Into the Nothing

Part 1 - "Stay with me, you're all I have left. I know we can make it out alive…"

Teagan and the bulk of the Redcliffe army fought inside the city. Perth had led the march, but once they arrived at the battle site Teagan was in charge of the troops. He divided the men into groups of thirty and set a knight over each regiment. His group was comprised of the last of the soldiers, twenty-six men including himself. He led his unit to an area near the palace walls and began to work at clearing the sector.

Every creature they killed seemed to be replaced by two more, or three more. The undead they had fought in Redcliffe were weak compared to these monsters, and less organized. Teagan tried to occupy his mind by keeping track of how many he'd killed, but he quickly found that he needed to keep his wits about him if he intended to live past the first hour of combat.

Weariness tugged at him. He hadn't slept in three days, and the short rests on the way to Denerim afforded little time to recover his energy. The monsters kept coming for them and he fought on and on. His arms ached from swinging his sword and deflecting blows with his shield. The weapons felt unusually heavy when his muscles went past the point of soreness and were becoming numb.

Hours into the battle, a bright light illuminated the sky like a lightning strike, followed by a loud explosion that shook the ground. His fatigued mind assumed it was the start of a thunderstorm. The darkspawn began to flee the battlefield, dropping their weapons and running in a frantic retreat. Fereldan soldiers pursued them and cut down as many as they could catch.

Teagan glanced about, dazed. What had happened? They weren't even close to victory but the enemy fled. He looked toward the fort where the light and the explosion had occurred. Black smoke billowed up from the fort's roof. He remembered that Winter and Alistair were on their way to the fort when he last saw them.

His heart went cold with dread. "Maker, please, don't let them be dead." He sheathed his sword and ran toward the fort. Dodging jubilant soldiers, stumbling over weapons, and weaving around dead bodies impeded his progress. He crossed the palace courtyard, which was strewn with dead darkspawn and an occasional Fereldan soldier. They had fared well in this area, judging by how few humans or dwarves he saw. He found the fort's courtyard and ran through it. The battle had been fiercer here. He continued, leaping over a pile of dead shrieks, and into the fort. All was quiet. It was an ominous silence.

He walked the interior of the fort, looking down each long hallway for signs of life. In a large room littered with darkspawn corpses he encountered Sandal, the dwarven merchant's son. "Sandal, have you seen Winter and Alistair today?"

The boy couldn't speak many words, but he understood what was being asked of him. He hopped about and clapped his hands.

"I'll take that as a yes," Teagan said. "Did they go upstairs?"

"Upstaaaiiiirrrrssss."

"Have they come back down?"

"Upstaaaiiiirrrrssss."

"I'll take that as a no," he guessed. They'd gone up but hadn't come back down. He had to find Winter. He'd promised her he would find her after the battle. Not only her, but Alistair, his king. More than ever, since Maric drove the Orlesians out of Ferelden, the country needed her king.

Darkspawn corpses marked the wardens' path through the fort. From the lack of blood trails, it was possible none of the party had been injured. That was his hope, but he knew…

A fractured skull, a crushed ribcage, a broken neck, internal bleeding, punctured lungs… Any of these fatal injuries can occur without external blood loss…

…that some of the most grievous wounds produced no outward signs.

He'd witnessed the appearance of a great dragon and saw it fall onto the fort's roof. He could have convinced himself that it landed elsewhere, mortally wounded, and limped away to die. But that didn't explain the bright light and explosion. What could have caused such a phenomenon if not the archdemon itself?

He ran up a flight of stairs, down a long hallway and past clusters of "walking dead" corpses like the ones that had attacked Redcliffe. His unfamiliarity with the layout of the fort caused him to lose his bearings. Each hallway looked alike. One dead genlock looked like any other.

At length he came to the corpses of a battlemage and two ogres. Beyond them were stairs leading to the roof and a set of double doors, thrown wide open. Silhouetted against the dawning sky were Aiden and another soldier, supporting Winter between them. She'd been injured. Aiden's hound followed on their heels, emitting a low whine. Alistair trudged behind them.

"Winter," Teagan whispered. He meant to call to her but his voice failed him. Before he could reach the trio, she sagged between her companions, lapsing into unconsciousness.

