A/N: Being sick sucks. Beyond the telling of it. So do forgive me if this installment is off, or weird…I'm a bit loopy because of the fever and meds…

Also…more smut! Yay! Except, it's more sweet, moving the story along smut than the previous rendition. None the less, if you want to read the full chapter WITH the smut, head over to my profile and find the "Heavy are the Hearts: the sumt chapter" fic and read to your heart's content. Otherwise, enjoy this smut-free rendition.

And so the tension in Denerim simmered through the remainder of autumn. Fear, anger, hatred, and ill thoughts spread across the city like a plague, blanketing the thatched roofs with an oppressive pall, leeching merriment from the every citizen within its walls.

True to her word, Shianni had led a squadron of armed guards into the Alienage and arrested six of Mortain's conspirators. The man himself, along with Simon and Sabine, were nowhere to be found, and those detained remained tight lipped when questioned about the trio's whereabouts. They were not the first prisoners of this make shift war between elves and humans, nor would they be the last. Over the course of the following weeks, more uprisings would be staged in the city and more and more elves would be brought to the castle's dungeon, charges of treason, assault, and murder read like a black prayer as they filed past the throne. Alistair and Elissa watched it all with dull eyes, their faces placid and calm, though inside Elissa could feel her guts twisting in shame and despair. Every day that passed with no word of Mortain, and more elves glaring at her with cold, unfeeling gazes, she felt as if she were slowly bleeding to death from a thousand tiny cuts. She was drowning, and despite her and Alistair's noble and frantic efforts to stem the tide of unrest, nothing seemed to pull them towards land.

Disbanding the elven guard had saved those men from being slaughtered at the hands of radicals, but housing them within the palace had Mortain's followers crying foul, accusing the crown of holding their citizens hostage to ensure obedience from the Alienage. Despite the outcry, Elissa refused to let them go, knowing that if she released them to their own devices, they would most assuredly meet their bloody end. No one was more grateful for her hard line stance on the matter than Ambrose. In between the moments of chaotic discord, Elissa had managed to find a few precious hours to spend with her dear friend and his elven lover. She had been surprised to find him reserved and thoughtful, quite the opposite of her charming and brash friend. Though as the minutes had ticked by, Torin had opened up and Elissa had caught quick glimpses of a quiet, yet thoroughly wicked, sense of humor. Throughout it all, Ambrose had gazed upon his lover with such adoration and wonder, Elissa could not help but feel secure in knowing that she had made the right choice. If nothing else, Elissa could give her friend the peace of mind that came with knowing his love was safe and protected. To the Void with accusations and lies thrown her way by crazed revolutionaries, if those remaining fourteen guardsmen lived to see another sunrise, she had done her job.

As her dungeons filled to capacity, the cells teeming with angry prisoners, Elissa felt a cold hand of unease settle over her, and for days she would find herself glancing over her shoulder, steeling herself for a blow that never seemed to come.

But come it would….

~oOo~

"I don't know how to feel about this, Alistair," Elissa sighed, hands resting lightly on the pommel of her saddle. Alistair brought his gelding to stop and turned to regard her with compassion filled eyes.

"I refuse to let you spend another afternoon pouring over reports and working yourself into exhaustion. You need this, Elissa," he said softly, but with a commanding edge. Earlier that morning Alistair had stolen her from her work, stuffed her into a woolen riding dress of deep emerald green, and thrown her atop a speckled grey mare. When she had sputtered her objections he had silenced her with a grin and finger wag, scolding her as if she were a child. Once she had ceased her theatrics he had pleasantly informed her that she would not be working that day, but instead would accompany him on a hunt in the royal wood. Elissa would have argued more forcibly if he had not, at that moment, gifted her with the most exquisite bow she had ever laid eyes on. It was carved from dragon bone, the ivory polished to a mirror shine. Creeping bands of scrollwork were etched along the surface, mapping out an intricate pattern that was too complex for her eyes to take in all at once. It was only when she spied her name; delicately worked into the widest part of the grip did she realize what the engraving betokened. It was a family tree of sorts, every inch of the magnificent weapon covered in the names of those who had come before her, written in the most flowery, detailed, script she had ever seen; each letter harkening the Cousland line back into generations long past. From the bottom recurve to the grip, Elissa could trace the history of her family with finger tips. Above her name was a two inch gap and then the beautiful lettering began anew, this time with Alistair's name and the long, distinguished Theirin line crawling to the top recurve.

