A/N: Just one day late on the biweekly schedule, which isn't too bad. I didn't get quite as far plot-wise in this chapter as I had hoped, but there's a lot of important conversations (and some good old fluff) in this chapter, and there is a good deal of Aedan's POV that shows just what he has planned for his own future. Hope you all enjoy, the next chapter should be up in another two weeks!

Thanks to everyone who's read, favorited, and followed. I would still really love to hear from you!

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Disclaimer: Don't own anything related to Bioware, just my own original content.

Chapter 47: Recovery

"How are you feeling?" Ayla asked softly, standing next to Alistair's bedside. She had changed out of the dress she had worn to get him out, now wearing the green tunic and brown leggings he most often saw her in. He was rather relieved, actually; as good as she'd looked in that dress, he wasn't sure he could see her in it without thinking of that guard touching her. It was one of the many things he did not want to re-live from being in Fort Drakon.

"Much better, actually," he replied. He was sitting up in the bed after Wynne had finished healing him; she'd used all her magic and potions on him after their return and had pronounced him done a few minutes ago before leaving the room. All the wounds on his back and from the pokers were closed, now, though Wynne had said he would still need to rest and recover from the blood loss and trauma. And though his back was healed over, the skin still felt stretched and tender to the touch, as though it could break open again at any moment. Wynne had said that feeling might last for another few days before the newly healed skin recovered. He doubted he would be sleeping on his back any time soon, and he was starving, but other than that, he felt entirely like himself again. "I feel almost completely back to normal, though I am starving. They didn't feed us nearly enough for a Warden's appetite."

"I thought you might be hungry. I brought you something to eat." Ayla gestured to the table in the room, where she'd set down a tray of food before coming over to him. He frowned, noticing she looked much more subdued than normal, the usual lively sparkle gone from her eyes. After they'd returned to the Arl's estate a few hours ago, discovering that it was late in the afternoon the day after their capture, he and Aedan had been promptly hustled to their rooms for healing in spite of their protests. Wynne had remained with him, while Morrigan had gone with Aedan to heal him after drinking more lyrium potions. Ayla had stayed by his side until Wynne had started assessing the damage, which was when she'd promptly left, looking a little ill. She hadn't come back until just now. He couldn't help but wonder if she was somehow blaming herself for what had happened.

He got up from the bed, uncaring that he was wearing only his smallclothes, though it was at least a new, clean pair he'd changed into before Wynne had begun healing him. He had briefly bathed as well before her healing session, aside from his back. Ayla was at his side almost immediately, wrapping a supporting arm around him as he went over to the table. "I'm pretty sure I can walk, you know," he pointed out. He did feel a bit light-headed, but he suspected that was more from hunger now than anything else. He didn't bother to remove her arm, though, allowing her to keep it around him, though he didn't lean any of his weight on her. She frowned, but didn't reply as he sat down at the table, a large array of stew, meats, cheeses and bread before him on the tray, along with a jug of water.

She sat across from him as he began to eagerly devour the food there. The one meal they'd been provided with during their day's stay had barely touched his bottomless Warden appetite. After a few minutes of Ayla sitting there silently, he paused in his eating and looked up at her, curious. She was watching him like a hawk, as though afraid he'd disappear if she looked away, and she still looked . . . distressed, was the only way he could think of to describe it. "Is something the matter?" he asked her quietly. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Am I feeling all right?" she demanded incredulously, her hands slamming down on the table as her eyes flared with sudden temper. "You just got back from being tortured and you want to know how I'm doing?!"

He could see the guilt buried beneath the anger in her eyes and sighed; he had thought that might be the problem. He certainly didn't want her feeling guilt over what had happened; she wasn't to blame for any of it. "Yes," he said firmly. "Wynne has healed me and I feel fine now, but you obviously don't, so tell me what's wrong, please."

