Zevran lounged against the wall beside the doorway of Arl Eamon's study, one ankle crossed over the other as he strived for one of his more nonchalant poses. His thumb ran lightly across the edge of his dagger as he made a show of examining the blade, absorbed by the reflected glint of early morning light in the metal. It was an old trophy but valuable for its unusual size; intended for ceremonial use, his carrying it within the walls of the estate would not cause offence though he remained secure in his ability to turn it into a formidable weapon. However at this precise moment, its more useful purpose was to serve as a decoy for the fact that he was focused on what was going on beyond the study door rather than in the hallway.

Straining to listen, he could hear the low rumble of the dwarven Warden-Commander, occasionally punctuated by the higher tenor of the Arl. Yet no matter how he tried to quieten his breathing, the elf could not decipher any detail, no matter how obscure, which might help him to understand this mess he had stumbled upon.

It did not take much wit to know who had disturbed his Warden so. As much as Elissa had proven herself to be a fine actress—a revelation he would have preferred to have been timed a little better than it had been—Zevran was yet to witness another who had the same effect on her as the new King. He had watched them respond to one another over the months he had spent with them and as much as she may not have wished to admit it, Elissa was as affected by Alistair as Alistair was by Elissa. From the dizzying heights of blissful contentment to the deepest depths of melancholy, the pair had been working their way towards a mutual equilibrium of heart and soul. As infuriating as it had been on occasion, and he had not been able to resist a sly remark here and there, Zevran had found observing the all too distant aches and pains of first love was in itself cathartic. Such shared innocence had endeared the two Wardens to him.

All of which demanded that he unravel just what Alistair had done to reduce Elissa to the trembling wreck that Zevran had stumbled on, as well as sate his own curiosity with regards to the motivations which had enabled the man to bring himself to do it.

However, following through on such a resolve was proving to be particularly difficult. Zevran had caught only a glimpse of Alistair, the man slumped at the desk cradling his head in his hands, while Eamon and the Commander exchanged hushed but pointed remarks with one another. When Eamon had spied the elf in the hallway, he had roundly shut the door in Zevran's face before he could catch Alistair's attention.

But the Arl's interference was irrelevant. Zevran would keep his vigil. His orders had been clear and whether Alistair wished it or not, or if it was for the reasons Elissa had intended or not, it was clear that the King did indeed need someone to watch over him. Who better than a friend?

The soft tread of footfalls stirred Zevran from his thoughts and he straightened to greet the newcomer, sheathing his blade as he did so. Elissa emerged from the doorway with the Orlesian elf—Zevran had thought Torih's absence had been too convenient—a half step behind her, his hand firmly gripping at the woman's elbow.

At sight of the Antivan, Torih's lip twisted into a sneer but Zevran paid little attention to his adversary. His Warden has entirely captured his attention. Her eyes were glazed and shoulders hunched and while she blinked at him as they approached, there was no hint of recognition.

Suddenly it did not matter that the Orlesian was there. Zevran was at her side in a moment, his movement startling her out of her trance and forcing the pair to come to a standstill. He rested a comforting hand against the small of her back as he attempted to coax some familiar reaction from her.

"Elissa, you do not look well," he murmured, ignoring the growl of protest which rumbled from Torih. His voice provided her with a beacon to cling to and she turned her head, gazing at the Crow for a few moments before mumbling, "Zev."

Recognition of her friend prompted her vacant stare to sharpen into a desperate plea which begged him not to steal the last shred of dignity she was struggling to hold onto. It dug deep into his conscience and he would have listened were it not for the way she immediately closed her eyes, almost swaying as she did so. In his inability to harden his heart against the sight, he found that he could no longer do as she commanded.

"You are not capable..."

Her gaze hardened as she drew herself up and squared her shoulders. She shook herself free from both Torih's grip and the hand Zevran still had against her back before marching towards the door without another word. With a contemptuous snort, the Orlesian Warden brushed past Zevran and the pair vanished into the study, the door firmly shut on the Antivan once more.

Zevran permitted himself one drawn out sigh before he drew his blade out and returned to his position next to the doorway. He would wait.

The satisfaction Torih felt at the Antivan's exclusion was short-lived as the strained silence within the room enveloped him. The dwarven Commander stood near the fireplace, head bowed and arms crossed mulling over some detail, while the Arl was at the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared out. Both turned at the clatter of footsteps behind them though Torih was mollified to discover that it was Cousland who bore the brunt of their stares.

