A/N: Okay, a bit of a long one, but I feel that this all needed to be put in one installment. AND, as a special treat to the awesome mandymc, one of my first and most loyal readers, I give you….ZEVRAN! Ah how we love the sexy elf.

Elissa stared at the scraps of parchment laid before her and wanted to cry from sheer frustration. Upon every missive was a name, a date, and a crime, the most common among them being treason. She had forced herself to come below the castle, into the murky dark that was the dungeon, and begin the slow and tortuous process of assigning trial dates to her many prisoners. It would not have been her first choice of activities to while away the morning hours, but considering she was still out running her emotions, she figured she may as well do something productive with her time in the last place her husband would think to find her.

It had been a week since the royal couple had discussed the painful secret that lay between them, and Elissa was still no closer to finding a resolution to the matter. She missed Alistair fiercely, with an ache that would spread through her bones and carry her towards their bed chamber before she realized what she was doing. But despite the longing that seemed to burst from her, she would force herself to turn away from the door and return to her quiet contemplation. She could not shake the fact that Harlow Tabris would never leave their marriage, her presence growing larger and more oppressive with everyday that brought them closer to Alistair's calling. Elissa had tortured herself with questions over the past week, wondering if Alistair looked upon the future with excitement, knowing that he would once more be reunited with Harlow, free to finally love her in whatever way he wanted. Or did he look upon it with trepidation, considering how greatly their lives had changed in three short months? The question she kept circling back to was one that kept her tethered to the castle, to him…would Alistair feel despair and heartache to leave her behind? Elissa could not help but think, hope, that he would, that somehow she had managed to truly capture his heart. His almost declaration of love was a talisman that she held to as she tried to determine if she could live with a promise made long before her marriage.

Elissa shook her head and cleared her mind of such thoughts and forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Sighing wearily she picked up a random scrap of parchment and peered at the words.

"I'm confused as to why you are the one to sort through all this," Ambrose chirped from his position in the corner. Elissa frowned as she began sorting the reports into piles.

"Because I am the Queen," she replied absently.

"And as the Queen you have an army of servants and stewards at your disposal to deal with such unpleasant business. Why not track down one of the help and you and I sneak out to the practice yard?"

"You talk of 'the help' as if you do not belong to their ranks," Elissa muttered wryly, throwing him an exasperated look over her shoulder. Ambrose laughed and pushed away from the wall.

"My dear queen, I am far too pretty to be considered 'help.' Now come," he whined, dropping to one knee beside the table, "let's leave this sordid business to someone better equipped to deal with it and go have some fun. You've been in such low spirits as of late."

"Do not trouble yourself with my state of spirits," she said dismissively, "and while I am aware that I could very easily pass this duty to someone else, I feel the need to oversee this disaster. These elves seek to overthrow my crown due to a myriad of slights, both real and imagined, they believe my husband and myself have done them. I would be a cold and cruel ruler indeed if I did not at least hear their pleas with my own ears." Ambrose sighed and rose, clearly hoping for a different answer. Elissa smiled softly and leaned back in her chair. "Oh, just go will you. I clearly won't get any work done with you sulking about and pouting."

"And leave you in the dungeon with no guard?" Ambrose snorted, "yes, I'm sure you husband would be just absolutely thrilled at that decision."

"Alistair is in no position to be passing judgment on my decisions," Elissa said softly and went back to sorting papers.

"Do I detect a note of bitterness? Has the royal couple succumbed to their first bedroom brawl?" Ambrose teased.

"Oh, Ambrose, you are so incredibly naive," Elissa snapped, rounding on her friend, "You think my melancholy is due to the fact that my husband and I have argued for the first time in our marriage? At best this is the fiftieth time such a thing has occurred. Think what you like, but Alistair and I have danced the steps of marital discord long before this particular instance."

Ambrose stood calmly before her tirade and waited for her to calm, arms crossed over his chest and head tilted to the side in contemplation.

"And yet I have never seen you so thrown…so despite the number of rows you two have participated in this one clearly matters," he said calmly, waiting for an explanation. Elissa turned away, shamed at having lashed out at her friend. "Out with it, Elissa," Ambrose demanded gently, "why does this fight matter now?"

