Disclaimer: Bioware owns it.

Dearest Elissa,

I am of two minds – pleased to hear that you have found your long-lost betrothed, and, I admit, a little of the opposite that he will now clearly be competition for my affections! I shall have to challenge him to a duel for you, but being king and all (your big idea, if I recall), should he kill me, it would be very bad for everyone…myself in particular. So no duel then. A cheese-eating competition? Or would that be unfair as, again, I would surely win?

Perhaps one of these rigged competitions would be advisable, considering I am seeking just such a victory.

All jokes aside, I hope this finds you well, and should you need to talk to someone about it (I do wonder if you could get here in person quicker than a missive – shall we test my theory?), Denerim isn't as far from Amaranthine as you pretend, and a royal audience would always be granted to someone of your beauty and heroism.

Yours, Alistair

P.S. Between you and me, as Commander of the Grey and King of Ferelden, I do think we need to have a chat about who you are recruiting into our fine order these days. Was that nonsense with Rylock really self-defense? A conversation best had in person, I should think.

# # # # # #

He now had a firm grip on this 'fighting darkspawn' thing. They smelled hideous and looked worse, and they apparently weren't disappearing the way they were supposed to after Elissa killed the archdemon that commanded them like a general. There was also something she wasn't saying; when they picked up the dwarf, there had been an instant kinship between them he didn't quite understand. She had been quite forthright about the relationships between darkspawn and the Wardens - she informed them that she and the king ("back when he was just a royal bastard") didn't have all the facts and frankly, it was a miracle they survived long enough to reach the archdemon.

She grabbed the dwarf woman by the arm, and crouched to look her in the eye.

"I won't let them take you," she said fiercely.

"Just remember, I'm already dead - there's no crime in killing me for true," Sigrun had replied.

"And I'm a Grey Warden, my death warrant has been signed for awhile now."

"Good to know, Warden. I'm glad we understand each other," the dwarf had nodded once sharply and then Elissa stood back up and ordered them into the Deep Roads.

Now she and the dwarf (Sigrun, he kept reminding himself) were getting sloppy drunk, toasting their survival and alternately diving into melancholy.

"What's with them?" Anders asked the question.

It was Oghren who had their answer. "Darkspawn." Nathaniel just raised an eyebrow, so Oghren continued. "You ever wonder why we never see lady darkspawn?"

"Actually, funnily enough, I never have until just now," Anders pointed out.

"Because those things in that pit, with the tentacles? Those are lady darkspawn," he intoned solemnly.

Anders looked into his mug. "I'm suddenly very glad that I ate quite awhile ago."

Nathaniel must have still looked confused because Oghren looked over at the women for a moment before looking back at his companions. "They take the women, and...they make 'em into them things. Broodmothers, they call 'em. It takes time, and they lose their minds before they...change. Seen it in the Deep Roads back when I traveled with the Commander during the Blight. Sick stuff," he added quietly and downed the rest of his drink and then went to look for more. Anders and Nathaniel contemplated their drinks for a time before Anders excused himself, leaving Nathaniel alone.

He watched the two of them start to wind down, and she signaled one of the soldiers to fetch a servant, who escorted a weaving Sigrun to where she could rest her head. Elissa slouched at the table, swirling her finger in the rings of moisture the mugs had left on the table.

"Hey, come on, time for bed."

She looked blearily up at him. "Hi Nate! Have a drink with me!"

"I think you've had enough," he informed her, a little sparkle in his eyes.

"You think so? I been drunker than this," she nodded several times, and pulled herself up in the chair, and then braced her hands on the table and pushed up. "See? Still standin'! Counts for...a lot!"

"Yes it does. It means I won't have to carry you. Come on," he grabbed her by the elbow to steer her out of the mess hall.

"Don't think you could carry me anymore," she said sadly, shaking her head as he walked with her towards the stairs.

"No?"

"Nope!" She popped the 'p' with her lips and gave him a sad half-smile. "I'm buff now! No more pretty girlish fig'r," she wobbled as they walked up, clearly trying to outline what a girlish figure was supposed to look like.

