Standard Disclaimer: Bioware owns all Dragon Age characters and in game content. I own the bits that are left.

Author's Note: This is one of those chapters that earn this story its M rating. Consider yourself warned.

Chapter 10 – Untying Binds

The Grand Cleric dragged them unceremoniously into the Knight-Commander's vacant office where she had very obviously taken over for the past week. Papers and vellums were strewn over the surface of the table while log and schedule books were piled high and shoved to either sides of it. Greagoir winced inwardly at the mess.

"Well, Ser Greagoir, I congratulate you for accomplishing your duty with no mishap." Lips tightening, she turned to Irving. "Senior Enchanter Irving, as second to First Enchanter Remille, I am obliged to ask if you knew what he planned to do when he staged the coup here."

Irving gaped in disbelief. "You think I know what he planned? How would I know what that Orlesian maniac was thinking? I had strong misgivings when he insisted I attend the College of Magi on his behalf this year but I could not have anticipated such a conspiracy!"

Glancing pleadingly at Greagoir, his words died at the suspicious gleam in the Grand Cleric's eyes. "Do you seriously expect me to believe that as his second you knew nothing of his plans?"

"Your Grace, if I may be so bold. I can vouch for Senior Enchanter Irving's innocence. He has always conducted himself with utmost propriety and is very much a Fereldan at heart despite being a mage." Greagoir stated gruffly.

Despite being a mage? For Maker's sake! How does being a mage affect one's patriotism? Irving glared at Greagoir before meeting Her Grace's eyes. "I swear that if I had known his plans, I would have stopped him. As it is, we have only heard rumours about what happened here. Given some of the wild tales we had heard, they can't all be true. I would greatly appreciate if you would brief us so that we may carry out any further investigations necessary."

"No further investigations are necessary. Teyrn Loghain and his men have executed all the traitors involved in the coup. Now it's just a matter of getting the Circle back in shape." Her Grace stated in a weary tone. "Not one of the other Senior Enchanters seem to know how to run this place."

Irving protested indignantly. "They were executed without a trial?"

"Well, not so much as executed but killed in action while they resisted Teyrn Loghain's rescue attempt. They fought most fiercely, even collapsing the basement entrance in a bid to stop Teyrn Loghain's troops from entering the Tower. However, they were foolish to underestimate the Hero of River Dane. That did not stop him. It only made him more determined to get to the King."

Greagoir's eyebrows rose with each statement. Irving mused that if they went any higher they would reach his hairline.

"How was Knight-Commander Conand involved? Surely he would not have gone along with Remille's madness?" Greagoir enquired hesitantly. He did not believe his judgement of a man, someone he had served under for nearly a decade since his first assignment to the Circle Tower, could be so flawed. Knight-Commander Conand had always been fair if stern in all his dealings with the mages. In spite of being an Orlesian, he had been well liked within the Circle by most templars and mages.

"Knight-Commander Conand was brutally killed by dark magic. The mages had never seen the like and could not identify it." Her Grace muttered darkly. "One might wonder if they were just denying the obvious. It could only be blood magic ever all."

Irving frowned thoughtfully. "Perhaps we could have a look at the body to…"

"It has already been burnt. His ashes are now in an urn that will be sent back to his family when the group that is to return to White Spire is ready to go." Here, the Grand Cleric's face turned a mottled red. "Teyrn Loghain ordered all Orlesian mages and templars expelled from the Circle Tower and Ferelden. He wants no more Orlesian intrigues and has seen fit to threaten the Chantry with reduced tithes and loss of noble favour if we should refuse him."

Greagoir bit off a bark of laughter while Irving's frown deepened. "If the group is not ready to leave yet, why the haste in burning the body, Your Grace?"

"The smell and the mess! You don't think I could live in such an environment?" Her Grace retorted looking around the room. "They barely got the stains off the furniture, books and papers as it is! Look, this table is still blood stained after the mages and servants went at it more than twenty times." She pointed to a small corner of the table where a small, dark coloured whorl could be seen.

"He was killed here?" Greagoir enquired urgently. "The templars stationed at his door did not detect anything? Even if it was blood magic, they would still have been able to sense the blood taint."

"They must have been part of the rebellion then or killed, who knows?" Her Grace sniffed indifferently. "What I need now is to appoint a new Knight-Commander and First Enchanter so that I can leave this barren place and return to Denerim where I would at least be able to work, eat and sleep in comfortable surroundings. These bedrooms you have here are so plain and lacking of amenities."

