a genuine tone. "It is only that I do not feel your presence in the taint. You know, as Wardens, how that must strike me as odd."

Moira and Loghain shared another glance, this time one of apprehension. She had – in what now seemed an obvious and short-sighted misapprehension – not foreseen that her lack of taint would become an issue. But of course any true Warden would notice at once that she and Loghain no longer bore the taint – and they had not bothered to come up with a plausible reason to explain why.

Leliana's warning echoed again in Moira's memory. You must not trust the Grey Wardens. Which ones? All of them? She knew she had to tell this Warden something, give him some reason she was no longer tainted – but she was mindful of keeping the ashes secret.

"No, we no longer carry the taint," Moira said. "I can't explain it. Perhaps it had something to do with battling the Archdemon. That is, in truth, part of the reason we are recruiting more Wardens for Ferelden. Without the taint, we are no longer effective at fighting the darkspawn."

The man regarded her with an apprising look. "I see," he said. "Well, I have certainly never heard of a Warden losing the taint before, but in truth, much Warden lore has been lost over the centuries, and it has been many lifetimes since the last Blight, so who am I to say what is possible?" The man reached a hand out to Moira in greeting, and she took it. "I am Jean-Marc Stroud, late of Ghislain. It is an honor to meet the Heroes of the Blight." He turned his glance to Loghain. "Yes, I can see that you are indeed Teyrn Loghain. You are quite infamous in Orlais. Perhaps if you had not closed the border, the Blight would have ended sooner."

Loghain glared at the Orlesian Warden with steel in his eyes. "And perhaps if your empress had not been waiting on the other side with ten legions of chevaliers, I would not have closed the border," he grated. "But I found the choice between succumbing to the Blight and becoming slaves to Orlais yet again to be a poor one indeed."

Stroud shook his head. "I do not believe Empress Celene sought to retake Ferelden, Teyrn," he said. "But then again, I have been in the Free Marches for decades, and am no longer privy to the Game, so who can say what machinations are at play in the Imperial Court? Regardless, I am told you served the Grey Wardens faithfully in penance, and you helped Lady Cousland end the Blight. Whatever I may think of your politics, you have my respect as a Grey Warden." He bowed his head respectfully, and Moira stifled a laugh at Loghain's expression, a rather unique blend of utter shock and righteous anger.

"You'll forgive my fiancé," she said to Stroud, casting a pointed look at Loghain. "He fought valiantly to free Ferelden from your chevaliers, and has little trust in Orlais as a result." Moira wondered if that was the most dramatic understatement she would ever utter in her life, as Loghain shot an incensed glare at her.

"They are not my chevaliers," Stroud said, and if he was angered by Loghain's blatant animosity, he did not show it. "This is why I remain in the Marches. As a Warden, my duties are apolitical. And if there is any assistance I can offer in helping to rebuild the Fereldan Wardens, please, only ask."

Moira found herself liking this Stroud character, though she still felt the tension radiating from Loghain in nearly palpable waves. "In truth, we were hoping to recruit your companion, Bethany," she said. "The Hawkes are natives to Ferelden, and given the sensitive political situation in our country, it would be best if we can rebuild the Order in Ferelden with local recruits, at least at first."

Stroud scratched at his mustache, giving her a thoughtful look. "I do not see any real issues with reassigning Warden Bethany," he said. "Though she is young, and still quite inexperienced. I would not set her in charge of the Order, certainly, not yet."

Another thought of Alistair flitted unbidden through Moira's mind, though she dismissed it for now – Alistair was an entirely separate issue, and one she would have to figure out how to deal with on her own, later. "That seems reasonable," she said. "We have contracted for several ships to return to Ferelden with many of the Blight refugees. It would be for the best if Bethany could return with us as soon as possible." She lowered her voice. "We are still fighting off incursions of darkspawn, along the Amaranthine coast. Warden assistance is urgently needed. I'm sure you understand."

Stroud raised his eyebrows at the news. "The darkspawn have not retreated to the Deep Roads after the death of the Archdemon? That is odd and disheartening news indeed." He frowned. "I will be happy to release Bethany to return to Ferelden, Warden Cousland. However… I must confess that I require her assistance here for at least a little while longer. Perhaps, if you are amenable, I might have yours as well. I am in the middle of a very sensitive investigation, and Bethany is the only Warden my contact will deal with."

Moira and Loghain shared a puzzled glance. "What sort of sensitive investigation?" Loghain said, his curiosity overcoming his animosity for all things Orlesian.

"A slave ring," Bethany chimed in. Moira saw that the Hawkes had returned to the periphery of the conversation. "I promised Fenris I'd look into it for him." She looked at Moira. "Galen tells me that you want to take me back to Ferelden, to be a Grey Warden there. I would be love to, but I have to do this first. I hope you understand."