Elissa took a shaky breath and debated how much to tell before turning back to face the guardsman and beginning the long, sordid tale of her marriage. Once she began, she could not stop the words, and the story tumbled from her mouth like a river overflowing. She did not realize how very badly it affected her to keep it all bottled up, unable to share her struggles and emotions with anyone other than the person so intimately tied up with those very same struggles. Ambrose listened to it all, offering no interruptions and letting her rage and despair. When at last she had exhausted herself, and she collapsed back into her chair, feeling hollow and wrung out, did he at last deign himself to offer an opinion.

"That is biggest load of nugshit I have ever heard," he said derisively and Elissa started at the words.

"Excuse me?" she sputtered.

"So he made a promise, and promise that speaks to his chivalry a devotion, two traits that are highly prized in a husband. I fail to see why that should anger you so."

"Because she is still here!" Elissa cried, "This woman that holds my husband's heart is still floating all around me, laughing, knowing that even when this untimely death parts us she will still be with him!"

"And you, what? Wish it to be you? Do you truly wish to watch your husband journey into madness and decay and lay broken beneath the earth? Is that when you at last feel like you would have won?" Ambrose countered, pushing her to a realization.

"It's not about winning," she protested lamely.

"From everything you've ranted at me it sure as hell seems to be. You act as if this Harlow woman is hiding in the shadows, waiting for you to slip up so that she can steal your husband away. But she is not here, Elissa. She is on the other side of the country, with another man, and you are here, in this castle with Alistair," Ambrose prodded.

"But what happens twenty years from now? They may be separated for the time being but they will be reunited one day!"

"And do you wish to spend those twenty years running from the ghosts of lovers past, or do you wish to spend it as a wife in more than name?" Ambrose inquired, "You do care about the man in some, way, don't you?"

"I love him," Elissa confessed quietly, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Then stop acting as if you've already lost and start living for the man who clearly adores you right back," Ambrose replied gently, grasping her hands in his. Elissa gulped and let out a watery laugh, nodding her head rapidly.

"When did you become so wise in matters of the heart?" Elissa asked, trying to smile.

"Blame my paramour," he replied wryly, "Torin seems to have brought out the romantic in me. Who knew such a thing existed?"

Elissa and laughed and wrapped her arms around her friend, grateful for his presence and strength in that moment.

"Am I interrupting something?" a voice chirped from the doorway and the pair quickly turned to face the intruder. Elissa felt her heart constrict once more as her gaze landed on Shianni standing awkwardly in the threshold.

"No," she said quickly, pulling out a lace handkerchief from her corset and dabbing at her tear stained cheeks. "Please come in, Shianni."

"Are these the reports?" the elven Bann asked awkwardly. Elissa nodded and motioned for her to sit. Ambrose quietly slipped back to take up his position once more in the corner of the room and the two women quietly shuffled through papers as tension filled the space between them.

"How are you keeping?" Elissa asked once she could no longer bear the silence.

"Well enough," Shianni mumbled as she read over a particular missive. "Maker, how many are there?"

"Too many," came Elissa's grim reply as she leaned back in her chair and rubbed her hands over her face. Shianni grunted but said nothing further. Ambrose sighed from his post and pointedly cleared his throat. Elissa turned to him, an eyebrow quirked in question and Shianni hissed at him from between clenched teeth.

"This is the most appalling attempt at social interaction I have ever seen," the guard lamented, "Shianni? Don't you have something to say to Elissa?"

"Leave it alone, Ambrose," the elf warned and Elissa glanced curiously between the pair.

"You know how very persistent I can be, my dear, better to concede the battle now before it turns into a war," the man crooned in a sing song voice.

"I don't know how Torin puts up with you," Shianni grumbled, "he used to be such a sensible man."

"He puts up with me because I am debonair, amazing, and a thousand other magnificent things," Ambrose replied grandly, "and unless you speak up now, you know that you'll be on the receiving end of one of his 'sensible' tongue lashings."

"What is going on? Someone please enlighten me," Elissa sighed in frustration. Shianni shot one more glare at the guardsman before looking down once more at the missives.

"It has been brought to my attention, that I owe you an apology," she muttered pragmatically, "I'm not very good at them, so it won't take long. You were right to send me to oversee the arrests in the Alienage. I am a member of the court now and it is my responsibility to keep my people in line. Apparently I haven't been doing a good job of that."

"That's putting it mildly," Ambrose muttered.