She ignored them both, coming to a halt a few steps into the room and standing stiffly to attention as she focused on some stone in the far wall. She was striving to disprove the Antivan's comment that she was not capable of withstanding the pressures of this meeting but her deliberate aversion to look anywhere in the vicinity of the bastard King revealed more than she likely intended.

"Perhaps I should begin," the Arl cleared his throat as he surrendered his position at the window in favour of nearing the desk and addressing the younger man. "I must apologise for the manner in which this news has been delivered, Alistair," he spared a quick glance towards Cousland, "and you, Hero."

Torih bristled at the title though he found himself distracted by the accompanying shudder which ran through her. There was clearly some leverage to be had in its use, even if it threatened to burn his tongue should he ever use it to address her.

Unaware of the reaction he had prompted, the Arl continued. "The Commander and I were aware of the difficulties this solution presents and we had hoped to reveal it more discreetly than this."

The attempt by the Arl to placate the young couple held no interest for Torih but it confirmed that the revelation of the agreement had not gone to plan. The elf had guessed as much when, only less than an hour ago, a servant had pounded on the door of Argarth's room with the summons that the Commander and his former Second were to gather in the Arl's study immediately. Torih had made to protest, the key elements of the agreement having only been briefly outlined to him, but the Commander signalled that he was to attend without further complaint. The elf knew enough to maintain his superiority over Cousland, itself invaluable, but it did not obscure the fact that for much of the following discussion, he would be hearing the specifics for the first time just as she was.

"Dress it up how you want," Cousland snarled in the direction of the wall. Torih could only assume that the Arl had moved too close to Theirin for her to feel comfortable to track his movement. "The fact is you want the betrothal broken."

Argarth stiffened at her interruption and shot a pointed look towards Torih.

A surge of resentment bubbled up from the pit of the elf's stomach. The Antivan's earlier remark should have led him to anticipate her show of defiance but it was difficult to reconcile the near mute woman he had escorted from the main doors with the seething creature now beside him. He went to grab her elbow again, but was checked by the Arl who evidently feared a more violent rebuke and hastily held up a hand as signal that the elven Commander was not to concern himself with his newest recruit's apparent insolence.

"It is to be expected," the man added before settling his attention back to Cousland. "Hero, you must understand..."

"The heir."

The dwarven Commander gave a snort. "Such a thing is no concern of ours, Cousland."

"No, that's his concern," she spat, eyes still fixed dead ahead. "What is your concern?"

"The sanctity of our Order," Argarth remarked coolly. "The oaths of two Grey Wardens cannot be allowed to be forsaken for what could be interpreted as political gain on our behalf."

"Then I can only hope you gain nothing." She pushed each word out from behind gritted teeth.

Her continued show of impertinence was fast wearing down his limited patience and Torih growled. "Watch your mouth."

The corner of her mouth twisted and he had the distinct impression that he was a source of bitter amusement to her.

"Regardless of how you may feel, Cousland..." Argarth spoke again in a raised voice, eyeing the elf as he did so.

Under the scrutiny of his former Commander, Torih forced back the overwhelming urge to strike the woman and mirrored her stance in the hopes that some discipline in his posture would manifest itself to his mind.

"... to permit such a thing undermines all we stand for."

Cousland swung her head round and levelled the full force of her glare at the dwarf. "And deciding not to send me to Weisshaupt? Making me a Second?" At the revelation, a frown flickered across the dwarf's face before he shot a dirty look towards Torih. Evidently the Commander wished the elf had kept that particular detail to himself. But oblivious or indifferent to the brief tension between the pair, the woman carried on. "How does that not undermine everything that you stand for?"

The mention of Weisshaupt provoked a reaction in Theirin and the man suddenly stirred, shifting in his seat as he raised his head, blinking as he struggled through his daze.

"No." The word was spoken in a rasp and he forced himself to cough. "No, not Weisshaupt. She stays in Ferelden."

His intervention was a spark to kindling. Cousland whirled round, fists clenched and fire in her eyes as she began to advance towards the desk. "His Majesty," she hissed the word, lacing it with poison as it passed across her lips, "will not presume to speak on my behalf."

The chair clattered to the ground as Theirin rose to his feet. Eyes locked on her hers, he leaned forward, resting his palms flat against the desk and reacted to her bravado with the beginnings of his own.

