"I should have probably told you this earlier," Bryland began uncomfortably as they rode through the gates of his estate.

"Oh, Maker," Elissa said, as her horse stepped daintily around some rubble. Denerim was far from whole, even after all these months. "What is it? Is the betrothal arranged already? Are you proclaiming yourself pretender now? Is there another Blight coming?"

Bryland snorted. "No. Worse than all those things combined, I'm afraid."

"Oh, Maker," Elissa said in an entirely different tone. "Please don't tell me you have Ha—"

The main doors to the estate flew open, nearly knocking over a servant. "Daddy!" Habren, dressed in the finest Orlesian silks Elissa had seen since before the Blight strode into the yard. "May I have fifty sovereigns?"

Elissa fought to keep her expression pleasantly blank. Fifty sovereigns was more than the weekly household budget for the entire Highever castle, repairs to the masonry and food for the knights included.

"And lovely to see you too, Habren," Bryland said wearily, dismounting.

Habren waved him off. "Yes, hello, Daddy; so may I have the money? I saw the most divine changeant silk chiffon in one of the shops this morning; it would do very well for a dress with the right Antivan embroidery."

To her horror, Elissa saw the indecision on Bryland's face. Considering that South Reach had never been as profitable as Highever, this was simply frightening. "Say no," she whispered to him without moving her lips.

Bryland threw her an uncertain look and turned back to Habren. "Haven't you bought enough fabric to make a dozen dresses now?" he asked, striving for calmly paternal and achieving merely desperate.

Habren frowned. "Daddy! I want that chiffon!" She looked a moment away from stomping her foot.

Elissa slid out of the saddle, putting the horse between her and Habren. "Say no," she whispered again.

Bryland drew himself up to his full height. "I'm afraid it's a bit too expensive, darling. Let the seamstress come and make dresses from what you have now, and you'll see that you have more than enough already," he said resolutely, utterly spoiling the effect by giving Elissa an uncertain look. She nodded firmly in encouragement.

Habren's lower lip trembled. "You… you don't love me at all!" she proclaimed dramatically. "Thanks to you I will have no place in fine society, or what passes for fine society in this rat-infested hole!"

But you will always have a place in any good theatre troupe, Elissa thought darkly, stepping around her mare's head.

Habren noticed her for the first time. "Oh. And who are you?" she asked without much interest.

That made Bryland's shoulders stiffen as nothing in the chiffon discussion had. "That," he said angrily, "is Lady Elissa Cousland, daughter of Teyrn Bryce Cousland and sister to Teyrn Fergus Cousland."

Habren dropped a perfunctory curtsey, with a shrug implied in it. "Will you be staying long?"

Elissa rose from her own curtsey. "As long as your father's legendary hospitality will last," she said lightly. "A pleasure to see you again, Lady Habren."

Habren shrugged.

Bryland looked down at Habren, his lips thinning. "You will be polite to Lady Elissa, Habren. You shame our family with your rudeness."

"She did not offend me," Elissa murmured, putting a soothing hand on Bryland's arm.

He patted her hand, turning them towards the doors. "Come, I think your rooms should be ready."

"Does Mother know how you treat Lady Elissa?" Habren asked shrilly from behind them before they had taken three steps.

Elissa felt Bryland's arm stiffen under her hand and turned around swiftly. "Going by the letter that His Grace was kind enough to bring me when he came to Highever last week, I believe so, yes," she said. "I hope to be able to see Her Grace soon, in fact. Do you know if your youngest brother has recovered from his illness? Her Grace seemed very concerned."

"To the Fade with bloody Sven," Habren cried and ran into the house through the servants' entrance.

Bryland sighed and rubbed his free hand over his face. "Nothing like coming home," he said wearily. Servants were looking on, wide-eyed, from doors and windows.

"Let us recover from the journey," Elissa said, keeping her voice low. This was going to be even worse than she'd thought.

Half an hour later, washed and having changed out of her travel clothes, Elissa found her way to Bryland's study with the help of an elven servant who seemed half-paralysed with fear. It probably wasn't surprising, considering the maid lived in the same house as Habren, but it made Elissa uncomfortable nonetheless. She'd never had a servant be afraid of her before.

