It was well after dark before the party finally stopped and set up camp. They were still a half a day's journey from Redcliff, so it was senseless to push themselves any further that night. Since they left Haven, Alistair had been pushing them ridiculously hard to reach Redcliff as quickly as possible. Zevran sat by the fire, meticulously polishing his twin daggers, trying very hard not to fixate on the Wardens who sat across the fire. Eriana was joking with Alistair about his atrocious cooking, as it was his turn to make dinner (Zevran had decided to just wait till they got to Redcliff to eat rather than suffer through another of Alistair's meals). He had mixed feelings about the Warden's reunion. In a way, it pleased him that Eriana seemed much happier now that Alistair had ended his vow of angst-driven silence, but that also meant that she now spent most of her time with Alistair, not him. Zevran hated to admit it to himself, but he had come to enjoy the time he spent with the younger elf. She was beautiful and engaging and made the trek across this drab country almost enjoyable. Zevran sighed, still pretending to be focused on his weapons. What was he doing, allowing himself to feel compassion for a mark? But was he fooling himself to still think of her as a mark? Had she not become something more in the past few weeks? He had found himself opening up to her more than he had ever opened up to anyone before, and he was drawn to her in a way that he had only felt once before. Was she becoming a friend? Was he hoping for something more? He quickly pushed that thought from his mind. It was over now, though; she had her knight back. What would she ever want with a whoreson like him? The templar hero was more worthy of her affections. Zevran almost began to laugh at himself for being so morose; it was not like him to give up so easily, and the knight had not closed the deal just yet. Perhaps there was still time for him.

He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he missed the subtle turn of the conversation across the fire until Alistair's stumbling words caught his ear. Was he hearing what he thought he was hearing? Is that bumbling idiot actually turning her down? Sure enough, Alistair began stammering about the waiting till right time, the first time should be special, respecting her, and some other nonsense. Zevran couldn't help but glance at Eriana over his shoulder; she looked disappointed and slightly embarrassed. She said something terribly understanding about his innocence being cute and endearing before she got up, kissed him on the forehead, and disappeared into her tent. Zevran couldn't contain himself any longer.

"You are an absolute idiot; I hope you realize that," he said, not bothering to look up from his daggers.

"What? I don't know what you're talking about." Alistair stammered, looking flushed and embarrassed.

"Only this, when an exquisite creature such as she offers you her company for the night, you do not turn it down. Chances are she will only offer once, and you will be left to imagine what could have been."

"I don't…besides…you were listening?"

Zevran laughed, finally looking over at Alistair, "Well you weren't exactly secluded; carrying on such discussion in the middle of camp, you almost beg to be overheard."

"Well, not all of us have casual attitude about…well, you know. To some of us, there's more to life."

"Or perhaps your sheltered life has simply led to a lack of knowledge in that area and has left you doubting your ability to perform. I could give you a few pointers you know; make it a truly memorable moment. I am quite skilled in that particular field, you know."

"Andraste's flaming sword, I'm not listening to this," Alistair stammered, storming across the camp.

"Perhaps there were some positives to the Wardens being back together after all," Zevran thought to himself, laughing to himself as he finished with his weapons. Torturing Alistair was going to be fun.

Eriana sat her opulent guest room in Redcliff castle the next evening, silently staring out the window. Today should have been a good day for her, a day of rejoicing. She had returned with the Ashes of Andraste and they had successfully revived the Arl; he had been reunited with his wife and had accepted the news of his son's death with relative understanding, not blaming her for what she was forced to do. Now she had a foothold in the Fereldan nobility and had procured a valuable ally in her fight against the Blight. But it had come with a great personal cost. In a few short moments, she had lost the thing that she had come to value most; she had lost Alistair.

Eriana had never really allowed Alistair's parentage to bother her. So what if he was Marick's son? The nobility would never take him seriously, and he had been told his entire life that he would never be king. His taking the throne was simply something that never seemed feasible. She remembered joking with him, calling him my Prince in a teasing way; now those words felt like poison on her lips. Just when she finally got him back, just when things were finally starting to go right, just when she was finally getting over her issues with his race, he was lost to her, now more than ever. She kept replaying the conversation with Eamon over in her head. He was talking about strategies to defeat Logahin when he said the words that had broken her heart.

