Thanks as always to my superstar beta, Suilven! Your advice was spot on and you make me so much more comfortable as a writer!

Maric took a deep breath, the cool air crisp and invigorating after so many days traveling in the Deep Roads. No matter how many times he had scrubbed his clothes, they still faintly smelled of corruption and death. He sighed wistfully; most likely, the clothes would have to be burned once he returned to Denerim. It would not do to have them burned now. He did not relish wearing nothing but his bare skin under the borrowed armor he wore. The last thing he wanted to do was explain to a healer just how his skin became chafed.

Speaking of things that chafed, Maric turned his head to regard Loghain riding at his side. The Teyrn had been giving him the silent treatment since they had left Kinloch Hold, barely uttering more than an occasional grunt on the journey back to Denerim. No doubt Loghain thought he had said enough already and did not consider this a discussion open to debate. No matter how Maric tried to engage him in conversation, Loghain simply did not respond. Wow, he really IS angry.

As the miles passed, Maric's thoughts turned to Fiona. She and Duncan were following behind them, the wary eyes of the soldiers always watching them. That was, no doubt, Loghain's doing—not that he necessarily had to worry. With the state of Fiona's corruption, Maric feared she would succumb to it soon. It had spread with frightening speed while they traveled in the Deep Roads, thanks to the treachery of Remille and the Architect. It had not been said, but Maric feared Duncan would have to do to Fiona what Loghain's men had done to Bregan. Would the corruption take her before she could be sent on her Calling?

Fiona and Duncan had been understandably devastated at what had become of Bregan and Genevieve, colleagues that they had known for some time. Before they had left Kinloch Hold, Fiona had penned a hasty letter to the Grey Warden leadership at Weisshaupt Fortress, promising a more detailed report when she and Duncan arrived in Denerim. They had known that it was likely a matter of time before they were recalled to the Fortress to explain the events in and under Ferelden. In the meantime, they had agreed to Maric's offer of hospitality in Denerim, much to the chagrin of Loghain.

Perhaps the time is right to welcome the Grey Wardens back into Ferelden permanently. I have seen with my own eyes what the darkspawn are—not only once, but twice. Keeping the ban in place would be neglectful to Ferelden and its people, especially if a Blight does come to pass..

The army spent the days marching toward the capital and the nights camped in fields alongside the North Road. As they passed through villages and towns on the trek east, common folk came out of their homes and businesses, waving and cheering boisterously for their king. Apparently, word had not reached the common folk regarding just what the King was doing in this part of Ferelden. Knowing Loghain, that was most likely his doing as well. Maric suspected that he had kept very tight wraps on why the army was marching through Ferelden, telling only those that had a need to know just what the true purpose of the army's movements was.

In camp, Loghain's tent was pitched right next to Maric's own so that he could keep a close eye on the King—and keep the Grey Wardens away from him as much as possible. Maric had overheard Loghain telling the soldiers that ringed the King's tent that they were to report any movements the King made—other than emptying his chamber pot—to him immediately. Part of Maric resented such seemingly childish treatment toward him, but he did give Loghain just cause to watch him closely. It was no one's fault but his own, and now Maric would have to live with the consequences of his actions.

When the mist-enshrouded form of Dragon's Peak appeared on the distant horizon, Maric felt a tug of both homesickness and dread in his heart. He was relieved to see the majestic peak; Denerim was nestled at the foot of the mountain, and that meant home. Home also meant seeing Cailan again. Maric sighed wistfully, cold tendrils wrapping around his heart. What would Cailan say? Would he be angry at his father? Relieved to see him? Whatever wrath Cailan would visit on him would be completely and totally deserved.

Denerim also meant duty—duty that would likely mean he would not be able to see Fiona for much more than official business. He could, of course, help both her and Duncan with the official report that would be sent to Weisshaupt Fortress. If he wanted to see Fiona outside of official business, Maric knew he would have to show a degree of discretion. Politics and Loghain, he thought bitterly.

As he watched Dragon's Peak growing larger, Maric's thoughts suddenly turned toward Rowan. She would be so angry with him, and the worst of her anger would be directed toward his abandonment of Cailan. She would wait until they were in alone in their private chambers before letting him know of her disappointment, bits of her fiery, youthful temper showing through her regal façade.

Maric sighed sadly. What he would not give to hear her chastise him one more time.

