With a grunt, Jon heaved open Gwaren House's rusted iron gate. With a deafening creak it swung open, shedding a hail of ivy leaves from the thick vines that covered the wrought iron like a green and brown tapestry.

"Well, this isn't so bad!" Leah said brightly, regarding the prospect before her. "Highever House is practically half a ruin, but this is just…neglected."

Though the outside guard wall had collapsed in some places, undoubtedly from the darkspawn siege, the structure of the house itself looked sound, at least from the outside. It was a well-constructed building, and to Jon's surprise it looked very little like the Guerrin or Howe estates. Both of those great houses were built in the same, grand, hewn-stone and carved-beam style of the royal palace. Gwaren House, on the other hand, looked basically like a scaled-up version of an ordinary Fereldan farm house, all plaster, cobblestone, and rough timber. If not for its size, one would never know anyone of importance was supposed to reside there.

As if reading his mind, Leah observed, "The queen said they rarely used this place, except for housing Gwaren's knights sometimes. The Mac Tirs usually stayed at the palace. Not surprising, really."

Jon's thoughts lingered nervously on the idea that he apparently had knights, somewhere. He wondered what they were doing, if they were in Gwaren, or Denerim, if they would even deign to remain with him after years of service to the Hero of River Dane. He gulped nervously.

Leah continued. "Apparently the old seneschal is gone into the queen's service, so you'll have to find someone new. I hear you're pretty popular in the Alienage, so that might be a good place to start. Although…."

Jon's rising anxiety was turning quickly to panic as her voice trailed off.

"What is it?" he pleaded.

"Well, I checked some records in the palace from during the regency, and…it looks like Loghain emptied his own treasury to fund the war. You're sort of broke at the moment."

Jon burst out laughing. The small sack of sovereigns he'd carried around during the Blight had been as much wealth as he'd ever possessed in his life. The idea that he had a treasury at be emptied at all was still a fuzzy hilarity to him.

Not understanding, she reassured him, "But Gwaren is immensely profitable," she assured him. "You'll make it back in no time."

"So, I guess, what, I collect taxes then? To pay for things?"

She looked askance. "Eventually, yes. But, maybe taxing your people to pay for the repair of your city estate wouldn't make the best first impression," she suggested with a wry smile. "Maybe you should continue staying at the palace for now."

He smiled at her, gratefully. "Of course," he mused, "there's no reason we can't practice here, even if I don't live here."

She raised an eyebrow. "We? Is that a standing invitation?"

"Of course. You've been so much help, I can't thank you enough. And, between you and me, I think the practice dummies coddle me. You know, rank and all," he smirked.

She burst out laughing, and for the first time that day, Jon felt genuinely pleased with himself.


"You're a bastard."

Jon looked up from his desk where he was finishing a letter to the Warden Commander of Orlais.

"Actually, Your Majesty…."

"Ha, ha, yes, right, I'm the bastard, et cetera, et cetera." Alistair waived a dismissive hand. Jon mused that the gesture looked almost royal. Probably picked up from Anora, he thought.

"I thought we weren't speaking," Jon reminded the king.

Alistair paused. "I think you'll probably want to hear what I have to say."

Intrigued, Jon folded his arms and waited.

"But," Alistair emphasized, "I don't want to leave you with the impression that this means I don't think you're a right bastard, betrayer, and generally an unprincipled git."

"Right. Got it. Unprincipled git—yours truly."

"I thought you might want to know that Teagan is planning to propose to Leah Cousland."

Jon felt his chest tighten, but tried to maintain his composure. "What makes you think I'd want to know that?" he asked defensively.

Alistair guffawed. "I saw you at the wedding with her. And the next day in the practice yard. And then yesterday at dinner." Instinctively, Alistair moved to clap Jon on the back. "You don't fool me."

Jon smiled. It suddenly felt like old times again, the two of them joking and teasing each other and generally trying to find something, anything, to smile about in the midst of so much death and destruction. Their other traveling companions had perhaps thought them flippant or foolish, but in Alistair Jon had found a true brother. At least he'd hoped as much. They both suddenly remembered themselves, and the cool distance returned.

"Anyway," Alistair said, moving back toward the door, "if you're planning to make a move, you should probably do it soon."

"Noted, Your Majesty."

"Bastard."

"Alistair….?"

"….What?"

"Thanks."


"Gorim!" Jon cried, catching sight of the merchant in his usual spot at the market the next morning. "Gorim, do you have anything new in stock?"

The dwarf grinned. "I certainly do, with trade from Orzammar finally opening up again. I have you to thank for that, as I understand it."

"Any new weapons?" Jon asked eagerly.

"You need a new sword, Warden?"

"No," Jon shook his head. "I need two."


Author's note: So, apparently when I start writing this story, I can't stop. Happy New Year, everyone!