"Alistair," she had breathed, wonder clear in her voice. Her husband had smiled and traced a finger gently over the blank space, waiting to be graced with a name.

"For our children," he supplied, "they complete it, and our two houses are one."

Elissa had swallowed hard, placing a hand unconsciously over her abdomen. Since the night of the tourney, they had not laid together as a couple, though it was not from lack of wanting. Despite his lewd banter and knowing looks, Alistair had remained a perfect gentleman behind closed doors, giving her easy, soft kisses that left her wanting more and warmed her blood. Each night he would pull her close, ask her questions about her life and hold her as they drifted off to sleep, and every morning she would wake to find herself still wrapped in her husband's embrace. She wasn't sure what kept the two of them from carnal relations, but she could sense something hidden behind Alistair's eyes, a secret that hovered on the edge of their blossoming marriage, and she suspected that whatever information she was agonizing over was the reason for their chaste interactions. Elissa cherished the burgeoning relationship, but her body ached for more. And with her courses having come and gone the previous week, the mention of children brought the idea of such couplings to the forefront of her mind.

And so the pair had ridden into the royal wood, a contingent of guards trailing behind. Alistair had been merry, sending his dogs into the underbrush to flush out game. Elissa had watched it all, letting fly a few arrows from her miraculous bow, bringing down a plump pheasant neatly; but it all felt hollow. She felt guilty and selfish to be enjoying the last days of autumn, in all her court finery, holding a bow that she couldn't even fathom a price for, while her citizens wasted away in dungeons and revolted openly in the streets.

"I am not exhausted," she said at length, replying to Alistair's accusation; though her voice was steady, the dark circles under her eyes gave away the lie in her words. Alistair raised an eyebrow in disbelief and snorted.

"Last night I came to fetch you for bed and found you asleep on your desk…drooling."

"I do not drool!" she gasped in outrage and wheeled her mount away from him. Alistair laughed and followed easily behind.

"Oh, but you do. And what's more, you snore," he teased, "who knew such a highborn lady could act so common?" Elissa turned in her saddle and flicked her reins at him. Alistair startled at the sting and grinned. "Oh is that how it's going to be?" He snapped his own reins back at her and she shied away, her mare dancing below her.

"You'll have to be faster than that, my king," she taunted, before setting her heals against her mount and setting off into the trees. Alistair laughed before giving chase, leaving the stunned guards behind to scramble after. The couple crashed through the thick cover of braches and leaves, cutting a path through the wood with breathless laughter. Elissa managed to stay ahead of her husband, a determined smile painted on her lips. Alistair was a far better horseman than she at first suspected, but she had been riding since before she could walk, and she navigated the treacherous ground with ease. Her mare shied when she approached a stream and she quickly brought the animal to halt, sliding from the saddle to land in the water with a cooling splash.

Skirts hiked up to her knees she daintily crossed the waterway and just as she reached the bank, she heard an answering splash from behind her. Alistair grinned at her as she lumbered his way through the stream and Elissa shrieked in mock surprise before darting into the tree line once more. For the next ten minutes Alistair gave chase, the two sneaking through the cover of leaves and trunks seeking to outwit one another. Just as Elissa was creeping silently past an ancient willow tree, a pair of hands darted out from beneath the curtain of the branches and pulled her beneath the canopy. She laughed breathlessly as Alistair pressed her to the trunk of the great tree, a grin of triumph painted upon his features. The pair struggled to slow their panting, but in the space of one breath and the next, a delicious sort of tension filled the air between them.

"Elissa..." Alistair breathed, hands flexing on her shoulders. She supplied no answer but ran her fingers up the silk of his doublet, eyes locked with his. Outside the privacy of the willow tree, birds chirped a warning of the coming guard, but neither noticed. Ever so slowly Elissa twined her hands into Alistair's perpetually messy hair and pulled him closer, chest going tight with every inch that disappeared. When at last their lips met, tentative and gentle, she felt a dam break inside her and she moaned softly. With that one noise, the tension exploded and the two grasped desperately at each other; mouths hungrily fused. Hands tore at fabric that caged flesh and Elissa gasped when Alistair popped the buttons from her ridding coat so as to snake a hand inside to grip at her waist.

