The ride back to Denerim was solemn. Fergus stayed behind to mind the rebuilding. It had felt like Melisande had torn herself in two when he turned back from the arched gateway to get back to putting Highever back to rights.

The night before, Melisande had handed over their Father's signet ring under the eyes of all the folk they could gather from Highever and the surrounding teyrnir. Fergus' right to the title was blessed by Alistair, standing under the portrait of Maric and the tapestry of Sarim Cousland that one of the servants had saved and hidden in the midden when Howe's men had rampaged through the Keep, destroying and looting the family treasures.

The portrait was a good likeness. No one dared to challenge Alistair's right to the name, at least.

And now they rode back, Melisande on the horse Fergus had ridden on the trip north and Finbar trotting at her feet.

Zevran took the opportunity to fill her in on a few of the stories she had missed. But Melisande rebuffed Alistair's first few attempts to talk, except to exchange thanks or greetings and goodnights. Her reluctance fed his and Alistair fell silent as well.

Better, Melisande decided. It needs to be this way. Even Zevran finally gave up in the face of their stubborn quiet

It was a long, nearly silent journey and they were all glad to see the jagged, broken walls of the city rise before them.

-000-

In the end, everyone agreed that it was better that the celebration had been delayed. There needed to be time to regroup. Time to burn the bodies and clear the worst of the damage.

Time to grieve.

The city watched as the new king, himself, set the cornerstone to begin the rebuilding of the Chantry. And then he led the parade through the districts all the way down to the Alienage. Shianni met him there, at the gates. And then he set the first stone to begin rebuilding the elvhen district, too.

When Shianni stood at the charred roots of the valendral and asked him with a glare if this coddling would continue, Alistair answered with a ringing tone in his voice, recognizable to any one who'd seen him fight. "You are as much a part of this city as any. And we will do better by you, I swear it."

"I'll hold you to it." The elf said with an impudent air of defiance that had made certain portions of the crowd gasp. But he saw a smirk on Meli's face and when Shianni had added, "Your Majesty" somewhat belatedly he couldn't help the grin that had spread on his own.

It heartened Alistair a little when Melisande marched with them, uncomfortable though such things made her. She smiled and caught flowers, tossed coins and the marzipan treats that the palace kitchen had done up in piles and was generally charming. The shorter hair made her look more mischievous than her elegant braids had, Alistair thought. A glimpse of the rogue inside the lady. She looked better.

The worst of the dreams had died with the Archdemon, Alistair was fairly sure. But Terrance told him that the guards were getting used to finding Melisande strolling along the walls between the watchtowers at night.

And she had managed to keep a certain distance between them, as well. It was easy enough, as there were endless people vying for their attention. So much had been ignored during the civil war. The most shocking thing was the figures Alistair received about how many Fereldans had fled the Blight to other lands. Mostly the Free Marches. He'd have to get a handle on that, almost first of all. It would be hard enough to rebuild Ferelden without whole sections of the country depopulated.

And too, there was the matter of dealing with the nobles who had sided with Loghain and Howe in the Civil War.

Eamon was counseling harshness, but Teagan shook his head at that. "You weren't there, brother. Very few sided with Loghain out of spite. It was all more a sense that it was better to show a united front. If I hadn't known about you and about the…situation with the Empress, I'd have been tempted to join him as well."

"Betrayal is still betrayal." Eamon humphed. Alistair contemplated the two brothers, considering matters between them. Bann Teagan had never had enough to do with the tiny holding of Rainesfere. And it was past time for Eamon to return to Redcliffe, again.

While Alistair was forced to take up politics, Melisande took charge of handling the darkspawn carcasses and then, with the Warden documents as a reference, disposal of the Archdemon. Alistair had had it preserved in ice by the mages of the Circle that had survived and so they were able to harvest the bone and even the blood that Grey Warden rituals required. It took another week to get the city cleared of the blighted things. They carted them as far from Denerim as they dared before setting them alight.

He saw her come in from the last of the burnings, wrapped in the grey cloak she never seemed to be without these days. In the half light, her figure slipped in and out of shadow. But she paused suddenly at the edge of the palace garden and instead of continuing on up to the courtyard went to sit on a bench under an oak that had escaped the worst of the burnings.

Alistair walked as fast as he could. A running king just alarmed everyone, he'd discovered. But she was gone before he made it to the garden bench. And just as well, he supposed with a sigh. What would he say to her, that they hadn't already said? It would only be a matter of time to see if they could get past her actions and his reactions.

Melisande wasn't consciously avoiding Alistair. Well, not after the first week of their return, before Anora's cremation ceremony. No one even brought up Anora after those first days. They'd delivered her ashes to the Bann of Gwaren to take and spread in the places she knew as a child. It seemed everyone, from the nobles to the least grubby child wanted to just set the former Queen aside as a remnant memory from a dark time. It made Melisande sad and tired and she spent the evening in the Chantry tents, listening to the cantor make her plea to the Maker for his grace.

