Thanks so much to mutive and Witchy Bee, for brainstorming and betas.

-o-

Anora sat at her desk in her study, searching desperately for a solution. There was nothing new under the sun, she reminded herself. This was something she knew as a student of history, and she thought that if she thumbed through enough books and records and personal accounts of similar situations, she would find a way to resolve the problem in the alienage.

She was trying not to think about her other problem.

Alistair's promises of fidelity might have been flattering if she could believe them at all. Of course he would think that way, fresh out of the gate like he was. Give him a year and he would be throwing himself at every pretty maid who batted their eyelashes at him. Anora sighed. He had taken to sleeping elsewhere again, and she had no idea what she was supposed to do next. It was all very confusing.

As if sensing her thoughts, Alistair appeared, plowing into her study and unsettling everything in his wake. His clothes were soaked in places and his skin was flushed and splotchy.

Anora cleared her throat. "You look a fright," she said, checking him over.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I was just sparring with Ser Horace." He peered at her desk, and Anora covered her papers with her hands; there was nothing private in them, but it was a nervous habit. Alistair looked up at her face. "I was on my way to wash up, saw the light, and I realized I hadn't said 'hello' to you today. I thought I should." He coughed. "So... hello."

"Hello," she returned, relaxing a little. Despite his slipshod appearance, it was something of a relief to see him. At least he wasn't hiding.

"What are you working on?" he asked.

"I'm researching the alienage," she told him. "The situation there has gotten much worse. Between Vaughan, and the plague, and the... slaves." Thinking about the elven slaves made her think about the man who had arranged for their enslavement, and the way it felt to watch her father spiral out of control. Anora lost her train of thought.

Alistair leaned towards her and squeezed her shoulder. She closed her eyes and shook it off. "It's proving impossible to get them all back from Tevinter," she said, "and that news will not go over well. I'm trying to find a way to handle it."

The King seemed concerned. "Did you want any help?" he asked.

"Not at the moment," she said, "but I suppose I will want you there to talk to them, when the time comes. Valendrian is grooming a young woman to replace him, and she is rumored to be quite abrasive." Anora gave him a quick smile. "You can use that charm I keep hearing you have."

Alistair nodded. "Shianni," he said, grinning. "Yep. You're going to need me."

Anora regarded the ceiling. "King Alistair, tamer of disagreeable females."

"I'm not sure if you're complimenting me," he said, "or introducing me at a very interesting circus."

"It's a compliment. Don't let it go to your head."

"Okay." Alistair turned his hand over and started picking at his fingernails. "I know I've been rather self absorbed and annoying lately. It's one of my less flattering stages of grief. The love of my life, who never really loved me, died very tragically whilst saving the world without me, and I have not been coping so well." He exhaled heavily. "I'm sorry."

Anora sighed. "Well, I suppose I have goaded you a bit, too," she said. "I've been in a mood, and I apologize." She thumbed through her papers. "If you're going to stay, please sit down. You're making me nervous."

Alistair's smile reached his eyes. He took the invitation, and pulled a chair up opposite her. She watched him settle against the back, straining the spindles. "Maybe we should talk to Eamon about the elves," he suggested. "There's no alienage in Redcliffe, you know. Everybody just lives together and they all get along like peaches and cream."

Anora offered him a handkerchief, and he began to dab the sweat from his forehead. "I'm sure it's perfectly lovely," she said, "but it's not nearly as large as Denerim. Can we leave Eamon out of this, please?"

"You don't like him much, do you?"

"He tried to have me deposed, Alistair, so no, I don't like him at all. Imagine that." Anora rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers. She did not appreciate the way Eamon was always hanging around the King, trying get his hands into her affairs. She scowled at her husband. "What I don't understand is why you are so in love with him. Didn't he ship you off to the Chantry when you were ten?"

"Yes. He took care of me for ten whole years." Alistair shrugged. "That is a lot of time to give to the child of your sister's husband's mistress."

"Mmm. It is quite a long time to spend sleeping in the stables like a goat, and playing pageboy to his very irritating wife, who on occasion had you braid her hair." She smirked. "Anyone would be grateful."

Alistair's eyes widened. "How did you...?"

Anora smiled. "I have my sources," she said.

He spread his hands, as if none of that were particularly humiliating. Anora realized he was much more forgiving than she could ever be, which could have been sweet if it wasn't so inconvenient. She shook her head. "Why couldn't you have Teagan as your advisor?" she asked. "At least he's pleasant company."