"We need someone with a stronger claim to the throne than Loghain's daughter, the queen," Eriana knew what was coming. She didn't even hear Teagan mention Alistair; she knew in her heart what was coming.

"You intend to put Alistair forward as king," she said, trying not to very to keep her voice steady and not to betray her true feelings.

"Yes, he is the last of the Theirin bloodline, the only one with a claim that does not seem opportunistic and power hungry. His claim to the throne would seem more legitimate than Teagan's or mine. It may be the only way to avoid civil war."

Alistair began to protest, looking desperately at Eriana for help, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him, keeping her eyes on the floor in front of Eamon, her mind racing. She barely heard Eamon's plans to call for a Landsmeet where they would place Alistair forward as the rightful king. Then she realized that everyone was looking at her, and Zevran gave her a slight nudge. They wanted her opinion, why? She was just an elf; she had no part in the play of nobles and kings. But she was also a Grey Warden, the leader of the Grey Wardens as they were. Civil war would only leave them weak, unable to fight their true enemy.

"It seems we have no other choice," she managed to say. "Call the Landsmeet and declare Alistair the king."

As they began to leave the main hall, Eamon pulled Eriana into a side room. "You do understand don't you? If Alistair becomes King, and I truly think he will, that comes certain responsibilities. Now, it didn't escape my notice that he differed to you on the decisions, and I have known him long enough to read him quite well. If we are going to make him king, there must be nothing that gives the nobility reason to doubt him; nothing that gives them reason to question his priorities. I know that among the Grey Wardens, race is an unimportant factor; sadly, that is not the case amongst the nobility. Deferring to you concerning Warden matters is well and good, but it cannot appear that he is relying heavily on you. It cannot be obvious how close you are. He is his father's son, in more ways than you know, and I just want to make sure that he doesn't make a mistake that costs him everything."

Eriana nodded, "Of course, your Grace." The message was clear. I see what's going on; it needs to stop if he is to be king. But Eamon needn't say anything. Eriana had been an elf her whole life; she knew what it meant to be an elf in Fereldan. She had no illusions of her stature; it just hurt to have it pointed out to her once again. Alistair may see her as an equal, but to everyone else, she was just a low-class citizen, a subservient member of society. If he became the King, where would that leave her? She had no illusions of becoming his queen; that was simply impossible. But he would need a queen, and she would be an inconvenience, a hindrance for him a threat to whoever she may be. Her head knew the truth that simply broke her heart; when the time came, he would be forced to put her aside. Well, she refused to simply be put aside, not when she could still do something about it. She needed a drink.

Zevran found her a few hours later, sitting on the battlements of the castle wall, two empty bottles of Antivan ale at her feet and a half-empty bottle in her hand. He and Leliana had been secretly scouring the castle in search of her. He had been present, in the shadows of course, during her private conversation with Eamon, and he had followed her back to her room where he had hoped she would remain. Then Alistair came to talk to her, and after a short conversation, she fled from the room and disappeared into the shadows, escaping even Zevran's keen eye.

He approached and cleared his throat, alerting her to his presence. She turned to look at him, but her eyes never quite focused on him, "Hey, Zev," she managed to say, her words slurring together. "I was just looking at the lake. Lake Calenhad. Why did they have to name it that? Of all things for me to look at, it had to be something named Calenhad."

Zevran knelt beside her, "And what's wrong with the name Calenhad; seems a nice enough name to me."

"Calenhad the Great!" she shouted, hoisting her bottle of ale in the air, "first King of Fereldan; the fountain spewing Theirin blood. His great great something grandfather," she slurred then took another drink from the bottle in her hand.

"Ah, so Alistair's new position as heir apparent is the cause for this revelry, then?"

"Duh!" she rolled her eyes at him, and Zevran smiled, "I mean I knew, I knew he was Maric's son, but so what. Who would want Alistair as their king? He's a Warden for Maker's sake. He was my Warden," she lamented, putting her head on Zevran's shoulder. "And now he's my King; it's just not fair."

Zevran put an arm around her, "What's the problem with that, my dear? It seems being close to the king could have its advantages, no?"

Eriana laughed, "But I'm just an elf. That's all people see when they look at me; a short woman with pointy ears." He hated that term just an elf; any fool could see she was far more than just anything. "I hate my ears," she said glumly.

"Oh, come now, your ears are lovely, as are you."