Loghain frowned, and Moira detected a troubled air to his expression that was likely too subtle to be noticed by any of the others. "A slave ring? From Tevinter? What particular interest do the Wardens have in Tevinter slavers?"

"That's just the thing," Stroud said. "While slavery is a grave sin in the Maker's eyes, it is not ordinarily the duty of Grey Wardens to track down and eliminate its practice. We are normally constrained solely to matters of the Blight, and do not involve ourselves in politics or enforcing the laws of the Chantry or of nations. But Bethany's friend – a peculiar fellow, if I may say so – brought us evidence of a slaver operation that he does not believe is connected to Tevinter. He suspects Grey Warden involvement, and if that is true, it is terrible news indeed."

Moira felt an icy fist grip her innards. "A Grey Warden slave operation? Why? What possible use could the Grey Wardens have for slaves?"

"I do not know," Stroud said, his face grim. "And it troubles me greatly, if it is true. I have certainly never heard of any Grey Warden involvement with slavery before, and such things have always been roundly condemned by any Wardens I have ever served with. However, there are always zealots… those who believe our mandate to fight the Blight enables us to cast aside any laws or conventions that would stand in our way. While I hate to imagine any of my fellows sinking to such depths, I am compelled to admit that it is possible that some Wardens have taken such extreme measures out of what they see as necessity."

Moira's thoughts at once flashed back to her encounter with a rogue Warden named Avernus whom she'd encountered at an abandoned Grey Warden keep near Amaranthine called Soldier's Peak. The keep had been lost for centuries, purged from written Ferelden history after the Wardens there had been involved in a long-ago plot to overthrow the king, and Moira had gone to investigate rumors of what had truly happened. There she'd found Avernus, a man who by all rights should have been long dead, a Warden blood mage who had conducted all manner of atrocious experiments designed to extend his lifespan and empower the Warden's blood taint by using demonic energies. Appalled, she'd slain the rogue Warden, and the encounter had only reinforced her suspicion of the lengths to which so many Grey Wardens were prepared to go in their belief that the ends justified the means. If there was another Avernus out there, who knew what vile purpose he – or they – had gotten up to?

"You're certain the Wardens are involved?" Loghain asked.

"Not yet," Bethany said. "But Fenris found some evidence that he thinks might point to Warden involvement. It's probably best to let him explain it."

"Who is this Fenris?" Moira said, looking from Bethany to Hawke.

Hawke sighed. "A very zealous former Tevinter slave turned hunter of slavers," he said. "He's… not the most cheerful fellow, but then again, I don't think I'd probably be all smiles if I'd been some twisted magister's plaything."

Moira shuddered. She'd heard the stories of Tevinter magisters, and she'd seen the evils of their blood magic and slavery first-hand in the Denerim Alienage. She cast an involuntary glance at Loghain, whose face was taut with emotion. She had no doubt that he was thinking of the Denerim Alienage as well.

"Fenris tracked the slavers to a cave on the Wounded Coast," Bethany said. "We were going to investigate it today, as soon as he arrives at the manse. If you'd care to accompany us, we'd be grateful."

"I will go," Loghain said at once, to Moira's surprise. "There's a chance these slaves might be displaced Fereldans. If so, I will ensure that they are freed and brought home with us." Moira did not look at Loghain, not wanting to draw attention to him, but she wondered if any news of his involvement with the Tevinter magisters had ever found its way out of Denerim. Perhaps she alone knew that Loghain had his own personal reasons to search for disappeared slaves.

Bethany looked at Loghain approvingly. "You're taking some of the Fereldan refugees back? That's wonderful!" She turned to Hawke. "You'll come too, won't you?"

"Of course I'll come, Beth." Hawke looked at his sister fondly. "A chance to see the Heroes of Ferelden in action doesn't present itself every day."

Moira spared a glance at her fiancé, and she saw in his face a steely resolve. She knew him now well enough to know that he likely saw this quest as a chance to expiate at least some of his sins. She wondered if any of the missing slaves were the elves who had been stolen from the Alienage. If so, would they recognize Loghain – and if that happened, what would he do? What would Hawke, or Bethany, or Stroud, or Fenris, do?

She felt, for the first time in their relationship, something of what he must have felt the night before, when he'd charged at Alistair in defense of her honor. She did not defend or justify what he'd done to the elves of the Alienage – far from it – but she knew that his guilt weighed heavily on him, even if he did not often vocalize it. He would be determined now to do what he could to save these few, to atone for the many he had lost during the Blight. And if the others found out, if they judged him harshly – as he, in truth, deserved, she admitted – then perhaps she should be there too, to explain the madness that had overtaken him.