The entourage moved steadily toward the capital, their speed increasing slightly as Loghain ordered the men around them to quicken their pace. He wanted to get Maric inside the walls of the palace and the sooner, the better. As they had ridden toward the capital, Loghain had thought about security at the palace and what could be done to make sure Maric did not try such a foolish stunt again. Loghain had given the guard captains and senior officers of the army specific instructions to report anything out of the ordinary to him regarding suspicious movements about the castle. Clearly, he was going to have to add Maric's actions—and those of the Grey Wardens—to those standing orders. It had been a failure of sorts on Loghain's part that Maric had been able to sneak out of the palace all but undetected, and a part of him felt that failure sting like the point of a sword. That was an error he intended to rectify.

Before long, the gates of Denerim stood before them, soldiers atop the battlements calling down to their colleagues on the ground to open the gates for their King. With a deep groan and the sound of creaking metal, the gates began to slowly open. As they did so, Loghain turned his stern gaze to Maric, his eyes boring into the King until he turned to face him.

"Mark my words, Maric: there will be no Blight."

Maric hoped Loghain's conviction would be enough. Somehow, he doubted it.

"Dad!"

Loghain turned his head at the sound of Cailan's voice, watching as the young prince ran through the great hall toward his father. Maric dropped his pack at his feet, crouching down as Calian threw his arms around him. The boy buried his face into Maric's shoulder, his voice somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Maric felt a lump grow in his throat, making swallowing difficult. Cailan's joy nearly moved Maric to tears and his own joy at seeing his son turned to regret. What have I done? What was I thinking by leaving him?

Quiet footsteps approached Loghain and he turned to see Mother Ailis coming to stand at his side, a small smile on her wizened face. After a moment spent watching the reunion between father and son, she turned toward Loghain. "Cailan has missed his father very much. We were all so very worried about both of them."

"Is the boy all right?"

"He will be now," Ailis said. "He's been confused; he didn't understand why His Majesty had left and thought maybe it had something to do with him."

Loghain snorted. "Ridiculous."

"And that is what I tried to tell him in so many words. I told Cailan that his father felt it was very important to leave and that the best thing we can do is pray for his safe return." Ailis gave Loghain a small smile. "I'm sure we have you to thank for that."

"I won't be letting him out of my sight," Loghain said, watching as Maric stood and removed his cloak, asking his chamberlain to bring a snack for him and Cailan. As the chamberlain moved off, Loghain's thoughts turned to Celia and Anora. He should travel to Gwaren and tell them the story of what happened first hand. No matter how tightly Loghain kept the information regarding Maric's little adventure, rumors still spread like wildfire among the nobility and he was determine to put out the flames before they could take hold. It had been some time since he had visited Gwaren; seeing Maric and Cailan's reunion reminded him of just how much he missed his wife and young daughter.

I can't leave just yet though; I need to stay in Denerim to keep an eye on Maric. I need to make sure he is safe and that the Grey Wardens don't pull any more tricks.

Gwaren was in good hands. For now, Loghain's place was in Denerim at the King's side. That was where he would stay.

"Lhiannon Amell. Come with me. You are wanted in the First Enchanter's office."

Lhiannon looked up from her book, slightly startled at the terse voice of the templar calling to her from the dormitory doorway. A cold sweat broke out over her flesh. Apprentices were rarely called to the First Enchanter's office unless some sort of punishment was involved. As she walked in front of the templar, Lhiannon steeled herself for a lecture.

This can't be about the hot-foot stunt, can it? I mean, we didn't mean for Niral's robes to catch fire. We just wanted to see if that powdered fire crystal on Niral's boots would light up… It's not like he was reallyhurt… his robes took the worst of it…

The templar followed several steps behind Lhiannon; she could feel his stare burning into the back of her neck. They passed several other apprentices in the hallways, their eyes passing between Lhiannon and the templar before scurrying into rooms or finding a crack in the floor infinitely more interesting. She could already hear the whispers in the halls; the apprentices—if nothing else—loved to gossip. Her hands twisted amongst themselves, quickly becoming cool and clammy as she worried.

After climbing the stairs to the upper floors of the tower, the ornate door of the First Enchanter's office loomed before her. Lhiannon felt the butterflies in her stomach seemingly morph into small birds, the fluttering sensation maddening. The templar stepped ahead of her, grasping the ornate knocker in his armored hand and thumping it against the door four times. "First Enchanter, the apprentice you requested is here."