"What's wrong?!" she snapped, shooting to her feet and pacing back and forth across the room. "What's wrong is I let them do that to you! What's wrong is I left you behind to be tortured! What's wrong is they could have killed you before I got there and I would have lost you! That's what's wrong!" She was heaving by the time she was finished, her fists clenched tight, her shoulders stiff.

He stared at her for a second, appalled at how much she was blaming herself, before he quickly got to his feet and went to her, drawing her unyielding body into his arms. "Ayla, please, don't do this to yourself," he begged her softly, holding her tightly and feeling her slowly relax by degrees against him. "I asked you to leave me there, and I wanted you to leave me there. And I would do it all over again, willingly, I promise you. I would take torture any day over risking your life and the lives of our friends. And I didn't die. Maker, those aren't even the worst injuries I've ever had. So please, stop blaming yourself."

She had eventually relaxed completely against him while he was talking, burying her face in his chest, but when he finished, she raised her head to look at him, her eyes shining with tears, a few of them tracking slowly down her cheeks. "Alistair, you don't understand. I know what it looks like when someone I love has been tortured to death. I spent every waking minute until I saw you again picturing what I might find. And if I had found you looking like my father did – after I had a choice this time and I left you behind – I can't –" she shook her head, unable to finish the sentence as her voice cracked.

"I'm sorry, love," he replied softly, framing her face with his hands and wiping her tears away gently with his thumbs. "I admit, I didn't think of how it would compare to what happened to your father when I sent you away, and I know it must have hurt. But I would still do it again, because you're alive and safe, and so am I now. No," he interrupted her, holding up his hand when she went to say something, "you don't fully understand, either. You love me, I know that, but you've at least had people that loved you before. You are the first person to ever love me, to ever make me feel like I was worth anything. Do you know how I would feel if I lost you, if I lost the only good thing I've ever had in my life? How I would feel if that happened just because I refused to get arrested and go through a little torture? I told you I would do whatever I have to, to get us both through this, and I did."

She was staring at him, open-mouthed, surprise bright in her eyes. Slowly she shook her head. "I understand what you're saying, I do. And yes, I've had – and still have – family that loves me. But . . . you're the first person to ever make me realize that I could love somebody that wasn't my family, that I was even capable of that. That . . . I could have a life-mate that truly understood me and truly accepted me. You have no idea what that means to me, what losing you would do to me."

He couldn't help but smile at her passionate defense of how much she loved him, because it was still so hard for him to believe sometimes, and the way it warmed his heart and whole body to hear it was unbelievable. But – "You're wrong," he told her. "I know what it would do to you, because it would do the same thing to me. Now, we can argue over who loves who more, although you would lose in the end –" he winked at her to show her he was teasing, and was elated when he actually got a smile out of her in response – "but you're never going to convince me that I didn't do the right thing, or that you doing as I asked you to do wasn't the right thing. Everyone is alive, and safe. And we've got Anora on our side, now. So please, stop feeling guilty about this so I can kiss you senseless already, okay?"

This time, she actually laughed, and he wasted no time in taking advantage of that, swooping down to kiss her fervently. He swept his tongue through her mouth, tasting her with an urgent need and with all the pent-up passion he'd been feeling for her for the last several days – weeks, even. She moaned and gripped his hair tightly when he pressed her harder against him, squeezing her rear roughly with one hand while the other was tangled in her hair. She nipped his bottom lip hard, returning his kiss with equal fervor. It was when he started to sweep that other hand down to lift her up that she suddenly pulled back, pushing at his chest. "Wait," she gasped, panting hard, her pupils blown wide with lust.

"What?" he demanded breathlessly. "Why?" He was hard as a rock, aching to be buried in her right now after their weeks apart, and he could tell she wanted him to be, too, yet she was pushing against him, keeping him at a distance.

"Wynne said you can't, that we can't do this, not until you're better," she explained, trying to pull back further, though he didn't let her go.

"She actually said that?" he asked in disbelief, staring at her.