Her eyes met Loghain's, and she saw, to her surprise, a faint shake of his head. They could not speak openly, not in front of all the others, but she could read his expressions so well now – and in his eyes, she saw that he did not want to put the burden of atoning for his sins onto her. This was something he felt that he needed to do without her to explain or mitigate his guilt. It was his quest of penance, and she found that she understood, and respected him all the more for it.

Her thoughts also turned, once again, to Alistair. Stroud was right – they'd need more than young Bethany Hawke to solve the problem of the darkspawn in Amaranthine. Despite the fracas of the night before, she still wanted to reach out to Alistair, to repair their once-fast friendship that had been so damaged by war and betrayal – and she knew she wouldn't get anywhere with him as long as Loghain was with her. Perhaps this was her opportunity, then – while Loghain accompanied Hawke and the Wardens to the coast to investigate the slave ring, she would go and track down Alistair, and try to put things right between them.

"I'm afraid I won't be joining you," she said. She saw in his eyes that Loghain immediately understood. "I really ought to continue to recruit across the city for more Wardens, and I promised I'd seek out the Blight refugees to offer them passage home."

"Oh, well – I suppose that's fair," Bethany said, though Moira clearly heard the disappointment in her voice. A knock at the door echoed through the parlor, and Moira surmised that Hawke's mysterious friend Fenris must be calling.

Her suspicions were confirmed when Hawke returned from the foyer with the strangest looking elf Moira had ever seen. His features were quite handsome, but his hair was shock-white, and Moira noticed oddly-glowing marks on his hands and arms, almost like tattoos. Was this some kind of conscious style choice, or was there some other story behind the man's odd appearance? She wondered if she'd ever find out.

"I see you have company," Fenris said, his voice low and droll.

"That's right," Hawke said. "Fenris, this is Lady Moira Cousland and Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, the heroes of the Blight."

"Truly?" the elf arched an eyebrow. "You have interesting friends, Hawke."

"You should know," Hawke quipped. "Loghain will be accompanying us to the Wounded Coast. He's going to help us track down the slave ring."

"Are you? Good," Fenris said. "It's not often I meet nobles who spare much concern for the misfortunes that befall their lessers." Fenris fixed Loghain with an intense look of scrutiny, which Loghain returned unflinchingly. "I am glad to see you are one who does."

"I owe a responsibility to aid my people in any way I can," Loghain said. "If these people are Fereldan citizens, I will see them safely home. If they are not, then they will at least know freedom."

"If we are not too late," Fenris said ominously. "We should not tarry long here."

"I agree," Stroud said. "If we are ready, then?"

"You should seek out Anders," Hawke said to Moira. "He helps a lot of the Ferelden refugees out of his clinic in Lowtown."

Fenris glowered at Hawke. "He's an apostate mage," he said darkly. "I doubt the people need the kind of 'help' he offers."

Bethany looked over at Fenris, wounded. "I was an apostate mage, Fenris," she said. "We're not all bad."

Fenris's glare softened somewhat. "You are not," he agreed. "But most mages are not like you."

"Allrighty, then!" Hawke said loudly, clapping his hands. "Maker knows we'll be here all day if we get into this mage debate nonsense again, so why don't we spare the poor Wardens' ears and go hunt some slavers?"

Moira turned to Loghain, slipping her arms around him. It would be the first time since she'd awoken from her coma that either of them would be heading into danger without the other, and though she knew Loghain was certainly more than capable of defending himself, the thought of not being at his side was still painful.

"Take care," she murmured into his neck as he wrapped his arms around her. Loghain placed a soft kiss against her forehead, giving her a soft smile as he pulled back.

"Are you certain you don't want me to come?" she said, too quietly for the others to hear.

"I need to do this on my own," he replied, resting his forehead against hers. "It is my penance. Not yours. Never yours."

Taking his hands in hers, she gave him a squeeze, then stepped back. He would be in good company, at least, with Hawke, Bethany, Stroud, and Fenris. He would be fine, and she would find Alistair and make things right, and gather up the refugees, and then they could finally head home. It was a sweet thought, and Moira clung to it as a strange and inexplicable sense of foreboding descended over her as she waved goodbye to him, before he disappeared through the door.

A/N: What? I updated twice in a month? MADNESS. Enjoy it while it lasts, folks!

As a quick note: merging the DA2 timeline with DAO was a bit tricky, since Bioware didn't exactly bother to make them align that well. But in this universe, since Moira and Loghain were never Wardens in Amaranthine recruiting the folks who get recruited during Awakening, Anders was never a Grey Warden. I decided to handwave that Hawke and Co. find Stroud in the Deep Roads on their own, and save Bethany that way. Also, Carver is alive because I didn't need to kill him for gameplay purposes, so there.

As always, thank you for all the support :)