"Alistair, please…" she whispered, arching into him, "I need you."

"Elissa, wait-" he ground out, the words mumbled between misses.

"No wait," she muttered, pulling his head to her neck.

"Please…I have to-before…you need to know…I made a promise-" he groaned against her skin, voice seeking control, though his hands continued to rove over her body.

"Your Majesty!" a voice called out and a guardsman stumbled into the canopy of the tree. Alistair whirled about and pressed Elissa against his back, shielding her disheveled state from view.

"You better have a damned good explanation for this," he growled.

"Begging your pardon," the guard said, eyes downcast, "but we just got word: the market is on fire."

Elissa stifled a gasp against her husband's back and she felt Alistair tense at the news.

"Fetch our horses, we'll leave at once," Alistair commanded before turning back to his wife. The guard bowed quickly and left the two of them alone once more. Neither said a word, but gazed at each other with a twisted sense of foreboding and desire. Eventually Elissa regained herself and began to fumble at her ruined buttons. Alistair helped her as much as he could, and between the two of them they managed to close the ruined panel enough to hide her corset from view. The sounds of hooves pawing the ground brought them out from the haven of the willow tree and the pair climbed into the saddle, mouths grim, as the rode out to witness the devastation.

~oOo~

It was worse than she thought. When she and Alistair had arrived at the city gates, an army of soldiers and guardsmen had instantly surrounded them, refusing them entrance until the flames had abated. The smell of ashes and burnt embers engulfed her senses and she could taste the acrid scent of burning flesh on the back of her tongue. Hours passed as the flames licked at the sky, painting the horizon a vicious red. It was only when the sun had set, had the catastrophe been contained and the royal pair deemed safe to enter Denerim once more.

As soon as they were safely behind palace walls, Eamon met them with the grim report. A group of drunken, angry, sailors had entered the Alienage and expressed their displeasure with recent events by vandalizing a number of homes, smearing feces and mud across doorways, leaving stinking slurs blazoned on the roofs in tar and muck. A group of Mortain's followers had struck back, stalking the soldier's responsible into the Gnawed Noble Tavern and demanding they pay for their crime in blood. The soldiers were only too happy to oblige, and so the fight began. Whether it was intentional, or sheer dumb luck, an elf had stumbled into the fire place and kicked a burning log free. Within minutes the place was engulfed in flames, and the rest of the market followed suit soon after.

Elissa listened to the death and injury tolls being read and felt herself grow sick. Over fifty dead, hundreds more injured, and twenty five not expected to survive the night. It was too much and Elissa fled the throne room, racing towards the stables. She had to see, to know for certain whether the numbers were right. It felt too large, too great, and she was sure that once she walked the width and breadth of the market square that she would find a different story. Alistair called after her, but she paid him no heed.

When at last she reached the stables she snapped for the guards stationed nearby to attended her and leapt into the saddle of the nearest readied horse. Not bothering to see if her commanded was followed she set her heels into the horse's flanks and sped towards the castle gates, the scent of smoke growing more oppressive with every foot.

Elissa was amazed by the sheer devastation of it. Burnt out husks of once sturdy structures crumbled into ash before her eyes. Moans of the injured washed through the streets and everywhere she turned she encountered piles of bloody, twisted bodies: victims of the fire and the madness between two races.

Having seen more than she needed, she silently turned her horse and headed home, a confused guard trailing behind her. On the slow journey back to the castle, she felt her heart break for those charred corpses that littered her streets. So many lives reduced to nothing but causalities in the power play between Mortain and the crown. It hurt her, deep down, in a place she did not know existed, and a part of her knew that nothing would ever be the same.

When she wearily made her way to the royal bed chamber, heart heavy and broken, she stared hard at the door for many moments. At last she pushed it open to reveal Alistair standing before the fireplace, a missive clutched in his hand.

