Disclaimer: Chapter one. It gets risque towards the end of this chapter, so if you're the type to avoid, you can just stop reading the chapter when the characters get too touchy-feely. Or you can skip to there, if that's your game.

Those who have been following me must have noticed that my manic update schedule has stopped, but that does not mean that I am out! I am working on more chapters of... stuff... and you can look forward to seeing some of it on the near future (maybe not tomorrow near, but near).

"I started to write of arms and bloody wars in hexameters, suiting my subject to the meter, but each second verse came out crippled: Cupid had laughed and snatched away one foot."

-Ovid, The Amores: Book I. 16 BC

Okay, maybe Alistair was acting a little... possessive.

But could anyone really blame him? He hadn't seen the love of his life in months, and now she has probably a dozen suitors and who knows how many men running to be "courtiers" (Isn't that the word they use in Orlais to describe attendants in the royal court? Maybe the dwarves adopted the word as a joke). She'd helped Alistair with his own rule like she promised, sure, but Bhelen kept dragging her back and making these ridiculous (and dangerous) requests of her whenever Eamon mentioned that she didn't need to be on hand all the time.

How did Bhelen know when and how to call her away so efficiently, anyway? Does the dwarven king have a spy network on hand? Okay, that's a stupid question; no way someone like Bhelen doesn't have people like that on hand.

But nevermind the dwarven king, let's think about the Paragon. How she had been listening to him and Wynne speaking the whole time (She probably heard everything else, too!), but even better, how shocked she was to see him and for his kiss. For the first time in ever he was catching her off guard with his advances like she had before with him. Victory was very... uh...

Well, he was proud of himself, sure, but isn't it a little odd that she's acting so passive about it?

She has a lot on her mind! he reminded himself, Founding a thaig, starting a family, getting married to... not me...

He had the urge to grab her, turn her around from where she marched on point, and kiss her again. Kiss her until her head span and she was breathless with moist, swollen lips, then go in for another for good measure. I have to do the same thing! he reminded himself urgently, I can't act like she doesn't have the right to get married!

Because she does. She absolutely does. And she was more than willing to stand on the sidelines for him. At the very least could he not promise the same for her?

And how many men has she already "tested out" while she's been here? his mind offered poisonously.

Nnnnnope! I will not think about that. He pulled out the letter he'd received earlier. "You know, my love, Bhelen gave me something before I left the palace."

"Other than the armor?" She glanced back and her eyes went wide at the sight of the unbroken, almost glowing blue seal.

Okay... not sure if that's a good sign or not. "I hadn't read it yet. Perhaps I should read it now?" Out loud, he quietly implied.

"Um... perhaps it's better we wait until we're not going through darkspawn territory, your highness. We don't want the distraction."

"Oh, so the letter's a distraction, is it?"

"Take it as you will," she sighed.

He frowned, and was glad he didn't have to ponder it any further, as the niggling in his head warning of an imminent darkspawn attack started. The warning settled over Dye as well, and they set in front, shields up together as they acted the point of a wedge, and the first Hurlocks were slammed to the ground before they knew what hit them. Not long after, they broke through and found where the tunnels down from Bownammar.

The Legion of the Dead, as planned, was already there, making hell at the flank.

It was short work to rid the rest of the darkspawn at this interval, at the gates of the first trench. Stehldye sent one of her own back towards Orzammar to bring orders of the rest of the army to follow where the Legion had cleared through the wider parts of the roads. They can set their foothold here before the final press.

She took a moment between giving orders out to look up at Alistair and give a toothy smile, and for the moment it was everything he had missed.

"Thank you for helping me with this, Orr. Oghren or Sigrun usually come with me on these trips to the ruins of Kal'Hirol to meet with the dwarves that have set up there, so I'm glad I could convince you to come as a replacement."

Orr shrugged. "I don't see why you can't go alone. They're going to be a lot nicer to you alone than with a duster."

"My knowledge of dwarven culture is limited to what I've learned from my fellow Grey Wardens, and while Oghren might be Constable and technically in command at the moment, I'm the one tasked to keep the arling itself in order. Given my... history, the Warden-Commander feels it's best for me to be given the most power as to the arling's function. And I doubt that even if they can tell you're castless they'll say anything about it. They'll assume you're a Warden, and they would not be far off in that assumption."

The dwarf hummed. "Didn't think've it that way. They never give the Commander hell for her brand?"

"If they do, they know better than to do so to her face."

