Together Or Not At All

by RogueHunter06

"What in the Maker's name were you supposed to do when you liked a woman?" It's a question Alistair has asked himself far too many times since unexpectedly meeting her in the Wilds. And though he knows he should be focusing on the Blight, he can't seem to help himself around her - from falling deeper into his attraction for her. *OC, Cousland Warden with Morrigan, M for lemons*

40. Crowns and Celebrations

A/N: Well, this one was a week late, but I blame Inquisition for that. It sucked up all my spare time and left no room for writing until I beat it! Gave me all sorts of inspiration for later story ideas though. It also delayed my Morrigan one-shot I planned to put out, but I am still going to post that, just not sure exactly when. I thought the new chapter should take priority first!

Thanks to all the favorites and followers - I'm really glad you added my story, but I'd love to hear personally from you too!

Special thanks to the reviewers from last chapter: CandleintheNight, XZanayu, AnnabelleHawke022812, Briarthorn1, and Yolantha. Thanks for sharing your thoughts, as always!

150th Reviewer gets a one-shot gift fic, so PLEASE REVIEW!

Anyway, on to the new chapter. It has some DA plot in it, but also some lightness, fun and fluff since we're finally out of the Deep Roads, and some smut at the end of the chapter :). If you don't want to read the smut, it's not specifically blocked off, but once Alistair and Ayla leave the tavern, you can stop reading there and you'll be good.

Disclaimer: As always, don't own DA characters, events or the lines of dialogue from it, just everything else!

Chapter 40: Crowns and Celebrations

It had taken them a little over two weeks of hard-pressed travel to make it back to Orzammar. They had stopped as briefly as they could at nights to rest while still being alert enough to keep going, as no one had wanted to spend any more time down there than they had to. Fortunately, there had been less darkspawn on the way back, and with both knowing where they were going and not having to search for clues, they had been able to make much better time on the return journey.

Nonetheless, Alistair was beyond relieved when they entered Orzammar late one afternoon, weary, battered, and hungry from weeks of travel. He was so relieved, in fact, that he scooped Ayla up and swung her around, whooping, "We made it!"

"Alistair, what are you doing?" she asked, laughing, her eyes shining up at him. Most of the others had turned to look back at them, eyebrows raised, some smiling in amusement.

"Celebrating," he declared, setting her down on her feet before kissing her full on the mouth in view of everyone, too relieved to care what they thought.

"Celebrating does sound like a good idea," Aedan said, causing Alistair to raise his head and turn to look at him, "but some of the celebrating you might want to keep to yourself for later," he added, smirking knowingly at Alistair.

"Oh, I'm done for now," Alistair assured him, winking at Ayla, who shook her head at him, though she was smiling.

"Good," Aedan replied, "because we should really head to the Assembly first before we do anything else, and let them know what we found. However, it's probably only necessary that Alistair and I go. The rest of you could head back to the inn and get rooms for the night, and we will join you as soon as we're done."

"It might be a good idea if Oghren came along too," Alistair suggested, looking over at the dwarf, "if he's willing. They might want to hear from one of their own, not just us."

"That's not a bad idea," Aedan agreed, nodding. "What do you say, Oghren?"

The dwarf in question had just pulled out his flask to take a drink, and discovering that it was empty, shook it upside down before scowling at it and putting it away. Alistair was frankly curious that the flask had only just run empty now; he had no idea where the dwarf had been producing the alcohol from over the past several weeks. "Yeah," Oghren said at last, "probably best if I come with you. Those deshyrs might find it all a little hard to believe coming from humans. Let's get a move on, then. I'll be needing that Tapsters ale before long."

"Okay." Aedan turned to the others. "The three of us will head for the Diamond Quarter to get this finished with. The rest of you can head to Tapsters or wherever else you'd like to go, and we'll see you there in short order, I hope."

The others nodded and began filing away, heading off through the streets of the Commons towards the tavern. Ayla smiled at Alistair before she left. "Do hurry up, I have some celebrating I'd like to do with you," she whispered to him before turning away and following the others.

He groaned inwardly, watching the sway of her hips as she walked away before Aedan whacked him on the back. "Pay attention, Alistair, would you?" Aedan was grinning in spite of what he'd said when Alistair turned to scowl at him. "Let's get going."

"All right, all right," Alistair sighed, following Aedan as he and Oghren made their way towards the door leading up to the Diamond Quarter.

As they made their way through the finely crafted streets of the Diamond Quarter, they found out from the dwarves wandering around that the Assembly was still in session arguing over the selection of a King. And, fortunately enough, it sounded as though both Bhelen and Harrowmont were present.