"Enough."

The booming delivery of the word deafened them all as it bounced off the walls.

Cousland stopped dead in her tracks as Theirin flinched before both turned to stare at the dwarf. Argarth strode forward, pushing past the Arl and placing himself in front of the desk with his back to Theirin. As he eyed Cousland, his lip began to curl into a sneer. "Return to your Commander."

Torih expected some form of resistance but in the face of battle-scarred experience and hard-won authority, she yielded. Chastened, she tucked her chin into her chest before falling back to stand at Torih's side. Beneath his breath, the elf sniggered which earned a muffled snarl from Cousland. Her reaction only sweetened the moment further.

"I am inclined to agree with the King," as the dwarven Commander regained his composure, his expression smoothed out into one of inscrutability. "The Arl has enlightened me to the delicate nature of the politics within this country. I do not think the removal of the Hero at this point would be wise for the stability of either Order or Crown."

"I will not remain here." Her protest was sullen but earnest.

"You have your orders. You will abide by them."

Cousland jerked her head up as she seized on some opportunity she perceived had been presented to her. "But you are not my Commander." She turned to stare at the elf, lips pressed together in a thin smile which contorted her face. "As Commander of the Ferelden Grey, what are your orders for me?"

Before Torih could respond, Argarth let out a low chuckle as he acknowledged the truth in her statement. "This is true, Cousland." There was a hint of amusement to his voice which revealed that the dwarf was under no illusions as to the internal conflict the woman had prompted within his former Second. "She is yours to command, Torih."

"Cousland," he drew her name out into a hiss as he narrowed his eyes, contemplating the choice which was, in truth, no choice at all. Her very presence offended him and disgraced all he identified with. Yet it was clear that unless he wished to court the displeasure of the dwarven Commander, then he had no choice but to accede to the arrangements already agreed. As the heat of four stares boring into him caused his temper to simmer, Torih finally snapped out, "as my Second, she will remain with me for the time being while we rebuild our numbers in Ferelden."

Argarth nodded in approval but a dissenting growl rumbled from Cousland.

"I don't care. I'll still leave."

All pretence at self-control vanished from Torih and he grabbed at her arm, dragging her down so that her face was only inches from his own.

"It is true that we do not have the resources to prevent you at this moment in time," he spat, seeing the reflection of his face in her widened eyes, "but rest assured that as Commander in Ferelden, I would ensure that should you ever return to these borders, you would be punished for both instances of desertion."

A timely clearing of the throat from Argarth brought Torih back to more practical matters. Recollecting the reference to political stability, the elf pushed her away, a disgusted grimace passed across his face as he acknowledged the real incentive that would ensure her compliance. "It should also be pointed out that should you decide that you do not wish to heed my command, the Order may very well decide not to heed the need your country has for a King." His voice hardened as he stared the woman down through narrowed eyes. "I imagine the reports of Ferelden's civil war will follow you wherever you flee, Cousland."

Her cheeks lost all colour as she at last realised the full extent of the consequences that others would have to bear if she did not adhere to the decree.

The Arl cleared his throat a second time. "An excellent point to consider, Hero."

Without waiting for confirmation from the woman, Argarth addressed the Arl. "I am certain that the Warden is now in full agreement with your decision."

Cousland cringed but offered no further argument. Instead she shuffled behind Torih, attention focused on her feet as she retreated into herself and at last permitted her betters to continue with the arrangements.

Sensing the battle was all but won, the Arl glanced at the dwarf. "Can I assume that your intentions to journey to Ostagar remain intact, Commander?"

"Ostagar?" Theirin echoed, drawing the attention of both as a frown furrowed his forehead.

"We wish to reclaim the ruin as our own," Argarth confirmed. "Another measure to distance the Order from the involvement of the Crown."

"But that makes no sense," Theirin began to shake his head. "The full force of the Horde was levied against it. Why would you choo..." he trailed off as his glances between the two began to linger on the Arl. "You."

The older man remained resolute under the steadfast stare.

"Why not Soldier's Peak?" Theirin challenged at last. "Why not reclaim your own territory?"

"There are already too many similarities with Dryden in this situation. I am reluctant to return to the very fortification from which she launched her rebellion against the Crown," Argarth replied evenly.