Orr nodded in understanding. "I guess 'ats one way to show'm."

Nathaniel thought for a moment. "Say, Orr, may I ask something?"

"Go ahead, Sneaky."

"Why do you want to become a Grey Warden? You must know that it isn't exactly... easy."

"Why did you? Didn't the wardens kill your daddy?"

Nathaniel frowned. "I didn't want to, not that I regret it now. The commander drafted me with the Right of Conscription."

Orr barked a laugh. "That so?"

"Yes, but you're avoiding the question; why join? Most dwarves seem to respect us, but that's different from wanting to come into the Order. I thought perhaps your people were too few in number to risk it?"

"Well, sure, but my days of having a family are past. Dyin' a little earlier with killin' darkspawn sounds like about what I'd be looking forward to if I stayed in Orzammar, so it's not like I'm changin' that much."

"Do you have a family?"

"Not one that would have me."

"That is something I can certainly understand." They had reached the lip of the ruin, at the top of the stairs down to where the ground had spit open over the Deep Roads. "I won't ask further. I was just curious if you were influenced by the commander being castless as well."

"I'll admit she enters into it. I caught sight of 'er after the Archdemon was slain, y'know. I was in the crowd during the official celebration the king had thrown in Denerim. Gruff little thing with some of the nicest armor I'd seen topside, wearin' bright war-paint, just darin' anyone to try somethin'. She was a duster that owned the world."

Orr had an admiring look to him as he spoke, for lack of a better word. It was a familiar expression, but Nathaniel couldn't place where he'd seen it. "She's certainly a remarkable woman. If I may note, you seem..." He searched for a diplomatic word. "...fascinated when we talk about the commander. Maybe I'm reading into it too much."

"Maybe you are." Orr's tone wasn't particularly hostile, but Nathaniel knew when to shut up and not press forward.

Before it could get awkward, arguing floated up from the caverns below. They had figured it was just a bit of old-fashioned dwarven in-fighting, but as their vantage point changed to allow them to see the groups involved, it became clear that the dwarves were having a heated debate with a different group.

A much taller and uniformly dressed group. "Templars?" Nathaniel wondered aloud. "What on... I swear, they've been sniffing around Amaranthine more and more since the Commander's been gone."

Orr seemed confused as well. "Don't templars chase mages about? What could they possibly want in Kal'Hirol? One of their blood witches run into the Deep Roads?"

"I'd like to say I don't have any idea, but they've been bothering us for a while, now. One of our wardens is an apostate, after all. But Stehldye invoked the Rite, and the king allowed it. There's nothing they can do."

Orr frowned. "Anders, you mean? A human mage seems a piss-poor reason to be bothering unrelated dwarves."

"But our commander is a dwarf, after all, and she's currently in Orzammar. They probably think they're all connected." A sudden smirk lifted the human's face. "Why don't you call them out on it when we get there?"

"What? But I'm not even a Grey Warden, yet."

"You'll do fine." They approached openly. "Good day to you, sers. I hope we aren't interrupting anything."

Although he might not be able to tell the difference between, say, a mining caste dwarf and a smithing caste dwarf, the Legion of the Dead was easily recognizable from the more typically outfitted dwarves at their sides. They all looked particularly angry, though the Legion less-so. Sigrun was also hard to offend, he recalled; a side effect of being symbolically dead no doubt.

The templars didn't look much better, looking as though they had been hitting their heads upon a wall more solid than brick. However, when they recognized Howe as a Grey Warden, relief washed over them that there was now someone they could actually talk to. It would be hilarious if they hadn't been so annoying.

"Good day, Warden. It's lucky that you came today. The Knight-Captain had ordered us to speak with the Warden-Commander, but we're having difficulty getting in contact with her."

"So you figure every sodding one of us knows each other," Orr's growled. As Nathaniel suspected, the accusation made the templars fidget.

"We didn't mean—we apologize if we offend, Warden. We're just following orders."

Orr scoffed, and crossed his arms, unimpressed. The other dwarves did the same, and the templars shifted in their armor. Nathaniel might have felt bad for their discomfort if they had not been such thorns in the side recently.

"Look, human," one of the not-Legion dwarves said with a gesture, "We have a lot of work to do, and you're interrupting it. Orzammar is in a busy state and our people are being stretched out a little thin for work on the new thaig. We're only so close to the surface right now to speak with the wardens, not with a bunch of light-chanting humans in matching skirts."