She knocked at the study door and at Bryland's muffled bid to enter edged herself inside, dismissing the maid with a smile. Bryland was slumped over his desk, head in hands, the entire surface of the desk in front of him covered with bills, some of them written with pointedly red ink.

Elissa suppressed a wince and sat down without being invited. "School," she said without any preamble.

Bryland looked up. "What?"

Elissa gestured at the bills. "Send her off to school. Even an expensive Orlesian one won't cost you more than this."

"That's true enough," Bryland said darkly. He sighed, looking away. "It started when the boy was born, you know."

"Sven?"

"Oh, no. The first one."

"But she was…" Elissa counted quickly. "She couldn't have been older than ten, then."

Bryland nodded. "Nine. She got more and more unmanageable, she chased away all her tutors and she shouts at her mother, and I simply…" He sighed again. "I'm sorry, my dear. I did not mean to trouble you with our family problems."

"You and your wife are my closest friends," Elissa said. "I worry about you – and about her. She isn't happy, despite the clothes and the, what was it, kittens?"

"Puppies," Bryland said glumly.

"Which is why I suggested a school. She may rage there all she likes, but if you find a good one, they won't let her so idle that her rage turns into mischief. And you'll need to write to her often, both your wife and you."

"She knows we love her," Bryland said miserably.

"I don't know what she knows. Maybe she thinks you don't love her now that you have sons."

Bryland looked up, frowning. "What nonsense. If she showed more responsibility, if she learned more, I would name her my heir in a heartbeat!"

"And have you told her that?" Elissa asked pointedly. At his look she sighed. "Leonas, I love you dearly, but sometimes you men are all the same."

Unexpectedly he smiled at her. "Ah, but speaking of men, my dear girl..."

Elissa suppressed a wince and folded her hands in her lap. "Yes, my lord?"

Bryland looked like he wanted to wink at her, only his manners keeping him from it. "I have a note from Alfstanna here. Your arrival in the city has been greeted by enthusiasm from every noble still in the city, it seems. And, most importantly, the king has agreed to grant you an audience."

She shouldn't have been surprised, Elissa supposed, nor frightened, nor annoyed, but she was all those things and more. "When?" she asked somewhat faintly.

"Tomorrow!" Bryland said, finally fishing out Alfstanna's letter from under the bills. "Tomorrow afternoon."

Elissa balled her hands into fists to prevent them from shaking. "Leonas, don't take this the wrong way, please, but I need to go shopping, right now."

Bryland looked vaguely betrayed. "You what?"

"I have my own money," Elissa hastened to reassure him, "but I don't have a dress fit for a royal audience."

"Oh." Bryland deflated in relief. "Certainly, very well. Take a servant or two and take some knights; it's not safe enough yet." His lips curled in something that wasn't quite a smile. "If you need directions, ask any of the maids. They've become intimately acquainted with all the seamstresses in Denerim, I should think."

Elissa smiled at him gently. "Thank you, my lord; that is very generous."

He waves a hand wearily. "Go on, go. I need to deal with all this." He nodded at the bills littering his desk.

Elissa found a maid almost immediately; it was the same elven woman who had guided her to Bryland's study earlier. She averted her eyes at Elissa spoke to her, however, and when the words 'shopping' and 'seamstress' were mentioned, she turned pale as chalk.

"Listen, please," Elissa finally said in exasperation. "I have a little money, but I have absolutely no time, so I need to find a seamstress that might have a half-finished dress for a customer who ran off or cancelled the order. It needs to be of good quality, but nothing too fancy, and," she paused, remembering the royal palace, "and it needs to be wool or thick velvet."

"But my lady," the maid whispered, "you are meeting the king!"

"Yes, and have you been to the palace? I don't suppose the battle of Denerim helped with the draughts or added more fireplaces," Elissa said. "I can't wear anything I have now; those dresses are fine for going into the city, but this will be a royal audience. Please," she begged, "I haven't been to Denerim in two years, and I don't know what has changed after the battle, and I really, really need a decent dress."

The maid hesitated. "Lady Habren visited a seamstress yesterday…" she began hesitantly and continued at Elissa's encouraging nod. "Like you said, my lady, the seamstress was complaining about cancelled orders. She might have something to your liking."

"Perfect," Elissa said with a cheerful smile that threatened to slide off her face.

