First thing's first: I threw Zevran's unconscious form out of the very next window I came across on the first floor of the hunting lodge. He safely landed in the bushes below. Hmph. If you ask my opinion, it was a pity he didn't break his neck. I know what you're thinking: Why make the effort to throw him out at all? Well, because Mrs. Couldry ordered me to, and I wasn't going to butt heads with her about that matter. 1) Because she was armed with her ladle and she was never hesitant to use it, and 2) Because, she argued, the treacherous bastard was the only one able to identify at least some of the conspirators. I couldn't have cared less about Zevran or any stuck up nobles playing their political games that very moment. Actually, I was so hopping mad I was very much tempted to save myself any further trouble and leave him there in the burning house. For all he had done he deserved to die. But Mrs. Couldry promised to help me search for Rori in return for sparing Zevran, and that sounded like a good deal to me. I didn't know for sure Rori was even inside the house. I didn't know for sure she was still alive—but I wouldn't risk abandoning her if she was. I had to be sure of her fate.

By the time I had removed the boards and shoved Zevran out of the corridor window, parts of the ceiling of the burning room collapsed with a loud crash. Immediately the flames flared, smoke billowed upwards through the new opening. You know what a stack effect is? It's how chimneys work. Pretty useful when you need to heat a huge palace. Or when you intend to burn it down. it's what turns a house fire into an inferno; thick black suffocating smoke and infernal heat included.

Stumbling backwards I stared at the flames, thrown back in time into the chaos of the battle of Denerim. The city had been on fire, houses had collapsed around us, sparks and ash rained down on us, the stench of burnt flesh contaminated the air. The roaring of the fire, the screams of dying men, women, and children mingling with the animalistic shrieks and snarls of the darkspawn, metal clashing against metal in a fight for life and death... Despite the heat a shudder ran down my spine—and then Mrs. Couldry whacked the back of my head with her ladle and snapped me out of my stupor.

We ran down the corridor, away from the fire, shouting Rori's name. We darted into every room, a quick check to make sure she wasn't hidden under a bundle of rags or inside an old wardrobe. It was nothing more than a perfunctory search. The fire was catching up quickly and Mrs. Couldry kept urging me on, poking me with her ladle. More than once I pulled free from her grasp. "She could still be in there!" I protested over and over again, my voice choked by the smoke filling my lungs and the overwhelming sensation of loss and despair. Frantically I ran down the broad staircase, taking two steps at a time, leaving Mrs. Couldry behind. I was in such a hurry, driven by my panic that I tripped and stumbled down several steps, slamming face forward into the ground. Groaning I rolled onto my back. A canopy of flames stretched above me, red and orange and flickers of blue. The whirling flames formed grotesque faces, demonic figures of a deathly beauty. Myriads of sparks like fiery fireflies danced through the air. It was a terrifyingly beautiful sight.

"Don't dawdle, son!" Mrs. Couldry called from above. Then she just slid down the banister with the dignity and grace of a true lady, held out her ladle for me to take hold of, and pulled me back to my feet. This old lady freaked me out. She always kept her cool even in the rather blazing heat of the moment.

Next, the boards blocking the front door were kicked open from the outside. Led by Sergeant Kylon and Teagan, half a dozen soldiers in heavy boots stomped inside. I was grabbed by my arms and dragged towards the door. My protests went unheard. Well, I guess, they did hear me. I shouted at the top of my voice. They just chose to ignore me. Again. Didn't kings give orders? Weren't subjects meant to obey? I recall that was the only part of the job description I actually approved of. As far as I recalled, the obedience part included stupid and suicidal orders. Nobody dared to object when Cailan decided to fight at the forefront at Ostagar. But did anybody listen when I declared I wanted to stay inside the burning house and search for my missing love? Nope. It was all "Save the king!" … "Protect the king!" … "Be reasonable, your Majesty!"