"Do you have someone in mind or would you like me to recommend someone to you?" Irving asked hopefully. Greagoir gazed at him in amazement. She means us you idiot! Why do you think she asked us in here?

Her Grace did not disappoint. "Nonsense! Both of you are the perfect candidates for the position unless there is something you wish to notify me?"

Both of them gulped. Irving started to speak "Well… If I may be so bold… I…"

A glint flashed in the Grand Cleric's eyes. "I would only have to assume that you were somehow involved in the coup if you refuse the position with no valid reasons. The standard punishment would, of course, be Tranquillity for mages and execution for templars."

Irving blanched. Not Tranquillity! Anything but that!

Greagoir just inclined his head reluctantly. "It would be an honour to accept the position."

Irving glowered at the floor. "I will accept the position. However, I need to know what went on here. The casualties, injuries and damages sustained. You mentioned transfers?"

"By the decree of Her Grace, Grand Cleric of Ferelden, the appointment of Knight-Commander will be assumed by Ser Greagoir. Furthermore, the appointment of First Enchanter will be assumed by Senior Enchanter Irving. Their duties will commence officially tomorrow morning immediately after the appointment ceremony in the great hall. All mages and templars not on duty are to be present for the ceremony. Let us all offer them congratulations." Bryant intoned officiously from a piece of vellum and finished with a wink at Greagoir. He frowned when he noticed how tight his lips were drawn. One would imagine he wasn't happy about his promotion.

Sparse claps and cheers sounded within the dining hall. Most templars and mages were delighted by the choices. Both were considered fair men who had the best interests of the Circle in mind. Irving found his gaze caught by Wynne whose eyes held depths of pain he did not wish to acknowledge. He broke off the contact, fervently wishing he was somewhere else, anywhere else but here.

He chose to be First Enchanter. We are nothing. I mean nothing to him. Her heart ached and she felt tears threatening to fall. I've been a fool for eighteen years. A surge of anger roared through her and she embraced it. Anger was good. Anger would keep her from falling apart. She stood abruptly, startling the mages sitting around her.

"I'll bring a plate to Ines. She's probably still sifting through her precious research." She mumbled incoherently while stumbling out of the hall, heading ostensibly towards the kitchens. No one stopped her and she did not pause until she reached the infirmary, all thoughts in a jumble even as her traitorous tears started to fall. She slammed the door behind her and fell to the floor sobbing silently at first. Then, realising there was no one to hear, she starting weeping in earnest.

She never really knew what made her fall in love with Irving. Maybe it was the fact that he was the first friendly face to greet her at the Circle Tower when she had arrived a frightened not quite nine year old in the company of intimidating templars. Maybe it was the lessons at Primal that he so patiently tutored her in even though she had no aptitude for it. Maybe it was even his obliviousness to her growing feminine beauty through the years that made him such a challenge. Whatever it was, it was always him. She had never wavered from her love of him. She had felt sure that she could make him feel the same way for her. What a fool I've been.

Her anguished sobs filled the infirmary. It was empty except for an Orlesian templar who was still in a coma after the coup. Apprentices had sworn that he had tried to shield them when the other Orlesian templars started to abuse them. It seemed that he had refused to take part in the coup and shielded the young apprentices from beatings by his brothers-in-arm. He was tortured and left in the dungeon, found only after the young apprentices escaped from their confinement. He had been severely dehydrated, starved and his wounds were inflamed. Beatrice had managed to heal most of this. It was his internal injuries that had caused him to lay unconscious. Wynne had urged a spirit to assist her in healing those as soon as Beatrice informed her of the extent of his injuries. He now lay in a deep, healing slumber and should hopefully wake soon.

"Ah… Pourquoi pleurez-vous, ma belle? Déchirures ne sont pas pour l'un aussi belle que vous." A pair of rich brown eyes peered up at her from the bed where the templar had laid unmoving.

"You're awake! How do you feel?" Wynne's healer instincts took over. Her magic reached out, seeking any areas where he may still be hurt.

"You are an angel come to save my life or have I gone to the Maker's side?" A mischievous twinkle was in the templar's eyes. He was younger than her, of that she was sure but his manner spoke of a man confident with the ladies.