She watched Alistair carefully. He was becoming more and more comfortable with his position. As a soldier and her second he'd almost never volunteered information or analysis. She'd occasionally had to drag it from him in early days, but now he was taking the lead in discussions and showing an aptitude for it. A lot of these discussions could be broken down into basic plans of attack, and Alistair had always had a knack for such things.

It wouldn't be long now. There were reports coming in about roving bands of darkspawn, too far south for just a day's journey to fight. She needed to make a campaign of it. Lingering would not make any of her decisions easier.

Alistair might not even know she'd left until she was away, she thought but dismissed it with an inwarcd scoff. No, he would know. No slinking off into the night like a wounded hound this time, she had promised not to simply leave again, deciding to wait until after the Coronation.

And, too, she was worried about him even as she watched him grow into his new duties.

He was so…alone. Even as she spent her days with Zevran and Leliana, the troop she'd been given to help her in her clean up, Melisande saw that Alistair had no one, despite the small horde of servants, scribes and bothersome nobles buzzing around the new court like angry bees. Teagan tried, she thought. He was careful to keep Alistair talking. But she could see the signs, see Alistair withdrawing the way he had after Ostagar.

But to talk to him, to volunteer to be his friend, again? No, too soon. He needed to find his way without her. She couldn't stay and watch him choose a wife. He must make his life and so must she.

Still, Melisande kept her eye on him, quietly, from the corners and the shadows and it was due to that habit that she was watching when he'd left the palace one morning, cloaked and reasonably sneakily, to wander down to the merchants' quarter.

There was a dark brown cloak wrapped around Alistair's broad shoulders and he'd taken the precaution of a hood. He looked non-descript and average, if a bit tall to passers-by and more importantly the guard. Even that young guard who was nursing a small crush on the king, Melisande noted sourly. She had counted on that lad to keep an eye on Alistair for her, when she was gone.

She followed him, discreetly, as Alistair walked down to the market. Puzzled, as she watched him draw up to square his shoulders and then she realized that amid the debris was the remnant of Goldanna's hovel. Oh. Her heart gave a small lurch. He'd come to see if he could find any trace of Goldanna or her family.

Alistair poked among the ruins for half a mark before he gave up. Dusting himself off, he slouched to the door. He had to get back. To be honest, he was a little surprised no one had raised an alarum yet. Maybe they'd just decided they were better off without him.

A prickling of warning across the back of his neck had him readying his sword. He couldn't imagine any of the darkspawn had lasted this long, but…

No. It was Melisande who was waiting for him when he emerged from the ruin hollowed out by fire, emerging from the shadows that her leathers blended her into like she was part of them. He stared at her. It had been two weeks since they'd spoken privately, beyond a simple greeting in passing or a report about the day's events.

Melisande's eyes were gentle as doves and her voice was low and sympathetic when she asked finally, pushing back her hood. "No sign of them?"

"Not so much as a note, no." He tried to smile, but it slipped away from him again. Oh, Maker. He wanted to pull her to him, put his head on her shoulder and he had to fight to push the feeling away.

"I'm sorry." She had her own opinion of the woman Alistair believed was his sister, but there had been children and Melisande feared for them. "Have you checked with the healers outside of the city?"

"No. I've asked for reports but…I imagine they're busy enough."

They had set up a small camp away from Denerim to deal with those victims who were feared to suffer from taint. They had offered the Joining to a few, once they'd found the recipe for the blood mixture in the storage crates Alistair had found earlier. Only one of the 'recruits' had survived, though she had no training as a soldier, being a baker's apprentice. Melisande set Janny up with a section of the guard for some preliminary training and had her running errands between the camp and the city.

After the last death, no others had taken up the offer. Choosing a clean death at a blade over choking to death on a tainted cup. Melisande and Alistair had offered to do that as well, to spare the healers the duty of a merciful kill.

Alistair gazed at the tents, now, just outside the city gates, the red cloth roofs that marked the temporary Chantry, but he made no move towards them. "There are a group of children that the Chantry's looking after. I'm hoping at least one or two made it there. I just…don't know what their names are or …"

Tipping her head in the Chantry's direction, she offered, "Come on, I'll go with you."

He sighed with relief. "Thanks."

Melisande fell in beside him, silently. She didn't attempt to make conversation as they walked and Alistair found himself at a loss. None the less, he felt more like himself than he had in weeks, with her blazing head at his shoulder.

There was a small horde of new orphans and the younger Mothers looked a little harried. One towheaded lad of about six claimed his mother's name had been Goldanna, but he didn't know where any of the others were. "Mam told me to run. So I did."

"Best thing you could have done. Smart lad to listen to your mother." Alistair assured him. "What's your name?"

"Henry." After a small hesitation the boy asked. "Are you really a king?"

"So they keep telling me." Melisande couldn't help a small smile at the lingering baffled tone.

Alistair made sure the boy was happy enough where he was. There weren't any other children at the palace and it would be a grim place for Henry on his own. The Revered Mother assured him that there was enough food to go around and that they were as well supplied as could be expected and promised him that she would send word if any others came. After patting Henry's head and passing out a bag of sweets to the children, Melisande accompanied Alistair back to the palace, still in silence but with a better sense of camaraderie, of their old friendship than they'd found themselves in before.