"You look fine," he said to appease her.

"Fine! Fine fine fine! But not pretty! That's why you don't want to be my friend! Not b'cause I killed your dad, but he was not a good man, he was a bad, bad, man, I don't feel bad about it, nope, not at all. I'm not pretty and that's why you don't wanna kiss me no more!"

He let out a little chuckle. "You know, I don't believe I've ever seen you drink, much less get drunk," he turned them around a corner towards her suite.

"You know the king got me drunk? Didn't try and take adv...ad...nope! Not him either! He still wants to marry me though!"

"He does?" he quirked an eyebrow at her as they reached her chamber door.

"Yep! Says marryin' his bes' friend is better'n marryin' some power-grubbin' gold-diggin' noble bitch!" she proclaimed happily.

"So why don't you marry him? You could be queen," he pointed out as he tried to jimmy the lock on her door.

"Said no. Not yet, 'nyways. Got another bes' friend to marry first."

"Oh, polygamy?" he queried as the door lock obeyed and he depressed the latch, swinging the door open.

"No, no no no no," she said and he directed her into the room and pushed her towards the bed. "Lis'en! This is...import'nt!" He got her to sit down on her bed and crouched in front of her, and began to unlace her boots.

"I'm listening," he said quietly.

"Okay. Lis'en! Cos I have this friend, his name is Nathaniel, hey! You know him!"

He chuckled. "Indeed I do."

"Right! Hi Nathaniel!" she seemed distracted again and he slid off one boot and pulled off the sock, tucking it in the boot before beginning on the other.

She watched him unlace her other boot, and began telling him about nugs, and one apparently named 'Schmooples' who liked to stick his face in everyone's boots because, clearly, he liked stinky things. She babbled on about how the next time the king came to the keep he was going to bring her her dog, who was a good puppy, as he removed that boot and sock, and then had her scoot back on the bed and swung her legs up onto the mattress. She kept talking, though it was slower and made even less sense once she curled around her pillow. He pulled the blanket up over her and whispered 'good night' as he tucked the blanket in.

"Night night, Nate. Love you," she mumbled. "Don't let them take me, 'kay?" and then she was asleep. He watched her for a few moments, watching her ribs rise and fall under the blanket.

"Promise," he whispered, then he closed the door quietly behind him and found his way to his own bed.

# # # # # #

The next morning was quite interesting - in that Anders had quit while he was ahead, Nathaniel did not get stinking drunk, Oghren always had hair of the dog for breakfast, and Sigrun apparently just knew how to hold her liquor. It was, therefore, only the Commander who was suffering the ill effects of the night before. Considering her general morning cheerfulness, it seemed an unspoken agreement to express excessive cheer when she entered the mess as surreptitiously as possible to seek out her breakfast.

"I hate you all," she grumped, and moved to sit by herself; now that Sigrun had ingratiated herself with the rest of the Wardens (though she had yet to take her Joining).

It was not long before Sigrun joined her, breakfast cleared and only a cup of tea warming her fingers.

"So."

"So you can hold your ale better than I can. I wish I could say it was difficult. It's not," she snorted and stirred her porridge vigorously.

"Not what I was talking about, but good to know where you stand."

"We can do your Joining later this afternoon. After dinner, but before supper. You won't want to eat right before, and you'll pass out after, so..." she trailed off, realizing that with her luck with Nathaniel, she had almost forgotten Mhairi. Well, not really, but...the mortality aspect had slipped her mind for a brief moment, and her stomach tightened. It was amazing what you could forget on purpose if you really wanted. She pushed away her bowl, suddenly no longer hungry.

They were quiet for a moment before Sigrun spoke again. "So what's with you and Nathaniel?"

"What makes you ask that?"

"Well the looks he was giving you all last night, and now this morning."

"Oh really?" She tried to slide her eyes over to the other end of the table.

"Stop sounding, or, well, trying to sound, like you don't care," Sigrun smiled.

"It's not that, it's...why do you care?"