Satisfied that all was well, Wynne released her hold on the Fade and sank down beside him on the bed. Touching his forehead, then the back of his neck to judge for herself if his skin was clammy, she noticed a light flush rising up from his neck to his face.

She scrutinised him. He was handsome; a face all chiselled and hard angles that would have been cold except for his warm brown eyes. Board shoulders and hard muscles of a man used to heavy armour and kept in active fighting form.

The rest of him was covered under a thin woollen blanket and, as Wynne continued her earnest examination, she realised that he was reacting to just her look and that he was very flushed.

Smirking, she proceeded to lean towards him, looking deep into his eyes. Cupping his face in her hands, she chuckled when he turned beet red. "You must be coming down with a fever to be so flushed in winter." As she started to turn away, the templar grasped her wrists to hold her in place. Wynne gasped.

"Beautiful one, you did not answer me. Why were you weeping? Tears are not for one as lovely as you." He, in turn, gazed wonderingly into her eyes. "Man should be fighting to make you smile. Tell me who has caused you tears and I will slay him for you."

Wynne gawked. She had never had such words spoken to her before. She knew she was attractive. She had many offers for dalliances after all. However, none dared speak to her in such a way. They were always under the templar's watchful eye and she had only indulged with Irving. He spoke no words of endearment. She had long ago decided that he was not good with words but, now, it may have been that he was simply not as enamoured with her as she was with him.

The templar adjusted her position on top of him until she was straddling him and he was holding her close. She could feel his obvious erection under her thighs. She flushed and made to ease out of his arms.

"Don't move." He gritted out tersely. "I just want to offer you comfort. Any gentleman would offer this to a distressed lady. Ignore my unruly body. It is only natural for it to react to such luscious beauty. I'm injured not dead. Now, tell me, what is troubling you, ma petite?"

Wynne looked into his warm brown eyes and saw understanding. She was not completely sure if that was what made her tell all to him. Maybe it was because he was a stranger who would soon be leaving. Maybe it was because she felt so comforted in his arms. Maybe it was because his warm brown eyes held no hint of censure. Maybe it was a combination of it all or none at all. All she knew was that she told him everything. Even her deepest fears and, at last, was weeping on his shoulders in despair.

His hand was caressing her hair in a soothing motion when she finally stopped, utterly embarrassed by her outburst. I'm a Senior Enchanter for Maker's sake. She drew out a delicate lace handkerchief and dapped at her eyes. She was very fortunate that she was a good crier, none of the snot and red noses that plagued other lesser females when they cried. She drew back and he let her, smiling gently at her when her eyes met his.

"He is a fool, you know that don't you? Either that or he is blind or possibly he is both if he lets you go just for this. I know officially you cannot be together but what's to stop you from being together unofficially? If you love each other, it should not matter. After all, it only matters that you would be together."

Wynne's eyes grew wide. She never thought of it that way. Perhaps the templar was right. Of course he is! It shouldn't matter that Irving is First Enchanter as long as he is willing to still be with me. A tremendous smile grew on her face. "I'm so glad that I was able to heal you." Placing a chaste kiss on his cheek, she got out of his bed. "Thank you for your comforting words, Ser… What is your name?"

"Marcel, my dear lady. Marcel de Lucien at your service. You are very welcome. It is a very small price to pay for one's life." He grinned and then sighed deeply. "Unfortunately, I fear that I have reached the last reserves of my strength, ma petite. If you have no further need of me, I will rest now."

Wynne smiled as she retrieved a thicker comforter from the armoire and tucked it around him. "Rest, you have to get your strength up. I understand from the grapevine that you are expected to travel back to Orlais as soon as you are able to."

"I have introduced myself but the angel refuses to give me her name?" Marcel muttered even as his eyes started to close.

"Wynne, my name is Wynne." Wynne softly whispered as she watched him fall asleep before leaving the infirmary with a lighter heart.

"Ines." Greagoir called for the third time, louder than the previous instances. Startled, Ines jumped and nearly ripped the vellum she had in hand.

"Greagoir!" She heaved a deep breath to calm herself. "What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you that. It's dinner time and you aren't in the dining hall." Greagoir stated bemusedly.

"Is it dinner time already?" Ines squinted her eyes myopically at the small window near the ceiling of the room. Darkness could be seen through it. "I must have lost track of time rearranging my research to some semblance of order."