"So, we are still backing Bhelen, then?" Alistair asked Aedan quietly as he went. "Caridin did say to give it to whomever we wanted."

Aedan frowned, shaking his head. "I don't like the man any more than you do, but I don't need to like him. I do still think that he's the best choice, whatever my opinion of his personality. What he wants to do for the dwarves – the increase in trade with the surface and the loosening of caste restrictions – I do think it's what they need. And I think he has the necessary resolve to make the hard decisions."

"I agree," Oghren grunted from Aedan's other side. "Bhelen's a wily bastard, it's true, but he's an effective one. And Harrowmont? He doesn't have the stones for the job. If you Wardens are backing Bhelen, I'm behind you."

Alistair frowned, but he nodded. If this was what everyone thought was necessary, then he'd agree, whether he liked it or not. "Bhelen it is, then."

They entered the front doors of the Assembly, hearing the distant rumble of arguing coming from the next set of doors as they made their way down the hallway. The guards, recognizing them as they came, nodded and opened the doors, allowing them to pass into the room beyond. The noise of numerous dwarves arguing was almost overwhelming as they passed through the doors, seeing the Steward standing at the base of a set of stairs just below the empty throne.

"Lords of the Assembly, I call for order!" the Steward shouted just as they entered. "This argument gets us nowhere!"

Bhelen, standing on one side of the empty throne above the Steward, demanded, "Then why these delaying tactics? I call for a vote right now. My father has one living child to assume the Aeducan throne. Who would deny him that?"

An older, grey-bearded dwarf dressed in fine silks, whom Alistair assumed to be Harrowmont, standing on the other side of the empty throne, retorted, "Your father made me swear on his deathbed you would not succeed him."

An armored dwarf who had seen them enter, gestured for them to stand back for the moment while he stepped ahead into the center of the assembled dwarves. "I apologize for the interruption, Lord Steward, but the Wardens have returned."

The other dwarves, who had quieted down when the Steward spoke, began to talk among themselves again as the dwarf stood aside, allowing Aedan, Alistair, and Oghren to pass. Alistair stopped in the center of the room with Oghren, letting Aedan go a few paces ahead of them to stand in front of the stairs where the Steward was.

"Well, Warden? What news do you bring?" Bhelen asked, a gleam in his eyes as he regarded Aedan.

Aedan bowed formally to the assembly before replying, "Lords and Ladies of the Assembly, we bring a crown forged by Caridin on the Anvil of the Void."

Alistair quickly moved to get the crown out of his pack where he'd kept it all this time as they travelled, while Oghren spoke up before anyone else could, "Caridin was trapped in the body of a golem. These two Wardens granted him the mercy he sought, releasing him and destroying the Anvil of the Void. Before he died, Caridin forged a crown for Orzammar's next king, chosen by the ancestors themselves!"

Harrowmont stepped forward, shaking his head. "I would like to believe Oghren's word, but it's well-known the Wardens are Bhelen's hirelings!"

Alistair, meanwhile, had unwrapped the crown and presented it to the Steward for him to view properly himself. The Steward had carefully studied it while Oghren and Harrowmont spoke, and now called out, "Silence! This crown is of Paragon make and bears House Ortan's ancient seal." He tapped a small section of the crown for emphasis before turning back to Aedan and Alistair, who had stepped back now that he'd handed the crown over. "Tell us, Wardens: whom did Caridin choose?"

Alistair exchanged a look with Aedan, nodding to let him know he'd back whatever he said. "Caridin requested that we give it to whomever we chose," Aedan replied carefully.

"Why would a Paragon trust someone who knows nothing of us with such a decision?" Harrowmont demanded incredulously. "This is preposterous!"

"We've argued in these chambers for too long," the Steward snapped in response. "The will of the Paragon is that the Grey Wardens decide."

"We grant the crown to Bhelen," Aedan stated simply.

There was a collective gasp from the crowd of dwarves around them at the decision as Bhelen smiled in triumph. "At last," he declared as he made his way down the steps, the Steward having stepped to the side to allow him to descend. "This farce is ended and I can take my rightful place on my father's throne."

As he descended the stairs, Aedan, Alistair and Oghren moved off to the side to allow the assembled dwarves to gather around in a loose circle, beating their white staves on the ground as the Steward moved to the center of the room. Bhelen came and knelt on one knee in front of the Steward, who placed the elaborate crown he still held on top of the other dwarf's head.

