The next morning was met with hushed whispers, just as Isobel and Cailan expected. After a night spent talking, huddled beneath the heavy furs, they made their way out of the forest to the camp. Together.

The ground was covered in a thin mist, and coupled with the peachy glow of the morning sun, everything around them seemed doused with a warm haze. Alistair was preparing some semblance of breakfast near the fire when he heard Arryn give a quiet gasp at his side. Glancing up from the flames, he saw the king still dressed as he'd gone to sleep - rumpled black trousers and nondescript shirt, fur clutched tight around his shoulders. But the shiniest accessory adorning the man was the smile on his face. It was shameless, and it matched the one Isobel wore

The Warden pressed his lips into a thin line before turning back to his task. He tried to block out Arryn's girlish giggle, but could not. Nor could he stop himself from hearing her turn to Godfrey and express her excitement.

"I told you it would happen," she whispered, biting back a delightful grin. "When am I going to get those three silvers you promised?"

Godfrey groaned. "You don't know anything, Arryn. They're just walking together, is all."

It was clear that even he didn't believe his words. There was something different about them - an almost visible link between the two that spoke volumes without either of them saying a word. The way he looked at her. The shy smile she gave him before ducking into her tent to get ready for the day. The expression of personal satisfaction when he turned away and made his way toward the fire.

Arryn wasn't the only one talking. Murmurs erupted all over the camp, all too quiet for Cailan to notice, but loud enough to rouse Chella's suspicions. She could hear all of it. The king and the female Warden. Something was going on between them. How had this happened? Years of plucking the right notes to woo nobility and she couldn't snag a king for long enough to get her job done? It wasn't as if her task was difficult. She'd accomplished it a thousand times before. She had to think. Fast.

Cailan smiled to himself as he sat across from Arryn. He warmed his hands on the fire, oblivious to everyone suddenly leaning slightly forward, overcome with curiosity and the desire to ask him their shared question. No one had the guts to speak up. Instead, the king looked to Arryn. "I've been meaning to ask you about the condition of Brother Genitivi."

The elf perked up, "Oh! Yes, he's doing very well. He'll be completely recovered in no time."

"That's good," Cailan said with a short sigh of relief. Biting on his fleshy bottom lip, he turned to look at Alistair only to be ignored completely. "I've been strategizing, and I've come up with a very good plan. At least, it seems so to me." He heaved a small burst of laughter. His last ingenious plan hadn't ended very well. Still, he'd been fed plans by someone with the intent of deceiving him. Isobel wouldn't do that. "We are going to split into two."

He watched as Chella settled down onto the ground some ways off from the rest, but still near to the fire. Her expression was sober and vaguely uninterested. "Two groups can cover more ground than one." Looking from face to face, he could tell that everyone was waiting for the kicker - that one thing that they all wouldn't agree with. Some sort of death wish or desperate ploy at glory. It didn't come.

Instead, Isobel made her way out of her tent to stand behind the king. It took all of her strength to keep from resting a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her, and they shared another smile. "I will head into Orzammar, and Isobel will lead the troupe heading east."

Alistair's eyebrow nearly hit his hairline. That hadn't been expected. After all those looks and smiles, he could've sworn they'd be off gallivanting in the dwarven city in no time, backed by a handful of soldiers for appearances and appearances alone.

"Our first stop will be Redcliffe," Isobel interjected. "After Arl Eamon is recovered, we will leave for Denerim to return Brother Genitivi to his home." She looked to Godfrey, "You will be my second-in-command."

The soldier's eyes lit up, and he could hardly suppress the smile that curled at his lips. "I am honored."

"Alistair," Cailan smiled, "You will be with me. As will you, Arryn."

Chella looked up from her lap, eyebrows furrowed. "And what of me? Who will I be traveling with?" Some small part of her knew the answer to her question. Isobel, the schemer that she was, would've offered to have her travel with her, no doubt to get her away from Cailan.

"You will be with me."

Isobel hardly masked the look of smug gladness that took over her face, and Chella had no qualms of matching it with a glare. So she would be paired with the Warden after all. Jealousy was an unattractive trait, and she hadn't a face pretty enough to mask it.