One of the Legionnaires nodded. "Right. We've already marched back most of our own troops in ready for an assault. If you want to speak to the Paragon, you can follow them in the Deep Roads. 'Course, it was a few days back, so the way might not be entirely clear, anymore."

The templars had obviously given up trying to ascertain more from them by this point, and instead turned their attention towards the warden group. "Sers, if you would perhaps allow us to speak with you or the Warden-Constable in her absence. We have something we wish to discuss concerning one of our rank; he wishes to relinquish his duties as a templar and take part in the Joining."

"A templar wishes to become a warden?"

"It's not so strange, is it? The king had been a templar before he had become a warden. Well, almost a templar. We simply feel it would benefit us both to allow the transition be as smooth as possible."

Nathaniel frowned. "There's not anything 'smooth' about the Joining, but I think I know what you're getting at." And I don't like it, he added silently. This was tantamount to having the templars spy on their conscriptions, watching for any evidence of blood magic, abominations, or uppity apostates. Anders was on the good side of the Circle, currently, but it wasn't guaranteed to last.

But it was either this or have the templars annoy them and their allies at every turn. And it would be easier to keep the templars as permanent allies instead. This may mean the Grey Wardens having their hand forced in the templars direction more often than before, but Stehldye was generally very good at neutrality.

When she's present. He wanted to sigh, but held back. "Well, Orr, you may have company on your Joining, yet. Come back with us after our work is done here to Vigil's Keep. We can discuss it further, there."

Alistair insisted on taking first watch with her as their group caught some sleep at the foothold camp. He had tried to decline this, saying he hadn't yet rested since coming to the Deep Roads (being still on surface time) and citing that it would be wiser to have the wardens spread out a little in the watches. But he didn't relent, reminding her that two are recommended for a watch to ensure the other doesn't fall asleep, and they hadn't actually spoken in months, so he wasn't going to be able to sleep until they did.

And, if she were to admit anything, she'd have to say that she didn't need much convincing. The other men didn't seem as happy with the decision, however.

He was already close enough that they were rubbing shoulders as they started their watch. As the camp quieted down and everyone went to sleep, he only shifted closer, and not so gradually, either. It didn't take long before he was behind her, his heat bathing her back even through their plate armor, wrapped around her as he typically did during the quieter nights at camp.

They had been speaking quietly, catching each other up on what had been happening with one-another. "Will you be going back to Amaranthine when you're done here?"

"I'll have to. A new recruit is waiting at the keep for me. As soon as we've hammered in the first shearing spikes, I'll be off."

"I see. Any way I can convince you to accompany me to the Free Marches, instead?"

"I don't think so, but I'll definitely come with you to Highever. What do you need to do there, anyway?"

"A great deal of refugees fled to Kirkwall, and it's causing some political tension over there. I'm supposed to go and speak with the viscount, make some waves and promises. I wish I could secure some ships to bring people back to Ferelden who wanted, but we're still pretty short on funds. Apparently a civil war in the middle of a Blight does pretty frightening things to a country's treasury."

"Sounds annoying."

"You don't know the half of it. Still, it won't be a long visit. I'll come to Amaranthine as quickly as possible."

"No need to rush yourself. I'll still have your letters in the meantime."

Alistair hummed, and with a rustle, his hand left where it lay haphazardly across her and reappeared with her message, still bound in the lyrium-blue wax. "Speaking of letters..."

If anyone were to look at her face right now, they'd see something between flushed and mortified on it. "Right. I guess there's no point in reading it now that you're here."

"Don't be silly, my lady," he said in his almost teasing, jovial voice, almost because it was still low and rough with something other than humor. "That just means I need to read it immediately."

Of course it does. And she was excited about it, even as she wondered what had gotten into him that he's being so cavalier about his affections today. With a slip of his fingers between the folds, he popped the seal and he proceeded to unfold the pages. "Well, it looks like you had a lot to say."

"You gave me a lot to talk about."

"Did I?" That made him act more playful and pleased with himself than seductive, and he hugged her close with his free arm.

"Yup."

"Well, I do like giving you things. If only I could give you everything you deserve." He kissed her cheek, and she couldn't help the slightest, gruff giggle at the familiar prickle of his stubble.

"I'm pretty sure a king is able to give plenty enough."

"Hmm." He kissed her face again and settled his chin on her shoulder, putting his attention to the letter. "The way you start is always so colorful. 'Are you sure you don't want to create a scandal? It sounds like fun. Maybe I can convince the court to allow us to take turns on the public floggings.' I think you could, you know, but then there'd be women fainting and I'd have to apologize to a lot of nobles for exposing them to such 'depravity'. Hardly a fun time, even if they don't cut the whole thing short."