"Let the Memories find you worthy," the Steward declared with grave formality, as the beating staves sped up, "first amidst the lords of the houses, the king of Orzammar."

Bhelen got to his feet, crown perched atop his head, and turned to face the other dwarves before looking specifically to Harrowmont on the stairs behind him. "Do you acknowledge me as king?" he demanded.

"I . . . cannot defy a Paragon," the older dwarf replied sadly, shaking his head before slowly going down on one knee. "The throne is yours . . . King Bhelen."

"Then as my first act as king," Bhelen called loudly as he looked around at the assembled dwarves, "I call for this man's execution!" He pointed at Harrowmont, declaring, "Guards, seize him!"

Two of the armed dwarven guards gathered moved to seize Harrowmont as instructed, while Alistair scowled. He had suspected something like this, which is why he had been reluctant to back Bhelen in the first place. Yet what could they truly do, now that they had thrown their support behind Bhelen? They had no right to interfere anymore.

Aedan, however, went to Bhelen's side, stating quietly, "Harrowmont was an honourable rival. Why not let him retire in peace?"

Bhelen shook his head, his face set in hard lines. "You know better than anyone the war facing us, Warden. Orzammar cannot afford to be divided. Anyone undermining my reign is serving only the darkspawn."

Aedan sighed, nodding as Alistair and Oghren joined him. "Likely you are right. You must guard against any further bids for power from him; I understand."

Bhelen nodded in satisfaction. "I will return immediately to my palace to gather my generals and prepare our forces for the surface. If you will join me there, I will officially pledge our support to you, Wardens. You have my gratitude for all you have done for me."

He turned and left the Assembly, some of his guards and supporters following him, and Aedan gestured to Alistair and Oghren. "Come on, we'd best follow him back to his palace and get his official support before we retire for the night."

"Was that really necessary?" Alistair asked quietly as the two guards dragged Harrowmont past them as they were leaving the Assembly.

"I don't like it any more than you do, but Bhelen did actually have a point," Aedan murmured as they made their way over to the palace behind a stream of dwarves. "With the way the dwarves were divided over this, if he were to leave Harrowmont alive, the chances are good that he could attempt a coup later and try to seize the throne back. It was a ruthless measure, but probably the correct one to ensure that his hold over the throne was unshakable. Anyway, there's nothing more we can do about it now. Let's get the troops we were promised and get out of here."

Alistair nodded in agreement; the sooner they got out of Orzammar and away from the Deep Roads, the happier he'd be. They reached the palace shortly, and found Bhelen taking his seat on the stone throne in an immense room in the center of the palace. A stream of dwarven nobles was lining up to meet him and curry favour with the new king, but Bhelen waved to his guards to have them brought forward.

The three of them made their way to the front of the line, where Bhelen greeted them with a nod. "You have proven yourselves and more, Wardens," he declared. "Without your aid, I would not have taken this throne so smoothly or so soon."

Aedan swept the dwarven king a formal bow. "Congratulations on your ascension to the throne, King Bhelen. Now, I do believe you had promised us the aid of some troops in return . . . ?"

Bhelen nodded in response. "My generals are already preparing for a mission to the surface. When you have need of us, you shall have every able-bodied dwarf in Orzammar." He glanced at the line of nobles behind them. "Now, I have much to do. If there is nothing else . . ."

"There is nothing, thank you," Aedan replied. "We will return to the surface shortly once we have rested fully. Thank you for your aid."

"Good luck, Wardens. May we both crush our enemies," the King responded.

Aedan led them back out of the palace, leaving the new dwarven King with his line-up of nobles, and they began to head back to Tapsters.

"Thank the Maker that's finally over," Alistair grumbled, once he was sure there weren't any dwarves in earshot.

Aedan snorted. "Truly, that had to be the most difficult treaty of all to fulfill. Even worse than going through the Fade, I think."

"Well, what are you Wardens going to do now?" Oghren demanded. "Head straight for the darkspawn?"

"Well, not exactly," Alistair sighed, looking over at Aedan. "First we have one more throne to settle."

"Yes, we'll have to head back to Redcliffe and let Arl Eamon know that it is time to call the Landsmeet," Aedan agreed, sounding no more enthusiastic than Alistair. "Then we will finally confront Loghain over all he's done before we face the darkspawn. What about you, Oghren?" He turned to look at the dwarf.

Oghren shrugged. "Sod if I know. There's nothing bloody left here in Orzammar for me now."

"Why not come with us?" Alistair offered, remembering his previous conversation with Ayla. "You were a great help down in the Deep Roads, and we could use more help in fighting the Blight."