"Well, not in so many words," Ayla admitted, "but she did tell me not to let you overexert yourself until she'd pronounced you fully healed, and she put a lot of emphasis on 'overexert'." She smiled ruefully and shrugged. "Healer's orders."

"Honestly, Ayla, I'm fine. I promise you I feel up to it." To demonstrate his point, he pulled her hips into his even more firmly, showing her just how ready for her he was.

"Ah," she gasped, trying to arch her hips away from his. "Goddess, don't do that. I'm sure you're 'up to it'," she said wryly as she pushed hard at his chest again. "But I'm doing what the healer says. Until Wynne tells me otherwise, you are going to rest."

"You can't be serious," he groaned, letting go of her reluctantly when she nodded firmly, pushing at his chest again. "Maker, Ayla, do you know how badly I want you right now?"

"I know," she replied, backing out of his reach, taking deep breaths. "Believe me, I know, but I'm not going to do anything to jeopardize you getting better, no matter how much we both want to. It will only be a couple of days more, anyway." She grinned when he sighed loudly, heading back to the table to eat, defeated. "Besides, I intend to put your Warden stamina to the test again, so I'll need you at full strength."

"Do you promise?" he asked her hopefully, not that her saying something like that was really helping his state of arousal any. But he'd recognized the stubborn look on her face, and knew he wouldn't get anywhere trying to talk her out of it, so there was nothing for him to do but wait. And maybe try to bribe Wynne into saying he was healed sooner than she'd planned to.

She nodded, smiling, and he was pleased to see that sparkle back in her eyes. Now she looked like his Ayla again. "And does this mean you've stopped blaming yourself?" He might be pushing his luck at this point, but he really wanted to know.

She sighed, her eyes sliding away from his. "It means I'm really going to try not to, and I'm going to try not to think about it anymore. But please, tell me you won't ask me to do that again. I don't want to go through that ever again."

He nodded, slowly. "I promise I won't ever ask you to leave me behind to be arrested again." That was the best he could do; he wasn't about to make any other sorts of promises that he might have to break to keep her safe, but he was pretty sure that particular promise would be easy to keep. Once the Landsmeet was over and Loghain was out of the way, no one would want to arrest him again. It would just be darkspawn trying to kill him, like normal.

She turned her gaze back to his, looking at him appraisingly, and he could see that she wasn't fooled by the promises he'd left out, but as if knowing that was all she could expect, she finally said, "Good," before heading for the door.

"Wait, you're not going to stay?" he asked, catching her arm as she went by him. "Just to sleep," he clarified when she raised her eyebrows at him. "I just . . . want you here with me."

She considered it for a moment, a smile spreading across her face. "Are you going to behave if I stay?"

He nodded, putting a hand over his heart. "I'll be good, I swear." If she wanted to wait until Wynne said it was okay, he would respect that, even if it killed him. But if he was going to have to rest, he still wanted her there in his arms when he did.

"Okay," she conceded, going to sit down at the table again while he ate. "But just to sleep for now."

"Just to sleep," he agreed, going back to his food. He was going to have a talk with Wynne tomorrow about just what a recovering Warden needed. He wondered if Aedan was faring any better with his healer.

"I told you, not until you are recovered," Morrigan said sternly, swatting his hand away from her thigh before resuming her task of applying salve on his back.

Aedan sighed. Maker, what did his witch expect when she was straddling his hips in his bed while he was only wearing his smallclothes? Yes, it was supposedly for the purpose of healing, but when it was the woman he loved and hadn't touched in weeks that was doing the healing, it was awfully hard for a man to control himself. "And how long is that going to be?" he grumbled, his head turned sideways as he lay face down. "I feel fine right now. You said my wounds are closed over."

"'Twill be a couple of days, I suspect." She carefully massaged more salve over his shoulders, and he stifled a moan at the sensation. It was not only relaxing, but electric, the way it always was when she touched him. "The wounds are closed, but your body still needs to recover from the trauma. So you must rest until it has."