"So you intend to claim an abandoned Tevinter ruin on the edge of the Korcari Wilds," the younger man summarised, making no attempt to hide his contempt for the nugshit he was being presented with. "Near the opposite border to Orlais, no less."

"The decision has been made, Alistair..." the Arl began in a murmur.

Whether it was the unwelcome intervention or the uninvited familiarity, Theirin stiffened as the man spoke. Lowering his head so that he stared down at his hand still pressed against the desk, the younger man issued his instruction in a cold voice. "Leave us."

Behind him, Torih sensed the change in Cousland. Even without being able to see her, he had no doubt that the two men suddenly had her full attention.

The Arl's eyebrows shot up before knitting together into a puckered brow. "I would ask that you do not..."

"Leave."

The older man looked first to Argarth and then Torih as the command echoed around the room. Finding that no one was prepared to dispute the order however, Eamon's face settled into a stony expression even as he bowed to the other man.

"Of course, your Majesty."

Torih stepped to one side, hearing the scrape of Cousland's boot as she did the same behind him, and the elder man stalked past them, slamming the door behind him as he left. Torih did not bother to spare a glance for the Arl however, preferring to focus on the unexpected, if tame, outburst from Theirin.

The young man heaved a sigh before spinning round to retrieve the chair from where it had toppled. Righting it, he sank down and took a deep breath before raising his head to catch Argarth's eye.

"Let's start at the beginning and you can tell me everything that Eamon has agreed," Theirin's gaze flickered from the dwarf towards Cousland and a wretchedness rushed across his features, lingering for a moment before the young man gathered himself and settled his focus once more on Argarth, "on our behalf."

Having been caught off-guard by the abrupt exit of the Arl, Zevran remained where he sat, cross-legged on the floor with his back rested against the wall, as the door opened for a second time. The dwarven Commander did not spare him a second glance as he marched past but when Elissa and the elf emerged from the room, Zevran scrambled to his feet.

Elissa raised her head at the faint scuffle and the effort it took to summon even a faint smile seemed to exhaust her reserves. Fleeting as it was, Zevran understood that she intended him to interpret the gesture as a beckon.

"My Warden," he acknowledged, drawing closer to her.

"Zev. I... I need my armour. And swords, if you can find them," her brow knitted into a frown. "I'm not sure where they removed everything after..." her voice caught and he reached out, his fingers grazing against her arm as he tried to distract her.

"Why?"

"I am Second of the Ferelden Grey," she replied in a hollow voice, her eyes darting towards Torih revealing the identity of her Commander. The singsong nature of the statement suggested that it was something she had been endlessly reciting in her head. "We are to leave for Ostagar tomorrow."

Zevran shot a look towards the doorway of the study. "And Alistair..."

"The King keeps his own counsel."

"I see." He waited for a moment but when it became clear that she had no intention of expanding on the statement, Zevran nodded his agreement to her earlier request. "I will find your belongings, Elissa."

"Thank you," she murmured, bowing her head and pressing her fingers to her temples. It was clear that she was struggling to sift through her thoughts and that the process was exacerbated by the presence of the Orlesian. She reared her head and confronted Torih. "Do you mind?"

The Orlesian regarded her with thinly veiled disgust. "There is nothing you cannot say in front of me, Cousland. In fact, given your prior behaviour, it would seem a necessity that I remain."

Recognising the warning signs that his Warden was close to losing all self-restraint, Zevran interceded with a quiet murmur, forcing her to refocus on him rather than the Commander.

"What do you wish of me?"

Her eyes flew back to Zevran and he was pleased to see the anger subsided from her expression, though the shame remained.

"All the money we had. Before I..." her voice trailed off as she winced at the unbidden memory. Swallowing, she struggled on, "before I lost... my way..."

"I imagine it remains in the room you were given," Zevran interrupted, anticipating her request and wishing to shield her from further hurt. "I do not believe the servants would have rifled through anything they thought belonged to you."

"Go and speak with the Knight-Captain. Provide anything he needs using it. Whatever is left, you take, Zev."

"Payment for services rendered?"

Elissa shook her head, dropping her eyes to the floor. "Money for a fresh start."

"What do you propose?"

"There's nothing to keep you here. We dealt with the Crows, you can return to Antiva."

"We dealt with the Crows in Denerim," he corrected. "My life remains forfeit. But that does not concern me greatly."

"I won't be here, Zev. Leliana and Oghren are leaving soon. We're all going our separate ways."