To her bewilderment, Alistair burst out laughing. He placed his hands over his heart and jerked, as if shot, and said, "You too, eh? Oof. That hurts."

She stared at him blankly. He grinned and said, "Leliana and Nya were always giggling about how pleasant Teagan was. And charming. And dashing." Alistair rolled his eyes and affected what Anora assumed was his best Orlesian falsetto. "And izn't it wonderful how he iz protecting zhe village from zombies? Oh, I wish to kiss zhe sweet apples of hiz cheeks and rip off all hiz poncey clothes."

Despite her best efforts, Anora felt a blush burning her face. "I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about," she demurred.

"Don't worry, dear. I won't have you hanged." Alistair laughed. "It's actually kind of cute." He smiled knowingly and said, "We all have our fantasies."

Anora shifted back in her chair. She didn't think she was ready to hear about his fantasies.

Alistair wilted. "I didn't mean..."

"No, of course not."

She watched him run his hand through his hair. It was especially disheveled from his previous exertions, and pieces of it stuck together under his fingers.

"Where do we go from here?" he asked. Anora frowned, confused. He swallowed nervously and continued. "Now that the whole consummation thing's been accomplished. Do we... I mean, did you have a specific quantity in mind, or something?"

Anora stared at him, her mouth half open in quiet horror. "No," she managed, after a while. "I don't have a sex quota."

"Maker. I-I shouldn't have said that. It's just that I...well, you did say some things to me that...never mind." Alistair sunk in his chair, blushing so furiously that she thought he might burst into flames. "I meant to say that none is a perfectly appropriate amount, if that's what you'd like. You know I didn't actually, um..."

"...want to have sex with me?"

"Yes. I mean, no. Ugh." Alistair buried his face in his hands. "I am an idiot and I should not be allowed to talk to sentient beings."

Anora folded her arms over her chest. "You really should take a bath, Alistair," she said evenly. "You smell awful."

Alistair bit his lip. "That's...yes," he said. "I'll go...bathe...now." He looked at her, withering. "I'm really sorry. I don't understand how this is supposed to work."

"Good night, your Majesty." She returned to her papers as he shuffled out of the room.

Anora sighed. No amount of research was going to solve this problem, she realized. Her father had sold forty-five elves into slavery, and despite her tireless efforts, seventeen were lost forever to the Imperium. The best spin in the world could not cushion that blow, and coming from her, his daughter, it would be even worse.

It would be easier to hear these things from Alistair. He was a hero who had helped save their elder; he was someone they knew they could trust. Anora dropped her head to her desk. Maybe they should hash out a script first, just to be safe.

-o-

"Am I doing this right?"

Alistair's voice broke into her thoughts, and Anora shook herself and looked at her husband. "No," she said, evaluating him. "You have to hold your heels lower, and keep your back straighter. Hands just above the saddle horn. No, here." She shook her hands a little, showing him where to hold them. He still didn't quite hit it, and she furrowed her brow. "Captain Thunderhooves is walking all over you. You must learn to be more confident with him."

"Which is why I asked you to teach me." He gave her a sidelong glance as he adjusted his position in the saddle. "It wouldn't hurt if you paid a little more attention."

"I'm sorry, Alistair. You have caught me distracted."

Alistair looked back at the honor guard that followed close behind them. "I can ask Ser Horace to teach me instead, if you'd prefer," he suggested. "He and I are chums now."

Anora huffed. "I said I'd do it." Captain Thunderhooves tossed his head and nickered. Belezza answered back to him, and she patted her mare on the neck. She looked him over. "That's better," she said.

"Where did you go?" Alistair asked.

"I was just thinking about the dwarves," she told him. "King Bhelen has petitioned for deeper trade agreements, which I support, but the man is hard to trust."

Alistair nodded. "I told Nya not to pick him," he said. "Anyone can see Bhelen is a bad sort. He's cutthroat, and devious, and he will do anything for power." Alistair caught Anora's eyes and grinned. "He's not nearly as pretty as you are, though."

Anora laughed. "I have never killed my own brother," she said.

"Well, you didn't really have the chance, now did you?"

Anora huffed. "Did you want to try trotting again?"

"No! Are you kidding?" Alistair laughed, and Nya's mabari answered him with a bark, racing around his horse's legs. "Posting is impossible. I have no rhythm, Anora. Please don't ever ask me to dance."

"I would never presume, your Majesty."

Alistair laughed again. "Such a traditionalist." Then his head dropped suddenly. With a tug of the reins, his warhorse went eerily still. Alistair's eyes narrowed and she thought she saw him shiver.