"I brought you some food." Greagoir pushed a plate piled high with food towards her, taking care not crush any of her precious papers.

Ines sniggered. "I can't possibly finish all this alone. Share with me?"

"I intend to." Greagoir smiled tentatively, picking up a morsel and placing it in her mouth.

Ines chewed reflexively, agog at this strange tender man Greagoir had become. Shrugging mentally, she picked up a piece as well and fed him. His face lit up as he closed his mouth over her fingers, drawing a gasp from her. Grinning irrepressibly, they continued until they polished off the plate.

Ines was licking her fingers when she caught Greagoir's intent stare. With an impish sparkle in her eyes, she began languorously sucking on them. Greagoir's breath hitched and his eyes turned that stormy grey she knew so well. He caught her by the waist and sat her on the table, kissing her as furiously as he had dreamt of doing throughout the long journey from Highever. One hand caressed her breast while the other slid up her thighs to find her already wet and ready for him through her smalls.

He groaned audibly, fumbling with his breeches while Ines' hands reached under his mysteriously unbuckled breastplate to caress his nipples. In one swift motion, Greagoir dragged down her smalls and thrust himself deep into her eliciting a deep moan. He fought to remain in control but the feeling of her sheath so tight around him after so long was too much. He plunged into her with increased frenzy, heedless of the mess they were making of the papers on the table.

"Greagoir… Oh Maker! Greagoir!" Ines keened the last as she plummeted off the edge of sanity into starbursts of ecstasy. Greagoir could not help joining her as her walls constricted and convulsed around him. "Ines!"

It took long moments for both of them to regain a conscious state of mind. Greagoir rested his forehead on hers and fought to get his breathing under control. He should have been sated but as he felt Ines shift beneath him, he felt himself going hard again. He wanted nothing more than to take her again. After so long without her, he felt that he had only just started to appease a small portion of his need for her. As his hands wandered up along her side to caress her breast again, Ines pushed away from him.

Without meeting his eyes, she pulled up her smalls, straightened her robes and started picking up the papers that had scattered haphazardly on the floor after their love making. Tapping them on the table and lighting patting them into place, she finally looked up at Greagoir with a cool expression on her face. "I understand congratulations are in order, Knight-Commander Greagoir."

Greagoir tensed. "We talked about this on the ship. I'll train up someone to take over my position. Then I'll claim the position to be too much responsibility and ask for a demotion and a transfer to a less hectic Circle. Once I know where I get transferred to, I'll send for you. There would be no Circle not willing to have a mage of your talents."

"Indeed Knight-Commander Greagoir," Ines replied with a calm and collected air. "Until we are partnered as planned, I would greatly appreciate if we do not repeat what we just did."

Greagoir stared incredulously at Ines. "What do you mean?"

"I neither wish to be used against you nor for you to be used against me. While there will be open applause at your appointment, I do not wish to live in fear of hidden grudges. So it is best to not be too close to each other." Ines stated very matter-of-factly.

Greagoir was stunned. Not once during the voyage had they fully listed down every detail of their plan. They had always generally discussed it then got too carried away with each other to continue. Ines, however, seemed to have it all planned out.

"Couldn't we find some secret way to be together?" He asked tentatively.

Ines closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. When she met his eyes, hers were filled with anger. "No matter what precautions we take, people will find out. The Circle Tower is only so big, there are only so many places to have an affair. Do you wish for me to become your sordid secret? Do you realise how this could undermine your authority?"

Logically, Greagoir understood. Emotionally, he was reeling. "Do you know what a torture it would be for me to see you daily and not be able to touch you?"

"Would you like me to request for a transfer to another Circle? Antiva perhaps? I didn't have the time to fully explore their jungles. I am sure that I would be able to get an invitation from Alfonso to revisit and get myself permanently reassigned there."

"No! No. Stay, please. Neria needs you." Greagoir pleaded desperately. He could not imagine not having her around. He would lose his mind wondering how she fared.

Ines nodded in acquiescence. "How long Greagoir?" She fixed her gaze steadily on him. "How long do you wish for me to wait for you?"

Greagoir's jaw dropped. "I wouldn't know how long? I'm not even sure if there are any suitable candidates to train. Even if there is, the candidate needs to learn the inner workings of operating a templar order in a Circle. It took me nearly a decade to pick up and effectively work on all the things Knight-Commander Conand taught me."