"You know," he began mischievously, slowly creeping his hand back to her leg again, "I would rest a lot better if you let me –"

"I will not," she said firmly, whacking his hand a good deal harder this time, making him unable to stifle a yelp. "And if you wish me to let you ever again, Aedan Cousland, you will listen."

"Fine," he agreed reluctantly, not doubting that Morrigan would make good on her threat if he pushed her too much. Or, at least, she would make him wait a lot longer than a couple of days before he would be able to talk his way under her skirt again. "But you, my pretty witch, had better be ready for the consequences of making me wait."

"Oh, and what might those be?" she asked in a bored tone, though she rocked her hips ever so slightly, making him groan at the jolt of lust that passed through him.

"You'll see," he growled when he could think straight again. "I'll keep you trapped in this bed, begging me for more until you need time to recover."

"Promises, promises," Morrigan drawled, rubbing a bit more of the salve into his lower back. "There, 'tis all done for today." She climbed off the bed, allowing him to sit up.

He turned to face her, able to catch the bit of concern in her eyes as it took him a moment longer than it might otherwise have done to sit up. Even with the salve, his back still felt tender and sore. He smiled, genuinely pleased as he always was when he actually caught sight of her true feelings for him. "Thank you, by the way," he told her sincerely. "For the healing and the rescue."

She flushed, shifting her gaze away from his. "You . . . are most welcome," she said at last. "But 'twas only –"

"Your duty," he said with a sigh. "I know." Even after her confession that she did indeed love him, she still always tried to maintain a distance from him. He didn't know why she still fought so hard, but he had only to remember her reaction to the plan of leaving him behind to know she'd meant what she said about loving him. The only thing that had gotten her to agree was appealing to her practical nature and reminding her of the fact that he had the ring and she could track him down as soon as she'd escaped. And she'd still been reluctant to leave him behind, even so.

"Perhaps . . . not only that," she admitted after a long moment. He looked up at her in surprise. "'Twas maybe not only that you are valuable to the Blight, but also valuable . . . to me. So, I could not let them do as they pleased to you."

"Morrigan . . ." He was touched at her words, at the fact that she was being openly and willingly vulnerable to him. And he could not help but feel guilty all over again that he was still lying to her about what had happened with Flemeth, even after she'd risked her life to save him from Fort Drakon. It was time to tell her the truth, and beg her forgiveness, he decided. "I . . . have to tell you something."

"What is it?" Her gaze was suddenly wary, suspicious, as she met his eyes, and she had every right to be both those things, he admitted to himself.

"When I went to confront Flemeth – we didn't actually fight or defeat her. I would have," he assured her quickly, pleading with his eyes for her to believe him as he kept going before she could interrupt, "if I believed she meant you any harm. But she promised that she would not do anything against your will, and that she would leave you alone for now. And I believed her, I truly did. So . . . though you had asked me . . . I could not risk our friend's lives to fight her. If it had just been my life, I would have, but . . ." he shook his head. "Not theirs too. Not when I didn't believe it necessary. I should not have lied to you, but . . . I was afraid. I was afraid you wouldn't forgive me for not doing as you'd asked. But I can't keep lying to you. Not anymore, not after you risked your life to come save me. So please, Morrigan, if you can . . . please forgive me."

She stared at him for a very long moment, for an eternity, really, it seemed to him, her expression as unreadable as he'd ever seen it. He wanted to get out of the bed, to go to her and convince her with his body, not just his words, but he wasn't sure how she would react, so he stayed where he was, praying she would say something.

"She claimed she would not do anything against my will? That she would leave me alone?" Morrigan asked at last. He couldn't quite decipher her tone, either, but she didn't sound angry.

He nodded. "She did, and Ayla believed her also. You know she is quite good at reading intentions. We both believed her. And she was willing to give up the grimoire, as well."