An hour later, the seamstress in question was eying Elissa critically. "I have several unfinished dresses that could be fitted to your figure, my lady," she said slowly. "But that means putting all my girls to work on just one dress and neglecting the others…"

Elissa sighed. Finding the seamstress had been easy, but Elissa was exhausted, exasperated, and in no mood to bargain. "Fine. Fifteen sovereigns on top of the price of the dress, but I need it by midday tomorrow and not a minute later."

The seamstress' face split in a smile that showed her dark yellow teeth to perfection. "Certainly, my lady. Now, what colours do you prefer?"

They finally settled on an embroidered gown of fine green wool, with long sleeves and a high collar. "Will it be warm?" Elissa asked, fingering a sleeve absently.

"Why yes, my lady," the seamstress said from the floor where she was pinning up the hem. "It is a winter dress, which is why the lady cancelled the order, it being spring now."

"Hasty of her," Elissa murmured.

"Why, is my lady travelling to the mountains?"

The news would be all over the city the next day, so Elissa felt no compunction saying, "No, but the royal palace is so cold that I'll even have to take a cloak, I think."

The seamstress gapes, losing several pins in the process. "The royal palace, my lady?"

Elissa nodded, smiling thinly. "The king will not care for the dress; men never do, you know. But if any lady asks, I'll be sure to mention your name."

The seamstress paled, and then flushed, before she could speak. "Th-thank you, my lady. If my lady will want any more dresses done, my shop will always offer you a discount, of course."

"Of course," Elissa echoed, suddenly tired.

They arrived back at Bryland's estate just before sunset. Elissa washed up and changed for dinner, which was a strained affair with Habren pointedly silent and sulky and Bryland desperately determined to be cheerful. Elissa poked at the food, smiled and made encouraging noises in all the right places, and kept asking about the arlessa while Habren looked as if she wished she could poison the food by merely glaring at it.

Finally the girl excused herself, if stomping off without a word counted as such, and Bryland sighed, burying his face in his hands.

Elissa waited until the servants had left to cautiously pat him on the shoulder. "I will write a letter to your wife," she said quietly. "It will get better."

"I could always strangle her," Bryland muttered into his hands.

"And waste so much investment in silk?" Elissa asked with a smile.

"Very true." Bryland sat back and sighed. "About tomorrow, my dear. It seems that half a dozen people want to speak to me."

Elissa raised an eyebrow. "Because of me?"

"I'm sure of it. But it means I will be unable to accompany you to the audience."

"It might be for the best," Elissa said slowly. "Everybody knows I'm staying at your estate; it might be a good thing if we signal some sort of distance."

"True enough, but I can't let you go there alone, in your capacity as a potential bride," Bryland said, frowning.

"Ah, but you're forgetting something." Elissa turned her hand and her heavy Cousland signet ring flashed in the candlelight.

"Oh, of course," Bryland said. His lips curved into a sad smile. "I do keep forgetting, you know. I still think of you as 'Bryce's youngest' sometimes."

Elissa smiled at him gently, not caring about the tears in her eyes. "I think that's a great compliment to him, Leonas. It certainly makes me proud."

Bryland sighed and patted her hand. "Well. I doubt I shall see you tomorrow, as it appears the entire Landsmeet will be invading the house. Have you got that dress?"

"If the dressmaker keeps her word, yes."

"If you told her what it is for, I'm sure she will."

Elissa chuckled. "Of course I did. Even if he doesn't propose, she will be much in demand after tomorrow."

Bryland smiled wryly. "And on that note, I don't know what to wish you for tomorrow, my dear."

"Wish me a warm day," Elissa said drily. "And the ability to contain my excitement. I shall be meeting the king of Ferelden, you know."

~o0o~

Elissa shivered again and wished she had kept her cloak. The room she had been shown to was empty of everything interesting; there wasn't even a copy of the Chant lying about. Outside the window twilight was turning into dusk.

Finally there were quick steps outside the door and before Elissa could decide whether to be relieved or apprehensive, the door opened and the king came in.

Elissa dropped a deep curtsey before she could take a proper look at him, only noticing that he was tall and blond. "Your Majesty," she murmured.

"Er, hello," the king said. "You must be Lady Elissa."

Elissa straightened and looked at him properly, trying not to stare too obviously. Young, tall, blond, undeniably handsome. And looking rather sheepish. Wonderful, just wonderful. "Sire," she said in reply.