"Do you wish for me to wait for you indefinitely then?" Ines' face was cold as stone and just as inscrutable.

"No, I want this done as soon as possible too! It's just… It is really impossible for me to tell you how long it would take. Please give me time." Greagoir implored.

"How long? One year? Two years? Three years? Five years? Eight years? Thirteen years? How long do you wish to have?" Ines relentlessly questioned.

"Why is it so important for you to define a time limit? Can you not be patient?" Greagoir felt his temper escalating to a danger point.

"If there is no time limit, there would be no urgency, nothing to look forward to. We would, inevitably, end up as strangers, seeking others to fill the void left." Ines retorted acerbically.

"You are already proposing that we become strangers!" Greagoir shouted in despair.

"Do you love me or just lust after me?" Ines queried, an eyebrow rising mockingly.

"If I wanted to lust after anyone, it would be Wynne!" The words were out of Greagoir's mouth before he realised. His mouth snapped closed as he stared at Ines in horror.

Ines flushed in anger and gritted out stiffly. "It's good to know how you really feel, Knight-Commander. If you will excuse me, I think I will retire to my quarters." She moved past him like a hurricane in a wild swish of skirts.

Greagoir took a deep breath and strode after her. Before she managed to open the door, he reached out, grabbed her hand and swung her around. "I didn't mean that, Ines, sweetheart, I love you. I don't know how or when it started but I know that I love you. Don't ever doubt my love for you. Please. If you will wait for me to sort out this mess I'm currently in, we will be together like we planned. Please don't leave thinking that I ever desired Wynne over you. I'm an ineloquent idiot. Please forgive me." He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it fervently.

Tears fell from Ines' eyes. Greagoir felt like such an ass and tenderly brushed them away. "Don't cry, love. Ten years. Would you give me ten years? Is our love worth at least that much to you?" He desperately offered.

Ines nodded and stretched up to kiss him lightly on his lips. "Ten years. Work hard in training your replacement and let's be together again in ten years."

Greagoir backed her against the door and kissed her heatedly. "Why can't we be together in the meantime? In secret if you don't want to risk others knowing?"

"I don't know if I can pretend that there's nothing between us when there is. It will show." Ines pushed him away and Greagoir let her.

"What about just now?" Greagoir countered.

"That was goodbye. At least for now." With that, Ines fled the room.

The knock on Irving's door disturbed him from his sombre thoughts. "Enter!" he called absently.

Wynne swept impetuously into the room.

"Wynne? What are you doing here?" Irving asked in amazement.

"I'm here to inform you that I will not give up on us. If we can't be officially together, I'll take being together in secret." Wynne declared with gusto. "As long as you will have me?" A slight hint of doubt entered her voice.

Irving was dumbfounded then sadness surged into him. "No, Wynne. We can't be together. Not even in secret."

It took a moment for Wynne to process his words. She collapsed into an empty chair, all bravado gone. "Why not? Don't you love me?"

"I…" Irving steeled himself to speak. "I am grateful for your companionship but the position of First Enchanter cannot be compromised by personal relationships." He recited in a mechanical tone.

"Read that somewhere in a First Enchanter's handbook did you?" Wynne sneered, blinking to keep from tearing. "Gratefulness was not the emotion I was seeking from you." She sniped.

"Wynne, I know that you believe that you love me but it really is just an infatuation that has lasted this long due to your stubbornness." Irving uttered in a soothing tone. He could tell that she was on the verge of tears and if she did cry, he would surely falter in his bid to free her.

Sadness and anger warred within Wynne. Anger won out. "I am not some schoolgirl with a teenage crush! I am thirty this year and have loved you for eighteen years. Does that mean nothing to you?"

Irving lowered his head and mumbled. "I have already expressed my gratefulness to your companionship."

"To the Void with you!" The door slammed shut after Wynne swept from the room in a fury.

Love should be embraced in the brightness of the sun and not shadows, my dear. You deserve that kind of love, Wynne. I'm so sorry I cannot give you that. I hope you will find someone who can love you like that and that your heart will be recognise him. Forget about this old fool even if he loves you as he has never loved another woman.

"How old are you, Ser Marcel?" Wynne was examining the young templar for any further injuries that would prevent his journey back to Orlais.