"His Majesty doesn't want to be reasonable!" I snapped. "Let go of me! This is an order! I will... I will... do something... something... something terrible... if you don't obey at once!" I sounded like a toddler throwing a tantrum and naturally was ignored for my own good.

What? Why didn't I order my guards to search for her? Have them risk their lives while I sat on the lawn and twirled my thumbs? Not my style. In that moment it didn't even occur to me. I hadn't been king for long. Until my coronation, nobody had ever given a damn about my life. Nobody but Suri. As a templar, as a Grey Warden, I was the one risking his life for a higher good. As king I was meant to sit back and risk other people's lives for whatever I wanted to achieve. Doesn't that sound terribly wrong to you? I've learned a lot about delegating tasks ever since, but whenever someone risks their life for me, it still feels so very wrong. Guilt deprives me of sleep. I guess I'll just never get used to the thought that my life is worth more than anybody else's.

Teagan and Kylon dragged me outside and dropped me onto the lawn, pretending they didn't hear the noise I made. "Rori is still inside!" I cried, scrambling back to my feet to elbow past my sort-of-uncle and my Sergeant. And finally! Finally someone cared to listen!

If you think Teagan and the guards marched back into the lodge to search for Rori, then you will find yourself seriously disappointed. They did no such thing. Despite her appointment to the post of Arlessa of Denerim, she still was an outcast. Nobody gave a damn about her. Malicious gossip made it so many nobles would have rather gotten rid of her. They smiled to her face as she now wielded power, only waiting for an opportunity to backstab her. I can tell you a thing or two about these bastards. Rori and I indeed had a whole lot more in common than our predilection for nose pickings.

Anyway, they say there's no loyalty like that of a Mabari, and never has that saying been truer than that day when Furdinand—without hesitation—rushed back into the burning hunting lodge to find Rori. Sergeant Kylon grabbed Furdinand's collar to yank him back. They were short of Mabaris, you see, and Furdinand was needed for breeding. Furdinand, however, was not to be stopped. He snapped and bit at anybody in close range and just dragged Kylon along as he leapt into the inferno. Seconds later the sergeant reappeared, coughing and cursing loudly—until Mrs. Couldry, shrieking "Language!", whacked him over the head with her ladle. Meanwhile, Teagan and several guards tackled me down by lying on top of me. They were also short of Theirins and —well, you get the picture. I wiggled and squirmed, kicked and bucked, cursed and pleaded. My level of success: A mouth full of dirt and grass.

And the cherry on top was Teagan barking at the guards: "The Mabari! We need him! Get him out of there!"

"Andraste's flaming sword!" I grunted bitterly. "There's a woman inside that inferno and you send the guards after the dog? That's what I call a Fereldan patriot to the core."

Teagan didn't bother with a reply. He didn't even look at me. And when Furdinand returned... alone... his fur scorched, paws covered in blisters, Teagan turned away, his shoulders slumped, his hand raised to cover his face. Damn right. There was a whole lot to be ashamed of and I was determined to remind him over and over again of what he had done for the rest of his blasted life. I wanted to shout at him, wanted to hurt him just like he had hurt me, but there were no words for the agony that tore me apart at the sight of the burning house and the miserable, devastated dog. Furdinand whined as he pressed his trembling body against me when he collapsed on the ground. Sobbing, I wrapped my arms around his neck.

"Maker, why have you forsaken me?" I muttered, my vision blurred with tears. Pathetic? Oh come on! This for sure was a moment to feel sorry for myself! I mean, what had I done to deserve this? There are so many evil bastards out there that cause nothing but harm, despair, and destruction and still live happily ever after. All my life I had tried to do what was right. My conscience hardly ever gave me a rest. And what did I get in return? And what about Rori? What had she done? Or Suri? It just wasn't fair!

Oh blast! I shouldn't have brought up Suri. Now images of Suri on the pyre kept popping up in my treacherous mind...