Winter was taken to Eamon's estate in Denerim. She was deeply unconscious or in a coma, no one was sure which or why. Nor did they know what to do for her. Until now, no one had killed an archdemon and lived. Her friends were worried that she, too, was dying. Slowly.

Two days later Anders, who had slipped away from Cullen during the commotion, was captured in Denerim at the docks. In another hour he would have been bound for Kirkwall in the Free Marches, but he didn't hide well enough to escape the guards' notice. Before they turned him over to the templars, they asked if he was a healer. He may have been bragging, but he claimed to be the best healer in Ferelden. They bound him and brought him to Eamon's estate.

"Who is in need of healing?" Anders asked. "Is it the king? It must be a pretty important person for you gentlemen to risk the chantry's wrath by bring me here instead of back to the tower."

"Your patient is the Hero of Ferelden," the captain of the king's guard explained. "She's fallen into a coma, from what the local healers can ascertain. But they can't do anything for her. As for the chantry and the templars, it's up to the king to deal with them."

She? he thought. He remembered the girl that he and Cullen had accompanied through the most horrific battles, culminating in the fight against a high dragon on the roof of Fort Drakon. Even before they made it to the roof, she didn't look like she would last much longer. He'd presumed she was among those killed in the war.

He was led into a room, kept dark and cool and quiet, because her caretakers and friends didn't know what to do for her but let her rest, and pray she would awaken on her own. Anders could make out shapes of people on the far end of the room—her companions keeping watch over her. He asked the guards to clear the room of visitors and keep the servants out of the hallway until he was done. He needed a few minutes of deep concentration before he could begin.

When everyone had gone, he lit a candle and set it beside the bed, then he looked his patient over. It was her, the girl he'd followed through Denerim. She was almost unrecognizable to him. The last time he'd seen her she wore armor that was covered in blood and sweat, wielding two longswords with as much skill as any man, her countenance distorted by fierce determination and the exertion of battle. Here, clean and in repose, she looked like any other young woman. Prettier than most by far, and hardly the crazed warrior type.

Someone had taken great pains to cleanse her of the gore. Her hair had been soaked in it, but now it fanned out on her pillow, washed and brushed; its darkness contrasted against her fair skin and her white gown and linens, making her appear innocent and vulnerable. She looked to be no more than twenty or twenty-one years old.

"So young," he murmured, "and beautiful." He felt compassion for the girl. He was a calculating man, however. If he healed her, the king would be indebted to him. That could work to his advantage.

Anders was ready to begin. He passed his hands above the warden's body, scanning for injuries. She had none. No sprains, fractures, or internal bleeding. He wondered if she knew she was pregnant. It was in its earliest stages, so he thought it prudent to keep it to himself.

He detected something odd. Her blood contained an unusual element, something he hadn't encountered before. He prepared a blend of dried herbs and a drop of oil, and lit the mix with the candle, creating a medicinal incense. Then he performed the only spell he knew that might rouse her from her coma. Or it might kill her.

Whoever said all spirits go to the Fade upon death was mistaken.

I'd been to the Fade, and it was noisy, colorful, and inhabited—not so much different from life, if one discounted all the ghostly spirits walking about. I didn't know where I was, but I was alone. There was no sound, but it wasn't the kind of deafening silence that weighs on one's ears until it hurt. It was just soundless. And colorless. And empty.

Is this the void?

That made sense. No one was able to describe the void, as no one had actually been there and returned to tell about it. All assumed it was a place of torment, where the wicked souls went after death—the ones that weren't allowed into the Golden City. Or Black City. It was still a mystery to me that the Maker supposedly couldn't protect his own city from corruption.

So I led an evil life, then? Good deeds and honorable intentions notwithstanding, were my overall decisions and actions so wicked that I earned eternal punishment? What good was there in the world, if that were so? Was I supposed to go about quoting the chant of light? Or had it been my denial of Andraste's godlike status that got me here?

No, it's not the void either. Neither reward nor punishment, and no abominations to keep me company for eternity.

