When the bright morning light finally woke Naia, she found herself nestled in a cozy featherbed. Still drowsy, she sighed in pleasure and pulled the soft, clean quilt closer to her chin. So comfortable. This is nice …

"She's awake!" a sharp, familiar voice yelled. "Cousin, can you hear me?"

Naia forced her eyes open. Shianni was sitting by her bedside; in the corner, she could see Duncan dozing, though the mabari raised his head at the sound of Shianni's voice. "Andraste's ass, Shianni. I think everyone in Ferelden can hear you," she grumbled.

"That healer said you hit your head. How are you feeling?"

Suddenly, Naia remembered. "Try again, demon," she snarled. "I escaped the Fade once before, I'll do it again, dead or not."

Shianni scowled, then reached out and flicked Naia's ear. It hurt quite a lot. "Wynne also said you were hallucinating. Did that feel real?"

"Ow!" Naia yelped.

"See? I'm perfectly real," Shianni said cheerfully. "Cousin, the whole city is talking about what you did. They're calling you the Hero of Ferelden. They'll have to change the laws in the alienage now that an elf saved all of Thedas."

Naia smiled—of course Shianni's first thought was for their friends and family in the alienage. Maybe ... Maybe it's not the Fade. She doubted any demon could imitate Shianni so convincingly. "Where am I? Who else is here?"

"You're in the royal palace. Your King had me brought from the alienage so I'd be here when you woke. Wynne was here for a while but I sent her to get some sleep. Otherwise, I think all of your companions are somewhere in the palace, except that dark-haired woman."

Naia hesitated—but if she couldn't tell Shianni, who could she tell? "Zevran too?"

Her cousin's eyes danced wickedly. "I thought you might ask about him. Yes, he's here too. He paced outside your door half the night. Are you two …?"

"It's complicated," Naia said with a sigh. How it had become complicated, she had no idea. Zevran had seemed completely easygoing until she'd refused that damn earring. She'd thought an invitation to share her bed at the Arl's Denerim estate would return things to normal, but it hadn't. There are other things for you to focus on besides me. Do … do those, he'd snarled. Naia's experience with lovers was less extensive than Zevran's but she knew a rejection when she heard one.

Shianni arched her eyebrow. "Oh, really? Well. You promised me we'd both get extremely drunk after this was all over. I'll ask you about it later, when you've had half a bottle of wine and you're in a sharing mood," she teased.

The door opened, and Alistair—wearing fine clothing and looking rather kingly—stepped into the room. His face broke into a relieved grin. "I knew that head of yours was too hard to suffer much from a blow," he told her.

Shianni nodded politely. "Your Majesty."

Alistair shook his head with a smile. "I won't have that nonsense from Naia's family. It was Alistair in the alienage and it's Alistair here."

Naia knew Shianni wouldn't be won over so easily, not by a shem man, not after what had happened, but her cousin managed a smile in return. "Alistair, then. I should tell her father and Soris that she's awake. I'll be back, cousin … and don't forget your promise. I'll get the wine from Alarith." She winked and was gone.

Alistair took Shianni's place at Naia's bedside. "I … I thought we'd never get to talk again," he said, his voice full of emotion. "So have we convinced you you're not in the Fade?"

Naia nodded sheepishly. "You have to admit it made sense," she pointed out. "Alistair, how is this possible? Did you … You must have gone to Morrigan, after we talked. Or she came to you."

"I didn't," Alistair admitted. "Part of me wishes I had. It was selfish to ask a Warden to die just so I wouldn't have to sleep with that woman." Despite his proclamation, he shuddered.

"Indeed. Not wanting a Theirin heir with Old God powers and Morrigan for a mother running around Thedas was incredibly selfish, because how could that ever go wrong?" Naia asked sarcastically. "Don't punish yourself, Alistair. It was stupid of me to even suggest it to you."

Alistair shrugged. "Well, unless you somehow managed to impregnate Morrigan, I have no idea what's going on."

Naia's brows drew together anxiously. "Alistair, what if … what if it's not dead?"

"You separated its head from its neck. It looked pretty dead to me."

"No, I mean, what if the Old God jumped to another Darkspawn? There were a few stragglers around on the roof."

Alistair's expression grew equally worried. Naia realized he'd been feigning calm for her benefit. "I … I thought of that too," he admitted. "I killed the rest of the Darkspawn on the roof after you took the blow. Or, at least, I tried. I don't know if any got away. I suppose it's possible, but the Old God was supposed to jump to the nearest tainted body. No one else was anywhere close to the archdemon."

Naia pulled her knees up to her chin and hugged them close. "So all that buildup for nothing," she said. "Some Hero of Ferelden, I can't even bloody die right."

"Hey, now. I will not allow anyone to insult the Warden Commander that way. What's important is that you're alive to keep your promise about helping me through all of this 'king' nonsense. The Orlesian Wardens will arrive soon, they should be able to help us figure out what happened," Alistair promised.

Naia smiled proudly. "How about that. You're already ordering me around, Your Majesty."

Her comrade glowered. "Call me that again, Commander, and we'll find out just how hard that head of yours is."

"Oooh, I'd like to see you try," she taunted. "Now go away. I need a bath."

Alistair grinned at her. "Sounds like a good idea. The others have been hovering around your door, wanting to see if you're all right. I think they'll be more reassured if you don't have quite so much blood in your hair."