... All dressed up, her hands folded across her chest, a single red rose between her cold dead fingers. She looked as if she was sleeping when the flames of the pyre blazed around her... My grief, the heartbreaking agony that tore me apart, it had pushed me close to the edge of losing sanity. Shale had clamped her arms around me to stop me from throwing myself into the fire. By the love of Lady Andraste! The fire consumed Suri's body, lit her dress, her hair. Behind a wall of angry red flames I could see her flesh crumble... I silently fought against the golem's hold on me. It was useless—just like everything else...

And now the fire took Rori away from me. In my hysterical state of mind, she became the figure on the pyre, burning in front of my very eyes. But unlike Suri she was still alive, her eyes wide open, pleading with me to help her... but there was nothing I could do. Paralyzed once more, I abandoned her just like I had left Suri alone.

It was my fault. They both had died because of me. One to protect me, one as a tool to punish me. If I had stayed away, if I had accepted that happiness was never meant for me, if I had acted on duty instead of my own egoistic wishes...

"Your Majesty?" Sergeant Kylon's voice made me look up.

"Get lost," I groaned. I wanted to curl up and cry and not be bothered. While I was uselessly flopping around on the ground, my guards and servants tried to extinguish the fire. Another moment in my life to be ashamed about later.

"The captive, your Majesty," Kylon went on mercilessly. "Do you wish him to be sent to Fort Drakon for interrogation?"

Confused I looked up and saw red. Well, actually I saw a rather bruised and battered Zevran dangling between two guards dragging him along. Zevran now resembled something of a red rag—battered, torn, stained. Within a heartbeat I went from being dashed to the ground to a delirious frenzy, shoving the guards aside as I threw myself at the miserable elf.

"You murdered her!" I screeched, my hands clenching around the elf's throat. He flailed with his arms helplessly, he choked and sputtered, desperately gasping for air. "YOU! MURDERED! HER!" I grunted, smashing his head against the ground with every single word. He was here, alive and still kicking while my love died in the flames. I was going to correct this—NOW.

"Let go!" a sharp voice behind me ordered. Yeah, well, talk to the hand! I was busy squeezing Zevran's life out of him. I could feel him slipping... when all of a sudden Bang! Bang! Mrs. Couldry's wooden ladle went down on my head. Then the old lady grabbed me by my ear and twisted it around. "Let go, I said!"

I let go. "Ow! But he is the bad guy!" I complained. "He murdered Rori! And Slim!" With some delay and reluctance I added: "And Anora." Zevran collapsed on the ground, clutching his throat as he painfully gasped for air. He had hardly suffered enough. Mercilessly I regarded him, any humanity consumed by my hatred. This was for sure one of my darkest hours when I stared into the pitch black abyss of my soul and realized what I was capable of.

"Revenge will neither bring Slim nor Rori back to life. Don't let your grief and fury blind your judgement, son." Mrs. Couldry lectured me, whacking the back of my head when I rolled my eyes. "What kind of king do you want to be?"

"I don't want to be king at all." I whined sullenly. I just wanted to kill that blasted elf. I couldn't think any farther ahead than that. There was no meaning in my life anymore. I barely managed to overcome Suri's death. Rori on top was just enough to destroy me.

Bang! Bang! Mrs. Couldry's wooden ladle came down on my head. "You want to be a wise and just king," she corrected.

"Now that you mention it…" I muttered, rubbing the back of my head. "Alright, let me think about it..." I made a big show of furrowing my brow and thoughtfully tapping my index finger against my chin. "Here's the king's judgment: Zevran is a sodding bastard and I want to kill him... Hey! Stop that! I bruise easily! You cannot just whack the king whenever you feel like it!"

"You need some sense knocked into you, young man!" Mrs. Couldry remarked coolly.

"Whose side are you supposed to be on, anyway?"

