In the Guerrin estate, a soft knock rapped against the door of Leliana's bedroom and interrupted the easy conversation which flowed between the Bard and Zevran. Following his toast made with the Antivan wine, Zevran had settled once more into the chair beside the bed and the pair had spent the last while simply enjoying the easy familiarity which had developed between them over the months. On hearing the knock, both looked to the door in expectation, but it was only when Leliana at last called out a greeting that the visitor was enticed to open the door.

Alistair hovered in the doorway, his hand gripping the partially open door a little tighter than necessary, as he glanced between Leliana and Zevran. "Oh. Zev. I, uh..."

"Ah, Alistair," Zevran interrupted smoothly. He rose from the chair beside the bed and gestured that the man was to take his place. "This is fortunate. I have matters to deal with but did not wish to leave Leliana alone. You will sit with her, yes?" Ignoring the fact that Alistair had begun to open his mouth in protest, Zevran turned back to Leliana and shared a knowing smile with the woman, inclining his head towards the misshapen bottle which stood on the bedside table. "I will return later."

The Bard nodded.

Zevran manoeuvred around the bottom of the bed and strode towards the door. "Yes, Alistair, I am certain Leliana will welcome a change of voice." He rested a hand on the inner latch and prised the door free of the other man's grasp. "You have my gratitude." With that, the elf slipped past Alistair and pulled the door shut firmly behind him, leaving the man to stare after him in sheer bewilderment.

Leliana took pity on him and issued a gentle instruction. "Alistair, come sit."

The stark instruction caused him to give a start, somewhat disorientated. He tore his gaze from the door and looked to Leliana, blinking as though seeing her for the first time.

"Come sit," she repeated, raising her arm to indicate that he should come and sit beside her on the bed rather than on the chair.

He crossed the room and perched beside her, his back poker straight.

"Dear heart," she murmured. "It is only you and I."

The façade disintegrated. Letting out a long exhale, he slumped forward and clutched his head in his hands, eyes pinched shut while he sought to control himself.

"She ran back to apologise," he muttered at last, jaw clenched. "That was how we said goodbye. With her apologising."

Leliana could not bring herself to pander to his melancholy. If there were time, she would have been gentler; permitted him to grieve for what might have been and helped him to realise that the loss of this rose-tinted future did not mark the end of all things. There was no time, though, and she did not know how else to comfort him other than through candour.

"She had much to apologise for," she replied simply.

In an overly measured movement, Alistair raised his head from his hands and for an instant, Leliana dreaded that he would simply walk out without another word.

"She was wrong to react as she did. I do not know exactly what passed between you both, but I can well imagine her spiteful words and hateful behaviour when she discovered that you would not openly oppose the demands of the Arl." Boring a stare into the side of his head, the Bard willed that he would turn to face her but he remained in profile to her, his gaze fixated on the far wall. Yet although he refused to acknowledge her, he did not make to leave. "And while I do not blame her, it remains the truth that you must do what is necessary to ensure the security and stability of Ferelden. Indulging your guilt with regards to your part in the breaking of your betrothal will not alter this."

He drew back from her.

"This outcome was determined through a variety of choice and decisions, some of which were made months ago. Neither you nor Elissa could have discovered a way out of this stalemate, not at this point," Leliana asserted in a quiet voice. "Now you must decide how you will move forward." Seeing that he was about to argue, a sternness crept into her tone as she cut him off. "You move forward. That is all that can be done now. If you do not, all that both you and Elissa have sacrificed will be for nothing."

Alistair moved his head a fraction.

"Stop this!" she snapped, his obstinacy putting an end to her patience. "Would you prefer that she was dead, so that you might weep and wail at the foot of some monstrous monument?"

"Lelia..."

"Or would you prefer that her ashes were gathered into an urn, to be revered for a time and then forgotten?" She did not allow him the time to react before pressing on. "Or do you thank the Maker that she survived, regardless of whether she is at your side?"

He glowered but did not argue.

Regaining her patience, Leliana continued in a considered tone. "After the Landsmeet, you thought you had lost her completely, no? Now, you at least know that she is alive. She is among others who will guard her and care for her. That is more than you had, dear heart."