"Girl's gotta know her options."

"Ah."

"And I'm guessing he's off the market?"

She shrugged. "I have no claim on him."

Sigrun narrowed her eyes at Elissa with a sly grin. "Yeah, thought that's how it was. You livin' folk are awfully attached to propriety. Life don't last forever, you know."

Elissa snorted lightly. "Oh, I know that quite well."

"I'm just sayin'. If a man looked at me like that, it wouldn't be just looks for long," she smiled.

"Yes. Well."

"Well what? What's stopping you? He bathes, he's polite, he has those lovely archer's hands! I have a thing for hands," she confessed. "He's not an ogre, and that," she dropped her chin and changed her voice, mimicking poorly his deeper tone, "'does this please you' of his! I'd like to tell him what pleases me," she finished in a leering whisper, one eye narrowed at Elissa, who was turning redder as Sigrun described him.

"Stop whatever it is you're whispering about down there," Anders called from the other end of the table. "I can see the Commander turning red as a tomato from down here! If you two are discussing sexy girly things, I must not be left out!"

"Because you are a sexy girl?" Oghren couldn't help but ask with a grin.

"Okay, I walked into that," Anders pointed his finger at the red-head. "But not my point and you know it."

Elissa swung her leg off the end of the bench and took her dishes toward the kitchen, her gaze averted from everyone, including Sigrun with her big 'told you so' smile.

"Now look what you've done! You scared away the stories!" he said to Sigrun, then yelled in Elissa's direction. "You weren't telling her about the pillow fights were you? I still haven't heard the stories about the pillow fights!"

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. "Pillow fights?"

"Yes," Anders informed him excitedly. "Our lovely Commander, an Antivan, and an Orlesian," he began, and Oghren started to laugh, loud and heartily. "What?" Anders asked, looking at Oghren like he'd just gone crazy – which he very well might have.

"There were no pillow fights!" he managed between guffaws.

"Stop ruining my dreams!"

"It was a Chantry sister and an Antivan assassin," Oghren began.

"Oooh! A Chantry sister! This is better than any dirty novel I've ever read," Anders propped his head on his hands.

"The sister and the assassin were bumping uglies, and unless I got really drunk one night and missed it, they never invited the Commander. She and the pike-twirler were sweet on each other."

"Pike-twirler?"

"The king, he is now. Always talkin'. At least they kept the ruttin' quiet, unlike the sister and the assassin. Though truth be told, both of them sounded like girls, so not sure who was the expert there. Then again, I think the sister liked girls, and that assassin was damn girlish, though he did talk about his manparts an awful lot."

"The Commander and the king? She really is quite secretive, that one," Anders glanced in the direction of the kitchen, but she had either slipped by or was still in there, hiding.

"She's a good fighter, and a good woman, that's all that matters. The rest is just sugar-coated nonsense."

"Even the part about my father?"

"Well no," Oghren said suspiciously. "She did kill 'im, but that man needed killin'," he said more confidently, and narrowed his gaze at Nathaniel. "He liked torturin' folk for sport, your old man. Moved a bed into the room right above the dungeons, probably so 'e could hear the screams and let them sing 'im to sleep. I wouldn't lose sleep o'er him. I know he was your pa an' all, but he was bad business. I'm tellin' you this so you don't go botherin' her about it. She's done a lot of things she didn't like to do because it needed doin', so don't go harpin' on her about the things that needed to be done," he warned. Then he got up from the bench. "I gotta take a piss," he informed them, and ambled off.

Anders was muttering something about pillow fights, but Nathaniel wasn't paying attention. This was three people now that had tried to tell him about his father – one who shared his blood, one he used to trust a great deal, and one total stranger. Such an assortment of people all having the same opinion…it unsettled him.

That night, after a day spent at the keep training and helping the dwarven mason and his crew, Nathaniel washed away the sweat and grime, and before he lay down to sleep, he pulled her letter out of its hiding place. He hadn't read it in nearly a year, but kept it with him all the same.

It still started the same as he remembered:

My beloved…