Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

Rating: T

Spoilers: May contain spoilers for Origins, Origins DLC, Awakening, and Dragon Age II, Dragon Age II DLC, Dragon Age Inquisition as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling.

A/N: "Porcelain Monkey" by Warren Zevon, no copyright infringement intended, lyrics alteration unauthorized. The song is really about Elvis Pressley, but it wasn't difficult to alter after realizing that the Black Emporium had a copy of a "Velvet Cailan" NFS in Dragon Age II.

Chapter Two

The elves built their own campfire, further away from the main, not so far away as Morrigan's fire, but in the opposite direction. Loghain also laid out his tent and bedroll further from the main campfire, actually closer to the elves' campfire and the place where the horses stood tethered. Perhaps he was standing guard over his horses. In the morning, over breakfast, he asked about the Warden's first proposed point of business.

"Well, I figure we should go to the Circle. That'll be the easiest," she said.

"Not the closest," Loghain said. "We're right on the edge of the Brecilian forest. That's the most logical place in Ferelden to look for Dalish, if you really want to recruit the Dalish for this foreign army you're building. From there, we could swing down to Gwaren and pick up the remains of my Regulars and perhaps any of the refugees that fled there that still have any backbone left, and then skirt the edges of the Korcari Wilds to find remnants of the Chasind, dispossessed of their lands by the darkspawn and looking for revenge."

"I don't have treaties with the Chasind," the Warden said.

"Maybe we won't need them. It's worth a shot, at least. We will be in the general area, and then we can swing up Kinloch Hold way."

"With a stop at Redcliffe," the Warden said. "Cailan never called up Arl Eamon's army. His reinforcements would be very handy for the Queen."

"Yes, he'll come along so very readily," Loghain said, with a roll of the eyes. "He has such a wonderful relationship with Her Majesty and I."

"What do you mean?" the Warden asked.

"Eamon… is a… how shall I put this diplomatically? A prig. He's a staunch traditionalist, who does not believe that peasants should hold titles, forgetting that all nobles were, at their furthest root, common people themselves. He could never get past the fact that Maric married his son to a common-born woman, and was never shy about voicing his opinion - to Anora's face, in fact."

"Oh. Well. What an asshole," the Warden said.

"You're wrong. Arl Eamon is not like that," Alistair said, fairly choking on his porridge. "He's a good man. He raised me, I know better."

"You slept in the mabari kennels, at least until the pups were of imprinting age, at which point you were hustled to the farmyard to sleep with the pigs," Loghain said, snappishly. "And that was before he married that Orlesian bitch that made your life a living hell."

"Well, I didn't see you stepping up to make things any better for me!" Alistair shouted.

"If your father had any sense at all, you would've been my Ward! And you most certainly wouldn't be a Grey Warden!"

The Warden looked from one to the other of them and back again. "So… you two know each other?"

"We've never met," Alistair said, heatedly, and returned to his porridge. Loghain looked at him for a moment longer, then shrugged and returned to his own breakfast without another word said. The Warden looked at them both, shook her head, and ate her watery gray porridge. After the meal was done they cleaned up and broke camp and, following Loghain's suggestion, headed into the forest to seek the Dalish.

"Do you know where any Dalish clans might be?" the Warden asked of him.

"Not exactly. I do know that there's typically one or two camped out near Gwaren this time of year in a typical year, but this isn't exactly a typical year. Still, if we look we may find something. They're likely caught with their pants down just as much as we were, and they have fewer places they feel comfortable making a run for it."

"But, there's something wrong in the Brecilian," Hawke said. "You said that yourself. What if they never even went there?"

"Then we'll be wasting our time. But I doubt it. The elves don't seem to worry so much about an angry forest as we humans do. Perhaps they know how to keep it placated long enough for them to get through it to wherever they're going," Loghain said. "They're not as afraid of magic as humans are, and they keep mages on hand."

"Angry forest," Alistair said. "What rubbish."

"Yeah, you'll see," Hawke said.

Deeper into the forest, the more spirited and willful of the horses became more and more agitated. "So I take it this forest isn't always this dark and nasty?" the Warden said.

"Pretty much, actually," Loghain said, "but this is pushing it, even for the Brecilian."