Aedan looked briefly surprised; Alistair hadn't really had a chance to talk to him about it as planned, but he nodded when Oghren turned to look at him. "Yes, you're more than welcome to join us. We could certainly use a warrior of your experience."

"Huh," the dwarf stated thoughtfully. "I ain't never been to the surface, and this lot'd disown me if I went. But they don't even let me carry 'round my weapon or fight no more, anyway. If you Wardens'll let me drink and fight as I please, I'll come. Just point me at what you want dead."

"Absolutely," Aedan responded. "If you're willing to fight darkspawn and follow our orders, whatever else you do is your business."

"Sounds like a sodding good deal to me!" Oghren exclaimed. "Let's go drink on it, Wardens!"

Alistair couldn't help but laugh; he didn't think the dwarf really needed the excuse as a reason to drink. "Welcome aboard, Oghren. Let's go celebrate."

"Oh, aye," the dwarf snickered, waggling his eyebrows at him. "You've got yourself some celebrating to do, don't you? Forging the moaning statue? Bucking the forbidden horse? Donning the velvet –"

"Are you just making these up right now?" Alistair demanded incredulously, feeling his face turning a bright shade of red as Aedan laughed so hard he had to stop and hold himself up against a wall.

"Nope. Been saving 'em," the dwarf replied proudly. He turned to Aedan. "And don't think I don't know you'll be doing the same thing with your witch, boss."

Finally gaining control of himself, Aedan took a breath, coughed, and grinned, shrugging. "Well, it is a celebration, right? But I'll likely have a few drinks first. Never had dwarven ale."

"Eh." The dwarf shrugged. "Don't know if you're missing much, but it'll do what it's supposed to. Come on, boy, let's go!" He whacked Alistair in the side for emphasis before heading for the Commons.

Alistair shrugged and followed after them. He had to admit, he was looking forward to spending time alone with Ayla later, odd innuendos aside. He felt that they'd more than earned it.

---

"Well, my dear, is it time to drink too much of that dwarven ale?" Zevran asked.

They'd made it back to Tapster's and obtained rooms for the night, as well as baths and the offers of actual fresh food for the first time in weeks. Ayla had taken a good soak in a hot bath, only too happy to scrub off the weeks of grime from travelling in the Deep Roads, before she'd changed into her green tunic and brown leggings to join the others down in the tavern for supper.

She'd found Zevran already at a table eating, having obviously bathed and changed as well. Leliana, looking similarly refreshed, was up on the dais happily singing and playing her instrument with a couple of dwarves, who were much more sober than the last ones they'd seen singing here. Zevran explained that Sten, Wynne, and Morrigan had retired to their respective rooms after eating, opting to rest rather than drink. Ayla suspected Morrigan was actually just waiting for Aedan to return, but preferred to do so away from a crowd. The witch often preferred being alone rather than being surrounded by others.

"Why not?" Ayla replied, smiling at the elf before signalling to the barmaid for more food and some ale. She suspected she had some time before Alistair and the others returned, so she might as well spend it drinking with Zevran. It would keep her busy until she could get Alistair alone again. "Besides, I believe you owe me a story."

"Ah." The broad smile that had graced the elf's face when she agreed faded and dimmed at the mention of what he had promised to tell her. "Do you truly wish to hear it? It is . . . not a pleasant story."

"I do," she said softly, accepting the food and drink the barmaid brought over to her before continuing, "I think it will help you to talk about it. And afterwards, we can tell each other much more pleasant stories."

The elf nodded slowly, finally replying, "Yes, I suppose it is time. You have been a good friend to me, after all. There is no reason to be silent." He took a deep breath, hesitating. She nodded in encouragement.

"As you had suspected, there is a reason that I accepted this mission in Ferelden, far away from home, and it had nothing to do with any thought that I might leave the Crows," Zevran began carefully. "Meeting you and the others, after all, was quite an accident. My last mission before this one . . . did not end well."

"I didn't think so," she murmured, knowing that something drastic had to have happened to shake the elf's confidence so, "but keep going, Zev. Get it all out."

He nodded, going on, "You must realize that until that day I was cocky and arrogant. I was the best Crow in Antiva, I believed, and I bragged of my conquests often . . . both as an assassin and a lover."

He paused there, and seeing the sadness in his eyes, she couldn't help but take the opportunity to tease him a little and try to cheer him up. "You were cocky and arrogant? Why, I can hardly believe it!"