Zevran shook his head. She was being deliberately obtuse and he had long since learned that when she was in this mood, no amount of cajoling or flattery would appease her. Instead, it was simpler all round to speak plainly.

"And what of Alistair?"

"I doubt the King will have much need for you, Arainai," Torih grunted. "Or do you intend to fail to protect him and so complete your original mission?"

Disregarding the contribution from the Orlesian, Elissa gave a shrug. "Do what you want, Zevran. You're nothing to do with me anymore." She glanced up from examining the scuffs on her boots and in the direction of Torih. "Well, Commander? What now?"

The Orlesian pushed her in the direction of the door leading to the main hall and she walked away from Zevran without another word. Torih threw a smirk towards the Antivan but made no comment as he strode after his new Second.

Zevran remained where he stood, head bowed as he struggled to retain his perspective. Her words had stung. Still, he was not yet ready to renege on his bond even if she was just testing his patience. Giving himself a small shake, he imagined flinging his own harsh words away as he did so. Taking a calming breath in and out, Zevran backtracked to the open door of the study.

Alistair was lost in thought in front of the fireplace. The flickering of the flames reflected in a dull glint from a thin chain wrapped around his fingers, though whatever the chain held was clasped tightly in the palm of his hand. He gave no sign that he was aware of Zevran and the elf chose not to venture closer. He understood the sight of a man who did not wish to be disturbed.

After a few minutes, Alistair raised his hand and allowed the chain to drop its full length. The small vial of blood which has always hung around the man's neck now swung in midair and Zevran allowed his gaze to follow its motion. Neither Alistair nor Elissa had confided in him the importance of the vial but since Alistair neither removed it or his mother's amulet, the assassin understood that whatever the meaning, the vial held a great deal of significance. Suddenly, he pulled at the chain and caught the vial in one swift movement before he withdrew his hand and threw the vial against the back of the fire in a burst of anger. A musical tinkering filled the room as the glass hit the wall before falling, undamaged, into the grate. Intended to be worn beneath armour, and presumably enchanted in some way, his throw was hardly equivalent to the weight of heavy plate pressing down on it.

Alistair let out a groan at his failure to accurately convey his frustration. He made a half-hearted attempt to snatch up the poker but finding the handle just outside of his reach, he gave a hollow laugh before straightening, abandoning the vial in the hot ashes of the grate. Sensing that the man was about to make his exit, Zevran retreated on silent steps and hid himself within the shadows in the far reaches of the hallway.

As predicted, Alistair walked from the room, head down, but with a sense of purpose which alerted the elf to necessity of following the new King. He could spare a few minutes however.

Waiting until the man's footsteps had faded, Zevran returned to the study and stole across to the fireplace. He took up the poker and retrieved the vial with ease, depositing it on the desk so that it could cool. He hesitantly held a hand over the glass in an attempt to assess its heat. While the chain was uncomfortable to the touch, the glass remained cool though he marvelled at the eerie warmth that had nothing to do with the residual heat from the ashes radiating from the blood within it. Gingerly, Zevran tucked the vial into a pocket, ensuring that there was plenty of clothing between it and his skin. He did not think it posed a risk but he had no wish to be proven wrong simply through carelessness.

With his prize secured, Zevran followed after Alistair. His tracking of the man was easy but took him to an unexpected part of the estate. The elf had expected that Alistair, deprived of the maternal guidance of Wynne, would turn to Leliana. But he had headed away from the direction of the Bard's room and towards the rooms nearer the courtyard and stables.

Confronted by walking down an empty corridor, Zevran realised he had lost his mark and was forced to double back. One of the doors further up was ajar and as the elf pushed at it, the squeal of the hinge announced his arrival.

Alistair glanced round at the noise but seeing he was under no threat, returned his attention to the object on the large table dominating the centre of the room. Around the walls, empty hooks and racks spoke to the ferocity of the battle against the Horde as all weaponry had found a willing hand. Here and there, some had been returned but the majority were lost or misplaced without any indication as to the fate of the ones who had wielded them.

"Her armour," Alistair mumbled, gesturing at the various items scattered across the table. "I, uh, remembered it was damaged. But it's been repaired. And cleaned. I thought..." A long sigh escaped from him and with it, his posture. He gave a listless shrug. "I thought I might be useful and help prepare it. She... She always forgets. But... it's been done."

"Better to be certain."