Things could have been worse, I supposed. I was in a place devoid of color, sound, and other beings, but there was a certain peacefulness about it. And no nightmares of the archdemon to disturb my rest—not that I required sleep if I were a disembodied soul. The monster's infernal whisperings came to a halt the instant I drove my sword through its brain. That act was the only thing I remembered about the war, and the scene replayed itself in my mind over and over.

Oblivion. I'm in Oblivion, the place of forgotten souls.

At last things made a little sense. It was believed that the void was a place of punishment, but there was nothing tormenting about where I was. There was just… all this nothingness. I had some memories of my life, names and faces and events, but none caused me joy or distress. I felt nothing. For all my wondering, I didn't feel confused either. My mind and heart, like my blank surroundings, were empty.

I couldn't say how long I'd been there. It could have been minutes or centuries. There was no passage of time. It always came back to nothing. All thoughts led to nothing.

"Winter, awaken."

A sound penetrated the stillness. A voice. Male, and vaguely familiar. Curiosity led me to seek out the source of the voice, and when I attempted to find it, the nothingness dissolved.

I remembered this man. He was the mage Anders, who had fought with me in the battle for Denerim. He'd been there on the rooftop when we faced the archdemon.

"Welcome back," he smiled. "You've had a nice rest, from what I gather."

"I did," I replied. Instead of the usual minute or two of sluggishness that followed sleep, I was instantly alert. Here was the mage that Cullen personally guarded, but there were no templars about. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but what are you doing out of the tower?"

"Ah yes, you're the warden who cleared the tower of Uldred's blood mages and abominations," he said. "Thanks for that. But next time, could you wait until they've killed off all the templars? Especially if I'm away from the action on one of my frequent escape attempts."

That explained why I hadn't seen him before the war. He wasn't at the tower during that time.

He went on, "As for why I'm here, I slipped away from Cullen on the way back to our island prison. Came back to Denerim and was waiting for a ship to take me to Kirkwall, but the guards spotted me. Unlucky for me, but lucky for you that they did."

I tried to sit up. The room began to spin.

"No, no, no, you must lie still for a while longer," he clucked. "You've been unconscious for three days, Warden. Your body has to catch up to your racing thoughts."

"What? Three days? I've lost three whole days? It feels like minutes." Memories came flooding back in one big rush. "I recall everything that happened so clearly…"

He explained that I'd been under a spell of unknown origin, and it was one that the average mage wouldn't have been able to break. "Did I see Wynne among your companions? No wonder you were still unconscious. She's a below-average mage. She calls herself a healer and Irving dotes on her, but she's a useless old busybody. She can't heal a cut without leaving a scar. Some healer," he scoffed. "And she's a senior enchanter? I think the 'senior' part only refers to her advanced age."

His irreverent attitude toward his superiors made me chuckle. I didn't care about Wynne one way or another. She was allowed to tag along with us, but wasn't someone I considered a vital member of my team. And as he'd said, she wasn't able to heal a cut without leaving a scar. I still had one on my arm as proof of that.

He was a chatty fellow. "Now me, I'm not an average mage. My gift is healing. Your coma is something I've never seen before. Even with my skills, you were fortunate to awaken. You must be as strong inside are you are pretty on the outside."

"Is there a motive behind your flattery, ser mage?" I asked with feigned suspicion.

"Flattery? You wound me, Warden. I'm always sincere," Anders replied with a grin that belied his words.

A knock on the door halted our banter. "Enter," Anders and I answered in unison.

A templar came into the room, gave me a bow of acknowledgement, and addressed Anders. "Have you finished? The knight-commander wants you back in the tower immediately."

"Would it kill you to spare me one more minute?" Anders asked coldly. "Kindly send for the steward or the arl or whoever runs this place, and I'll be right with you." He turned back to me. "I need to speak with your caretaker, Warden. You won't lapse back into a coma, but you need to take it slowly for a while."

"Why should I take it slowly? Haven't I rested enough?"

He gave me his dazzling smile again. He was a good-looking man, with blonde hair and warm brown eyes. Behind his bravado and sarcasm was a kind heart. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? Lazing about for days when there's a country to rebuild." His manner sobered. "Truly, though, you do need to rest. By that I mean no fighting, no wars, no blights, and no more tangling with archdemons. Or any kind of demon, for that matter. At least for the next two weeks."