He grinned in response, as she'd hoped. "Yes, I know, it is difficult to imagine." Sobering, he continued, "At any rate, one of the Crow masters grew tired of my boasting. My bid for an incredibly difficult mark was accepted, much to my surprise; a wealthy merchant with many guards and completely silent. Taliesin, a friend of mine among the Crows who I suspect is looking for me even now, agreed to be part of my team, as well as an elven lass named Rinna."

His face took on a nostalgic, soft look as he went on, and Ayla realized in that instant how he must have felt about this Rinna, but she remained silent, letting him continue. "She was . . . a marvel. Tough, smooth, wicked. Eyes that gleamed like justice. Everything I thought I desired."

"You fell in love with her, didn't you?" Ayla asked softly when he went quiet again.

"Rinna was special," he answered finally, not giving her a direct yes or no, although she knew him well enough to know what he wasn't saying. "I had closed off my heart, I thought, but she touched something within me. It frightened me. When Taliesin revealed to me that Rinna had accepted a bribe from the merchant, told him of our plan, I readily agreed that she needed to pay the price and allowed Taliesin to kill her."

His face wracked with guilt, refusing to meet her eyes directly now, he went on, "Rinna begged me not to. On her knees, with tears in her eyes, she told me that she loved me and had not betrayed us. I laughed in her face and said that even if it were true, I didn't care."

Ayla stared at him for a long moment. The story was more appalling and devastating than she'd expected, even, but she could see how deeply he regretted what he'd done. And she knew firsthand how terribly frightening love could be; how much more would it be for someone who was an assassin, who had never known trust in anyone, not even family? She couldn't agree with the decision he'd made, but neither could she find it in her to condemn him for it, especially when he was obviously torn over it.

"But you did not kill her yourself?" she prompted quietly, trying to give him some absolution.

He shook his head. "Taliesin cut her throat and I watched her bleed as she stared up at me. I spat on her for betraying the Crows. When Taliesin and I finally assassinated the merchant, we found the true source of the information. Rinna had not betrayed us after all." His voice broke slightly on the end of that sentence, and she realized that in the moment when he'd made that decision, he'd truly believed Rinna had betrayed him – or at least had convinced himself enough that it seemed as though he did.

"I'm so sorry, Zev," she said at last, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it gently.

He looked at her gratefully, squeezing her hand back. "I . . . wanted to tell the Crows what we had done, our mistake. Taliesin convinced me not to. He said it would be a foolish waste. So we reported that Rinna had died in the attempt. We needn't have bothered. The Crows knew what we had done." His face began to take on angry, scornful lines, and he clenched her hand a little tighter. "The master who disliked me told me so to my face. He said the Crows knew . . . and they didn't care. And one day my turn would come."

"But . . . why would he admit that?" Ayla was confused. She did not understand how a master could care so little for those he led, or even so little for appearances that he would admit such a thing, knowing it might turn those he followed against him.

"To rub it my face, perhaps," Zevran replied sadly, the anger fading. "That I was nothing. That she was nothing." He let go of her hand, taking a long drink. "You were right, my dear, and very perceptive. In truth, what I wanted was to die. What better way than to throw myself at the fabled Grey Wardens? And then . . . I fought you, instead. And, well, here I am."

"That is awful, Zevran. I'm so sorry," she said again. What else could she say in response? She could see why he might have chosen the way he did, in both respects, and in all honesty, she could not say that she would have chosen differently had she been in his place. She hoped that she would have, but she could not say so with any great conviction.

"It . . . does feel good to speak of it with someone," he admitted softly. "You were right about that as well, though I had sworn I never would. You do not . . . think less of me?" he asked hesitantly.

"No," she shook her head with certainty. "I can see how deeply you regret it, how much you wish you could change it, and why you might have chosen that way. And I cannot truly say that I wouldn't have done the same. So no, I do not think any less of you. And I thank you for trusting me enough to tell me."

"You would not have done the same thing," he said, belief ringing clear in his voice, "but I thank you for saying so. I am . . . grateful to you for listening, and more that you think no less of me. Whatever I sought in leaving Antiva, I think you and the Wardens have helped me find it. I owe you a great debt, and once I am truly free of the Crows, I will make sure to fulfill it."

"You owe me nothing," she replied firmly. "Even if you had, you've paid it many times over, I am sure. And if the Crows come for you, I will help you be free of them, I promise you that."

He smiled at her with more genuine warmth than she had yet seen. "Ah, my dear, you are a true friend. I promise you in return that I will get you and your Warden through this Blight safely." Before she could protest that such a promise wasn't necessary, he interrupted her. "Now, I believe you had promised more pleasant stories, yes?"