"It's not enough."

"No, I did not think it would be. But rather than dwell on your broken betrothal, you now have a glimmer of hope that all that has passed between you may be overcome, do you not? Some bonds cannot be broken regardless of the words passed between one another."

At last, she succeeded in provoking more than a controlled response from him. His shoulders slumped as he shook his head and she thought he rolled his eyes. "That's the minstrel coming out in you again, Leliana."

"You do not wish to believe what I say may be true?"

A wry snort escaped from him which she took it to be reluctant agreement.

Leliana turned the subject from Elissa and towards more pressing matters. "Then tell me; as King, what do you intend to do with regards the future of Ferelden?"

"I don't know!" he blurted out, rising to his feet in frustration. "It's not like after the Landsmeet. I had no choice." He gestured wildly towards the window. "She had left but there was still the Blight. I had to try and make things work. It didn't matter what I was. Grey Warden or King, it was still my responsibility to try and fix things. Now..."

"Now, it is still your responsibility to fix things."

"I don't know how!" He balled his fists at his side.

"Alistair." Leliana pursed her lips and hoped that her expression projected a severity she did not truly feel. She would much rather offer him the comfort he had clearly expected to find from her, but to do so would grant him only a temporary reprieve from the task ahead. "Solutions rarely present themselves without some prior consideration. Why do you believe that this would be any different now you are King?"

"Oh, I don't know." Letting out a long sigh, he unclenched his fists and gave a listless shrug. "They made it look that way, I guess."

A fond smile tugged at the corners of the Bard's mouth. "As will you, dear heart."

"It's not looking that way right now, is it?"

"You need not concern yourself with how you look in front of me," she chided him. "Come now; what do you intend to do?"

"I don't know!" His building frustration regards his own ineptitude, coupled with his exasperation at her repeated demand, collided into a shout which reverberated around the room.

Leliana regarded him in uneasy silence. Her conscience pricked at her; she had only wished that she might travel to Kinloch Hold, secure in the knowledge that she was not turning her back on her friend when he might need her most. Perhaps she had pushed too hard and expected too much, all for the sake of her vanity.

The heat of her shame scorched at her ego and as the last of her conceit shrivelled into a blackened lump in the pit of her stomach, Leliana swallowed but rediscovered her voice. "I understand this is difficult for you, Alistair," she began quietly. "I will stay and help. Perhaps the templars would consider honouring their promise at a later date."

He spun round to face her, confusion clouding his face before a horrified understanding dawned. "Maker's breath, Leliana! No—you're going to Kinloch Hold. Tomorrow, as arranged."

The impasse she and Alistair had reached in their initial discussion regarding whether the templars should be informed about Liahn's suspicions surrounding Wynne and her Spirit of Healing sprang to the forefront of Leliana's mind. It struck her how odd it was that Alistair had not seen it necessary to discuss further the agreement she had reached with Elissa. However, since she had no wish to lie to him should he pry too hard, Leliana was content to disregard the curious detail in favour of the current problem. "I cannot abandon you..."

He shook his head vehemently. "No, you're going." He began to pace about the room in a sudden frenzy. "I just... need some time. To get my bearings. To learn. I will learn though. I just... need time. That's all."

"I want to help..."

"No, Leliana. I can handle this, you'll see. You're right; things aren't easy, not really. So I need to work out how to make it easier." His voice dropped into indistinct mutterings before rising again as he unearthed some overlooked detail. "Teryn Cousland. The letter. If Zev could track down the rumour, then maybe..." His lips continued to move but his voice trailed off as he concentrated on allowing his thoughts to fly through the options opening up to him. "Even if not, the others Arls and Arlessas might be willing to help. The Banns too, maybe. I just... need time. And some good tutors."

In spite of her earlier resolve to remain, Leliana discovered that she was drawn up in his apparent rejuvenation in purpose. "You had a meeting with the nobility them yesterday, no?"

Alistair acknowledged her contribution with a nod, still pacing the length of the room. "Eamon directed it though. I think there are particular people he wants to cultivate a strong relationship with, but I'd rather just get on with everyone."

"While I admire your intent, I do not think that will be possible, dear heart."