"Darkspawn? I don't sense any."

"I doubt it, although maybe the darkspawn incursion has something to do with it. I already told the Hawkes and Aveline, but it's probably restless spirits."

"Spirits? Fade spirits?" Alistair said.

"Typically."

"Shit," Alistair swore, for the first time in Elilia's hearing. "Should we really be here?"

"Restless spirits are common here. The Veil is thin in the Brecilian. What are you scared of, Templar?"

"How did you know I was a templar?" Alistair said.

"Don't get all hot under the collar, I wasn't watching you that closely. Your Warden friend told me. I didn't know you were that Alistair until I saw you. I should murder Eamon."

"It seems well within your character."

"For a boy who was taught he was worth less than his master's mabari, you're awfully uppity," Loghain said.

"Kind of like a peasant who rose to nobility and thinks he deserves it," Alistair said.

"Alistair!" the Warden said.

Loghain folded one arm across his saddle horn and peered closely at Alistair. "Are you angry at me for what happened at Ostagar, or simply because your father never claimed you?"

"Leave my father out of this," Alistair said, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle.

Silence fell. The Warden began to whistle a falsely cheerful tune. "Nice day for a ride in the country, isn't it?" she said. "No secrets, no tantalizing information drops, nothing, no intrigues."

"I don't want to talk about it right now, Eli," Alistair said. "Just drop it for now, all right? I promise I'll tell you later."

"Whatever you say, Al."

"How are we going to find wild elves hiding the forest?" Leliana asked. "I would venture to guess they don't want to be found."

"They don't, but even the cleverest of hunters leave signs of their passage," Loghain said. "We'll find those signs and track them down."

"What sorts of signs are we looking for?" the Warden asked.

"Halla tracks, wagon ruts. They clean up behind themselves as they pass but they're not always thorough enough."

"You've tracked them before?" Alistair said. "Why?"

"I haven't, but I've seen their tracks while I was out hunting, too faint to have been left as natural. Plus, I've spoken to their hunters that come to Gwaren to trade now and then. They're not talkative, but they'll say a word or two once in awhile."

"You just know everything about everything, don't you?" Alistair said.

"The longer you live, my boy, the more you'll learn," Loghain said. "And the more you'll realize you know absolutely nothing. Now, stop being petulant, child, and try being a man for a change."

"Don't treat me like a little boy."

"Then don't act like one."

They found no trace of elves the first day in the forest, so they made camp for the night. Factions divided as they had done the first night, with the elves at their own campfire and Alistair well away from Loghain, who laid out his bedroll near the horses once more. Hawke's mabari, Spirit, had made fast friends over the course of the day with the Warden's hound Kiveal, and they piled up together in one great ball of silver-grey and chestnut fur and slobber. They ate their dinner of sausages and beans, and then Leliana politely asked Zevon to play.

"I love a good Antivan guitar," she said, smiling.

"Well, I have been working on a lyric today. It's a song I wrote awhile ago, but it needs a little work, still," Zevon said. "I don't know that I should sing it, though. Mixed audience."

"Go ahead and sing it," Loghain said. "Who cares what anyone thinks?"

"Oh yes, please do," Leliana said, clapping her hands. "I would love to hear it."

"All right, then, you asked for it," Zevon said, taking up his guitar and tuning it. The song is called 'Porcelain Monkey.' Don't say I didn't warn you.

"He was an accident waiting to happen.

Most accidents happen at home.

Maybe he shouldn't go out so often.

Maybe he should have stayed on the throne.

"Hip-shaker, shoutin' in gold lamé.

That's how he earned his regal sobriquet.

Then he threw it all away

For a porcelain monkey.

"He threw it away for a porcelain monkey,

Gave it all up for a figurine.

He traded it in for a night in Val Royeaux,

And his face on velveteen.

"From a shotgun shack, singin' Andrastian hymns

To the wrought iron gates to the throne room.

He had a little world, it was smaller than your hand.

It's a rockabilly ride from the glitter to the gloom.

"Left behind by the latest trends,

Eatin' fried chicken with his regicidal friends,

That's how his story ends,

With a porcelain monkey.

"He threw it away for a porcelain monkey,

Gave it all up for a figurine.