"Darkspawn," he said, under his breath.

Anora pulled Bellezza to a halt. "You've lost me. What about them?"

The hair stood up along Pain's back, as the dog planted his feet and began to bark into the trees. Anora drew a sharp breath. "What, here?" It didn't seem possible, not in their private sanctuary. "Are you serious?"

"Mm-hmm. Looks weird on me, doesn't it?" Anora felt the world spinning away from her as Alistair sat there and quipped. He wrinkled his nose, listening to the hum of his blood. "Just two of them. No, three." He looked over his shoulder at his guards and waved, shouting, "We've got company. Form up around the Queen."

Alistair handed her his reins and slid off his horse, tumbling to the ground. Anora heard a bloodcurdling howl, and her mare tossed her head and danced nervously. Her heart began to hammer in her chest. She thought of Cailan, and Cailan's ogre, and how it felt when she first saw Alistair in Cailan's armor at the Landsmeet. Her mouth went dry. She could never bring herself to ask how exactly that armor had been separated from her husband's body.

She could hear grunting then, and the cracking of tree branches as the monsters drew closer. The mounted guards surrounded them, swords drawn, pressing close around her. Her eyes widened as she looked down at Alistair, who had caught his balance and was peering into the trees.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice drawn tight.

"You can't expect me to fight on horseback," Alistair said, as he looked back at her with a raised eyebrow. "I can barely stay on when we're just walking."

She shook her head quickly. "Alistair. I don't expect you to fight at all. That's what the guards are for."

"But I'm..." When he gestured at one of the guards, the soldier handed him his shield and Alistair slung it over his arm. "Darkspawn blood is poisonous," he said. "These men could be driven mad if they touch it."

"Whereas you've already arrived at madness, so you're safe?"

A matched pair of human-sized darkspawn broke into the clearing, shuffling as they ran towards them. A shorter creature with broad shoulders followed close behind. They were the most horrible things that Anora had ever seen, by a considerable margin. She caught her breath and stared at her husband, who was grinning his stupid grin.

"Whereas I'm already tainted, so I'm immune. Remember?" He drew the Keening Blade, and it shrieked it's mournful cry. "Anyway, it's just three of them." He looked at Ser Horace and said, "Make sure she's protected. I'll be right back." He swept the sword around his head in a wide arc, the blade crying horribly, and charged towards the monsters. Pain raced after him, barking.

"Don't worry, your Majesty," Ser Horace said, pulling up beside her. "You're quite safe."

Anora glared at him. "I can see that," she snapped. "Can some of you please guard the King?" His blank look told her that he was not going to defy Alistair's orders, so she huffed and said, "Fine. Let's all just sit here and twiddle our thumbs." She bit her lip.

Cailan had never been much of a fighter. He'd had the very best training, of course, by master swordsmen and hunters and even Loghain, but he never quite had the knack of it. It was strange, given his lineage, but Anora knew it to be true. She could occasionally best him in a duel herself, and fencing was not a sport she ever took seriously.

Alistair was not Cailan. This was never more apparent than it was in that moment, as she watched him engage the two taller assailants with a grace she didn't know he had. Alistair left Pain to tackle the shorter one as he caught the blade of one darkspawn on his shield, then sunk his sword into the belly of the other one. As the darkspawn folded over him, he pulled his blade free, then spun on his heel and neatly decapitated the other one. They both fell to the ground. The mabari moved aside and allowed the King to skewer the third. His sword mewled and brayed.

Ser Horace shrugged. "I think he's got them."

"Yes," she allowed.

It should not have surprised her, of course— Alistair had to be competent at something to have survived as long as he had— but it still made her breath hitch. His swordplay was all muscle memory, a resonant dance of sword and shield, and she grudgingly admired it.

"Anyone got a match?" he shouted back at the guards, as he kicked one of the bodies experimentally with his toe. "We need to burn these."

Two of the guards broke rank to dispose of the bodies, and Alistair handed his shield off to one of them as he walked back to her. She watched him as he stepped up to his horse, sheathing his sword in a well-practiced motion. It wailed as it disappeared inside its scabbard. Then he clambered back onto his horse with much less skill and smiled at her.

Anora scowled. There were a lot of things she wanted to say to him, most of them cutting, but she had trouble picking one. "I hate that sword," she said eventually.

"Shh, she'll hear you." He placed a protective hand over the hilt of his weapon. Anora was still scowling at him, and his smile faded. "What's wrong?" he asked. "I'm fine, see? Not even a scratch."