"Hmm. But I at least want to choose who I like and who I don't."

"I think that is more realistic," Leliana conceded.

Alistair nodded again.

"May I also suggest..." she began slowly, casting her mind over the distant memories of her time with Marjolaine. The Game had its own ways and means which would have little relevance to how she imagined Alistair may wish to approach the delicate nature of ruling, but it offered some experience in the precarious balancing of favour amongst the nobility. "... you remove yourself from this estate. To remain here, it suggests that you favour the agenda of Guerrin's when that is not necessarily the case."

"Where am I supposed to go?"

The Bard fixed an incredulous stare on the man. "Where would you expect a King to reside?"

"A Palace?" Alistair screwed his face up. "You're suggesting I move into the Palace?"

"Yes. I imagine that the nobility will be eager to impress you at the moment. Request that each provide some small part to furnish your household: maids, guardsmen and so on. You need only a small number at first; the rest can be sourced from the inhabitants of the city."

"Right." He gave a decisive nod before grinding to an abrupt halt. "Flaming Andraste, what have I just decided?"

A soft laugh spilled from Leliana. "A solution, it would seem."

"Right," Alistair repeated in a daze.

"The letter," she gave one last prompt. "Where is it?"

"In her room. I don't think she would have had time to move it," he murmured, almost to himself. "Right." He began to move towards the door but turned back to Leliana, a frown marring his expression. "You need to promise me you'll go with the templars tomorrow."

Leliana hesitated, biting at her lip while her gaze roamed across his face in search of some clue which may determine the answer to her internal conflict.

A shadow of a grin suddenly flickered across his face. "Don't make me order you."

"Oh?" The Bard found that she was unable to suppress the giggle which bubbled up.

"Well, if you really are the loyal Fereldan subject that you claim to be and not a sneaky Orlesian spy," he observed with a casual air, "you won't argue with the King."

She laughed outright.

"Hey!"

Adopting a reverential expression—the effect somewhat compromised by the shaking of her shoulders as she stifled her giggles—Leliana bowed her head towards him. "I am obedient to the Fereldan Crown in all things."

Alistair muttered something beneath his breath, raising his eyes towards the ceiling as he did so, but Leliana was gratified to spy from beneath her eyelashes that his grin had widened.

"In that case, I had better start doing those Kingly things we've decided on." He restarted his progress towards the door with slow deliberate steps, seemingly losing himself in his thoughts once more. Reaching out to the latch, he pulled the door halfway open and then glanced back towards the bed a final time. "Thank you, Leliana."

"You are welcome, dear heart."

Slipping from the room, he pulled the door shut behind him and Leliana did the only thing remaining; she offered up a heartfelt prayer that the Maker might guide him when his friends could not.

Early evening saw the rain clear but the ground stretching alongside the West Road remained a sodden mess and prompted the Grey Wardens to continue on their march, seeking out some building which might offer a dry place in which to rest for the night. Their search was eventually rewarded with the discovery of a heap of ramshackle buildings propping one another up on the banks of the Drakon River.

Small contingents of darkspawn prowled outside the buildings but were swiftly slaughtered by the group. There was no demonstration of skill during this altercation; it was purely an exercise in necessity. Regrouping, the shrieks and groans of the dying darkspawn filling the air, the Wardens were in the process of assessing the extent of and injuries they had sustained when a pack of dogs had suddenly leapt from various boltholes, snapping and snarling at the newcomers.

As Korgik and Damon went to attack the dogs, Elissa shouted in protest. She had no particular rapport with animals—her Mabari had been trained by the Kennel Master at Highever—but she understood that the dogs contributed a vital part within this tiny and insular community; that was if anyone had survived the roving band of darkspawn, of course.

Her voice proved to be their salvation. On hearing the shout, distinctive from the guttural growls of either darkspawn or dogs, one of the surviving inhabitants shambled from the security of her sanctuary and the dogs fell back at the sight of their mistress. They prowled restlessly behind her as the woman, drawing a ragged shawl about her shoulders, ignored the men entirely and advanced on Elissa, peering at her with a suspicion that bordered on open hostility.