First Enchanter Irving's voice called out from beyond the door. "Excellent. Come in, Apprentice."

The templar pressed the latch on the handle open, opening the door for Lhiannon to enter. Swallowing the large lump in her throat, Lhiannon stepped inside the office. The door clicked shut behind her, causing her to flinch slightly.

The First Enchanter sat at his desk, his hand absentmindedly twisting the end of his long beard. He looked at her thoughtfully for several moments before motioning to a plain chair across from his desk. "Come, Apprentice. Sit."

The small birds in her stomach became large vultures, the beating of their wings inside her so strong she thought the First Enchanter would see her stomach churning. They beat faster with every step she took toward the chair; as she sat in it, she thought they would break through her skin to fly about the room in a panic.

Irving looked almost regal in the robes of his office as First Enchanter. Lhiannon had only ever seen him wear Senior Enchanter robes before, or, if he were teaching classes, plain robes that could be easily discarded if they had been ruined in spell casting attempts. She had him as an instructor in her primal spells class, a class that Lhiannon knew she was excelling at. The weaving of fire, ice, earth, and lightning came almost naturally to her and Irving often called upon her to assist other apprentices with their lessons.

Unfortunately, where she excelled at primal spell casting, she found the creation arts to be more of a challenge. She could summon wisps without much difficulty, but she struggled with glyphs and healing spells. There was always a myriad of books on her bedside table regarding creation spells and Anders had also been helping her when they were not in class. Still, it frustrated Lhiannon that she could nearly weave primal spells in her sleep and yet struggled with creation spells.

Lhiannon broke from her reverie as Irving picked up a small piece of paper from the surface of his desk, skimming it briefly before speaking. "I'm sure you're wondering why you're in my office."

"Yes, First Enchanter," Lhiannon said, her voice scarcely more than a hoarse whisper.

Irving rose from his chair, moving to take the other plain one next to Lhiannon. She watched Irving with trepidation, not sure why he was moving to sit next to her if he was about to lecture her. He sighed lightly as he settled into the chair, smoothing his robes as he settled himself into place.

"I know you've been at the Circle for some time, Apprentice." Irving paused and Lhiannon felt the tension growing between them. He studied her for another moment.

Lhiannon finally took a deep, panicky breath, her words tumbling out of her faster than she could stop them. "I'm so sorry, First Enchanter. We didn't mean for Niral's robes to catch fire! We thought it would be funny to see the fire crystal powder burn on his feet! We had water with us! He wasn't really hurt—"

To Lhiannon's surprise, First Enchanter Irving began to chuckle, a knowing smirk crossing his face. "Is that why you think you're here?"

"Well, why else would I be?"

Irving shifted in his chair, turning to face Lhiannon a little more directly. "No, Apprentice, that's not why you are here. I brought you here because I've decided to assign you to an enchanter that can help you with your healing magic."

"What do you mean?"

Leaning back in his chair, Irving smiled slightly. "I know that you will be a proficient mage, especially in the use of primal spells. However, I also know that you are frustrated that you have not learned other spells as easily. It is not unusual for mages to be more proficient in one class of spells than in others and I think assigning you to an enchanter specializing in those spells will help you a great deal."

"But I have Anders helping me. He's really good at healing spells—"

Irving raised a hand, silently beckoning Lhiannon to be still. "I know Anders has been trying to help you, and I am glad that he is showing that initiative. However, know this." The First Enchanter leaned forward slightly, looking Lhiannon directly in her eye. She fought to keep from cowering under his gaze. "Anders, as gifted as he is in the magical arts, is often a disruptive pupil in his classes. He is bored and thinks he should be able to skip all his education and go immediately to the Harrowing so that he can leave the Tower. He is a gifted mage—one of the most gifted I have seen in some time—however, having such gifts does not entitle him to shortcuts."

A frown pulled on the corners of Lhiannon's mouth. "He's my friend. He made me feel comfortable when I arrived. Most of the mages here don't remember their lives before being brought here because they were so young. I do remember my previous life." Lhiannon snorted lightly. "Had I not been a mage, I likely would have been sent off to the Chantry to begin studies as a chanter. Though it wasn't the life I wanted, I remember that life. I remember my family."

"I know the adjustment must have been hard for you," Irving said, his hand reaching across the gap between them to gently squeeze her shoulder. "I, too, came to the Tower as an older apprentice. I remember my parents and siblings well. I did not want to leave them and they did not want me to leave, but they knew the consequences of harboring an apostate. So, I left in order to protect my family."