She smiled, nodding, and gave up on the idea of talking him out of his promise for the moment. "I did. So let us share some other stories and enough drinks to forget the unpleasantness." She signalled the barmaid to bring over more drinks as she finished the one in front of her, ignoring the less than ideal taste.

So she began to tell him stories of the pranks she and her brother pulled on each other and those around them in the Order, bringing up as many light and amusing tales as she could think of, while they drank excessive amounts of dwarven ale waiting for Alistair and the others to return. While doing her best to keep him distracted, she did not bother to keep count of how many mugs she'd had, focusing only on chasing the darkness from his eyes.

---

When Alistair returned to the tavern with the others, he spotted Ayla drinking together with Zevran, while Leliana sang with the dwarves. He greeted Ayla quickly, telling her he was going to go get cleaned up before returning, and she nodded, waving him off in a distracted fashion. Aedan decided to go get cleaned up as well, but Oghren elected to simply sit down and start drinking in his armor.

Alistair went up to the room and bathed quickly, since he was very hungry and didn't want to wait for food any longer than he had to. He changed into simple breeches and a tunic as well. When he returned to the tavern, ready to have some food and maybe a few drinks before his time alone with Ayla, he was surprised to see that she was standing on top of the table she'd been previously sitting at, of all things.

He hurried over to the table, dumbfounded. "Ayla, why in the Maker's name are you up there?"

"Because of Oghren!" she declared, pointing at the dwarf, who had a mug in one hand and a fork in the other. He merely grunted in response.

He had noticed there were an awful lot of empty mugs surrounding her and Zevran, but he hadn't realized that she was actually drunk during their brief greeting before he'd gone up to the room. If she thought that was an explanation for being on the table, though . . . "Because of . . ." he trailed off in disbelief, shaking his head.

"The dwarf," Zevran supplied helpfully, "told her she'd had too much ale to be able to stand up. She apparently thought standing on the table would prove him wrong."

"Exactly!" Ayla nodded as though this made perfect sense. "I got on the table and I'm standing up!" She planted her hands on her hips for emphasis, which caused her to wobble unsteadily.

Alistair hastily reached up and steadied her with his hands before she fell. "Right, so clearly you haven't had too much to drink," he said dryly. "But, since you proved your point and all, how about you come down now?"

"Very well," she responded airily. He still had his hands at her waist to steady her, but he was nonetheless surprised when she stepped off the table in his direction with no warning. Somehow he managed to keep his hands on her waist and keep them both upright, while she clutched at his arms tightly for balance before he set her down on her feet.

"What did you do that for?" he demanded breathlessly, staring down at her. "You could have been hurt!"

"I knew you'd catch me, and you did," she replied simply, beaming at him. He couldn't help but notice that, as beautiful as she looked right now, her flaming hair loose around her in the way that he liked best, her bright green eyes were a little glazed. She was definitely drunker than he'd realized. "You're awfully good at that, you know."

"Well, yeah, I guess, but - "

"Sit down!" she interrupted him, tugging on his arm and leading him over to the empty chair next to hers. "You need to eat! I'll go get you some food!"

She pushed him down on his chair and darted off, somewhat unsteadily, towards the bar, presumably to find a barmaid. He stared after her for a moment, unsure if he should go get her.

"The lass'll be fine," Oghren said, as if reading his mind. "She's a little drunk, aye, but the barmaids'll keep an eye on her."

"Just how much did she have to drink?" Alistair asked Zevran incredulously. He'd only seen Ayla have a few ales before; he'd never seen her quite like this.

The elf squinted at the mugs around them. "Honestly, I am not sure, my friend. We were kept well supplied while we waited for the rest of you to return and to wash up."

"Looks like the boss never did come back down from 'washing up'," Oghren snickered, glancing around at the other tables.

Alistair looked around the tavern too, just now realizing that he hadn't seen Aedan either. "I guess not," he admitted. Well, if anybody deserved to relax and enjoy themselves, it was Aedan, he thought.

Ayla reappeared just then, flopping down in her chair breathlessly. "They'll be over with the food soon," she told Alistair, before looking at Oghren. "See, I told you I could stand up! And walk!"

"Aye, lass, you were right," the dwarf agreed, stabbing his fork into some more food. He pointed said fork at her for emphasis. "I told the boy you looked like a handful though, and I'm right about that."

"A handful?" Ayla repeated, staring at the dwarf. She turned to look at Alistair, demanding, "Am I a handful?"