From her side, Torih snarled a command that Elissa was to speak with the woman while Argarth dismissed his Wardens to organising the bodies of the darkspawn into a pile some way from the buildings. Obediently, Elissa addressed the woman, who continued to eye the entire scene with distrust, in the hopes that the woman might realise they were no threat. It took some persuasion, and a lot of repetition, but Elissa did eventually succeed in convincing her that they were not bandits but rather Grey Wardens who only wished a place to sleep for the night. She chose not to refer to herself by title; if the woman did not recognise her as the Hero of Ferelden then informing her of the fact would have little influence over matters.

Once convinced of their integrity, however, the woman became a whirlwind of action. And so, with the sun dipping below the horizon, the seven Grey Wardens found themselves gathered in front of a large fire in the middle of the shacks, fed and watered with what could be spared, while the woman saw that there was a bed to be found for each of them somewhere within the various hovels.

Elissa had chosen to sit beside Korgik. His indifference towards her was a welcome balm against the sting of exclusion which motivated the behaviour of the others—the dwarf seemed to have no desire to involve himself in any of the matters which affected his companions. True to form, he had given no indication that he noticed her, and instead remained fixated on the tankard he had been given. He had long since drunk the contents but seemed preoccupied with the carvings which decorated the lip of the mug.

Sipping at her ale, Elissa permitted a lingering glance to settle on the dwarf. She found his presence among them curious.

"When I first joined the Grey Wardens," she began, unable to still her tongue yet knowing that she would need to provide some context for what would undoubtedly be a contentious statement, "I was told that there hadn't been a dwarven Grey Warden for some time. Yet you and Argarth..."

"Have been Wardens for some time," Korgik grunted, eyes still focused on his tankard.

She accepted the hint to leave well enough alone. "I see."

The silence reasserted itself between them, stretching out into what Elissa began to imagine would be the norm for the rest of the night. She muffled her sigh and focused on warming herself in front of the fire.

"This is from Orzammar."

Korgik spoke in such a gruff voice that Elissa wondered if he had intended to voice the thought at all. Still, the opportunity to converse with someone who was not intent on ridiculing her in some way was intoxicating and she had to fight to keep her tone unobtrusive.

"Oh?"

The dwarf stabbed at the decoration on the tankard. The flickering light of the fire prevented Elisa from fully appreciating the craftsmanship but it did not seem so important. She had no wish to argue with Korgik's assertion, after all.

"Carvings," he muttered. "Some House or other. I don't recognise the name. Probably long since forgotten amidst the pages of the Memories."

"What would it be doing on the surface?"

He snorted. "Coin. Must've been stolen; couldn't sell it beneath ground, too risky. Bring it up here and sell it based on the metal."

Suddenly, Elissa wondered how many of her family heirlooms might be distributed throughout Ferelden, or worse how many adorned households in Orlais or had made their way across the seas to the Free Marches. Maker, she would gladly run Howe through again for every misplaced item in the entire Highever estate. Treacherous bastard.

"This is why Orzammar is falling in on itself," Korgik continued, either unaware of her self-reflection or uninterested in it. She could guess at which was more likely. "No respect for tradition."

Elissa forced her shoulders to remain relaxed, but it was difficult to maintain a nonchalant posture when it was through her involvement—she had a feeling Korgik might describe it as interference—that Bhelen now occupied the throne of Orzammar. What was more galling; she had chosen Bhelen based on what she viewed as a more progressive outlook towards the relationship between Orzammar and the surface world.

Unable to prevent herself from beginning to fidget, Elissa hoped that Korgik might return to his taciturn self before the full extent of dwarven politics could be discussed. Scrabbling for something to say, she chose to reflect his statement back onto the dwarf. "Tradition is important to you, then."

Korgik suddenly raised his eyes and settled a stony stare on her. She had the distinct impression that he was assessing whether there was some ulterior motive to her comment but seeing her wide-eyed confusion, he evidently convinced himself that she had not deliberately spoken out of turn. He looked back to the tankard in his hands and muttered, "it is not tradition for dwarves to join the Wardens."

Closing her eyes briefly, Elissa silently cursed herself. He had thought that she was trying to pry information from him in a roundabout way.

Reopening her eyes and looking back at the tankard, she gestured towards it with her hand. "If you can read these carvings, do you write the same way?"