"Shut. Up," Shianni ground out before turning her attention once more to Elissa, "I was wrong to paint you as a tyrant. I can see now that you and Alistair were trying to keep a lid on this clusterfuck of a problem and my attitude was not helping…at all. So…I'm sorry."

"Thank you," Elissa said sincerely, reaching a hand out to grasp the elven woman about the wrist.

"I'm still mad at you for the 'knife ear' comment," Shianni said hurriedly and Elissa sighed.

"Of course you are, I would be surprised if you weren't. But I hope that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me for such an insult, and we can at least try to be friends once more," Elissa said carefully.

"Well, I don't relish the idea of awkward encounters in the castle hallways lasting for eternity," Shianni mumbled, "given time I'm sure I can come up with something you can do to make up for it."

"Oh joy," Elissa said wryly and felt her heart swell when she caught the barest glimpse of a smile curling at the edges of Shianni's mouth. The two said no more but continued on with their work until at last the last prison record had been sorted.

"What is to become of all of them?" Shianni asked once finished.

"I suspect most will be treated with leniency," Elissa said wearily, "having done nothing more than participate in uprises that annoyed and provoked tempers…but others…Shianni, I am sorry, others have outright committed treason and the crown cannot let that stand. I'm sorry to say a handful will more than likely be put to death."

The elven woman simply nodded, offering no argument or opinion, and Elissa marveled at this new side of the Bann. She had most certainly expected a blow up, a torrent of angry words and accusations, and Elissa had no idea how to respond to this quiet acceptance.

"I'm grateful for your help with this…if you are not opposed to it, I would like you to attend the trials. It would give you an opportunity to plead for clemency in those cases you feel strongly about," Elissa offered.

"I'll have to check my social calendar," Shianni said haughtily, "I've become quite popular since that horrible tourney you threw. I have lordlings sending me missives daily begging me to join them for hunts, or picnics, or other ridiculous things."

"I knew you would turn the court upside down if you tried just a little," Elissa said with a smile. Shianni shook her head with a faint grin and opened her mouth to respond but was cut short at the sound of a muffled cry coming from the other side of the door. The women looked at each other in curiosity before making a move towards the threshold.

"No!" Ambrose ordered, drawing his long sword from his back and stepping before them. "You two…stay back. Let me."

Elissa and Shianni complied and moved to the back of the room, a sense of dread settling over them. The queen gripped the Bann's hand in hers, certain that whatever was on the other side of that door most assuredly did not bode well for them. Ambrose crept slowly towards the threshold and quietly grasped the knob. Before he could even twist, the door crashed inward, throwing him against the wall and Elissa let out a shrill and terrified scream.

~oOo~

Alistair stared numbly at the increasingly bare branches of the royal garden and reached out to brush a few scattered petals from the once great clematis vine . As he watched the soft white flowers flutter to the cold ground, he was reminded of Elissa's wild hair, tangled with blossoms, as she curtsied low to him upon their first meeting. He remembered how he had been struck by her beauty, almost angry at how lovely she was, as if her appearance was an affront to the memory of Harlow. Her strength and force of will had been evident then too, etched into every bone of her body and tolling with every syllable of her voice. How he had despised her in that moment, and how me missed her in this one. Somehow, over the course of a season, he had found himself intoxicated with the woman, and her absence from his day to day life struck him deep. It had been a week since what he had come to call "the night of revelations" and Elissa still had yet to come to him in the dark of night, slip between the sheets of their great bed, and press her body to his. Every night he lay awake in the quiet of their room, willing himself to remain conscious for as long as possible so as not to miss her arrival, and every night, as dawn crept through his window, he found himself alone and yearning for the brush of mahogany hair against skin, and a tart and beguiling voice whispering his name like a homecoming.

It was not to say that he had been completely without her presence. Despite the turmoil in their marriage, matters of state and court still played out before their eyes, and the pair presented a united before the nation and nobility. Alistair had come to treasure these few moments of pretend and take as much liberties available to him. The members of court had come to expect a certain level of affection between the monarchs, mostly due to Elissa's actions during their brief engagement, and Alistair was only too willing to keep up the façade. The hour a day the couple held court was the only time in which he found he could adequately express his devotion to his wife, not in words, but actions. Every brush of his lips against her knuckles was an apology writ on her skin. Every twine of his fingers through hers was a pleading for her to come back to him. And every desperate, all too brief kiss was a thousand declarations of love whispered in her ear. Elissa would tense slightly during these displays, and such an action would have had him wallowing in despair, had it not been for the longing that would flash through her dark and fathomless eyes. Despite whatever misgivings she had about the calling, Alistair knew a part of her was missing him just as desperately as he was missing her.