"Yes, Ayla is quite skilled at that, but my mother is equally skilled at manipulation. Still, I am certain you both truly believed her, or you would not have let the matter lie. Whether she truly meant it or not, that is what I do not know. However . . ." Morrigan hesitated, looking away again for a moment before continuing, "I am grateful that you did not confront her. After you had left, I could not stop thinking about how, even did you manage to defeat her, she was certain to have some way of returning. I . . . worried . . . about the fact that I had sent the two people I cared about the most to their possible deaths for no more than a brief respite. I regretted doing so, and I was more relieved than I had believed possible to see you both return safely. Besides that, the grimoire was the most important part, so, I am glad that you did not fight her, Aedan."

"You are?" He could hardly believe it, but when she nodded, his heart felt lighter than it had been in weeks, or perhaps even lighter than it had been since this whole thing began. He was off the bed in seconds, pulling her into his arms just to hold her, relieved beyond measure when she let him. He held her tightly to him, relishing in the feeling for a moment before pulling back to look at her. "Then . . . you forgive me?"

"I do," she agreed, smiling slightly when he beamed at her. "As long as you promise me something in return."

"Anything, of course," he replied instantly. He would give her anything she wanted, if she forgave him for this. The guilt had been eating him up for weeks; it was one of the toughest decisions he'd made yet during his leadership of their party, and that was saying something. He would do anything to lift that burden off his shoulders now, to have his lovely witch happy with him again.

"Simply . . . remember that I forgave you," she said slowly, not meeting his gaze, even when he ducked his head to try to look in her eyes to see what she was thinking. "I may find myself in need of your forgiveness, one day, as well."

"Of course." Even as he said it, he wondered what she thought he might not forgive her for. Was she still hiding something from him? Alistair seemed certain she had some ulterior motive for coming along with them, but Aedan had always dismissed the notion, knowing his Warden brother's dislike for Morrigan. Still, perhaps he was right; he could not think of any other possible reason Morrigan would extract that promise from him. But he had asked Ayla before, and she was certain Morrigan did not pose them any danger; so what could she possibly be hiding? Well, she would tell him when she was ready, he decided at last. In the meantime, he had something else that he needed to ask her.

"Morrigan," he began slowly, knowing that this might be too soon, but needing to find out now, "what do you intend to do when this is over? Would you be willing to . . . stay with me?"

She stared at him in shock, backing away from him, wearing the same expression she'd worn the day she'd asked him to let her go and he'd refused; that trapped, panicked expression. "I – Aedan – I –" she stopped, shaking her head, seemingly unable to put her feelings into words.

"I love you," he told her when she didn't say anything further, "and I know you love me. I'm not asking you to say that you will marry me or anything. I just want to know if you'd ever consider a more permanent arrangement, if it would ever be . . . something that you could do."

"I . . . no," she replied finally. "You . . . would wish to remain at court, would you not?" When he nodded, reluctantly, she went on, "I thought as much. I could not remain in any one place for that length of time, certainly not with so many people I care nothing for. Not even for you. However . . . were you willing to travel whenever and wherever I might have to go, especially if my mother should come looking for me . . . I would stay with you, then." She couldn't quite meet his eyes, and her face was flushed red by the end of her statement, but he knew she meant it, and it broke his heart.

It broke his heart because he couldn't say yes. He had suspected they might come to this impasse for a long time now, but that still didn't mean he was prepared for it now that it had happened. He would be happy with that arrangement for a while, he knew, but eventually he would come to regret it. He knew himself too well; he was too ambitious, he would never be content with a nomadic life where he couldn't change anything, couldn't help anyone, and would never have any sort of power. He wanted to change Ferelden, to make it better, to help the people more than he'd already been able to. He'd enjoyed the taste of leadership he'd gotten during the Blight so far; he just didn't want to be the leader of the Wardens. No, his ambitions were greater than that. That was why he'd had to talk to Morrigan before he talked to Anora.