"If you are asking whether your testimony is written in dwarven," he stated bluntly, "then yes."

Her mouth fell open in dismay. She had not intended to refer to that either.

"Few dwarven Grey Wardens," he continued with a shrug. "Makes for a useful code."

"I imagine so," she forced out.

"I studied human writing for a time," he brushed over her discomfort. "Whenever a Grey Warden wanted a favour from the Shaperate, they knew to bring some written artefact with them. Seen a bit of everything."

"You must have a way with languages."

Korgik shook his head, growing more animated. "Reading is different to speaking. I recognise patterns and shapes. Couldn't pronounce it for shit but if it's written down, I could tell you what it meant in my own tongue. Doesn't matter the sound, just the shape." He shrugged. "What do I care what the First Warden might call a nug so long as I recognise the shape of the word?"

"They have nugs in the Anderfels?"

"Probably. Hairless little bastards. Can't stand them."

Despite herself, Elissa gave a snort of laughter. "When I was in Orzammar, we were asked to do some nug wrangling. Paid decent money too but I only ever bothered to catch two. All that wriggling and squealing."

Korgik grunted, shaking his head. "Herd them all into the Deep Roads. Let the darkspawn deal with the blighters. They'd soon throw themselves into the Void and save us the trouble."

"Who, the nugs or the darkspawn?"

"Both," he muttered ominously.

Elissa laughed properly and immediately wished she hadn't. Torih sat bolt upright from where he had been having a conversation with Ithyal and Gethin, and glared suspiciously at her. A sneer began to twist the elf's mouth and she ducked her head, not wishing to court his wrath any more than was necessary. The punishment for her behaviour outside the gates of Denerim was now noticeably overdue.

Her clear submission seemed to pacify Torih because he did not make any further movement towards her. In some ways, he did not need to; having observed the Commander's evident displeasure, Korgik heaved himself onto his feet and left her on her own.

Smothering a sigh, Elissa set her cup down at her side and wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging them against her chest. This was going to be a very long journey.

When Liahn did at last return to Leliana in the evening, she was accompanied by two templars. Following behind the slender mage, they strode into the room and peered across at the Bard with a cool indifference. Ignoring them, Liahn rummaged about her table and collected the last of her equipment and supplies into a small sack.

"Knight-Captain Joal has sent orders that you are to spend tonight in the Chantry with us," she spoke over her shoulder, raising her voice above the clinks and clatters of the jars jostling against one another. "He wishes to be underway at dawn and does not want to disturb the Arl and his household by fetching you at that time."

Leliana looked between the templars and mage. She had had some suspicion that events were in progress when a maid had arrived to help her dress in fresh clothes an hour or so ago. The young elven girl had no answer for the Bard with regards the cause, however, and the subsequent time spent in complete ignorance had taken its toll on Leliana's forgiving nature. "No. I have no wish for them..."

"Leliana," Liahn whirled round, her eyes wide as she attempted to beseech the woman "Please. The Captain is expecting us."

The Bard hesitated for a moment, eyes darting between the two templars as she seized each of them up, before she again shook her head. "Not them, Liahn. I do not know them. Please, allow Alistair..."

"He is not here," Liahn laid the sack on the table and approached the bed, resting a reassuring hand against the Bard's shoulder. "Please. They have been given their orders. If they dally, we will all bear the consequence."

"What about Oghren?" The dwarf had explained the previous day that Elissa had secured permission for him to accompany Leliana, the mages and the templars to Lake Calenhad. He hoped to be reunited with Felsi at the Spoiled Princess tavern while Leliana would continue across the lake and into Kinloch Hold itself. She hoped that the Knight-Captain was not reneging on his promise.

Liahn squeezed her shoulder as she gazed down at the Bard. "Zevran is fetching him now. They will meet us at the Chantry."

The taller of the templars stepped forward and indicated with an abrupt flick of the hand that the time for discussion was at an end. As the man's disinterested stare settled on Leliana, she began to wish that they had not removed their helms prior to their visit. Two eyes peering through a slit would have been infinitely warmer than the very evident confirmation on this man's expression that he had no personal investment in how the Bard might be transported from the estate to the Chantry.