"You're the first, er, candidate, to come alone, you know," the king said, sounding almost conversational. "All the other ones were accompanied by, ah, well-meaning relatives."

"While I am currently staying in Denerim under the protection of Arl Bryland," Elissa said, "we thought it unwise he should accompany me. And as my brother's heir and representative, I do not need a chaperone." She showed her signet ring, although he seemed not to notice.

"I see," he said and looked at her as closely as she had at him.

Elissa looked back, fighting the urge to excuse herself and walk out. This was the hope of Ferelden's stable and peaceful future? This man seemed barely past boyhood and as out of place as a foot soldier dressed up in fine clothing at an arl's ball. Something in the set of his shoulders made it obvious that he was unused to be out of armour. Elissa fought a sigh from escaping.

The king continued looking at her. "You know," he said slowly, "when Bann Alfstanna said that you were in Denerim, my advisors almost broke out in cheers. They've never been as enthusiastic about any gi—woman before, or at least not all of them at once."

"I am a Cousland," Elissa said simply. Surely he knew what it meant?

"Oh, they've spent hours lecturing me on your family, and that you were my best hope to avoid a civil war," the king said, sounding unexpectedly bitter. "I know very well that if don't ask you, most of the Landsmeet will start pushing for their daughters and cousins and it will be chaos, and then it might be civil war after all."

"Thank you for the compliment, Your Majesty," Elissa said icily.

"I didn't mean it like that!" he snapped, and then rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "I'm sorry. You probably don't want to be in this situation any more than I do."

"My brother gave me permission to refuse your suit, if I wanted to – should you make an offer," Elissa said honestly. "The decision rests with you and me alone."

"Oh, right. And if it's not you, then half the nobles in Ferelden will swoop down on me to marry their young female relatives, while the other half will support your brother in his bid for the throne."

"I doubt such a bid would be in his best interest, for the moment," Elissa said carefully.

"Riiiight," he drawled. Finally, some sign of common sense; maybe even reading between the lines of what she was saying. "So, what do we do now? Play chess? Exchange opinions on the fashionable Orlesian composers? Talk about the weather?"

Wasn't the man going to invite her to sit down? Elissa straightened and, once again, wished her gown was warmer. "What are Your Majesty's plans, now that the Blight is over?"

"You don't waste time, do you?" the king said, and then eyed the settee uncertainly. "Oh, right. Won't you sit down?"

Finally! "Thank you, Sire," Elissa said, and perched in one of the corners, fumbling a bit with her gown. Chances were he wouldn't notice, of course, but it was an unwelcome reminder as to how long she hadn't worn a proper dress. Her mother would have been horrified.

He sat down on the other end of the settee, stiffly at first and then cautiously relaxing as if only just realising he wasn't wearing full plate. "If you are here as your brother's heir and representative, I probably shouldn't go into too much detail about my plans for the country, right?" he asked.

The point was a very valid one, even if phrased rather simply. "If Your Majesty is considering a proposal," Elissa began cautiously, "then I would need to know what I would be agreeing to, as a future queen. If, however, Your Majesty is not interested in one, we should indeed simply exchange some words on the weather, or maybe on the sea trade in Highever, before we part."

The king shook his head and gave her a brief, incongruous smile. "You are not what I expected," he said.

Elissa was in no mood to remind him who and what she was. She'd often thought it would have been nice to be just a simple, simpering girl with an obsession with clothing and handsome young noblemen. But she was a Cousland, the second to last Cousland now, and she couldn't even afford the frivolity of wistfulness. "I sincerely beg Your Majesty to make his intentions clear," she said, as close to being rude as she dared.

"Look, would you stop talking about me in the third person?" the king said, sounding irritated. "I am sitting right here." He ran a hand through his hair. "I know I don't know all the manners and double-speak and secret handshakes, and I'm trying to learn, but I've never wan—that is, I never thought I'd find myself in this position. I never thought," and to Elissa's astonishment he actually blushed, "I never thought I'd marry like this. I suppose I should be grateful we're alone, and no being observed by a horde of relatives and courtiers."

"It is not unprecedented," Elissa said, avoiding the issue of addressing him altogether. "But indeed, technically my brother or his envoy should be talking to you or to one of your advisors, instead. But I am my brother's envoy, and it was your choice to meet me personally."