"On yours, you fool! Zevran wants to say something. Listen!" I was far from inclined to listen to anything Zevran had to say, but face to face with Mrs. Couldry, one arm akimbo and her ladle pointed at me, I begrudgingly gave in, determined to not allow anything to influence my already canned opinion.

"Rori," Zevran rasped, his face bright red by the effort of speaking.

"You murdered her!" I spat into his face and instantly got introduced to Mrs. Couldry's ladle. "Hey! Why don't you hit him!?"

"Wise and just!" Mrs. Couldry growled, poking my chest with her ladle.

"Fine!" I snapped. "What about... her." I couldn't even make myself say her name without bursting into tears. I had such a huge lump in my throat I felt like suffocating.

"She... she wasn't... wasn't in the house," Zevran croaked, weakly waving at the burning lodge.

"Huh?"

"He says she's not in there," Mrs. Couldry translated. "That's not so hard to understand, is it?"

"But you said..." I stammered, completely confused.

"I lied," Zevran admitted. "I wanted to hurt you the most I possible could. Truth is, she never entered the lodge."

WHAT! But that meant... could it be possible? Could she... Maker! I was feeling dizzy...

"Well, then where is she?" Mrs. Couldry demanded to know, always the practical type, while I was only sputtering incomprehensible nonsense.

"In her room in the palace. She walked in on me when I stole her letter paper," Zevran explained. "For such a little girl, she has a strong punch..." He continued talking but that I didn't hear anything else—I darted toward the palace as soon as the elf's information about Rori's whereabouts sank in. Teagan shouted after me, but I chose to ignore him. Briefly the thought that I might run into yet another trap crossed my mind, but since I couldn't have cared less about my own well-being as long as I was Rori-less, I chose to ignore that possibility just like Teagan. I hardly dared to hope to find Rori alive. She had pretty much ruined Zevran's clever plan to put the blame on her when she appeared at the wrong place at the wrong time, hadn't she? Had he killed her to conceal his crime? Could I endure finding her body? Maybe I should wait for Mrs. Couldry and send her in first...?

Alistair, you sniveling simp! Pull yourself together and behave like a man!

With knees as wobbly as pudding, I burst into Rori's room. It was a mess. Clothes, books, papers all thrown around, the chair at her desk toppled over... No sign of Rori, though. Hurriedly I searched under the bed—dust bunnies and a single rainbow-colored striped sock. Inside the wardrobe—a shower of empty booze bottles hailed down on me upon opening the doors. In the large wooden chest at the window—filled to the brim with Rori's crumpled clothes. She obviously just stuffed them in. I felt my eyelid twitch. Years in the monastery for templar training and you learn how to correctly fold your clothes. Kitchen duty for her for the next two months. I was still staring at the mess inside the chest with a mixture of amusement and templar-fueled disapproval when a sound behind me made me jump. With wide eyes I watched how one drawer of the dresser next to the door slowly slid open. Carefully I inched closer, peeping into it. It was empty. I closed it again, returning to search the room for any sign of Rori when the drawer opened again all on its own.

Staring at the dresser I noticed that it had four drawers the last one at the very bottom larger than the others above—and there was something moving inside, muffled sounds included. The open drawer was the second from below right above the suspicious one. I slammed it shut and quickly pulled the largest drawer open... And there she was, neatly folded into the drawer without any space to move, bruised and battered, gagged, tied up like a birthday present and as mad as a hornet.

I burst into laughter and tears all at the same time, sank to my knees in front of the drawer, laughing and crying so hard I could hardly breathe. She was alive! Hallelujah!

"About time!" she complained as soon as I finally freed her from the gag with my trembling fingers. "Phew! You stink!" She wrinkled her nose.

"Yeah, it's good to see you, too," I replied with a wide foolish grin. She was right. Smeared with soot, my hair scorched, eyebrows and lashes pretty much gone I reeked of smoke and burnt hair.

"By the look of you, I take it you already met Zevran tonight, didn't you?" she asked with heartfelt sympathy.