"Two weeks? I can't possibly sit still that long. Maker's blood, Anders, I haven't stopped for more than two days at a time for the past year. I'd go stir-crazy."

He eyed me without sympathy. "Healer's orders. Rest. Two weeks."

"Please don't mention that to anyone," I pleaded. "If I'm well enough to travel, I can take it slowly until I'm completely recovered, but I don't want to convalesce with people hovering over me."

Or be stuck here in Denerim so close to Alistair. He'll want to talk. I want to avoid that talk.

"Well, isn't that ironic?" he observed. "A prison is a prison, whether it has bars or templars or doting companions, don't you agree?"

"I do," I admitted. "And I sympathize with you. I'm simply not in a position to help you."

"Maybe in the future, if you find yourself in need of a mage…"

"I swear to you, I will find you and kidnap you from the tower if need be." I was dead serious.

"I'm adept at escaping. It's staying escaped that I have trouble with. You can help me there."

"We have a bargain, then?" I extended my hand, and we shook on it.

We heard footsteps in the hallway. A stampede, from the sound of it. The door swung open and Alistair, Eamon, Teagan, Zevran , Aiden, and Leliana burst in. Wynne walked in last with her stately, queen-of-the-Circle shuffle. Alistair approached the bedside while the others remained at a respectful distance. He sat beside me.

"Thank the Maker," he breathed in relief. "I thought we'd lost you."

I repeated the line I'd given him after Flemeth saved us from the Tower of Ishal, with a slight twist. "It takes more than a few darkspawn and an archdemon to kill me."

"So I see. And glad I am for it. How are you feeling? Are you strong enough to rise?"

True to his word, Anders interjected, "Your Majesty, I've examined the warden and find her in perfect health. With another night's rest, she can resume her duties."

Alistair turned his attention to Anders. "So I have you to thank for saving the Hero of Ferelden? You have my heartfelt gratitude."

"You could show your gratitude by letting me live outside that wretched tower," Anders grinned. I knew he was serious, but Alistair took it as a jest.

"If things get too strict over there, you tell them you're a personal friend of the king. Although that won't do you much good. The chantry oversees the templars, as you're aware, and the chantry isn't fond of me. I just thought I'd officially start throwing my weight around."

Eamon asked, "Ser mage, are you certain that she is fully recovered? She appears pale…"

"You have my word," Anders lied. I liked him for his smoothness, and for honoring his promise to me. I would do everything in my power to keep my end of the bargain with him.

Teagan spoke up. "Maybe a few weeks of rest for the warden would be in order, Your Majesty. Before she assumes her post at Vigil's Keep, that is."

"Vigil's Keep?" I echoed, looking to Alistair for an explanation. "You want to send me into Howe's land? I'll have more trouble from his family and supporters than I ever had with darkspawn."

Alistair answered. "Amaranthine is now Grey Warden property. The Howe family has been stripped of their titles and wealth until it can be determined if they were involved in Howe's treason. If so, they will hang. If not…" He shrugged. "If not, I will leave it for you to deal with, Warden-Commander."

"Warden-Commander?" I repeated. "When did this happen?"

Alistair looked sheepish. "I… ah… I've been waiting for you to wake so I could ask you if you'd take over Vigil's Keep. As warden-commander, that is. If you don't want the post, just say so. I'll order you to go anyway. You're needed there." He finished with a smile, knowing I wouldn't pass up a chance to get back into the action. I'd been leading the fights all along already. The only difference now was that I had the title and authority to go with the responsibility.

"As long as the position comes with a sizeable pay raise, Your Majesty," I conceded. "What else did I miss while I was sleeping?"

"Nothing much," Alistair replied. "My coronation. Eamon's official appointment as my chancellor. Teagan was made arl of Redcliffe in addition to his duties as bann of Rainesfere. And then there was your promotion to warden-commander. And arlessa of Amaranthine. Other than that, it's been a slow week."