"Because everybody wants me to marry you," the king said exasperatedly. "I know it must sound very uncivilized to someone like you, but I thought meeting the woman I am expected to marry would be a nice idea."

Someone like you? What do you know about me? Elissa thought angrily, but kept her face pleasantly blank. "Whatever Your Majesty thinks best," she said sweetly.

"Oh, I deserved that one, I guess," he said, and sighed. "I'm sorry."

It was the unexpected sincerity in his voice that made Elissa say, "Don't say things like that. Or at least not until you can feign the right emotion perfectly. Sire."

"That's what they keep telling me," the king said looking down at his hands. "But you probably had a lifetime of learning politics. I had a few months."

"It gets easier," Elissa said absently. She hadn't meant to give him advice, especially honest advice. But he did look a bit forlorn, and the last thing Ferelden needed was a king who was projecting all his emotions guilelessly. Was he like that with foreign ambassadors as well, Maker forbid?

"They keep telling that as well," the king said, giving her a small smile. After a moment, however, his smile faded. "So, what now?"

"I believe I know, or can guess, what has been said about me," Elissa said cautiously. "But what would be Your Maj—your expectations if you were to propose? Beyond an heir that would unite the Theirin and the Cousland lines, that is."

Unexpectedly, the king blushed again and looked away quickly. "Arl Eamon would not stop talking about that," he said. "The only other thing I've ever seen him be so happy about was somebody of the Theirin line – me – ascending to the throne."

"Forgive me, Your Maj—but I was asking about your expectations, not the arl's," Elissa said, filing away the unexpected information that Arl Eamon was more of an ardent conservative than she had expected. The king should really learn to guard his tongue better.

"I don't know," the king confessed, turning back to look at her. "I suppose – somebody to help me navigate all this," he waved his hand vaguely, which Elissa took to mean the intricacies of the court and protocol. "Somebody to help me deal with the politics. Somebody to tell me whom I could trust and what I should know."

"An advisor bound by the holiest oaths to always be loyal," Elissa summarised.

His lips thinned in displeasure or anger; she couldn't tell. "I was training to be a templar until I was recruited into the Grey Wardens," he said in a low voice. "I never expected any of this. I never thought I would have to marry at all, never mind marry for political considerations. I thought…" he shook his head. "Never mind. I suppose you think I'm a simpleton."

"If I said so, you could have me in Fort Drakon within the hour, for such an insult to your royal person," Elissa said dryly. "But I am not about to, nor do I think so in the first place."

His head came up eagerly. "You don't?" A moment later he slumped down again. "But I can't trust you to tell the truth, can I."

Torn between laughter and outrage, Elissa bit her lip to keep her expression blank. "Thank you, Sire."

"Oh, I didn't—Maker's breath!" He stood up and walked to the window in agitation, forcing Elissa to stand as well. "I apologise," he said stiffly without turning around. "I'm making rather a mess of all this. I thought I was getting better at it." He turned around and frowned to find her standing.

Elissa looked at the settee and then back at him.

"Oh," he said blankly. "Sorry. I keep forgetting. Please sit down."

Elissa did, managing her dress far more successfully this time. "Your Majesty," she began slowly, "it is no great secret, although it was a bit of a scandal at the time, that my parents married for love."

He stared at that and sat back down. "They did?"

"My father fought with Arl Bryland and Arl— they fought in King Maric's army," Elissa continued, smiling faintly as she remembered her parents telling the story. "My mother and her older brother were children of a minor southern bann, and when he was killed by the Orlesians for helping the rebels, they both took up arms. Apparently my parents met over the corpse of a chevalier they had simultaneously killed."

"How romantic," the king said, but he was grinning. "Love at first kill."

"Indeed," Elissa said and lowered her head to hide her own smile. "My uncle was killed at the battle of River Dane, so the title went to a cousin, but my parents were married even before King Ma—Your Majesty's father was crowned."

The king shrugged. "I think of him as King Maric as well, you know. I never—anyway. That's a lovely story. Well, a bit more gory than most, but still lovely."

Hush, Bryce. I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy her time. But I won't abandon you.

"It is," Elissa agreed, cursing her stinging eyes. "It was one of the reasons my parents never arranged marriages for my brother or for me. I was free to make my own choices – but it was a double-edged sword, Sire, because at the end of the day I am a Cousland, and while I could have married the blacksmith, I also wouldn't have done so, because I was a Cousland."