Alistair snorted but his hand crept towards one of the belts though he seemed unable to bring himself to actually touch it.

"She will need blades. Sten did not recover her weapons and I do not have his skill or patience for locating such items." Zevran gestured to the walls. "May I examine these?"

The man stared about him before remarking slowly, "the Palace will have better equipment, I guess." He shot a look towards the elf, a faint frown on his face as though confused by the options available to him. "I should send for them. I'm allowed to do that now, right?"

"Yes, my friend," the elf nodded as he neared the racks, his expert eye running over the available weapons. It was presumptuous of him to assume he knew what Elissa looked for in her blades but given the circumstances, he doubted she would protest too much. "But I do not think her Commander will permit her to carry better weapons than his own. These will suffice."

"That's not enough."

Zevran glanced round and flashed a reassuring smile at Alistair. "True but trust me, Alistair. I will not allow her to be at a disadvantage." He gestured to the table. "See to the armour and I will examine these blades."

In an unspoken agreement that neither was to acknowledge the real issue, both went about their self-appointed tasks without further remark.

The room nearest the kitchen was filled with the rumble of conversation and the clatter of cutlery. Having arrived as a group to take midday meal, Argarth had deliberately drawn the three other Wardens around him and had left his former Second to sit with the newest recruit on their own at the far end of the table. The Orlesian Commander clearly intended that some form of rapport should begin to be constructed between the elf and human but as Torih eyed the so-called Hero of Ferelden across the table, only a terse silence dominated.

Since leaving the study, apart from her brief conversation with the Antivan, Cousland had remained resolutely silent. Throughout the introductions to the other Wardens and the measuring session with both tailors and blacksmiths, she had spoken only when directly addressed and even then in a clipped tone. Torih had no interest in shaking her from melancholy; every moment she persisted in navel-gazing granted him another moment to accustom himself with his newly attained position and its responsibilities.

And unfortunately one of those responsibilities was to ensure those under his command were suitably nourished.

"Eat," he grunted at her, tearing at a piece of bread and dipping it in the broth.

She continued to stare down at her untouched plate. "I'm not hungry."

"You survive the killing of an Archdemon and you claim to have no appetite. Cousland, if I could not feel the scratch of your taint, I would deny that you are in fact a Grey Warden."

She tucked her chin tighter into her chest so he was unable to see her expression. Her fingers, however, pressed against the table as she fought against the desire to respond.

Counting the small gesture as evidence of a successful hit, Torih spoke through his mouthful of broth and bread. "We are to travel tomorrow. You will not be excused from any task. Eat, or I will see to it that you are force fed."

"And how do you intend to do that?" she snarled, her head snapping up as she fixed a defiant glare on him.

"As painfully as possible," he replied, swallowing his mouthful before adding, "I have no time for your melodramatics, Cousland."

Very deliberately, her gaze never falling from his, she took up a piece of bread from her plate and pushed it into her mouth, forcing herself to chew.

The abrupt arrival of the Antivan Crow interrupted Torih's intended comment. The assassin sidled in from the hallway, sitting down beside the woman, though he paid her little attention and instead focused on the elven Commander.

"I do not believe I offered my congratulations when we spoke earlier, my friend."

The Orlesian Warden ignored the baiting. There was a new note to the cacophony of taints around him which had accompanied Arainai's appearance. Torih narrowed his eyes at the other elf; too weak to be the Antivan himself, there was still no doubt that there was something on the assassin's person which was tainted.

Cousland twitched, a movement she attempted to disguise with a roll of her shoulders but Torih took it to be a sign that she too had sensed the taint. He glanced down the table but the other Wardens remained oblivious. It appeared that they sat too far from Arainai to be able to sense anything unusual.

"My Warden," the Antivan murmured and as Torih risked a glance in his direction, he caught the softening of the assassin's gaze as he turned to the woman. "You misplaced this."

Arainai took hold of her hand and pushed something into her palm. As the elf's hand retreated from hers, Torih caught a glimpse of a vial before Cousland's fingers closed around it, tightening into a fist.

"Where did you find this?" she asked, voice hoarse.

Theirin's. It could belong to no other. Clever of the Antivan to try to pass it off as hers, though. Clearly, Arainai had no knowledge of the distinctiveness of each taint. Comforting that Cousland had not completely disregarded every secret of their Order. Still, one vial of blood meant nothing and the conversation it looked to provoke sounded as though it would be worth more than the brief satisfaction of grinding the thing under his heel in front of her.