He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her gently. "I wish I could say yes," he told her sadly, his heart aching with what he had to say. "I really do, but . . . I want to have power. I want to change things, and I could not do that if I left with you. I love you more than anyone, Morrigan, but I cannot live a directionless life, even for you. But . . . if you would agree . . . could we still be together, sometimes? If your travels ever brought you near Denerim, or if I ever travel somewhere close to you, if we could arrange to meet on occasion . . . I would take whatever I can have with you, if you're willing."

She looked up at him, crossing her arms, seeming to be weighing her options, and he held his breath, praying. "Would this mean that I might have to share you with another? That I may end up as your mistress?"

"Yes," he admitted reluctantly, knowing her views on sharing. "But you would not be sharing my heart with another, I can promise you that. If I wed another woman, it will be for political advantage only, not for love. It will always be you that I will truly wish to be married to." And you that I think of when I'm in her bed, he added silently, but he doubted that would be something she would want to hear. "I know how selfish this is of me to ask, but . . . I did warn you that I was selfish, that I wasn't willing to give you up. However, if you want to be my wife instead, to be a nobleman's wife, I will happily give that to you. You have only to ask." He wished she would say yes, but he knew that was against her nature, as much as leaving here was against his.

She shook her head slowly, and the sadness he could read deep in her eyes, though she was trying hard to veil it, was the one that was reflected in his own heart. "I could not. As much as part of me might wish it, I cannot remain here with you, confined in a life I would otherwise hate save the moments we would be together. I could not pretend to be someone I am not, to deny my nature as a mage, for fear they would try to put me in one of those Circles. I would die before I would allow that." She sighed. "However, I . . . do not think I can live entirely without you, either."

"Then . . . does that mean . . .?" He could hardly believe that she might agree to that arrangement, as much as he'd wished for it. He'd honestly expected her to say no, and figured that he might have to track her down later when he was missing her desperately and beg her to agree this time. Even if she agreed, it would still not be an ideal situation, or the happy ending he might wish for, but it would be the best he could do, the best compromise he could hope for. It was the only way out he could see that would not end with him completely hating one aspect of his life.

She nodded, slowly. "I will agree to be your mistress, yes. As long as you swear to me that I will be the only one that holds your heart, the only one that you truly desire." She met his gaze, her eyes burning with intensity. "Will you swear it?"

"I will," he vowed, no doubt in his mind as he held his hand over his heart. He'd been with many women before he met her, but there had been something different about her from the start, and he'd been lost in short order. He knew with absolute certainty he would never feel about another woman the way he felt about her; he never had before, and he never would again. "I swear it on the honor of the Couslands; my heart is always yours, Morrigan."

"Then I will be yours, whenever we might have the opportunity to meet," she answered quietly, though he could see the conviction in her eyes matched his, and it warmed him, even as his heart ached for the lost opportunity of marrying her. Still, one of the reasons he loved her was because she was not the sort of woman he was normally accustomed to, that wanted nothing more than to trap him in marriage and be a noblewoman; how could he deny that part of her just because it did not lead to the outcome he'd hoped for?

"Thank you, my lovely witch. You have no idea how much this means to me," he whispered, before claiming her mouth with his much more fiercely than he had before. She responded in kind as he pulled her tightly to him, and he could feel her passion matching his as their tongues duelled together.

As the kiss went on, he almost thought she'd forgotten about her vow to make him rest, until he slid his hand under the skirt of the red dress she still wore and she pulled away abruptly, shaking her head at him. "I allowed the kiss, but I will not allow anything more until you have rested," she scolded him.

He shrugged and smiled, though he had to admit to being disappointed. "Can't blame a man for trying, can you?"

She sniffed. "I can and I will, if you attempt it again before I grant you permission. Now, I shall go to fetch you something to eat. You had better remain here to rest while I am gone." She fixed him with a pointed glare before sweeping from the room.

