Chapter 4

Melisende lounged in the warm waters of the stone bath. She had been reluctant to enjoy such a luxury, but Alistair's serving woman was adamant and would not take no for an answer. So she had shed all her clothes and armor and had dipped into the bath, trying not to think about Ronan and how he was faring being cooped up in a palace for the night. She couldn't imagine how he was feeling. She hoped he wouldn't get into any trouble. In the meantime, she enjoyed the feel of the water upon her skin, the scent of the oils wafting up to her nose, and the quiet. It had been such a long time since she enjoyed a sumptuous bath such as this. She dunked her head underwater and began combing through her long hair – with a comb this time.

Melisende was drifting into a serene sleep when she was startled back awake by the sound of footsteps entering the main bedroom she had been given. Thinking it might be the serving woman come to empty the bath, she grudgingly arose. Dripping wet and naked she made her way into the bedroom, twisting her hair in an effort to dry it. She stopped midstride as she spied the intruder. It was not the serving woman – it was Alistair, lounging on a chair and staring at her in equal surprise.

Flustered, Melisende didn't know what to do or say. "Uh… I thought you were the servant."

"Sorry," Alistair said, continuing to stare at her. "It's uh, me, Alistair."

"Well," Melisende pointed to her naked self in an attempt to downplay her embarrassment, "it's not like you haven't seen this before…"

"Right…" Alistair rose slowly from his seat. "I should go."

"No, don't." Melisende searched for her tunic. Spotting it on the floor, she picked it up and hastily put it on. Being so wet, the tunic did nothing to hide the curves of her body. So much for modesty, Melisende thought. Sensing her discomfiture, Alistair walked over to the bed and grabbed a blanket.

"Here," he held it out to her, "you don't want to catch a chill."

"Thank you," she replied as she accepted the blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders. She took a seat on one of the chairs and Alistair did the same. "So…"

"So…" Alistair repeated after her. He tapped the edge of his chair incessantly. Maker, what did he want? Melisende thought in annoyance.

"Not that I was looking… well, I was, but… not because…" Alistair sighed.

"What, Alistair?" Melisende prodded. He had looked her over with interest. He didn't have to stammer out any excuse. In fact, Melisende wished he would just say what he came here for. This was getting terribly awkward. If anybody walked in on them, they might get the wrong idea.

"Those scars, on your side, and on your shoulder, they are new. Are they from the assassination attempt?" Alistair finally managed to ask. Melisende shifted uncomfortably. She didn't like to talk about it. She had nearly died, had nearly lost her ability to fight. She still felt uneasy in large crowds and with strangers. Nathaniel had helped her a lot after her injury. His presence was a soothing balm to any anxiety she felt due to that incident. She suddenly missed him. She looked at Alistair.

"Yes, they are from the… incident."

"I'm glad you are better." Alistair flashed a sweet smile at her. Her heart skipped like it always did whenever he did that. She muttered a thank you and then remained silent, waiting for him to say something else. Why was he doing this to her? She was over him; it had been hard but she had moved on. Why was he treating her as if they had never parted? She couldn't believe that he could still be in love with her. She shook the feeling off.

"Did you need something?" she broke the silence.

"I just wanted to discuss Tristan." Alistair leaned forward. "It's all a little strange, isn't it? This Ronan character, do you trust him? He looks a bit shifty."

Melisende thought about her reply for a moment. "I admit, I am a little wary of him. However, I think we can trust him. He seems to be genuinely searching for Tristan on behalf of his father."

"But why Tristan? Why do they need him in particular? Tristan never mentioned anything about this clan, did he?"

"No, I don't remember him mentioning a Keeper named Silas. When we met with Zathrian, I believe that was the first time he had met with a Dalish clan."

"Hmm… in any case, I hope he is alright." Alistair said worriedly. "You mentioned that he did find Morrigan?"

"Apparently so. Did he tell you why he wanted to find Morrigan in the first place?" Melisende asked, curious to see what Tristan had told Alistair.

Alistair nodded. "He wanted to make sure his child was alright."

So, Tristan had confessed to Alistair. Melisende wondered if Leliana knew. Perhaps that is why he didn't come back? Melisende couldn't imagine Leliana would be pleased to find out that he had a child with Morrigan. "Does Leliana know?"

"Yes she does. And she's very angry with him. When I talked with her last she was calmer, but still angered. Not surprisingly, she feels betrayed and doesn't know if she can ever trust him again." Alistair explained sorrowfully.

"That is a shame. Even so, I don't think Tristan would just give her up without a fight. There must be something more to his disappearance. I really hope your spies can find something, anything, to point us in the right direction." Melisende said worriedly. She took a deep breath to calm down. Alistair came over to her and put his arm around her.

"You'll find him." Alistair reassured her. She desperately wanted to push him away, but it felt good to be held in his strong arms. There was nothing wrong with being comforted by a friend, right? In any case, Alistair soon released her and stood up.