Caught off guard, Alistair stammered, "Oh, well, maybe a little." He cursed himself immediately after giving that answer, certain that she was going to be mad, and shot a glare at the dwarf, who merely grinned.

He was surprised, however, when Ayla suddenly sat herself down in his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck, and purred, "You don't mind, though, do you?"

Oh, Maker. His reaction was one of instant and predictable lust as his arms went around her automatically. "No, I don't," he assured her. How could he, when she was in his arms and looked at him like that?

She beamed at him. "Good." She planted a kiss on his lips so quickly he barely had a chance to respond before she slipped out of his arms and back to her seat, downing another swallow of ale.

"See? Handful," Oghren mumbled around his food. "And she's got you managed."

Alistair couldn't help but smile at that. The dwarf wasn't wrong, but he truly didn't mind. "She does," he agreed.

"My dwarven friend, we should all be so lucky as Alistair here," Zevran declared, toasting him with his mug. "Being managed by a deadly sex goddess is no hardship."

"Zeeeeevvvv," Ayla whined, pointing at the elf over her mug. "I told you not to call me that!"

"But why not, my dear? It is true!" Zevran proclaimed. He shot a wicked look at Alistair. "Is it not, Alistair?"

"Oh no," Alistair waved his hands in protest. "I am not answering that question! Or any other question you two ask about us, for that matter!" He pointed at both the elf and the dwarf. They both merely laughed in return.

His food appeared at that moment, and Alistair began to eat with relief, hoping he wouldn't have to answer any more questions. Really, it was surprisingly good considering how bad the dwarven ale tasted, though he drank some of that as well.

"Well, if you ain't going to answer any more questions about the lass, then," Oghren said as he ate, "why not tell me more about this Blight of yours, so I know what I'm getting into?"

Glad for the change in topic, Alistair willingly told Oghren the important details of everything that had happened so far while he ate, Zevran occasionally chiming in. Ayla appeared to only be half paying attention, although to his relief she didn't appear to notice that he'd asked the barmaid to replace her ale with water from now on. At one point, she declared her chair was too hard and proceeded to drape herself in his lap again, remaining there for the rest of the conversation.

By the time he'd finished explaining everything to Oghren, Alistair had decided that having Ayla there in his lap was a unique form of torture. She smelled incredible, she looked beautiful, if still a little sauced, and she kept moving. He was fervently wishing he hadn't changed out of his armor. He honestly didn't know how much more he could take.

Now that the conversation about the Blight was finished, Zevran and Oghren had changed the topic to discussing the most interesting or amusing battle stories that they knew. Alistair wasn't really paying attention, instead debating between trying to slip away with Ayla without them noticing, or just announcing that they were leaving. He wasn't sure he wanted to endure the teasing that was sure to accompany their departure, though.

But then Ayla decided to force his hand. "I was supposed to give you some tender nursing care, wasn't I?" she murmured. He nodded, wondering where she was going with this, but before he could say anything, she whispered in his ear, "Tell me where it hurts, and I'll kiss it better," before giving a slight wiggle of her hips.

He had been fairly aroused already, having her in his lap all this time, but he instantly grew harder at her words and movement, and his control snapped. There was really only so much a man could be expected to take, he decided, and he no longer cared whether Oghren and Zevran teased him. He stood up quickly, bringing her up with him and setting her down on her feet in front of him.

"Oh, are we going now?" Ayla asked, grinning wickedly at him, making him wonder if she hadn't sobered up more than he'd realized over the last little while.

"Yes, I think it's time to, uh, rest, don't you?" he replied quickly, looking over her shoulder at the elf and dwarf, who were both smirking at him. "Good night," he added, before beating a hasty retreat, pulling Ayla along with him towards the stairs.

Zevran called something after them Alistair didn't quite catch, and Oghren roared with laughter, but at this point, Alistair was really beyond caring. Once inside the room, he locked the door and turned to Ayla. Before he could make a move himself, however, she had already sealed her lips to his, shoving him back against the door and fumbling with the laces of his breeches.

Maker's breath, he thought, dazed, as he returned the kiss with equal passion and tried to find his way beneath her tunic. He was sure she'd probably had him more aroused at some point, but just now, he couldn't bring it to mind. Somehow, her hands were more sure than his and she had his laces undone in no time before he'd gotten her tunic off.

Her mouth left his as she shoved his breeches and smallclothes down to the floor. She looked up at him, her eyes blazing with fiery lust, as she asked, "Where does it hurt? Right . . . here?"