Liahn issued her instructions; her confidence in matters of healing gave her an air of authority to which the templar instinctively responded.

The covers were thrown back and the man leant down. Leliana wrapped her arms around his neck as he gathered her up. With one fleeting look to Liahn for confirmation, the templar negotiated his way through the doorway, mindful of Leliana, and waited in the hallway for his companion to oversee Liahn's final packing.

The spiral staircase took some additional care and thought to manoeuvre down—Leliana was unable to gauge how the templar wanted her to adjust her weight and position which meant that she rested stiffly in his arms, unable to make his task easier. Eventually though, the four of them had made their way towards the main doors of the estate.

Just as they were about to pass through the door, Leliana caught sight of Isolde flagging down Liahn and her accompanying guard. An animated, if brief, conversation ensured although the templar seemed unmoved, taking hold of Liahn's arm and pushing her forward with a blatant disregard for whatever Isolde had to say. Observing that her protestations carried no weight with the man, Isolde spun on foot and stalked away, signalling on the Arl's guards to leave his post and join her at her side.

As the templar descended the outer staircase, Leliana lost sight of the pair and turned her attention to the sights and sounds of the marketplace. She was grateful that the area was mostly deserted, with trading completed for the day, but marvelled at the small signs of rejuvenation which indicated that the citizens of the city were seeking to overcome the trials which had been inflicted upon them.

Despite the short distance between the Arl's estate and the Chantry, the coolness of the evening was developing into a marked chill. It was with some relief when her templar reached the building and they stepped inside, the doors closing against the cold air with a resounding thud.

Leliana looked about from her vantage point in the templar's arms and caught sight of Zevran and Oghren standing a little distance from the doorway, evidently waiting for her arrival. They began to approach but Liahn dodged around and intercepted them with a raised hand and a shake of her head. "She is to spend the night in the Revered Mother's..."

"No!" Leliana interrupted, apprehension flooding through her body. It was silly and irrational, but she would not spend any further time in that room. "No, I will not sleep there!"

The mage spun round, clearly put out by the Bard's objection. "Do not be ridiculous, Leliana. It has a bed. You will be comfortable..."

Seeing Leliana about to argue, Zevran stepped forward and laid a hand on Liahn's shoulder. He leant forward and murmured in the mage's ear. Whatever detail he included—be it Elissa's illness or Wynne's death—caused the blood to drain from Liahn's face and her frown dissolved into wide-eyed dismay. Indicating to the templar that he should wait for further instruction, she pulled away from the elf and scurried away—presumably in search of the Knight-Captain.

Within a few minutes, she returned and called to Zevran and Oghren to help her assemble a makeshift bed near the fireplace at the far end of the Chantry. Once satisfied that her patient would be comfortable, the mage requested that the templar bring his charge through the clutter strewn about the Chantry floor and settle her down. Having completed his task, the templar retreated while Liahn contented herself with fussing around the Bard.

Oghren sniggered and pointed at a bundle of blankets to one side. "That's my bed. Right next to you, Leliana. Me and you, eh? Spending the night, side by side."

"Should you wish to be wholly reconciled with Felsi, I suggest you do not lay one finger on me," she responded coolly.

Zevran began to chuckle while Oghren threw himself down on the blankets, grumbling, "you're no fun."

"I suggest you say your goodbyes, Zevran," Liahn murmured, casting a wary look across the room towards the backrooms. "The Captain knows that Leliana and Oghren will be staying with us tonight but he has not given you permission and I doubt he will welcome your presence. Say your goodbyes now; he will be in no temper to allow you to do so tomorrow, no matter how early you arrive." Abruptly withdrawing from the trio in an attempt to offer some privacy, Liahn busied herself with sorting through her supplies which had been cast aside in the urgency to gather blankets for Leliana's bed.

Responding to the insistence with which Liahn had spoken, Zevran attempted to take Leliana's hand, with a lewd smile curving his lips. The Bard stopped him with a glare. "Zevran, if you do not wish to bid me farewell as a friend, then do not do so at all."

He paused before laughing softly, and then kissed her.

"You can keep your distance from me, elf," Oghren observed sourly.