He waited for a moment to be sure she wasn't coming back immediately before he found himself a tunic and breeches, dressing as swiftly as he could. He was sure he would regret it when his pretty witch returned, but he wanted to talk to the Arl before the night was over. Morrigan had ushered him straight to his room when he got back, and he had not had an opportunity to discuss the next plan of attack with the Arl or Anora yet. He wouldn't be able to rest comfortably until he'd settled things as much as possible for the night, so he would have to risk Morrigan's wrath. After all, the Arl's study wasn't far, and he was only going to talk. It was pretty much like resting, he reasoned with himself, hoping she would see it that way as he slipped out of his room, heading down the hallway to the study.

He was relieved when he arrived at the study to find both the Arl and Anora already there discussing the Landsmeet. He would still need to have a talk with Anora later away from Eamon, but for now, it would save him time to be able to speak with both of them.

The Arl stood up as soon as he entered the room. "Maker's breath! It's good to see you in one piece, my friend. How are you feeling? Does Alistair fare well?"

"Indeed," Anora added, smiling brightly when she saw him. "We have been praying for your safe return, Aedan. As well as Alistair's, of course."

"I'm feeling quite well, thank you," he replied, bowing slightly to the Arl. "Morrigan has healed all my wounds. Wynne was working on Alistair, and as she is an excellent healer, I am certain he's feeling much better, also." He turned to Anora. "I am most glad to see you are all right, Anora."

He meant it, sincerely; he was relieved to see that she had made it back safely and was looking more like the Anora he'd always known, wearing a high-waisted, multi-colored silk dress with her blonde hair up in braided buns. She had once been one of his closest friends in childhood along with Cailan; the three of them had often played together while their fathers had met to discuss matters of state over the years. At one time, he had even thought he was in love with Anora; he knew now it had merely been a boy's crush, but he still cared a great deal about her. If he had to protect her even from her own father, he would.

She smiled, her blue eyes warm as she answered, "I was . . . uncertain you would respond as you did, considering the consequences of your rescuing me. I am glad you did. Thank you."

"Of course," he said. "My priority was getting you and the others out of there safely, whatever the consequences. And now that we're all back, what happened matters little."

She nodded, looking relieved as she went on, "Now that you have been rescued, we must work together, and quickly. My father has gone mad. I didn't believe it at first, but he is gripped by a paranoia so severe it prevents him from seeing sense. He saw me as a threat, yet even now I'm certain he will be telling the nobles you are dangerous murderers that have kidnapped and mind-controlled me. He may even believe it."

Aedan nodded slowly. He was unsurprised to hear Anora's take on her father's state of mind. The more he heard about what Loghain had been doing lately, the more certain he was that Ferelden's hero general was no longer the man he had once been. "I suppose the most important question would be, can he still take the throne without you?"

Anora frowned. "Perhaps. It will be more difficult for him, but if my father says the Grey Wardens are the enemy, many will believe it. He is a legend."

"It's true," Eamon agreed. "Our position in the Landsmeet is not strong, and this does little to help us."

"We did find a few things while we were rescuing Anora that will help," Aedan informed the Arl. He didn't want to think about Howe any more than he had to, about how alarmingly good it had felt to make him pay, but they had come across some useful information in his dungeons.

"At least that snake Howe is dead," Anora remarked scornfully. "That alone will not be enough, however. My father is committed to his path. You will need ammunition for the Landsmeet, and there I can help."

"Go on," Aedan prompted. "We could use more help, I'm sure, even with what we have found out so far."

"You have only just arrived in the city, so perhaps you are unaware of some . . . recent events," Anora said hesitantly. "Denerim has been in turmoil since Ostagar. Many people here are angry or grieving. Strangely, the unrest is worst in the alienage. Few elves accompanied the army. They should have little reason to be upset. Which means that Howe and my father must have given them reason. I don't know what is happening there, but I am certain my father has his hands in it."

"A useful lead, Anora," Eamon replied, giving her a sceptical look as he went on, "but . . . you could have sent this information with your maid."