He waited for her to answer, but Anora wasn't sure what was wrong. Although the threat had passed, her heart was still pounding, and she felt a knot in the center of her stomach. She didn't know if it was fear or anger or something else. Her eyes narrowed as she decided it was anger.

"Why are there darkspawn in the forest?" Alistair blinked as she glared at him accusingly. "I thought the Blight was over. We shouldn't have to worry about this sort of thing anymore."

His gelding whinnied and pulled back from her, and Alistair struggled to get him under control again. He clucked to him and patted his neck. When the horse had settled, Alistair looked back at her, frowning. "The Archdemon is dead, so they're disorganized," he said, "but that doesn't mean they just disappear overnight." He nudged his horse with his heels, and Captain Thunderhooves shook his head and plodded forward. The guards circled around them uneasily, and Anora's mare fell in beside him.

After a few paces, Alistair added, "There were just two of us, you remember, we didn't have the resources to rout them all." He stared at her in silence, reminding her why there were just two of them.

She flicked her reins and ignored the implication. "The Wardens don't actually have a Commander right now, do they?"

"I guess they don't. Obviously they should." He shrugged and said, "Weisshaupt will have to appoint an Orlesian."

No. Anora had been raised, from the very moment of her birth, on a strict diet of Don't trust Orlesians. Not ever. The Orlesians will kill your father and rape your mother. They will tax you to death, strip you of your lands and your titles, and force you to accept their cruel dominion with threats of death and torture. They will take over your palace and redecorate it in froufrou gold curlicues. Her father had been furious that she'd retained an Orlesian servant; she couldn't imagine what he would say if he knew they might put an Orlesian in charge of an Arling.

"It can't be an Orlesian," she said. "I understand we need Orlesian Wardens, but we can't have an Orlesian Commander. Not in Ferelden, and definitely not in Amaranthine. No."

Alistair frowned. "We don't really have another option," he replied. "Unless you want me to go to Vigil's Keep and take command."

Anora looked at him, and for a moment she considered the possibility, but she realized it was not the answer. She sighed.

"No," she said. "It has to be an Orlesian. You're right." She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stem the surge of disgust rising up her throat at the thought of an Orlesian in charge of Amaranthine, again.

He pulled on his right rein to turn his horse around, heading home. She was glad to see that he'd had enough excitement, and turned her horse to follow him.

"I can take care of that myself," Alistair offered. "Correspond with the Order about the new Warden-Commander and meet him when he shows up. This is right up my very narrow alley."

"Yes. You can take this one." When he looked surprised, she laughed. "Alistair, if I couldn't defer to you on Grey Warden matters, at the very least, then you might as well abdicate in favor of Captain Thunderhooves, because I'm not sure what I might ever ask of you."

Alistair laughed back. "Well, he's quite the diplomat, you'd be surprised." He smiled at her. "You can also ask me about any Templar issues, since I was almost one of those," he suggested, with a twirl of his hand. "I'm also collector of magical artifacts and a connoisseur of fine cheeses." He smiled broadly. "My areas of expertise are curious and varied."

"I doubt we'll have any cheese emergencies," she said, watching him, "but I'll remember that you were a Templar. That might be useful."

The ride home was decidedly less eventful, and Anora's pulse slowly returned to normal. She looked at Alistair and wondered what it had been like to live in constant apprehension of attacks like that, from hordes of darkspawn and scores of unknown monsters and from her father, whom she knew to be fairly terrifying.

Alistair felt her eyes on him and looked at her. He was uncertain again, the confidence that battle gave him having fled. "What is it?" he asked. His hand flew to his face nervously, as if he thought he might have something in his teeth.

"I was just wondering if you were scared," she said. "At Ostagar."

His brow furrowed as she watched him walk through his memories. "Not really," he said eventually. "I was too young to know to be scared. And then after that, I was too busy." He shook his head. "It all happened so fast."

"I was very scared," she told him. Alistair watched her, his eyes soft. She pursed her lips, remembering. "When Cailan left, a part of me knew that he would never come home." Anora blew out a long breath. "I wonder if he was afraid at the end."

"He died bravely," Alistair said.

Anora shook her head. "He died foolishly," she said. "In my coldest moments, I think that my father made the right decision in abandoning him. I am solid Mac Tir, all the way through." She stared off into the trees. "Cailan should never have been on that battlefield. He should never have engaged the horde without sufficient reinforcements." Her voice grew quieter. "He should never have died like that."

She felt tears stinging her eyes, and blinked them back. Alistair pushed his horse dangerously close to hers, and Anora pulled her horse away.

-o-