"No, no, no, look at them; they're so short they're barely elven. It's like I'm a short human with barely pointed ears," she protested, then she reached up and stroked Zevran's ears making him shiver at her touch. "Now your ears, Zevran, your ears are beautiful, long and slender. A true work of art. I just want to bite them," she said before dropping her head back on his shoulder.

Zevran tried hard not to laugh, "Perhaps that could be arranged, but I believe you sell yourself too short. You exude the very essence of elven beauty, my Warden," he said, lightly brushing her blond hair back off her face. "You make men melt at the very sight of you, and your ears are perfectly biteable as well."

They sat in silence for a while before Eriana spoke again, "If he does become king, where would that leave me? He would get married to some human noble woman and would cast me aside."

Zevran shook his head, "No, I don't think that would be the case. It would be very had to let someone like you go. I would wager that he would try to find a way to keep you around; he does care for you, that much is certain."

"But what would that make me? The castle's dirty little secret, an elven mistress, how cliché. I'd be nothing more than his porcupine," she said with authority, "and I don't want to be a porcupine. My mother didn't raise me to be a porcupine."

"A concubine?"

"Yeah, that's the one. I have more dignity than that," she said as she let out a rather undignified belch and finished the last of her ale. "I need some more ale," she said, struggling to stand up.

Zevran helped her to her feet. Never before had she been so vulnerable around him, so completely dependent on him. He could easily kill her right now, and play it off easily as an accident. Not even Leliana would suspect. She was drunk, she went up on the battlements and fell, a great tragedy for all. Alistair would probably even keep him around, and he could finish the job later, surely killing the future king would earn him a bonus. He watched as she walked on uneasy feet to the edge of the battlements to retrieve her bottles. Suddenly, she pitched forward ever so slightly and would have tumbled over the edge of the wall had Zevran not grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back. She promptly collapsed in his arms, snoring softly. He sighed, no he was not going to kill her. Not tonight, probably not ever. How do you kill someone so special? He found her too engaging to simply kill, and he truly wanted to know her better, to know her in every way. He gathered her in his arms and carried her down into the castle. This was so unlike him. Surely he was feeling this way because he hadn't bedded her yet, that had to be the reason for this strange change of heart.

Eriana woke up with a throbbing headache and the light pouring through her window didn't help her. Turning over with a moan, she was about to pull the blankets over her head when she realized that it was not her window; in fact, this wasn't the room she had escaped from last night. She shot up in the bed and looked around, trying desperately to recall what happened the night before. She remembered something about porcupines and biting ears, "Please tell me that was a dream," she mumbled to herself.

"Alas, it wasn't," she heard a smooth voice say, and she turned over and saw Zevran sitting in a chair in front of the empty fireplace. "It was a very interesting night, to say the least."

"Maker, please tell me I didn't really say that I wanted to bite your ears," she groaned. When Zevran laughed she buried her head in her pillow. "I didn't, I mean, we didn't, did I?"

"No, I'm afraid not. You were a bit far gone for that, and I prefer my companions a bit more lucid." Zevran said, handing her a glass of water. "I did think it best to bring you here since Alistair was pacing the corridor outside your quarters; seeing you in such as state may have been upsetting."

"And you didn't think stumbling out of your room the next morning would be equally upsetting?"

"Of course not, no one will ever know you were here; we will sneak you back into your room now that you have better reign of your facilities."

Eriana drank the water while Zevran sat down beside her on the bed. "Listen, Zev, about last night, thank you for taking care of me last night; it would have been bad if everyone saw me in that state. I didn't, um, didn't say anything too bad did I?"

"Not unless you count not wanting to be the King's porcupine and telling me I had beautiful ears, the rest of what you said was relatively harmless," he said with a slight chuckle. Then his tone turned sympathetic. "Is his becoming King truly that upsetting for you?"

She nodded, sadly. "Alistair would make a good King," and when Zevran raised an eyebrow at that, she amended, "he would learn to be a good King. He has it in him, and he's honorable, almost to a fault. He will feel compelled to do his duty in every way, and that would include breaking things off with me. I'm just afraid he'll hate himself for it."

"So what do you plan to do, drink yourself into oblivion and hope it goes away?"

"I don't know," she said with a sigh. "I really need to get back to my own room. Care to help me get there undetected?"

"Of course, my Warden. I am yours."