The king nodded thoughtfully. "I think I understand." He hesitated, worrying the hem of his doublet. "Neither of us can escape who we are. But you said you don't have to marry me, if you don't want to. So, why are you here?

"I wanted to meet you," Elissa said. "Ferelden needs a strong king, especially now that we have survived the Blight with so many casualties. I wanted to—"

"You wanted to see if I could be that king," he said, the laughter and flippancy gone from his voice.

Refusing to back down, Elissa raised her chin faintly. "Ferelden needs a strong king," she repeated.

"And now that you have met me, what do you think?" he asked, sounding, for the first time, almost regal. When she hesitated, he waved his hand impatiently. "I want an honest opinion, and I'm not about to have you arrested."

Elissa hesitated, and then decided to plunge ahead; she had always been too impulsive for her own good. "I think you have the potential for it, if you continue with your desire to learn the necessities of the office and surround yourself with trustworthy advisors and gain the support of a larger portion of the Landsmeet," she said slowly. "What I have seen today is… promising."

The king blinked at her and then finally snapped his mouth shut. "Uh, thank you, I guess," he said.

"You are welcome," Elissa said, and sighed. "I apologise for my rudeness, Your Majesty."

"You weren't. Rude, that is. And I asked for it, anyway," the king said. He rubbed his face wearily before looking back at her. "So what, you came here prepared to make a sacrifice for the good of Ferelden?" He winced as soon as the words were out. "Oh, that was rude. I mean – what do you want, other than a strong king for Ferelden? What would you want from a marriage with, well, with me, I suppose?"

"For you to listen to me and to trust me, where politics are concerned," Elissa said slowly, thinking. "To discuss political issues with me if you disagree instead of immediately doing it your way, at least until you have experience of your own. Your support and respect in public, even if it's just a servant in the corner and not the entire Landsmeet. For you to keep your mistresses discreet—"

"M-mistresses?" the king asked. To Elissa's surprise he was blushing.

She almost shrugged, but in the end controlled herself enough and merely lifted a shoulder. "Well, obviously there is the issue of the heir, so you'd have to bed me, at least in the beginning; I wouldn't pry into your affairs, however."

"And what about your affairs," he asked, sounding angry, for some reason. "Do I need to expect you to have lovers?"

Elissa frowned. "Well, I am not planning on it; you know how a woman is scrutinised far more closely than a man, in such things. But should I have the misfortune to fall in love I would tell you before I acted on anything; that I swear."

He was silent for a while, looking closely at the rug under their feet, before he raised his eyes to hers again. "So, let me get this straight. We both want a strong king for Ferelden, and we both agree that I'm currently not the worst candidate for the job, especially with your help. We both trust and want you to guide me through the worst of it in the beginning and show me the ropes. We both want respect and are prepared to respect the other in return. We are both aware of the sacrifice we need to make because of our blood," he spat out the word with such vitriol that Elissa wondered who had been using it too often in his presence.

When nothing more was forthcoming, Elissa risked a cautious nod. "Indeed, Sire. And," she said cautiously, "I believe we're both prepared to work at it."

The king nodded. "It's part of the whole king experience, isn't it?" He paused. "Did your parents ever argue?" he asked wistfully, and Elissa realised abruptly that Maric's bastard or no, he had probably grown up as an orphan.

"Oh, yes," she replied honestly. "My mother had a tongue that could flay a man at twenty paces. And my father had the most hideous habits… Fergus seems to have inherited some of them."

"And you haven't inherited anything from your mother at all, of course," the king said, far too innocently.

Elissa narrowed her eyes and just barely resisted the temptation to cross her arms. "If Your Majesty says so," she said, and was shocked to realise it had come out almost sulky.

Unexpectedly the king gave her a wide grin that slowly faded as he continued to look at her. "Uh," he said cautiously. "Is it just me, or did we just agree that we have a lot of common goals and should get married?"

"Maker," Elissa said involuntarily. She had been so sure they had been discussing a hypothetical situation that she found herself rather unprepared for the reality crashing over her like a wave.

"Not just me, then," the king said, running a hand through his hair again. "Right, so… do you think we should?"