He traded it in for a night in Val Royeaux,

And his face on velveteen.

"Porcelain monkey, a har har har har…

"Hip-shaker, shoutin' in gold lamé.

That's how he earned his regal sobriquet.

Then he threw it all away

For a porcelain monkey.

"He threw it away for a porcelain monkey,

Gave it all up for a figurine.

He traded it in for a night in Val Royeaux,

And his face on velveteen.

"Porcelain monkey, a har har har har…

Porcelain monkey, a hey hey hey hey…

A porcelain monkey."

Silence, then Leliana began hesitantly to clap. "Oh, that was… very nice. You are… very talented."

"Was that about Cailan?" Loghain asked. "I don't know what 'lamé' is, but he did like gold clothing and shaking his ass about like a mandrill, and he did have these gods-awful velveteen paintings done of his face because he thought people were going to just snatch them up like cookies."

Zevon looked down at his lap and strummed a soundless chord on his guitar. "Ahm… yes, that was a song about King Cailan. Updated to reflect his unfortunate death. Tinged with some minor references to Good King Maric, to show the dichotomy between father and son. I'll never play it again, I swear."

"Will you stop saying that?" Loghain said. "You sing whatever you want to sing. As to your song, I liked it. It told the truth, unflinchingly."

"It besmirched our King," Alistair said. "It was nothing short of treasonous."

"You're mistaking freedom of speech, the right of every Fereldan, for treason," Loghain said, staring hard at Alistair. "He didn't say 'take arms against Cailan,' he said Cailan made mistakes. He did. He couldn't have foreseen the demon, yet still the last one cost him his life.. Ostagar was a mistake from beginning to end."

"You could have done better?"

"Maybe. Perhaps not. But Cailan would most likely still be alive today if he'd have listened to me. Maybe your Grey Wardens, too."

"Just go to sleep, everyone," the Warden said. "Last thing we need is more bickering."

"Good idea, Warden," Loghain said, and went to his tent and climbed in. Once everyone was settled down and quiet, the Warden slipped out of her tent and stealthily into Loghain's.

"What are you doing here, Warden?" Loghain said immediately.

"You're awake," she said.

"You have a gift for stating the obvious. Now what are you doing here?"

"I just… this… forest is so… creepy. I'm scared. Hold me."

"I don't find fear attractive, and I find lies even less so," he said. "You're just about as afraid as I am, Warden."

"What do I have to say to get through to you?"

"Less would work better."

"So if I quit hitting on you, you'd find me more attractive?"

"Couldn't hurt."

"But you still wouldn't sleep with me."

"Most likely, no."

"Why not? What's wrong with me? I'm too ugly for you, right?"

He sighed. "I already told you you're lovely. What more do you want from me?"

"I'm in your tent at the edge of your bedroll in the middle of the night. You know what I want."

"But I don't."

"Why not?"

"It is not my right to choose with whom I mate?"

"It was never mine before."

"Seems to me you did pretty well at choosing who you didn't mate with, at the least," Loghain said. "In any event, freedom of choice is laced with these little disappointments. You have to get used to them."

"Just tell me why you don't want me. I'm a Grey Warden. I can't get pregnant. I can't hold a title so you can be sure I'm not after yours. Sex without consequences."

"There are other consequences, Warden. But those aren't my reasons. If I were to have a relationship at this late date, I should prefer it to be with a woman, not a sex-crazed little girl. Maker's sake, you're younger than my daughter."

"So I'm too young for you? That's your only reason?"

"That, and I don't know you very well, yet you're jumping down my throat with this whole 'sex' thing. I don't find that attractive, either."

"So the only way you'll find me attractive is if I stop flirting with you and age about thirty years. Great."

"There are other men you can flirt with. I really don't understand why you would turn your attention to me in the first place."

"Oh, who should I look at, then? Alistair, the whiner?"

"He's an option. When he's not looking daggers at me, he's making puppy eyes at you."

"Alistair's not a real man. He has a lot of growing up left to do."

"True. But then, so do you."

"You know, you really are an asshole, aren't you?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. When you take honesty to its furthest extent, you generally are." The Warden crawled out of his tent and hustled back to her own in a huff.