I congratulated the two Guerrin brothers on their new posts. Teagan tried to hold eye contact with me but I wasn't ready for a discussion about "that night." Alistair continued. "I'm sorry, but duty calls. As soon as I return from my tour of the country, I'll come by the Vigil, and we'll talk further." With that, he left, followed by Eamon and Teagan. The rest of my companions were waiting to visit with me. Anders cautioned them to stay only a minute or two. At the sound of his instructions, two templars entered to escort him back to the tower.

"Thank you, Anders," I said earnestly. "You saved my life."

"I'll tell Knight-Commander Cullen that. He might let me have an extra pudding at dinner," Anders quipped, but behind his smile was a touch of resentment.

"Give the knight-commander my regards and my thanks as well. If I have need of a healer, I know where to find you," I said meaningfully.

"Maybe," Anders winked. The templars weren't amused at his joke, and they led him out without ceremony.

Part 2 – Under New Management

The king, the chancellor, and his brother were waiting for the mage in the hallway, away from Winter's suite. The king spoke to him first.

"Tell me the truth, now that she can't hear you. I know that woman's stubbornness better than most, having served with her for the past year. How long does she really need to rest before she can assume her duties?"

Anders felt a twinge of guilt. He'd given his word, but her life could depend on what he answered. "I recommend two weeks of light duty, Your Majesty. She's alert and restless, but her body needs time to recover completely."

"Is there a chance she could fall back into a coma?" Eamon asked. He remembered that he, too, was alert when he wakened from his coma, but he suffered bouts of fatigue for some time.

"I don't believe there is," the mage replied. "Overexertion could be risky, though. At worst, she might put herself in harm's way, thinking she's at full strength, but…"

"…she could endanger her life and be unable to fight her way out of it," Teagan finished.

"That's my concern," Anders agreed. "She made me promise not to tell anyone of this, and now I feel like I've betrayed her…"

"Trust me, you haven't betrayed her," Alistair assured him. "You've done her, and all Ferelden, a service. She'll not hear of this conversation from any of us. I'll postpone her reassignment to the Keep for a fortnight."

"She'll be suspicious if you do," Eamon said.

"Have her come to Redcliffe," Teagan offered, not entirely without underlying motives.

"Tempting," Alistair mused, "but I can't think of a reason to send her there that wouldn't raise questions in her mind." He turned his attention to Anders. "You have my thanks again, Anders. You've probably just saved her life twice in one day."

The templars moved in to escort the mage away. Anders answered the king, "My pleasure. But just so Your Majesty is aware, mages aren't all evil sorcerers to be locked away for the safety of those without the gift. We're human beings, imprisoned without any rights, and it's unfair to us. Not to mention the fact that templars aren't the best overseers, and Cullen is a tyrant."

"You do realize that I was a templar before I was a Grey Warden, right?" Alistair smiled.

Anders sighed. "No, I didn't realize it, but that's just how my luck runs." He surrendered, and the templars led him out.

"She could stay here," Eamon offered. "I'll be at the castle more than at my estate, so the house is at her disposal."

"She'll know something is up, and I'd hate to let on to her that the mage spilled her little secret manipulation," Alistair answered. "He seemed like a nice enough fellow."

A messenger approached. "Your Majesty, I have a message from Senechal Varel at Vigil's Keep."

Alistair took the note and read it. "Darkspawn have attacked the Keep," he said incredulously. "I thought this was over. Well, there's no way I'm sending her there right now. Eamon, dispatch a company of soldiers to the Keep immediately."

My companions fussed over me. All except Wynne, who stood by herself and didn't speak. That suited me. I wasn't in the mood for her digging into my private affairs or her unsolicited advice.

I felt fine. A little shaky when I first stood up, but that passed quickly. Then, after a few minutes of doing too much too soon, a wave of fatigue washed over me, and I was ready again for sleep. I asked my friends to allow me to rest, and promised we'd talk more in the morning.

Someone was missing, I noticed. Two of them. Oghren, with whom I'd never had much of a relationship, and Sten. Oghren's absence didn't surprise or bother me. Sten's did.

"Sten is gone? He went back to his people without saying goodbye?" It's just like him, I thought. He wasn't a sentimental man by any stretch of the imagination.

Zev approached me. His expression was one of sympathy. Not typical Zevlike behavior. "Winter, Sten died in battle. I am sorry. There was no easy way to tell you."