"I have to go. When my spies report back to me, I will let you know. Probably tomorrow morning. Get some rest." Alistair walked towards the doorway, and then turned around abruptly. "It was nice talking to you, Mel. You should come around more often. Bring that man of yours, what's his name, Nathaniel?"

"Um, sure," she responded with surprise. He knew about Nate then, did he? His spies were good, though her relationship with Nathaniel wasn't really a secret. Still, it gave her hope that they could lead her to Tristan.

…

The next morning, Melisende woke up early and went to find Ronan. She wondered how he was doing, being in a palace. The servants directed her to his room and she went in. It was empty and it looked like nobody had been in there all night. Worried that he had decided to leave, she searched frantically through the room. And then she noticed the balcony door was open a crack. She went over to it and opened it ever so slowly. She let out her breath in relief as she spotted Ronan in a seated position, leaning his head against the railing. He was still asleep. Melisende stepped over his legs and sat down next to him. She leaned into his ear and whispered his name. He stirred, but did not open his eyes.

"Ronan." Melisende said a little louder. This time Ronan opened his eyes. Melisende was struck with emotion at that moment. Ronan looked so vulnerable, young, and handsome all at once. She desperately wanted to give him a hug and tell him it would be alright, but the moment passed as his walls went up and he gave her a look of irritation.

"What?" he spat out as Melisende regarded him curiously.

"Nothing." Melisende replied, a slight smile on her face. Ronan stood up and stretched his limbs. He rubbed his neck and rotated his shoulders. Melisende stood up as well and went back into the room. Ronan soon followed.

"Sore neck?" she asked Ronan.

"It's nothing to whine about." Ronan replied.

"So do you always sleep on balconies?" Melisende teased Ronan.

"I was suffocating in here. I needed to see the stars." Ronan shrugged nonchalantly. He watched with interest as an elven serving girl came in the room, offering them both a glass of water. Melisende was intrigued by his reaction – he brushed off the serving girl's offer and looked at her with disdain. The servant quickly left.

"What was that about?" she asked him.

"Flat-ears," was all Ronan replied. Melisende was puzzled but did not push Ronan any further. It must be an elf thing. Or maybe it was just Ronan. He seemed to detest or look down upon everybody but the Dalish. Velanna had had the same attitude at first, but she eventually mellowed out. Ronan must not get out much. He turned to her then, a look of impatience. "What's next?"

"We meet with Alistair."

…

The king strode into the parlor room with a solemn expression covering his face. Ronan took it as a sign of nothing good. He prepared himself to hear the worst – Tristan could not be found, his mother would surely die. The king turned to Melisende and then to Ronan, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, there is nothing to report."

Ronan turned his back on them and paced around the room. What would he do now? Where was that stupid man? He couldn't go home empty handed. His pride would not allow that. Melisende sighed deeply and shrugged her shoulders.

"You tried. Thank you," she said to the king.

"What will you do now?" the king asked her. He looked suspiciously at Ronan. Ronan didn't care. He would be out of here soon enough.

"Continue the search, I suppose. It will be hard without a lead, but not impossible. Somebody somewhere will know something." Melisende replied.

Ronan was going to wait until the king left to take his leave, for he supposed that was the polite way to act in the presence of a king, but he grew impatient with the small talk. He walked toward the door. "I am leaving."

As he entered the hallway he heard Melisende's sharp intake of breath and deep apologies to the king, excusing Ronan and then herself. He made his way through the palace, heading toward the exit. He made it outside and continued walking. He wasn't sure where he was going to go, but he heard footsteps catching up to him. He wished the shem woman would leave him alone. He didn't need her. He would find Tristan on his own. He did not stop nor acknowledge Melisende as she pulled up beside him close to the marketplace.

"Ronan, stop, please." Melisende begged as she grabbed his arm in order to halt his hasty retreat. He sent her a stony glare as he shook his arm out of her clutch.

"You don't have to follow me anymore." Ronan grumbled.

"I want to help you." Melisende replied, a hurt look on her face. "And I want to find Tristan."

Ronan chuckled. How did Tristan inspire such loyalty? Ronan had only met him twice, but it was enough to make him sick. The man was full of himself – acting all humble and good, using the fact that he saved the world to get what he wanted. Well Ronan knew better than that. Tristan was a selfish halla turd. He would never get any sympathy from Ronan. Melisende looked puzzled.

"Well, I don't know how you can help me. Follow me if you want to, but I won't slow down nor keep checking behind me to see if you're still there." Ronan warned Melisende. She grinned. Ronan frowned.

"I recall the last time you said that I was the one ahead," she reminded him smugly. Ronan crossed his arms over his chest.

"It won't happen again. I promise you that." Ronan pledged. Melisende just smiled, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes. Ronan shook his head and began to walk. "Let's just get out of this place."