Cailan's pride in his plans painted him a deeper shade of oblivious to the Orlesian's reaction. He could hardly see her hatred for Isobel when he focused on either of them, much less when his entire person was humming with excitement at another step in what he felt was the right direction. Not only that, but his mind was playing a terrible trick on him by recounting the previous night's encounter with the lady Warden even as he tried to dust those thoughts away for the time being.

Biting down a little harder on his bottom lip, he turned and glanced up to Isobel only to find her staring off into the distance. He cleared his throat and she nearly jumped, a smile appearing as her shocked expression faded. "I'd like to speak with you," he said, but his softer voice was drowned out by the sounds around the camp.

Still, she understood his statement and nodded, leaning down to mutter something into his ear. His cheeks flushed pink and he heaved a tremulous laugh. When he stood and disappeared into his tent, Isobel set herself down where he'd been sitting.

"What was that about?" Arryn asked. The elf leaned forward, eager to lap up any story she might be willing to give. For all of their time together, the Warden had been the most accepting to her inquisitive nature and constant questions. Even Godfrey often tired of her curiosity, citing a headache or other duties when their conversations wore past the acceptable limit. But she could talk to Isobel for hours and the warrior never tired of her.

Isobel claimed this was because of her father's obsession with storytelling. The former Teyrn of Highever often gathered his pups after dinner to tell them this tale or that, often wearing on into the night far beyond their bedtime. Whether these tales were true or not was up for speculation. Her mother was often forced to chide her husband for filling Isobel's mind with fanciful tales when he'd never experienced or even heard of anything of the sort. No matter, the younger Cousland listened to her father enthusiastically.

"Oh, nothing important," she chuckled, sinking her teeth into her lip to mask a devious smile. "I pointed out that he was not properly dressed."

A peel of laughter erupted around the fire.

"I knew the king cannot pace himself when giving orders, but I never realized he was quite so impatient," Godfrey coughed, rubbing a hand over the dark beard on his chin. "He's been away from the throne for too long. Some time ago, he wouldn't have been caught dead improperly dressed."

When Cailan emerged from his tent clad in shining golden armor, those who'd been whispering of him moments before couldn't help but chuckle to themselves. He arched a brow at Isobel as she joined him on the trail leading into the forest. "That was odd. An explanation wouldn't go amiss."

Isobel grinned, eyes clinging to the dirt path beneath her feet. "They're a teasing bunch, you know that."

"Do you think they know?" he asked. His words nearly ran into each other, parted from his lips with such speed that Isobel hardly understood them at first.

She gasped and gave her head a shake. "About us? I hardly think so." She thought of this for a moment. Arryn knew more of her heart than she did, but even the mage would not have guessed such an event lie before her. She was too busy winding fanciful tales about Alistair's heart-rendering, unrequited love. It made no sense. "Oh, no, not at all! They couldn't."

The two walked together for some time. Isobel kept a wary watch on the road ahead, hand poised on the hilt of her blade no matter how light the conversation was. Eventually they slowed to a stop, unsure of where they were headed. Neither of them had given this much thought. There was no need. She was unconvinced that he had plans for their future, just as he was sure her attraction was born out of his own persuasion.

As it was, she was a Grey Warden, and he was the king. The married king. The undeniably handsome king…

Cailan gave a little yelp as he felt himself being pulled forward. This alarm dissolved quickly, leaving nothing but a quiet sound of pleasure at the sensation of her mouth against his. His gauntlets were heavy against her waist, but she welcomed the feeling. The kiss itself did not last, but she lingered close, her quickened breath ghosting over his lips.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to doing that," she whispered. Her gaze flicked between his mouth and his own blue eyes. It was different being this close to him in the bright sunshine. Their night had been filled with anxious hands and fumbling in the dark. Now she could see the tiny facets of gold in his eyes, his thick, dark lashes, the almost nonexistent dimple in his cheek when he smiled.

Her fingers untwined themselves from his hair and touched the spot on his cheek. From his lips came a soft sigh, and he brought her closer against himself. "That is not a bad thing, I hope."

"I'll certainly be thinking about it more often than I should while you're on the other side of Ferelden."