"I never knew that."

"Few people do, Apprentice. Only those who understand our unique circumstances."

Silence settled upon the room for several moments while Lhiannon pondered the First Enchanter's words. Lhiannon knew that Anders was considered gifted, but they rarely had classes together, so she did not know if what the First Enchanter said was true or not. It did sound like something Anders would do. He had little patience for the hierarchy of the Circle and even less for the templars and celerics.

"I get it, First Enchanter, but Anders is my friend. He always will be."

"I'm not telling you to stay away from him, Apprentice," Irving said, shifting in his chair to face her once more. "I'm only telling you to be careful. By telling you to stay away from him, it will make you seek him out. No, mages need the support of friends because for many mages, friends are the only family we have."

After Irving finished speaking, he rose from his chair next to Lhiannon, moving instead to the chair behind his desk. He picked up the piece of paper he had been looking at when Lhiannon arrived. "I have decided to pair you with Enchanter Sari. Instead of attending your regular classes on healing spells, you will meet with her."

Lhiannon sighed, looking down at her folded hands. "Well, this makes me feel pretty stupid." She looked up when she heard Irving's light chuckle from across the desk.

"Have I also mentioned that as an assigned apprentice, you will also have the opportunity to accompany your tutor on assignments outside of Kinloch Hold if they feel you are ready?"

Lhiannon felt her mood pick up considerably? "Really?"

"Indeed," Irving said, standing and motioning Lhiannon to rise as well. "That is a privilege reserved for only the best students. You may not have been here long, but I have a good eye for talent. You, Apprentice, will go far."

The grin crossing her face felt so wide, Lhiannon thought her face might crack in half. The prospect of traveling outside Kinloch Hold was exciting. She resolved to do everything she could to be given that privilege. "Thanks, First Enchanter." She turned and bounded off toward the door; she could not wait to find Rigana, Tallia, and Anders and tell them. Before she could leave, she heard the First Enchanter call out to her.

"You're not the first apprentice to try the hot-foot stunt. Just… be careful."

Several weeks had passed since King Maric and his men had left Kinloch Hold. The mages, templars, and clerics continued with the cleanup and restoration efforts within the ancient building. While the minor damages had been seen too, the great gathering hall still bore the scars of the battle there. Other rooms within the tower were still off limits, including the room in which Vivian had died.

Lhiannon missed her friend terribly. Her bed was still empty in the small dormitory that she shared with Rigana, Tallia, and several other mages. Soon, that bed would likely be filled by a new mage and while Lhiannon welcomed it, part of her still felt lost without her friend.

Pulling her blanket more tightly around her, Lhiannon felt the light breeze caress her skin, the goose bumps erupting over her flesh causing her to shiver involuntarily. She sat with her back against an outcropping of rocks along the shore of Lake Calenhad, looking out over the calm waters of the lake toward the distant shore beyond. Behind her, she could hear the footfalls of templars patrolling the grounds. Mages were allowed to wander the grounds of the small island during the day under the ever watchful eyes of the templars. This place among the rocks was one of the few places where mages could sit and watch the lake without being directly in the templars' line of sight.

Lhiannon thought of Vivian a great deal still. She occasionally saw her in her dreams, mostly sitting on her bed and laughing, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Reminders of her life and death were all around the Tower: her empty bed, her favorite reading room, the groove in the rock that she had carved with a finely honed fire spell. Reaching out, Lhiannon placed the tips of her fingers on the rock, the stone rough and cool under her skin. She slowly traced the grooves that Vivian had carved—the letter 'V'—and sighed as the tips of her fingers met at the point at the bottom of the letter. "I miss you."

Footsteps approached the place where Lhiannon sat, though she barely heard them in her reverie. Looking up, she saw Anders approach with a tightly wrapped blanket tucked under his arm and a mischievous smirk on his face. It faltered somewhat when he saw the melancholy look on her face.

"Lhi? You okay?"

Lhiannon sighed, scooting over on her blanket so Anders could settle himself down beside her. She reached out and touched the carvings in the rock. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Anders' eyes watched Lhiannon's fingers move down the rock. "I miss her, too. Though I brought us something that will make us feel better."