"Ah, my friend, why do we maintain this pretence?" Zevran straightened, feigning distress at the dwarf's rejection. "There is no other save you."

A long list of expletives erupted flowed from the dwarf but before Leliana could scold him, a commotion at the doors of the Chantry drew their attention. Amidst the crowd of templars and occasional Chantry Sister, Alistair was in the process of fielding the barrage of questions and demands being hurled at him.

Overhearing the rising hubbub, the Knight-Captain strode through from the Chantry's backrooms. He marched up to the doors, the templars falling back obediently, and addressed the new arrival directly. The posture of both Captain and King emphasised their mutual dislike, and Oghren immediately regained his feet as he and Zevran prepared to become involved in any altercation.

Their cause for concern was mostly unfounded, however, and Alistair managed to sufficiently appease the Captain, insisting that he had no intention of causing a disturbance. Signalling that his guards should remain at the door, the King disentangled himself from the Sisters and headed towards Liahn.

He made to walk past her with only a cursory acknowledgement when he suddenly backtracked, catching a hold of her arm and speaking lowly in her ear. Yet for all the gesturing he made in the direction of Leliana, the manner in which Liahn tensed then exchanged a hastily whispered conversation with Alistair, the Bard suspected that she was not the true subject of the conversation. After a few moments, the pair parted and Alistair approached his friends, an apologetic grin on his face.

"Sorry. I was on my way back from the Palace and the guard with Isolde's message almost ran past me."

"You have been at the Palace?" Leliana beamed at him.

Before he could respond, Oghren interrupted with a gruff demand, "so when can I expect that barrel of ale you owe me?"

Alistair shot him a dirty look. "When can I expect my kitchens to be restocked?"

"Heh," the dwarf grinned, offering a carefree shrug. "Reckoned you might think it was looters. You got me. Call it even?"

"Deal."

Dismissing the absurd conversation with a roll of her eyes, Leliana pressed on with her questioning. "What else have you done, dear heart?"

"Everything I said I would," he smiled, crouching down so that they were eye level with one another. "I couldn't risk you changing your mind." He gestured his head in the direction of Zevran. "Ask him if you don't believe me."

"I make no promises, but I have made enquiries throughout the city about information regarding Teryn Cousland," the elf voiced with a nod. "The details of the letter are vague but we hope that the Teryn may make his way to Denerim with the intent of petitioning the King to return the lands of Highever to the Cousland family."

"It's not guaranteed but it's a start," Alistair added.

A swell of pride dismissed any restraint and she threw her arms around his neck, ignoring the pain which shot through her body at the abrupt movement.

He laughed, his own arms looping easily around her back and squeezed her close. "I take it you approve?"

"Very much." Her voice began to hitch and she had to swallow the lump in her throat. "Oh, I am going to miss you, I think."

"Only think?" he teased, still embracing her. "It's only for a while. Unless you decide to go on some pilgrimage or adventure or something." He pulled away so he could flash a wide grin at her. "Even if you do, I'll still be here. Doing whatever it is a King does. I'll expect you to come back and regale me with fascinating tales that I can be insanely jealous of."

She giggled and nodded.

Alistair looked towards Oghren and raised a quizzical eyebrow. "You intend on making an honest woman of Felsi?"

The dwarf nearly choked. "One step at a time, eh lad?"

While both Zevran and Leliana laughed, Alistair grinned and stepped back from Leliana as he straightened to his full height. "Well, if you do, make sure to send me an invite."

"Invite? I told you; marriage is for suckers."

Liahn clearing her throat interrupted them. "Please," she murmured, looking anxiously towards the Knight-Captain who was watching the group from across the room. "It's time for you both to go."

A flurry of last minute words flew between the four. At last though, Alistair and Zevran withdrew and as she watched the man and elf disappear from the Chantry, Leliana felt her smile falter.

"It is odd to be only two, no?" she remarked quietly.

The dwarf did something unexpected; he rested a gentle hand against her shoulder. Leliana twisted, angling her head so that she could meet the his eye, and found herself smiling. "Though I am glad to not to be alone, Oghren."

As ever, thank you to EasternViolet for the beta talents.

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