There was a hint of unhappiness in her voice. While she'd been wielding a sword for most of her life, only after joining the king's ranks did she find her true stride. She did not fear loneliness with the king gone to Orzammar and her to Denerim. She was no innocent, reeling after her first kiss and eager to tag along behind the man with the wet eyes of a pup.

But she did fear that she would not be able to fight. What would happen to morale without Cailan beside her? Without his encouraging words, his optimism, his engaging smile? Could she shoulder the responsibility herself? Was she ready for that sort of duty? Every fiber of her being screamed that she could not.

"I wish this was not the only way," he murmured, smoothing a hand over Isobel's hair. "I'm unsure of how to otherwise proceed and how much time there is left. Or even if there's any sense in attempting to call upon these people."

Cailan's paranoia ran deep when it came to Loghain. It was a river of suspicion and mistrust not weathered over time, but cut through in a single deep blow. He hated not knowing what went on in Ferelden as he skulked about in the forests like a bandit. And there was nothing more crippling than being unsure when your confidence had been steadfast for all of your years. He hardly knew how to cope much less advance.

This was one of the main reason he'd so eagerly passed the reins onto Isobel. When she finally took them, unwilling at first, but with growing conviction, he was relieved. No more would die because of his inability to gauge those standing just before him.

"Of course there is sense," Isobel protested. "That bastard Loghain has Ferelden at his beck and call only because they believe you're dead. When they find out that you are alive, they will be by your side."

As she spoke, her hands left his hair and rested gingerly along his neck. If they all thought he was dead, wouldn't this be the perfect time to leave? It would be easier to take off his sword and disappear. Even after two months, he could hardly wrap his mind around what had happened. How could one man fall so far…

His attention was brought back to the present as he focused on the feeling of Isobel's thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of his throat. Goosebumps erupted on his arms, and he leaned forward, pressing his face to hers. The sound of her breathing was comforting; the warmth she emitted, soothing. She enveloped him without so much as an embrace.

They'd come so far in such short a time. The woman who stood so content before him began as a frustrating mystery, an unknown quantity, a creature to be both admired and, should you be on the wrong side of her sword, feared. But something shifted, and her tough outer shell was cracked to reveal a secret inner vulnerability that only added to her appeal. It was not weakness. Cailan was sure Isobel Cousland had not a weak bone in her body. It was something larger and not wholly understandable by anyone… for she was a woman. The warrior from Highever turned Grey Warden, champion of Redcliffe, preserver of Andraste's ashes - she was human, and she was a woman.

"You must stay safe." Cailan's whisper was sudden and unexpected. The concern thick in his voice rubbed her raw. It was not an order, nor was it a plea. It was a question.

"I'm in no more danger than you will be, Cailan," she stated plainly. "I will do as you instructed. And no matter what happens, I will meet you at Lake Calenhad." She would not betray him, but she could tell by the sad glint in his eye that he could not believe her entirely. His trust in Loghain had been all-inclusive, and he could not find it within himself to instill such faith within someone else so soon. "There is more waiting for me by staying true than there is on the other side."

Cailan's breath hitched at her words, and he cursed his fingers for their trembling as he combed them through her hair again. "Perhaps I should have kissed Loghain before the battle," he chuckled, eager to remove his thoughts from her small pledge. It was easier to rely on humor than to accept sincerity. This trait was one that rang true to his heritage. A son of Maric without a sense of humor would not have been the late king's son at all. "That might've changed his mind."

He watched as a small smile formed on Isobel's lips. "Either that, or he would've cut you down where you stood. He doesn't strike me as an affectionate type."

Before he was able to conjure up some sort of response, Cailan kissed her once more. He didn't know how he would survive in the depths of the dwarven city without her lips. He didn't rightly know how he'd survived all his years not knowing them.

A/N: Egads, you guys! It's so mushy and sickeningly sweet. I'm not used to all of this setting up without having a battle scene or SOME kind of angst. Anyway - another round of thanks to everyone reading. It makes me absolutely giddy to know there are those out there who enjoy reading this nonsense! :) And, trust me, there will be something violent happening soon.

Dun, dun, dun... ominous.