Lhiannon watched as Anders began to unfold the blanket he held in his lap, the curiosity evident on her face. As Anders unwound the cloth, she caught a glimpse of something brown. A moment later, the folds of the blanket were pulled away to reveal a glass bottle in his lamp, partially filled with an amber liquid.

"What is that?" Lhiannon asked, her brows furrowing as Anders lifted the bottle, turning it so that the attached label faced them. The writing was in a foreign language, however Lhiannon had picked out enough words to know they were Antivan.

"Antivan brandy," Anders said, quickly throwing a glance around the rock to watch for any interested templars.

"Where did you get it?"

With a low chuckle, Anders pulled the stopper from the bottle and brought it to his lips. Lhiannon watched the amber liquid meet his lips a moment before Anders pulled the bottle away, shaking his head slightly and smacking his lips. "I liberated it from Surana, who liberated it from one of the templars." He raised a brow to Lhiannon and smirked, handing her the bottle. She looked at it for a moment, watching the brandy settle inside. With a small shrug she plucked the bottle from Anders' hand, raising it to her lips.

The smell was strong, assaulting her nostrils and making her eyes water slightly. She had never indulged in alcohol before, so this would be a first. Tentatively, she placed the cool glass against her lips and took a small sip. The brandy was spicy against her tongue and she fought against spitting it out. It burned as she swallowed, liquid fire traveling down her chest to be replaced a moment later by a deep, decadent warmth. As her eyes threatened to water even more profusely, she felt Anders put his arm around her shoulder and pull her closer, chuckling as he did so.

"You all right, Lhi?"

"You didn't tell me this was going to be like swallowing a fireball," Lhiannon said, her voice little more than a rasp.

"You wouldn't have tried it then."

Lhiannon passed the brandy back to Anders, who took a larger draw from the bottle before offering it to Lhiannon once more. Before long, they had nearly drained the bottle, remembering their friend and her antics as they drank. As they laughed, Lhiannon felt a buzzing in her head while the heat of the brandy spread throughout her body. She found herself giggling at the slightest comment or slurred word from Anders as her eyes grew heavy. She closed her eyes, fighting to ignore the slight spinning sensation.

Eventually, Lhiannon became aware of Anders pulling her closer to him, his nose gently nuzzling her hair. She slowly opened her eyes, watching as Anders' hand came up to brush her cheek. Turning to face him, Lhiannon fought to focus her bleary eyes on him. His eyes appeared to be as heavy as hers, but there was an expression in them she had never seen before. She felt a new heat spread throughout her body, not sure if it was just the alcohol again or something else. It settled into her core, a decadent heat that begged for attention.

Anders slowly closed the distance between them, his lips softly pressing against hers. Lhiannon closed her eyes as she felt his tongue gently push between her lips. Instinctually, she opened her mouth to him, feeling the tip of his tongue brush along hers. Anders' fingers buried themselves in her hair, gently running through the strands. Lhiannon felt her tongue dance alongside Anders', her mouth swallowing his little moans of pleasure. As she felt Anders' hand tentatively brush her breast, Lhiannon's eyes suddenly opened wide.

What the fuck…?

Wyl, I can picture you cringing already. :p

Ugh, it's been a horrible month of writer's block for this story. There were so many times I sat down to write and nothing came. Suilven was a lifesaver in bouncing ideas for this chapter. She helped break the dreaded block! You rock, Suilven!

The hotfoot stunt was inspired by Justin Verlander of the Detroit Tigers (I love baseball!). During the past season, he played a prank on teammate Don Kelly by lighting his shoe on fire (kids, don't try this at home!). You Minnesota Twins fans will likely recognize THAT as a nod to Bert Blyleven, who was known in his playing days as the "Frying Dutchman" because he would set teammates shoelaces on fire. Want to see the video? Here you go (remove the spaces, of course). The hotfoot discussion starts about one minute in. ht tp:/ www. you tube .com/watch ?v=92ch-9WdysQ

I mentioned in RA that Lhiannon had visited Orzammar as an apprentice assigned to a senior mage. I thought I'd better introduce that pretty soon. We know Lhi isn't the best mage when it comes to healing, even now. She's going to need a little extra help (and she would look awkward sitting in "Remedial Healing 101" with a bunch of younger apprentices).

Thanks to reviewers cloud1004, Aura of Darkness Night, Suilven, Wyl, naomis8329, Arsinoe and Tyanilth. Your comments, ideas, and support are very much appreciated!

Thanks as well to the lurkers!