"How long do you plan on twiddling your thumbs out here in the cold, my dearest bastard?" an amused and accented voice asked from over his shoulder. Alistair groaned and wearily turned to face the bearer.

"However long I damn well please, Zev," he groused, eyes taking in the smirking elf who leaned against an ivy wrapped pillar, arms crossed about his chest.

"Perhaps you will perish of the chill and save the uppity elves the bother of dispatching you themselves, yes?"

"Do you ever get tired of listening to yourself talk?" Alistair inquired with curiosity.

"How can I when my voice is such a treat to the senses?" Zevran replied with a smirk.

"I can see your time with Harlow has done nothing to reduce that massive annoyance you call a personality," Alistair said as he settled himself on a nearby bench.

"On the contrary, mi amico,our delightful Harlow has, in fact, encouraged my delightful antics," the assassin replied, though his voice was tight and controlled. Alistair raised a brow in confusion at the change in levity then chuckled sadly in realization.

"Relax, Zevran, I won't throttle you for mentioning her name, nor will I lapse into a weepy tantrum at the reminder that she is very much yours and no longer mine."

"I doubt our fair Harlow is anyone's, my friend, but I thank you for the assurance," Zevran said as he sat beside the king, patting him upon the shoulder. "I must admit, I am rather shocked at your reaction. Here I am ridden once more to your rescue, expecting your fist to greet my handsome face, only to find you mooning about outdoors. What could be the cause of such a thing, I wonder?"

"'Who' not 'what'," Alistair mumbled, staring at his hands.

"Ah yes, the new lady in your life. Where is your beautiful Queen? I have heard tales of her beauty and wish to see such a dazzling creature with my own eyes."

"If you even think about plying your Antivan wiles on her you'll find yourself being shipped back to Harlow in pieces," Alistair growled, leaning menacingly toward the elf. The man simply laughed and shoved him away, raising the King's ire further.

"So good to see something's haven't changed, mi amico," Zevran chortled, "as jealous and possessive as ever. Fear not, I have no designs on your wife's virtue. Though I cannot help it if she falls madly in love with me, my charms numerous as they are."

"I doubt she'll even get a chance to fall prey to your 'charms,'" Alistair sighed miserably, "things have become…strained between us, and I see very little of my lady wife these days."

"You mean our dearest templar has done something to incite the displeasure of a woman?" Zevran asked in mocked surprise, "my, but this shocking." When Alistair remained silent, not even so much as flinching at the Antivan's bait, Zevran's gaze softened and he gently nudged his companion's arm. "Come now, what has happened? I am unused to seeing you so laconic, yes?"

Alistair remained silent for quite some time, hands fisted as he contemplated his answer. For once the Antivan elf was mercifully silent, allowing his onetime comrade in arms to come to this answer on his own time.

"How did you react, Zev?" he asked at last, turning to face the other man. Zevran sighed and raised his face to the heavens, as if answers could be found in their heights. He did not ask for clarification, the pain in Alistair's eyes being all the explanation he needed.

"I'd be lying if I said I took it with a measure of grace," the elf said softly, "You ask me how I reacted? Badly, mi amigo, very badly. I swore and raged and accused Harlow of vile, hurtful things. I wished a thousand painful curses upon yourself, Alistair, and through it all, I felt a betrayal like nothing that had come before it."Alistair swallowed hard and said nothing, feeling once more like he would have to explain the devastation of the calling to one who would never grasp the horror of it. "How did your lady wife take the news?"

"Better than you it seems," the king snorted, "no bodily harm was threatened, though Elissa does have quite the way with words. She quite knows how to gut a man with a few well placed syllables. And now…now I find myself waiting for her to come back to me, to yell at me with that infuriating, seductive voice and kiss the very breath out of me."

"You love her," Zevran said quietly, a simple statement that held just a touch of wonder.

"And now I feel I have lost her," came Alistair's reply.

Silence filled the garden as the two men contemplated the future, both near and all too far. At length Alistair let out a weary breath and stood. Zevran watched him rise and swore softly in Antivan, causing the king to round on him in confusion.