"It was quite a hot encounter," I confirmed. "He threatened to cut my throat, but Mrs. Couldry saved me. During the ensuing fight we set the house on fire."

"That's what I'd call out of the frying pan into the fire," Rori remarked dryly.

"Zevran's been arrested. It is over now." Of course, I knew it wasn't over. I'm not stupid! Not all the time! It had only just begun. The conspiracy was still active and though Zevran was down for the count, they still wanted me gone. However, the very last thing I wanted to be reminded of right now was Zevran's treachery or the lack of fealty amongst Fereldan nobles. For me, Rori had been dead—and now here she was. It was like a miracle. Like finding the Ashes of the Sacred Urn, like ending the Blight despite all odds, like... Oh blast it! I heaved Rori out of the drawer and kissed her. I pressed her to my body and showered her with kisses, whispering her name breathlessly. "Rori! Oh Maker! Rori! Rori! You're alive! Maker's Breath! Rori!" and so on. You get the picture.

Still all tied up she lay in my arms, unable to move and rather confused. "Alistair! Maker's Breath!" Rori finally squeaked when I opted for kissing every single cute freckle on her nose and cheeks and there were some on her forehead... "Yes, it's good to see you, too," she giggled. "Alive. I'd like it even better if you untied me."

"Oh yes, of course," I grinned foolishly only then noticing how tight and itchy my skin was. Well, blast that! I quickly removed the ropes around Rori—meaning I cut them after breaking two fingernails when trying to pry open the knots. And as I was already removing things I continued with her clothes, then mine. I couldn't take my hands of her, I had to touch her, feel her constantly, as if she would dissolve should I let go. I still couldn't completely understand I hadn't lost her.

Once everything was out of the way, I moved us both to her bed and there I made love to her like never before. During the Blight I had already found that my brushes with death worked like an aphrodisiac. You are just so damn happy that you are still alive and your love is still alive and miraculously neither she nor you are seriously wounded, then there's all this adrenaline and the emotions... Maker's Breath! I loved her! I loved her with all my heart and I wanted to shout it out loud! …And yet I kept silent. It was in the tenderness of my touch, in the savageness of my kisses, in the whispered caress of her name, in my shining eyes when I looked at her, but never did I say those three little words to her.

Later that night she lay in my arms, mumbling softly in her sleep, her head resting against my shoulder, her arm sprawled across my bare chest. I was so tired my body demanded sleep. However, my troubled mind allowed me no rest. I still had to decide what to do with Zevran. Anger flared inside of me whenever I thought of him and his deeds. He had taken so many lives and what for? Revenge! Isolated by his grief and pain, by the loss he had suffered, he had chosen me to blame and put his plan into action ruthlessly. Now Zevran was under my thumb and I had the power to crush him just like Loghain...

The Hero of the River Dane down on his knees as he admitted his defeat. The cold and hatred, the contempt I had in stow for him, it all flowed into this moment of our confrontation. I killed him and for a moment there was satisfaction. I had avenged Duncan. Cailan. All those who had died because of Loghain's actions and orders. All those who had suffered. I killed him right in front of Anora, without hesitation, without mercy. There at the Landsmeet, her grief didn't touch me. I was frozen inside. Later, however, the shame caught up with me. Suri congratulated my display of merciless strength. She claimed it impressed the nobles. I wasn't the wimp they all thought me to be. I could take action. Yeah, right. I could decapitate a man on his knees in front of his daughter's eyes. That sounded more like a complete douchebag to me.

I still didn't regret Loghain's death. In my self-righteous fury I had decided he deserved to die. Not once did it occur to me I could have been mistaken. Not about the penance he had to do. That was as sure as eggs is eggs. However, after Riordan's revelation it slowly began to dawn on me that perhaps there had been another... a better solution. Of course I beat that thought down at once... until Suri died. Then it came crashing down on me without mercy. Riordan could have recruited Loghain. In case he would have survived the Joining—and honestly, I had no doubt about that—there would have been one more Warden to face the Archdemon. Loghain—that much I had to admit—would have sacrificed himself to repent. He would have died; Suri would have lived.