The rest of the day followed in a bustle of activity. Servants drew Naia a very hot bath, one that finally seemed to get all of the weeks of grit and sweat and blood off her body, and helped her comb the tangles from her hair. As soon as she'd been wrapped in a thick dressing gown, Leliana appeared to discuss the appropriate attire for the next day's ceremony in celebration of Alistair's coronation and the victory over the Blight. The bard tried to talk her into choosing a green gown that she vowed would set off Naia's coppery hair, but when Oghren arrived bearing a fine set of drake-scale armor—Wade's best effort yet, inlaid handsomely with a pattern of twisting silver vines—she saw the delight in Naia's eyes and surrendered her hope of putting her friend in Orlesian silks. Soris and her father joined her for lunch and assured her that they would be in the crowd the next day when Alistair honored her victory. Shale took the opportunity to lecture her on the drawbacks of being a soft, squishy flesh creature, then gruffly admitted she was glad that Naia had not been squished. Even Sten stopped in, expressed his approval that she was both conscious and not hallucinating, and then left, presumably to find some cookies.

Zevran, however, was nowhere to be seen.

She heard his voice, briefly, bantering with Oghren in the hallway as though he lacked a care in the world. She wanted to interrupt, to talk to him, but stopped herself in time. She wasn't going to go begging for his attention like a kicked mabari puppy. If he wanted to say something to her he could seek her out.

He didn't. Of course.

All the while, Naia's thoughts kept circling back to the archdemon. She could not shake a cold sense of dread, a nagging, gnawing certainty that something simply was not right. She should not have survived that night on Fort Drakon's roof. Either Morrigan had found some way to draw the Old God without Alistair's seed, or …

Or the damned thing wasn't really dead.

By the end of the day, despite the pleasures of the bath and the rest and the knowledge that her friends had all survived the battle, Naia's nerves were frayed to the breaking point. When Shianni appeared at her door, bearing two bottles of Alarith's best wine, she hugged her cousin around the neck and almost wept in gratitude.

"Whoa, cousin. I'm happy to see you too, but ease up before you break one of these," Shianni cautioned her with a grin. "When Alarith heard it was for you, he couldn't give me things fast enough. I could grow used to being the Hero of Ferelden's favorite cousin."

"What about Soris? I'm rather fond of him too, you know."

Shianni looked smug. "Did he bring you wine? If not, I think I'm the favorite."

"I'm sure the Royal Palace could have provided us with some wine," Naia pointed out.

Her cousin made a sour face. "I'm not taking handouts from a shem lord—not even one as decent as your friend. Now, come on, Naia, you have a promise to keep."

True to her word, as she poured the last drops of wine from the first bottle, Shianni brought up the Antivan elf. "So. You and Zevran. What's happening between you?"

Naia swallowed hard and stared unhappily at her goblet. "I honestly have no idea, Shianni. He flirted with me shamelessly from the moment he joined us. Flirted with all of us, really. But I thought he was charming and interesting and after a while, I figured I was probably going to die anyway and I might as well take him up on it while I had the chance."

Shianni smiled knowingly. "So that's how he knew about your nightmares."

"What?"

"He was here last night. You started yelling and kicking the blankets and I was going to wake Wynne, but he said you do that all the time. I figured he must have spent more than a few nights in that tent of yours."

"Actually, he never spent the night," Naia said in surprise.

"Cousin. You don't expect me to believe you never …"

"Oh, no. We did … that. A lot. But he'd always leave afterwards. I'd wake up and he'd be in his own tent." Naia felt herself blush scarlet. "Maker, why am I telling you this? Anyway. I thought we were both just … relieving tension. But right before the Landsmeet, he tried to give me an earring." As she told the story, her mind flooded with a vivid memory of that morning in Arl Eamon's Denerim estate.

She'd accepted the earring with delight—she'd never seen anything so lovely, let alone imagined having it for herself. But when Zevran had said it was merely a thank-you, a payment for services rendered, she grew irrationally upset, though she couldn't say why.

"Not a token of affection, then?" she joked, trying to hide her scattered emotions.

Zevran frowned. "I … look, just take it. It's meant a lot to me, but so have … so has what you've done."

Naia shook her head. "Zevran, you don't owe me anything, we've fought too many battles together for that." She dropped the gem back into his hand. "I can't take it."

"You are a very frustrating woman, do you know that? You pick up every bit of treasure we come across, but not this?" Zevran was trying to keep his voice light, but the words ended in an exasperated snarl. "Fine. You don't want the earring, you don't get the earring."

"And after that, he hardly spoke to me," Naia finished. "I should have just taken the damned earring."

Shianni took another sip of her wine. "Why didn't you? Did you want it to be a token of affection?"

"I … I guess I did," Naia admitted miserably. She set her goblet down and buried her face in her hands. "I'm such an idiot, Shianni," she mumbled through her fingers. "Damn it. It was just supposed to be some fun. I didn't think I'd live long enough for it to get complicated."

"Would you rather be dead?" Shianni asked pointedly.

"All right, fair point." Naia pulled her hands away from her face and wrenched the cork out of the second bottle of wine. "So what do I do now?"

"Do you love him?"

"How in Andraste's name would I know something like that?" Naia protested. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. Zev doesn't—I mean, if I did, he wouldn't feel the same. He's been perfectly clear about that."

Shianni's mouth twisted in an exasperated half-smile. "You're right, Naia. You are an idiot."

"I beg your pardon?" the Warden said, with all the dignity she could muster while slightly tipsy.

"Think about it, cousin. Men might give jewelry to women they don't care about—but they don't pace outside your door when you're hurt. And they certainly don't wait around after sex to watch you sleep. Now stop hoarding the wine."