Her mouth closed over him before he could respond, and he could only manage a strangled noise in answer. The heat of her mouth, the cleverness of her tongue, the softness of her fingers as they played over what her mouth didn't cover, were all more incredible than he remembered; he was awash in a rising tide of lust and couldn't focus on anything else. His hands clenched into fists by his side as he tried not to thrust himself further into her mouth.

He could feel the tension coiling tighter in him and his hips started to buck involuntarily. He decided suddenly that he didn't want to spend himself in her mouth this time, and he pulled her away abruptly. She looked up at him, confused. "I wasn't done," she said breathlessly.

He shook his head. "I don't want to be done . . . not yet," he managed. "I need to be inside you."

Her eyes were dark as she nodded in response, getting to her feet and stripping off her clothes. He stepped out of his breeches, pulled off his tunic and advanced on her as soon as he was done. She was in her smallclothes, reaching for her breastband, and squeaked in surprise as he picked her up before she'd finished and carried her to the bed, dropping her on it.

He pulled off the bottom half of her smallclothes and kissed his way up her legs, keeping her arms pinned down so she couldn't pull off her breastband herself. He'd decided he wanted to do it. He slipped his tongue briefly in her core on his way by, until she started to shudder; but he stopped there, wanting her fully undressed before either of them reached their release.

"Alistair," she protested when he pulled away. "Don't stop."

"Not yet," he told her. "I want to keep going for now." He'd go back to that later; they had some time for once, and he did adore the taste of her and the sounds she would make when he was doing it, but he had a different goal in mind this time. She huffed in reply but nodded reluctantly.

So he continued kissing his way up her stomach and towards her breastband. Once he reached it, he let go of her arms to remove it; she took advantage of his distraction to wrap her legs around him, and with a twist of her hips, somehow flipped him over onto his back. He'd still managed to remove her breastband, however, and closed his mouth around a nipple before she could distract him further, sucking hard. She cried out, her back arching, her legs loosening their grip, and he promptly flipped her back over beneath him, leaving her breast to take possession of her mouth instead.

The sweet taste of her mouth and the way her tongue was tangling with his was so distracting he didn't notice right away when her hand wrapped around his length. When she began to rub her thumb over the tip and his body started to shudder, though, he noticed. He pulled his mouth from hers and groaned, gripping her wrist and taking her hand away. "Ayla, please," he growled, "I need you to stop distracting me."

She smiled slyly up at him. "Then why don't you make me?"

Had he not been so driven mad with lust by her, he might not have responded to her challenge the way he did. But he was, and he took her at her word. So he picked her up and flipped her over onto all fours, his addled brain deciding that if her hands were busy keeping herself upright, she wouldn't be distracting him. Far from being upset, she merely smirked over her shoulder at him and wiggled that delectable rear of hers at him.

Yes, he'd definitely had enough. He got up on his knees, spread her legs apart just that little bit further, gripped her hips, and sheathed himself in her in one thrust. She gasped, and he moaned, the feeling of her warmth enclosing him almost enough to finish him off then and there. But he took a deep, steadying breath, determined to bring her with him, and began to move, at first slowly, but as she pushed back against him, he went faster, until she was barely able to keep herself upright.

He felt himself getting close, the coiled pressure building quickly, and knowing that she hadn't hit her release yet, he drove into her further even as he reached a hand around to find the center of her pleasure. She cried out his name as his finger hit it and began to rub steadily, and when he felt her begin to shudder and clench tightly around him, he increased the pressure, causing her to clamp down tightly around him as she let out a long moan of release. He couldn't suppress his own hoarse cry in return, and the sensation was enough to finally send him over the edge as he emptied deep within her.

He collapsed on top of her for a moment, feeling so drained he could barely move, let alone think. But when she elbowed him in the stomach, he dredged up enough willpower to roll off her onto his back. After another moment, she crawled on top of him to lay across his chest. His arms went around her automatically once he could lift them again, and he stroked her soft skin gently with one hand.

"I . . . uh . . . hope you didn't mind," he murmured after a few more minutes.

She raised her head enough to look at him, and smiled. "No, not at all. I did tell you to make me, as you'll recall. And it was . . . mmm . . . quite satisfying. Did I take proper enough care of you?" She smirked at him, and he nodded, grinning. She laid her head back down, giving a contented sigh. "Good, because now I want to sleep."

"As my lovely nursemaid wishes," he replied softly, tightening his arms around her. She might be a handful, but he wasn't about to let go of her for the rest of his life. She was his handful, and Maker willing, when the Blight was over, she'd be his wife. When he fell asleep a few moments later to the sound of her steady breathing, he had no nightmares for the first time in weeks.