To make it even worse, I began to realize I had failed Duncan instead of avenging him when I killed Loghain. What would Duncan have done in my place? What would any good Grey Warden have done? Would he have wasted the reinforcement Loghain meant for the Grey Wardens by executing him? The answer, although I refused to acknowledge it, was no. Revenge was nothing more than selfish nonsense compared to the importance of the Grey Wardens. Duncan would have put duty to the Grey Wardens first, regardless of his own feelings.

Words cannot describe how much this realization made me suffer. I had betrayed and failed Duncan by not being the Grey Warden he saw in me. I had betrayed Suri by taking the only chance she had away from her. And what for? Did I feel any better now with Loghain dead and gone, cut down by my sword? No. I did not feel any better. Quite the contrary.

That led me back to the original question: What to do with Zevran? He had to be punished. He had to repent. His death, however, wouldn't make much of a change. One less assassin in the world. That was about it.

Mrs. Couldry had every reason to want him dead. Only she didn't. She reminded me a lot of Duncan. It was the greater good she had in mind, although I couldn't see what good could come from allowing Zevran to live. I couldn't just set him free, and locking him away didn't sound all that thrilling either. We've never been close friends, but I somewhat thought we at least were companions. All the time we had traveled together, fought together, when he had teased me about my exertions with my fellow Warden... didn't it mean anything? It had meant nothing to him. Quite obviously. It made me sad. It hurt. And yeah, I was in a huff.

Wise and just.

Easier said than done.

A conspiracy wanted to replace me. The sluggish progress of rebuilding my Blight-ridden country, the famine and poverty caused riots all over Ferelden. Of course I was the one to blame, although I really tried to do my best. Alright, not true. For a long time after Suri's death, Eamon had done his best while I lay in my bed, bawling into my pillow and living off high proof liquids. As if rebelling peasants, treacherous nobles, and destruction everywhere weren't yet enough, there were darkspawn still running amok in Amaranthine and Weishaupt had sent an Orlesian to solve Fereldan's problems. On top of all that, I was supposed to find a wife and conceive an heir. Better two. The only child policy hadn't worked out so well for Ferelden royalty.

There was Rori, right here next to me. The woman I loved. Her curly hair tickled me whenever she moved in her sleep. I closed my eyes, reveling the sensation of her soft, warm body snuggled against me. The sound of her steady breathing, her scent lingered with a hint of verbena. I was so familiar with her already. She had become part of my life, my affection for her was obvious. Many had known I had lost my heart to her before I had come to accept it. She was everything to me—and the only thing I wanted more than her being with me was to keep her safe. Zevran had used her to hurt me. He had threatened her life and I had crumbled. I would have done anything to save her. Considering my long list of known and unknown enemies, she was in constant danger as long as she was my queen of hearts.

During the Blight, Morrigan and Wynne had asked me what I would do should I have to choose between my love and my duty. I had refused to answer their questions. Back then it had seemed ridiculous. What kind of choice would that have been? The Blight would have destroyed us all, Suri, me, everybody. Now their question suddenly made a whole lot of sense. Rori made me vulnerable. And I made her a target. She was the perfect tool to manipulate me, to force me to do whatever my opponents wanted. Would I sacrifice her or betray my duty as king? To protect her was impossible. To keep her near a deadly risk. I didn't even want to imagine what my enemies would do to her to make me yield. I couldn't lose her. Not like that.

Zevran sat in the dungeons of Fort Drakon, awaiting his future with dread. Rori lay in my arms in her little bedroom in the Palace of Denerim, dreaming of her future with me.

And I, I was the one to decide their fates.

At the break of dawn after a sleepless night, I knew what I had to do.