"He… died? No…" I hadn't realized how much I'd come to like the stoic giant. Hearing that he was dead grieved me deeply.

"He wanted you to have his sword," Zev continued. He repeated the words Sten had asked him to say to me.

"Anyone else? Anything else I should know?" My voice rose to a near-hysterical level. "Where's Oghren? Please tell me he's not dead too." They quickly reassured me that he was alive. He was recovering at Lake Calenhad, at the home of a surface dwarf whom they believed was his new love. Good on him, I thought. He was moving on, returning to a normal life.

I'd been brought up to date on all the news, good and bad. "Thank you. All of you. Now please, if you don't mind, I'd like to rest now." As much as I appreciated their concern, I wanted to be alone. I had a lot of information to absorb.

Wynne came forward. "Before I leave, I have something to say to you." Her tone wasn't as motherly-friendly as before. She sounded angry or disgusted. "I heard what you did to Andraste's ashes. I don't know how you could have destroyed our most precious relic, but you did, and you did it callously. The knowledge of it makes me ashamed to have served with you. I'll be taking my leave, and it is my sincere hope that you never recover from your injuries."

My companions were appalled at her last statement. The room went dead silent. Wynne and I locked eyes and glared at each other.

I could have taken her reprimand gracefully and let it go, but quiet acceptance was never my strong suit. "While we're bearing our souls, let me tell you, Wynne, that I never wanted you to come along with us. I allowed it only because I felt I owed Irving a debt for his aid with the demonic boy at Redcliffe Castle. You didn't fit in with the rest of us, and Maker knows you are no warrior. Your skills are best suited to menial tasks like lighting kitchen cooking fires without kindling or landscaping the palace gardens. Go quickly, and do be careful on your way out. I fear your swelled head may cause you to lose your balance, and I for one wouldn't want the arl's staff having to pick up your decrepit corpse if you tumbled down the stairs and broke your neck, you stuffy old hag."

Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed with venomous hate. I shooed her out with a wave of my hand. My companions snickered as she made a show of walking out with dignity. Zev went to the door, opened it for her, and slammed it behind her a second too soon, hitting her on the rear as she exited. We heard the sound of her body hitting the floor when she pitched forward, face-first.

"Oh, I beg pardon," Zev called through the door. "Was that your arse?" That brought another round of laughter. And all this time, I thought I was the only one who didn't like the old bat. After our fun with Wynne, my companions filed out and left me alone to rest.

A minute or so later, there was a knock on my door. "Alright, which of you forgot something…"

The door opened and Teagan stepped in. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all, " I answered. I was partly happy and partly apprehensive to see him alone. Happy because I was quite fond of him; apprehensive because I wasn't sure just how fond I was, or what I might do or say. The last time I was alone with him…

Maker's breath, such delicious passion

…things had gotten out of hand. I hoped he didn't think less of me now that time had passed and the newness of the affair, or fling, or tryst…

Be honest with yourself for a change; you love him

…had cooled off. Nothing in his manner indicated anything of the sort. In truth, he was more tender, his approach more deliberate, his embrace strong and sure, his kiss of greeting intimate rather than cursory. It would have been easy to get caught up again, but I pulled back.

"You broke your promise," I said lightly. "You were supposed to find me after the battle. I meant right after it. This is a little late, isn't it?"

"On the contrary, my love, I kept my promise," he corrected me. We sat on the edge of the bed. "Once it was over, I came straight to the fort to find you. You lost consciousness before I could reach you."

"A convenient excuse," I smiled. It was humbling to know he had remembered his promise in spite of all that was going on, and that he'd kept it.

"I would use any excuse to see you again," he admitted. "You made it easy for me."

Our banter continued for a while, but I was slowly succumbing to sleepiness. My words came out garbled. I had difficulty coming up with responses to his jests, questions, and comments. With his typical intuitiveness, he realized I was fighting to stay alert. He moved onto the bed, sitting with his back against the wall, and had me lean against him. Maybe I should have protested his presumptuous act, but I was beyond caring if my personal life offended others. He accepted me and that was what mattered. There was nothing about his actions that so much as hinted at seduction. I lay with my back against his chest and he cradled me in his arms. To my recollection, I'd never felt as safe and content as I did when I drifted off. His voice accompanied me into slumber with soft tones of "I love you."