"Fanculo," the Antivan breathed as he pushed to his feet, "you must not worry. Your wife will come around. If I could find it in my heart to bless this madness, then surely a woman who was raised to rule a kingdom can do the same, yes?"

"What made you? Bless or forgive or…whatever it was you did?"

"You forget, mi amico, I traversed that hell known as the deep roads by your and Harlow's side. I saw what Hespith, that strange little dwarven maid, became. I saw firsthand the surface of what awaits the woman I love, and knew deep down, no matter how much I wanted to see her breathe her last, that I would never understand what toll that madness would claim of her. But you…you, my bastard king, will know all too well what lies in wait for my dearest Harlow, and despite how very envious of you I am, there is no one I trust greater than you to keep her as far from despair as possible."

Alistair was stunned by Zevran's words, and took a step back, mouth agape. Such a declaration passing through the Antivan's lips was something he never in his life ever thought to hear. Throughout the years he had known the assassin the two had barely tolerated each other's existence, squabbling and poking fun at one another until tempers boiled over and Harlow had been forced to separate them. But now, standing in a barren garden, one man a king and the other tied to a woman they had both loved, Alistair could feel a bond of understanding and perhaps even friendship being spun between them.

"Believe me, Alistair," Zevran said ruefully, "the last thing I intended upon my triumphant return to Denerim was to find myself comforting you, yes? My purpose was to keep you breathing so as to ensure our dear Harlow would not box my ears for letting any harm befall you. I am as surprised as you to feel this affection…you understand I would like this to go away as soon as possible, yes?"

"Would it help if I insulted you?" Alistair sputtered uncertainly.

"Oh yes, please do!"

"You're an idiot."

"Is that the best you can do?" Zevran tsked, "Not the most original, but I suppose it shall suffice." Alistair chuckled and shook his head, feeling for a brief moment lighter than he had in days. Zevran grinned and motioned towards the garden's exit. "Come, let us leave this uncomfortable conversation and focus on why someone once again wants to kill you. You have quite a knack for such a thing, yes?"

"I'll take you to the dungeon," Alistair said, falling into step beside the assassin, "you can question the prisoners at length…but, please try to leave the torture to a minimum."

"Still so squeamish about such things," Zevran replied wistfully.

"If not for me, then for the women," Alistair pleaded, "Elissa and Shianni and are down there sifting through prison records as they try to figure out which group of elves to try for treason first. The last thing they need is to see your unique brand of interrogation."

"From what Harlow has told me of her cousin, I doubt Shianni would so much as blush at my methods;" Zevran quipped with a grin, "the Tabris women are known for their strong stomachs."

"How did you even know what was happening here?" Alistair asked, trying to change the subject, "I thought this uprising was contained to Denerim's walls."

"Revolution is like a plague, my friend," Zevran replied shrewdly, "unless you can contain it, it shall spread and lay waste to a kingdom. Your 'friend' Mortain has cast his net wide, and is quietly collecting elven mercenaries with unique talents to his cause with the promise of riches and glory. Elves quite like myself…he stupidly believed that Harlow and her dashing Antivan would hold a grudge for how very badly you treated her whilst she resided in the city."

"How badly I treated her?" Alistair snorted, "clearly he never met Harlow… that woman can give as good as she gets."

"One of the many reason I love her; it brings an element of spice to things, yes?"

"Oh please, do not stop talking," Alistair groaned as they approached the entrance to palace. Zevran laughed wickedly as the pair ducked inside, the sound abruptly cut off as Alistair was grabbed from behind and a knife pressed to his throat.

"Your Majesty," an unfamiliar voice growled in his ear. Alistair stilled beneath his captor's hands, all too aware of the press of steel against his skin. His eyes flicked to Zevran who stood calmly across from him, eyes shrewd as he took in the situation. "I got lost trying to find a way to the royal chambers," the unknown assailant muttered, words directed at the assassin, "looks like I lucked out, and this royal shem saved me the trouble of abducting him from his rooms. Thanks for that."

"Thanks?" Zevran replied lazily, shrugging as if it were nothing. Alistair opened his mouth to rail at the Antivan, shocked that he would betray him, but immediately clamped his mouth closed when he saw a flash of silver glint Zevran's palm. "It was nothing."