"It did not smash when it was thrown into the fireplace. I retrieved it instead."

As Torih dipped another piece of his bread into his broth, he swallowed the snort with which he wanted to greet the remark. Evidently Theirin had had some form of tantrum after their departure from the study.

"He gave me such a row," Cousland murmured, her voice softening as she surrendered into whatever reminiscence the vial had prompted. She did not acknowledge the Crow's attempt to obscure its true origins and Torih assumed that she had realised that he had been able to sense the truth. Apparently, it did not matter to her at this moment. "It was the first time he was angry at me." Her head jerked up but her focus was entirely on the Antivan. "Angry at me, Zev. Can you believe it?"

"I only remember his reaction to the unpleasantness at Redcliffe."

"This was just after Lothering. Long before we met you," she held the vial up to the light, studying the murky liquid. "We stopped to bathe in a stream, before we..." A hitch in her voice forced her to swallow but she carried on, "just... before."

The Antivan's upper arm moved and while Torih could not see for certain, he assumed that the elf was offering her some form of physical comfort.

Cousland spared a small smile towards the Crow. "He offered to keep an eye on our belongings; me, Leliana and Morrigan. He mentioned about my vial, that he'd keep it on him so it wouldn't be accidently broken. I said that I hadn't seen it since Ostagar. Morrigan swore there had been nothing like it on me when she and Flemeth stripped me afterwards. Oh, he was so angry."

"What happened?"

So absorbed in one another as they were, Torih found he was able to abandon his disinterest in favour of a cynical curiosity.

"I asked why it was so important. It's just a vial, after all. But the look on his face," Cousland shook her head, a frown passing over her face as she recalled the memory. "And then he just said, 'to remember'. What do you say to something like that, Zev?"

"I do not know, my friend. What did you say?"

"I didn't have to," her frown momentarily deepened before disappearing and she glanced down at her clenched hand. "Bandits interrupted us." Without warning, Cousland rounded on the elven Commander, her face contorted as she levelled her accusation at him. "You made him throw this away like some cheap trinket!"

Torih regarded her coolly before remarking, "Cousland, I did not seek to place him upon the throne. It was you who decided that his role as a Grey Warden was no longer adequate for him."

The woman sprang to her feet, lunging across the table but succeeded in regaining her better judgement before she could make good on her intentions. Straightening, she ignored the silence which had fallen over the Wardens further down the table and stepped over the bench she had been sitting on, bowing her head. "I wish to be excused."

"No." Torih signalled to Argarth with a raise of his forefinger that there was no cause for concern and the dwarven Commander resumed his booming conversation, enticing his Wardens to join in. "Sit."

Cousland gritted her teeth, the tendons in her neck tensing as she did so. "I do not wish..."

"If you do not wish to hear an accurate report of your actions, do not speak. Regardless, you will remain," Torih gestured at the plate still laden with food, "and you will finish the meal."

She paused, tempted to disobey, before returning to her seat with a slowness that demonstrated her displeasure. Once she was seated, Torih reached his arm across the table and opened his palm. "The vial."

Arainai half-rose from his seat with murder in his eyes when Cousland spun round, her free hand resting against the elf's forearm as she checked him with a hiccupping protest. "Zev, stop." She turned to Torih, hand still on the Crow's arm and Torih hid his thin smile as he caught sight of the tears which had sprung to her eyes, ready to trickle down her cheek. There—a hint of defeat.

"Torih..." Her face paled as she realised her mistake and she hastily corrected herself. "Commander. Commander, please, no."

The elf held her gaze as he contemplated his options. True, destroying the thing would bring him no small amount of pleasure but its destruction would remove any potential bargaining power. Yet allowing her to keep it threatened to undermine his own command that she surrender it to him. Then again, if she retained it then she would remain compliant for fear that he would take it from her. The threat of its removal would remain while the sight of it would slowly poison her, a reminder of what her own ambitions had ultimately cost her. Yes, he would permit her to keep it for the moment.

"Keep your trinket," he spat, drawing his arm back against his side. "And think on the events you orchestrated which have led to it being the only lingering evidence of his involvement in your life."

Many thanks to EasternViolet for her beta skills – she brings sense to nonsense!

This chapter is in part a celebration because it marks the anniversary of my little tale –it's now one year old!