Teagan had suggested to Alistair, "Your Majesty, perhaps you will consider assigning her to make a survey of part of the country, avoiding the arling of Amaranthine, of course, and any other areas that might pose a threat to her safety. She could travel on horseback with two or three of her companions so that there would always be someone nearby to assist her."

"Excellent idea, Bann Teagan," Alistair agreed. "Arl Teagan," he amended. "Eamon and I have to rush off and I don't have time to put it in writing. Could I impose upon you to draft an official order, use my seal on it, and have it delivered to her before you return to Redcliffe?"

"Gladly, Your Majesty," Teagan answered. Alistair clapped him on the shoulder in appreciation and headed down the hall with Eamon, his mind already on other matters.

Teagan drafted the orders, having her go first to Highever where her companion Aiden lived and his brother was teyrn. That would be a good stopping point after the ride from Denerim. Then on to small settlements toward the west, bypassing Orzammar (She would undoubtedly want to explore the Deep Roads again, he thought). She could proceed to Rainesfere, where she and her traveling companions would have full use of his manor and his staff for as long as they needed. He would be at his new post at Redcliffe Castle.

And lastly, he listed her final stop as Redcliffe. It was a slightly underhanded maneuver, but he couldn't go about his daily routine and pretend he wasn't preoccupied with thoughts of her.

Rather than pass the orders to a servant, he hand-delivered them. He hadn't had a chance to speak with her when he'd visited her earlier, and after hearing the mage's concerns for her health, he wanted to see for himself that she was recovering. Seeing her without weapons and armor, clad in a simple gown, reminded him of their night together. Kissing her was the most natural thing, as if they kissed every time they met. She returned his affection, but caught herself and withdrew shyly. He didn't intend to press her for more. Maker's blood, he hadn't even planned to kiss her until he saw her. Then, it was inevitable.

Perhaps he was taking advantage of her weakness by staying with her for so long, but he didn't want to leave her. She slept against him, in his arms, for hours, until he too had fallen asleep and awakened a few times. Before morning, and before she awoke to find him in her bed uninvited, he ought to go to his own suite. He gently lifted her and slid out from beneath her, laying her head on the pillows. She stirred and burrowed into the pillow, but didn't awaken. He pulled the bed linens up to her neck, placed kisses on her brow, cheek, and lips, then forced himself to do right by her, exiting her room and going to his own.

When I woke around dawn I felt more rested than I'd been in a year. Not surprising… I actually was more rested, and I got to sleep in a bed for four nights in a row—one of the many things that hadn't happened since I became a Grey Warden.

Teagan and I had a lovely visit the previous evening. I hadn't seen him since we first arrived in Denerim for the battle, and it was a joy to know he'd come through it uninjured. At some point during our chat I must have fallen asleep—terrible hostess that I was—because I could only recall part of our conversation. His call wasn't entirely a personal one; he brought a message for me. It was from Alistair. Excuse me, that's King Alistair. Very official-looking.

My reassignment had to be postponed for a few weeks because the Keep was undermanned and not prepared for the new commander. In the interim, he instructed me to tour a portion of the country, assess the damage done by the war, obtain a casualty count, and report back. The route he had outlined for me covered north-central and western Ferelden, then westward and south along the Imperial Highway, ending in Redcliffe.

Isn't that exactly what he and Eamon are doing?

No matter. He was king, and things had changed. Now I had to follow his orders. Part of the order was that I take along two traveling companions. Until it could be determined that the darkspawn threat was over and the surviving monsters had returned to the Deep Roads, none of his court or his officers were to travel alone.

I looked over the list of towns and bannorns I was to visit. The first was Highever. It would give me a chance to visit with Aiden. Better still, if Aiden hadn't yet left for his home, he could travel with me for a while.

I was disappointed that I couldn't go straight to Vigil's Keep, but things weren't as bad as they could have been. Anders could have told Alistair the truth, and I could have been put on bed rest for two dreary weeks.