Melisende walked beside him. Ronan watched with interest as she observed the marketplace carefully. She was more relaxed now that they were out of the palace. She had been tense and a little fretful during their short stay there. He wondered if he had been right; had she slept with the king? He tried to remember the stories of the Grey Wardens who defeated the Blight. If he recalled correctly, they had been made up of Alistair the king, Tristan, and sometimes they told of a woman of noble birth. Was it Melisende? He watched as a long strand of her hair came loose and blew into her face. She did nothing to move it out of her way. She certainly didn't act like a noble lady, though Ronan hardly knew how noble ladies were supposed to act. She stopped suddenly in her tracks and turned to Ronan, a calm excitement on her face. She squeezed his shoulder lightly.

"What?" he asked, jolted from his thoughts. Her touch sent a pleasant tingle through his body. He ignored the feeling, but did not shake off her hand from his shoulder.

"Look, over there." Melisende gestured with her head towards a merchant hawking his wares. Ronan didn't get what her excitement was about. Did she want to buy something?

"I don't get it." Ronan stated bluntly. She looked at him, a crooked half smile playing on her face.

"The sword," she replied eagerly. "I know that sword."

Melisende let go of his shoulder and calmly made her way toward the merchant. Ronan, still puzzled, followed closely behind her. The merchant, fat and bald, eyed the two of them warily, but noticing their armor and weapons turned his attention fully to them. He held up a sword, the sword Melisende was so excited about seeing, and beckoned the two of them closer. As Ronan examined the sword more closely, he had a flash of memory – Tristan tied up before him while he held up Tristan's sword in mockery, and then tossing it aside carelessly to rile up Tristan. Now Ronan knew why Melisende was so excited; the sword the merchant held was Tristan's sword. He glanced at Melisende and nodded ever so slightly. She returned the gesture.

"Does the sword interest you, m'lady?" the merchant asked Melisende. She took her time to reply, running her finger over the blade slowly.

"It might," she replied coyly.

"It is of the finest make. Made of ancient dragonbone. See how it glows and seethes with power?" the merchant placed it on the table before them.

"When did you get such a lovely piece?" Melisende asked, crouching low to examine the sword at eye level. She glanced up at the merchant with a sweet smile. Ronan watched with amusement as the merchant rubbed his bald head and grew flustered.

"Just yesterday, m'lady."

"And who would part with such a piece of art?" Melisende questioned the merchant, all the while fingering the curved hilt of the sword.

"Oh, just some lads fallen on hard times," the merchant nervously replied. He seemed uncomfortable at the way Melisende was touching the sword. He brought his hand down over the hilt, brushing Melisende's own away from it.

"Did these lads hail from Denerim?" Melisende asked. The merchant looked uncomfortable. He became a little impatient with all the questions.

"Look, are you interested in the sword, or not?" he petulantly inquired. "I've got many a noble interested in acquiring such a prize piece."

Melisende let out a single laugh and then in an instant had the merchant by his collar, leaning over the table. He tried to grab the sword back but Melisende grabbed it with her free hand. The merchant looked around for help, but nobody would interfere. Ronan unsheathed his sword and dangled it over the ground menacingly.

"Look, this needn't end badly. Who sold it to you and from where did they come from?" Melisende demanded of the merchant, pulling on his collar to intimidate him. Ronan was impressed. He didn't think the woman had it in her to bully someone.

"Loggers…" the merchant squeaked out.

"From where?" Melisende pressed further.

"I don't know…" the merchant pleaded. He looked to Ronan for help. Ronan grinned at the man.

"Answer her." Ronan told the merchant, twirling his sword into the ground. This was quite fun. Nobody dared help the merchant.

"G-Gwaren, I think," the merchant answered cowering in fear and trying to remove himself from Melisende's grip. She reluctantly let him go, picking up the sword and holding it up high.

"How did these loggers from Gwaren get their hands on this sword?" she asked.

The merchant held up his hands and shook his head. "I don't know, honestly!"

Melisende regarded him calmly with disgust. "Do you know whose sword this is?"

The merchant shook his head vehemently.

"It was made especially for the Warden Commander. You know him, right? He saved Ferelden from the Blight. To see this exquisitely crafted sword end up in the hands of a sniveling merchant like you is disgusting. I am taking this sword with me to return it to its rightful owner." Melisende took Vigilance and began walking away.

"Wait! I paid good money for that!" the merchant cried out. Melisende turned around, glared at him menacingly and then continued on her way. Ronan stood still, chuckling at the merchant. The merchant scowled at him. Ronan slammed his hand down onto the table really hard, causing the merchant to jump back in fright. Ronan laughed and then followed quickly after Melisende.

"So," he said as he caught up to her. "Gwaren then?"

Melisende nodded her head. Her excitement was gone. She seemed to be worried now. "We make our way south to Gwaren."

Ronan hoped they would find Tristan in Gwaren. He was worried about his mother. How much longer could she hold on?