It is very early in the morning. Wynne had slept not a wink for the past three nights since she left Irving's room. Her thoughts were varied and conflicting. One moment she would be fantasizing about improving her Primal spells to rain down fire, ice and lightning on that faithless man. In the next, she was a sobbing mess of heartache that would not abide.

Each morning, as the first light of dawn peeked over the horizon, Wynne would give up on sleeping. It was fortuitous that she could not sleep, for in her current emotional state, she would be an appealing target for demons in the Fade.

She came to the infirmary each morning knowing that using her Healer skills would distract her from nonsensical fancies. Afternoons were spent teaching classes and she was unlikely to break down in front of an audience. Evenings she spent with Ser Marcel, talking about his family (he was a noble), how he came to be a templar (he was a third son) and any other topics that kept her mind from Irving. She avoided having meals in the dining hall, preferring to bring plates to share with Ser Marcel.

"I'm twenty seven. And it's just Marcel. None of the Ser nonsense, ma cherie." Marcel muttered while sternly admonishing his body to behave itself. He never had so much trouble with the beautiful ladies back home. "How about you, ma petite?"

"A senior enchanter's age is a closely guarded secret. Those that know will be killed." She replied in a stage whisper surprising herself that she was still in a mood to tease.

Marcel's eyes twinkled. "I must have missed that information during my templar orientation."

Wynne frowned at her own capriciousness. "You are ready to leave as long as you take it easy and not exert yourself too much during the journey." Wynne patted him on his arm, striving for a business-like tone. "I'll let Her Grace know this. She plans to see you off before she leaves for Denerim herself."

"Where is Senior Enchanter Beatrice?" Marcel enquired, sensing Wynne's need for a distraction. "Not that I am not happy that it is you who is examining me, just idle curiosity."

"I switched duties with her as she took over my classes while I was away at the College of Magi in Antiva." Wynne muttered tersely.

"Not that I am complaining but you seem to be spending a lot of time in here. Isn't it supposed to be a shift system?" Marcel tilted his head enquiringly.

"I… wish to be out of sight of the fool." Wynne snapped before blustering around the infirmary tidying up cots, lining up potions, anything to keep her hands busy. She jumped and stiffened when heavily muscled arms encircled her and pulled her into a back hug. Despite herself, she leaned back, seeking the comfort offered freely.

"Ah, ma cherie, that is an awkward situation: your ex-lover is your new boss." Marcel joked even as he turned her in his arms so that she faced him. Lifting her chin, he peered into her eyes, saw her vulnerability and his heart ached for her. "Perhaps a change of scenery would be welcome? How about coming with me to Orlais? You would help me to take it easy on the journey back and I would offer you my protection against bandits and other riff-raff."

Wynne gazed strangely at him. "I am Fereldan."

"And this is significant because?" Marcel raised an eyebrow.

"We hate Orlais and Orlesians." Wynne protested weakly.

"I find that hate is such a strong word. Have you ever been to Val Royeaux? It is a great city. Not at all like your Denerim. The shops have a variety of goods never seen in other lands. The White Spire is located just within it and, as Senior Enchanter, you can visit the market at any time. I could give you a personal tour." Marcel cajoled. "If you like it, you can stay. If you don't, you can take the next boat back. I may be overconfident here but I am going out on a limb that you do not hate me. So why don't you give my country a chance to charm you too?"

"No, I don't hate you." Wynne was hesitant and at a loss for words to refuse. It was so tempting to accept and leave all this heartache behind. However, she had learned that everything has a price. "What do you want from me?"

"Ah… Ma petite… It is my duty as a knight to rescue damsels in distress and you are a damsel who is very obviously distressed." Marcel declared with a swagger of eyebrows.

A giggle nearly escaped the disconcerted Wynne. No one will care that I'm leaving. Beatrice can teach all my classes just like she did during the College of Magi. "Yes, let's go to Val Royeaux together."

Translations

Pourquoi pleurez-vous, ma belle? Déchirures ne sont pas pour l'un aussi belle que vous. – Why do you weep, pretty one? Tears are not for one as beautiful as you.

Ma cherie – My darling

Ma petite – My sweet

Author's Note

I would like to thank Sandrial Tsubasa for adding this story to your list of favourites.

It really gladdens my heart when I receive notifications of people reviewing, adding me to their list of favourites and/or putting me on their alert list. Thank you all so much for your support, it helps to keep me writing. :)

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