"Now we just need to figure out how to get him past the blighted guard," the unknown villain muttered. "How did you slip by?"

"I have my ways," Zevran replied dismissively shuffling ever so slightly to the right.

"Now would be a good time to reveal them," Alistair's captor snapped, "we need to deliver him to Mortain and escape this Maker damned place."

"Why are you alone?" Zevran inquired dismissively.

"I slipped away when the others broke loose…they were too focused on slaughtering this one's guards, but I was focused on a better prize," the man said smugly, "while they paint the dungeon red with blood, I'll bring Mortain the greatest gift he could ever receive. If you help me smuggle him out, I may even share the credit."

"My dear boy," Zevran smiled lazily, his eyes void of emotion, "you are twenty different kinds of stupid for even thinking such at thing." The assailant didn't even have time to form a retort before he was silence by a throwing dagger to the eye, the blade leaving Zevran's palm in a blur. Alistair stumbled away and turned to face his now dead captor. It was an elf of no more than twenty years, skin pale and pockmarked with the scars of adolescence. Zevran came to stand beside the king and kicked the corpse gently. "I do not 'share' credit," Zevran groused. Alistair rolled his eyes and turned to face the assassin.

"Could we please focus on the crisis at hand and not your fragile ego."

"If we must…clearly this lackwit was working for your enemy and thought I was in the same employ," Zevran said with a shrug as he knelt to insect the corpse.

"I wonder how he got inside the castle walls," Alistair mused, "with all that's been going on I've had to instruct my guard to treat any elf seeking entrance as suspicious and deadly."

"Quite easy to infiltrate the palace walls when one is brought inside bound by chains, yes?" Zevran said with a sigh as he lifted the dead elf's arm into the air. Alistair squinted as he took in the chafed ring of red that circled the wrist of the corpse and sighed wearily. "You silly man," Zevran said with a chuckle, "you let your enemy inside your home. Did you offer them tea while you were at it?"

"What else was I supposed to do with them?" Alistair snapped, "Give them a slap on the wrist and set them free? When someone commits treason you chuck them in the dungeon!"

"And just how many enemies have you put up in these cells, Alistair?" Zevran prodded, "you heard the man…the others 'broke free.' You played right into Mortain's hand, my friend…he has planned this little prison break all along."

Alistair opened his mouth to retort but froze in place as his blood turned to ice in his veins. Zevran looked at him curiously and let out a shout of alarm when the King barreled past him, feet carrying him deep into the castle. The Antivan scrambled to follow, cursing all the while. As the path Alistair took them on became bloodier and bloodier, Zevran realized exactly where they were headed and drew his daggers from their sheaths, eyes taking in every detail of their surroundings. Alistair said nothing, merely kept his course, heart pounding all the way.

When the pair burst into the dungeon, it was eerily quiet and Zevran could not help but notice the number of bodies that littered the slick floor. Ignoring it all, Alistair hurried to the small room that served as the guardsmen's quarters at the end of the blood soaked hall. Zevran stalked behind him, checking to make sure the dead were really dead and not laying in wait to strike. When the pair arrived at the small wooden door, Alistair pushed it open, praying fervently that he would find the person he so desperately sought. Instead his eyes lingered on the overturned furniture, the blood splattered on the walls, and the delicate lace handkerchief that lay discarded on the floor. Try as he might, Alistair could not change the scene and he felt his heart shatter into pieces as he realized just what had transpired. A wet cough drew his attention and he turned his head to find a bleeding and barely conscious Ambrose prostrate on the ground. Alistair hurried to his side and demanded answers.

"The elves…" the guardsman rasped, "they…took…her…both of them…"

Zevran swore in Antivan and raced back down the gore covered hallway, calling out to anyone who may be nearby to send for a healer. Alistair simply fell to his knees and stared numbly at the scene around him. As the minutes ticked by he felt that numbness be replaced with a crystalline sort of rage and fury and eventually rose to his feet and calmly strode out of the room.

"Where exactly do you think you are going, my friend?" Zevran demanded quietly and Alistair slowly turned to look down upon him.

"I'm going to get my wife back from that sadistic elf," the King said quietly and coldly.

Despite the frantic search set into motion only minutes later, Shianni Tabris, Bann of the Alienage, and Elissa Cousland, Queen of Ferelden, were nowhere to be found.