"That is true," Anora conceded, dipping her head in acknowledgment. "I feared for my safety as Howe's prisoner, but to tell the truth I sent Erlina to you because I hoped we might join forces. You need that evidence for the Landsmeet, but you also need a stronger candidate for the throne. You need me."

Aedan smiled. He'd suspected that had been Anora's plan all along, and indeed, it was just what he'd hoped for, though he could see the Arl looked less than pleased. Though he personally believed Anora was right about being a strong candidate, he couldn't resist needling her just as he used to when they were younger. "Just how are you a stronger candidate, pray tell?"

She flashed him the scowl he remembered so well, as if suspecting exactly what he was doing, as she replied haughtily, "I have no doubt Alistair is biddable enough, and decent, but even with his blood he is no king. You think only I can see it? Not only that, Alistair is a Grey Warden. It will look like you are trying to put a Grey Warden on the throne, despite your claims. I am a neutral party – and I am already queen."

Eamon looked positively disgruntled now as he began, "Anora, you are indeed Cailan's widow, but . . ."

"I am the daughter of Ferelden's greatest general," Anora cut him off, and Aedan nearly laughed at the expression on Eamon's face as she let loose on him. "Who do you think truly ruled this nation for the last five years? Cailan? I am what this country needs, not an untrained king who does not even want the throne. I can help you stop my father. Consider what I have said." She turned to Aedan, and he quickly assumed a more sober expression as she said, "For now, I think I will retire to my room for the night. Aedan, when you have a moment, I ask that you speak to me in private."

"Of course, Anora, I'd be happy to," he told her. "I will likely come by sometime tomorrow." She nodded at him before sweeping out of the room, head high.

"Well, she's quite . . . spirited," the Arl remarked, looking distinctly unimpressed as he watched her go. "I remember when Loghain first brought her to Denerim. Poor Cailan was a good boy, but Anora was always two steps ahead. Had him jumping when she snapped since the first time she batted her eyelashes. You, as well, if I recall." He glanced significantly at Aedan, who merely shrugged in reply. It was true enough; once he would have done anything for Anora, but it had been a long time since then, and she had chosen Cailan over him. Besides, he was a completely different person now. "I cannot help thinking she may be trouble," Eamon continued when he didn't rise to the bait. "But we should keep her close, all the same."

"Oh? Why do you think she's trouble?" Aedan knew perfectly well why Eamon was concerned, of course. Anora was a threat to the Arl's plan to put Alistair on the throne – which was exactly what he needed her for. He wasn't about to let his brother be miserable just because the Arl thought it was the best thing for him and Ferelden. Alistair, he knew, would be much happier as a Warden, married to Ayla. And if he had his way, Alistair was going to take over his place as Warden Commander, if all went according to plan with the Landsmeet and the Blight. He just had to get Anora to agree, and keep Eamon in the dark until he was ready.

"This is an alliance of convenience – for the moment we are united against Loghain. I know you were childhood friends, but be careful how much trust you place in her," Eamon warned as he took his seat at his desk again. "I do not for a moment think Anora means to give up her power easily. Still, I would rather have her where we can watch her than actively working for Loghain."

Aedan nodded. On that, at least, they were in agreement; Anora was better off here than with Loghain. "I will take some of the others to find out what Loghain is doing in the Alienage as soon as my healer pronounces me well enough. We will see if we can get to the bottom of whatever he is doing. I should head back now before Morrigan comes looking for me."

"Of course," the Arl replied. "If I might make a suggestion: Go speak with Anora as soon as you are able. She will either be a powerful ally, or a powerful enemy, and the sooner we know which she is, the better."

"Do not worry," Aedan told him as he went to leave the study. "I will talk to her tomorrow." He had an awful lot to discuss with Anora, after all. She was at the heart of all his plans; he just had to convince her to go along with them. He wanted to go talk to her right now, but he suspected that he had pushed Morrigan enough for one day. With that in mind, he headed back to his room to face her wrath for not having stayed put as he was supposed to. There would be time enough to talk to Anora later.