"Alistair…" she intoned, voice empty of anything but sorrow. He jumped at her voice and dropped the missive to the ground. Idly, Elissa watched the paper flutter to a landing, but she found she could not bring herself to care overly much about what was written upon it.

"Elissa…Maker, I was worried about you. Don't ever go riding off like that again!" he whispered, crossing the distance and pulling her close. When he angled to pull away she caught his face in her hands and pulled him in for a kiss. It not an act of passion, or desire…it was not an overture at all, in fact, but a request, a beseeching for him to comfort her in the most basic way possible that evening.

"Elissa…" he protested against her lips and she silenced him with a shake of her head.

"Please…it's too much, and I need to not be a Queen. Just for this evening, can I not bear the weight of a crown? Can I forget about Mortain and the death that is his namesake? Can I just be a woman this night, and you a man, and all the secrets and duties in the world melt away until it is nothing but this and us?" she pleaded, voice breaking towards the end. Elissa could see the moment his resolved shattered and she sighed in gratitude as he swept her into his arms, muscles bunching beneath her weight.

Ever so gently he laid her atop the bed, feathering kisses across her face as he eased his weight atop her. Elissa responded with a fierce sort of need, a desire to wash the feel of death and ashes from her skin and replace them with the feel of his hands on her flesh, baptizing her anew with his touch.

It was different this time, gentler, softer, but just as dangerous for what it betokened. With a kind of reverence Alistair took her, wringing every last tear and drop of pain from her soul before bringing her a release so complete and cleansing she felt at last they quieted Elissa placed a trembling kiss upon Alistair's brow, hands shaking as she cradled his face.

"Thank you," she whispered, and he pulled her close in response. How long they lay there, wrapped in one another's embrace, it was not known, but neither dared move and break the fragile spell that had woven between them. They both knew that something had forever shifted between them, and neither were sure they could deal with the realities of what that meant…nor was either one eager to give it voice, each for their own reasons. This had been different than mere carnal relations…this had been shared, intimate..something sacred.

Alistair at last stirred, having to attend to human necessities. Elissa waited until her was behind the closed door of the bathing chamber before stiffly climbing from the bed and crossing to the armoire, intent on finding a dressing gown to chase away the night chill. Upon her return to the bed, she stepped upon something that crinkled under foot and she peered down at the stones, finding Alistair's disregarded missive upon the floor. Quietly she bent down to retrieve it and turned to place it upon her husband's desk. She stopped in her tracks when she spied a name that still sent shivers of inadequacy through her: Harlow.

Despite her better judgment, Elissa began to read, and felt the calm she achieved only minutes before evaporate.

My dearest Bastard King,

First, may I say, congratulations on your recent nuptials, my friend. I would have sent our tidings sooner, but, as always, complication arose. Such is life, yes?

Alistair…are you aware that your life is once more in danger, mi amigo? Just last week I was approached by a band of elves, seeking mercenaries amongst their race to topple the Theirin throne. I must admit, the idea did appeal to me, though Harlow smack me for even entertaining such a thing. Instead she insisted I ride to your rescue once more. What is it you are doing, I wonder, that causes such frequent desire for your demise?

You shall expect me in a week's time, my friend, if my timing of this letter is accurate. Fear not, Harlow will not be accompanying me. Even if she desired to, I would balk at such thing…the more time and distance between the two of you is all to the better in my eyes. Oh yes, she told me of your promise…your noble calling and the decades that separate your reunion. Fear not, Alistair, I only contemplated slitting your throat for a mere day before I came to terms with the arrangement. Having better understood what you Wardens sacrifice, it is something I can accept with grace. When weighed against the years I shall have with her, I can not begrudge you a few weeks.

I shall see you soon, my friend. Until then…do try to stay alive.

-Zevran A.

"Elissa?" Alistair voiced asked quietly, dragging her from her reverie. She snapped her head up and swallowed hard, eyes flicking back to the missive.

"What is this, Alistair?" she asked, voice impassive as the implications of what she just uncovered upended her world. Alistair said nothing but sighed, and Elissa knew in that moment that despite what she had come to believe, Harlow Tabris' presence still weighed heavily on her marriage and her heart.