Elissa looked at him, consciously seeing the man and not the king. She had expected something like a coarse and common soldier filled with hate for the nobility, not this uncertain young man whose biggest failing seemed to be his honesty and inability to hide his feelings. He could become the king Ferelden needed, especially with her at his side, of that she was almost certain now. "Do you… want to?" she asked eventually. "It is you who has to ask, Sire."

"Right, and it won't be a blow to my pride at all to be refused by the most eligible young woman in Ferelden," he shot back. "I'm not going to ask if you come to your senses and decide you have an urgent appointment elsewhere, you know."

"My most urgent appointment today was this one," Elissa said with a cautious smile. "Possibly the most important appointment in my life so far, I believe."

He gestured impatiently. "Well, then?"

Elissa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "If you should propose, I would want your oath that you will always show respect to me as your queen and your advisor," she said on the exhale looking him straight in the eyes. "I would not want to disappear into the background and rule the country from the bedroom. In turn I would promise to always have your best interests at heart, and always come to you first, never being disloyal or going over your head."

"Unless I went crazy or something," he threw in unexpectedly. At her look he shrugged. "Well, it could happen."

"Very well. If your interests and the country's were at odds I would always discuss it with you and try to find the best solution. I would swear to always respect you not only as my king but also as my husband, and act accordingly. And," some impish thought made her add, "should you indeed go insane I would promise to find you the best possible care."

He grinned at her briefly. "If I—proposed, I would agree to these conditions." His face grew serious again. "There is something you should know, however."

"I'm listening," Elissa said, frowning. A dozen wild scenarios, one worse than the other, ran through her head.

The king turned away, looking at a wall tapestry. "I'm a Grey Warden," he said distantly. "It's not something you can just—stop doing, like becoming a fishmonger instead of a carpenter. It's something you are."

Elissa nodded cautiously, though he couldn't see her. "I heard there was a ritual involved?"

He nodded as well. "The ritual, it changes us. It gives us certain abilities, like being able to sense darkspawn, but it also… changes our bodies."

"What are you saying?" Elissa asked, more tremulously than she would have liked.

"It is difficult for a Grey Warden to… sire or bear a child," he said, still looking away. Elissa saw that the tips of his ears had flushed red yet again. "Not impossible, but I don't know how it would be for my… wife. Maybe nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe… miscarriages and things. I don't know much about that. I have been told by a… not exactly trustworthy source that a new Warden has a better chance of siring a child than one who has been a Warden for years, but that could have been wrong. Anyway," he said with a sigh, "I thought you should know. Since we were talking about this."

"Thank you," Elissa whispered, taken aback, and then cleared her throat. "Would the Orlesian Wardens in Amaranthine know more about this?"

He turned back to her and grimaced. "They might, but they haven't exactly been forthcoming with information. They think I'm betraying our cause by being all… king of Ferelden. I can't exactly blame them. Besides, Grey Wardens aren't supposed to meddle in politics in the first place."

"But there have been children sired by Grey Wardens?" Elissa persisted stubbornly.

He nodded. "Oh, yes. I just don't know how… easy it will be. The… conception, I mean. The pregnancy is apparently a normal one."

"And the child?"

"It's just a child, from what I've heard." He sighed. "Which, I realise, isn't much. But I know that the children aren't born with the—what makes us Grey Wardens. They're just normal babies."

"Well," Elissa said slowly, "it doesn't seem a worse gamble than the usual. After all, I could be barren."

He blinked. "Oh. Yes, I suppose that's true. I haven't thought about that." His face changed, back to the still, serious expression he had briefly worn earlier. "What is my lady's decision?"

It was insane. She was insane, Elissa thought. She had come to the palace with the intention of assessing the king as a potential threat or, less likely, a potential ally, but she had never truly entertained the idea of accepting his proposal. He was a boy playing dressing up – but also, bizarrely, a man honestly desiring to do the best for their country, and offering her respect and a position she was very unlikely to receive from any other husband. Not to mention, an opportunity to shape the future of Ferelden.

Know that we love you both, pup. You do us proud.

Elissa took a steadying breath. "If Your Majesty should do me the great honour of proposing marriage, and agree to receive the oaths I mentioned to swear earlier as well as be prepared to swear in turn, then—" the world paused for a moment, then realigned itself. "I would be honoured to accept."