"That's too bad."

"It really is." His other hand slid over to her leg, settling his fingers just above the guard at the inside of her knee. She was keenly aware of that little bit of weight through the fabric. "'I should be back in Amaranthine soon, and I'll be sure you'll know exactly when.' Yes, well, I'll still be holding you to that, my dear. Send me a letter once you get to the keep?"

"If I don't, you'll send for me from the Free Marches to explain myself."

"Now there is an idea. Let's see, 'Varel is being annoying', 'fresh meat for the Joining', 'brother-in-law is being a high-collar arse'..."

"I didn't say high-collar arse, exactly."

"...Aha! 'So you've been lonely at night, have you? The king is too small for his big bed and he wants his dwarf mistress to help take up some space and warm it up for him? I have to admit, I've always liked the idea of getting in there since I took a glance of it. Especially considering what lays in it during the night."

Hearing him read her words was making her heat up, in embarrassment if nothing else. She never thought herself much of a writer, and even if you took out the sexual nature of much of what she wrote, it still felt too intimate to be spoken aloud. She was sure a misspelling or smudged letter would force him to ask her what she meant, and then she'd have to explain it, which would just ruin... whatever this was.

Actually, why was she so nervous? Usually she's eager to try whatever new things Alistair thinks up on his own, and doubly so when he's feeling openly affectionate. Before she rationalized it as him taking her by surprise, but now...

"You know, it feels a little silly reading this."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, I wasn't writing an oratory."

"No, I mean that I should read it when it's in your voice." He placed the pages in her grasp. "Continue for me?"

Her head was full of shouts and dwarven curses as his now fully unhindered hands resettled themselves to the inside of her thigh, just behind the skirted loin-guard where the plate did not cover. It was hard not to be aware of them, or the way his long legs were framing her short ones as they sat, or his scratchy stubble and the slight warm breath on her neck.

She started where he left off. "I—um—wonder, what do you do with those oversized hands of yours then, when you're all alone in that big palace suite bed? Because I miss letting them roam where they like." With a chuckle, they did just that, fingers spreading across the fabric and gripping ever so lightly as if to pull them apart. They didn't, but perhaps only because her thighs spread on their own accord, the armored outside of them pressing into his own legs.

But they didn't move past that; he was waiting for her to proceed. So, she did.

"A-and what do you do with that smart mouth of yours? Would it be too sappy to say I miss your kisses? The ones on my cheek-" He kissed her there again, and she hummed a laugh. "-the ones on my neck-" And his lips traveled down. Well, not traveled so much as dragged once he passed the barrier of her chin, and once he reached the collar of her underclothes, they meandered back up across her skin where they pleased. His leg curled over one of hers, as if to keep her open.

"Of course we can't... forget how cleverly you've learned to use your tongue as—ah!" And it sneaked out to taste her neck between the kisses, and if her breath hadn't already been coming in pants they would have broken into them. "As well as your... your teeth, when they find places to nibble-" Which they did, taking her earlobe into his mouth, lightly rolling it in his teeth, nibbling and sucking, flicking with his tongue just like he would her...

She let the letter drop to the side, no longer even remembering what she was trying to concentrate on. Alistair took it as a signal and shifted over the leg he'd worked between hers, sliding smoothly from behind her to atop, his hands running up and making her arch even as she could not feel them through the armor, and his mouth on hers. It was almost as if he was intent on devouring her, and she always loved his particular vein of devotion.

It didn't matter what had gotten into him, not if this was the result.

The ridged metal on his thigh was grinding insistently into her groin, so much that it would have hurt had her loin-guard not afforded her some shock absorption where he leaned into her. She moaned his name between kisses, and her hands set about blindly groping for the buckles that held on his own borrowed set. She had only just found the strap she wanted to loosen first when that tilted pulse intruded from the back of her head.

She shoved him away, but from the look on his face, he was too busy hearing the same warning to be offended.

"Darkspawn," she gasped, then scrambled for her weapons, Alistair doing the same. They went to meet the would-be ambushers quickly, and though there was an ache she could have done without, especially to do battle with, she silently thanked the Stone for providing a distraction at such an opportune time. With these courtiers and suitors and family obligations and Ancestor's know what else on her plate, a horny human lover was more than a complication.

Sod it, it was going to be hard enough to explain her new duties to him already.