Thank you all so very much for the overwhelming support and interest I've seen for this story. Favs and alerts still keep coming up, and the reviews! Thanks to everyone for reading, but most especially those who take the time to review: mutive, Nithu, Katrina-Irene, Arsinoe de Blassenville, CCBug, Superstar Kid, Biff McLaughlin, Shakespira

As an aside, I had trouble deciding on the last name for Nelaros. I could not find it in the wiki or codex. So, I just made one up. Well, not really. The guy who voiced him in game was Stefan Marks. I loved his voice so much that I decided that would be his last name: Marks. *grins* Aren't I clever? No? Ah, well…

Ahm…anyway, back to the story…

The Halla Reborn

Chapter 39

"I thought that you said that the snow had melted," Adela griped, pouting at Alistair's broad back.

"No," the man responded, patience wearing thin at this point. "I said that the villagers advised that the weather had broken early, and that we should be able to get through the pass without any real problems." He adjusted his cloak, pulling it over the leather of the armor he wore when they were walking. Despite being strong enough to carry his heavier armor with ease, trudging through knee high snow wearing it was another matter entirely.

Making a face at his back, Adela trudged through the snow, which came to mid-thigh, glancing around at the bare trees and rocks as they made their way through the mountainside pass. She gave a great sigh, smirking over at Morrigan and Niall, who trudged along just in front of her. She glanced back toward the village, now many hours behind them. Brother Genetivi had decided to remain until the roads were completely clear. He advised them to visit him in Denerim when summer returned.

"I thought you wanted to get outside," Alistair continued, glancing back at the elven woman, a slight grin on his handsome face. "Well," he waved a hand to encompass the entire outdoors, "we're outside."

"No," Adela retorted, dragging the word out several syllables. "I wanted to get outside and play." She tossed her hands into the air. "You know: make snowmen, have snow ball fights, make snow angels…fun stuff. This," she waved at the path. "is definitely not fun stuff."

Morrigan sniggered and Niall merely shook his head.

"Adela," Alistair said, putting on his best mature voice, unconsciously mimicking a tone of voice Duncan had used on the young man many, many times, "we are Grey Wardens. You are the Commander of the Grey. We have to act more dignified."

"Yeah," she snorted, muttering. "Because that so is us, right down to our small clothes."

Choking, Alistair stumbled. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," she moped, kicking at the offending snow. The elven woman glanced around, and then bent down to the snow. Rising, patting the snow she held, she called out in a sing-song voice. "Oh Alistair."

Heaving a heavy sigh, Alistair stopped, shaking his head. "What?" he asked as he turned about. He sputtered as the cold ball of snow hit him squarely in the face.

"Oh, nothing," Adela giggled, giving out a shriek as the man decided to forgo his earlier decision of maintaining quiet dignity, and dove at the smaller elf. She easily side stepped his lunge, but not the reach of his arms. Wrapping them fully around her slender form, Alistair brought her down, onto her back, into the snow, complete oblivious of the two mages who watched with quiet amusement as he rolled to cover her body with his, tickling at her all the while.

Giggling, breathless, Adela exhaled sharply to blow the strand of hair from her eyes. Gazing up into Alistair's soft amber gaze, she giggled. "Dignity, huh?"

Chuckling, he bent his face down to kiss her gently on the lips. "Yup. That's us. We are the Fereldan Grey Wardens. Dignity is our motto."

"And darkspawn fear us for it, right?" she asked as she raised a hand to brush the hair and snow from her love's eyes. Alistair's grin widened and he dove in for another kiss.

"Ahem," they heard Zevran's smooth accented voice from above. "You know, my two dear wardens, had I realized that there was to be a party, I would have never taken point."

Blushing slightly, the two young people pushed themselves up, Alistair lending a hand down to Adela and hoisted her to her feet. As they brushed the snow from each other, Adela said, "Well, perhaps we should just…get down off the mountainside."

"Excellent idea," Zevran purred, brushing snow from the female elf's shoulder, smirking over at Alistair.

DA:O

The silverite armored knight brushed his auburn hair back from his brown eyes, staring obediently at his liege lord. Arl Eamon was disappointed, to say the least, at the knights' inability to locate the wayward Lady Cousland. They, along with several of Mayor Murdock's men, scouted the surrounding area thoroughly, but it seemed as though the young woman had simply vanished into thin air. A cloud crossed the arl's ragged features, but he graciously thanked the men for their efforts before dismissing them.

Ser Perth paused for a moment and then followed his men from the great hall of Castle Redcliffe. One of his men, Ser Thomason, was waiting for him just outside the double doors that led from the great chamber.

He was nervous, something Ser Perth had never thought he would see on the overly confident blonde's face. But, he was, and that only made Ser Perth's own anxiety more pronounced.

"Out with it, Ian," Ser Perth commanded as the man joined him by his side, matching stride for stride as they exited the castle.

"I am uncertain how to broach the subject, Dorian," the knight said with familiarity to his superior. Off duty, Ser Perth was not one to enforce protocol.

"How about with words, Ian," Perth admonished, trying to chuckle but it only came out as a cough.

Ser Thomason nodded his head knowingly, "So, you feel it, too."

Perth continued on his way to the barracks, glancing sidelong to his lifelong friend. Finally, "Yes," he admitted. "Our Arl has not been…himself since awakening."

"Do you think those mages had anything to do with it?" came Thomason's question, but, after a moment's thought, Perth shook his head.

"Nay. They fought alongside us to banish the evil brought about by the demon that inhabited young Connor. I doubt very much they have anything to do with our Arl's odd behavior."

Thomason snorted, not quite agreeing, but not disagreeing either. "If not the mages, then what?"

Here Dorian Perth paused, gazing out over the lake that had been the site of his home since childhood. He had been in the Arl's service as a squire since he was a lad of merely eleven summers. During his twenty year tenure the Arl had been a gracious master, if sometimes foolhardy and overly indulgent when it came to his Orlesian born wife and his own duties regarding the boy Alistair had been. Turning to Thomason, he could only shrug his shoulders. "In order to find the answer to that," he said as he resumed his walk. "I would need be a far wiser man than I am."

Ian Thomason looked at his friend's back, and then, with a sigh, jogged to catch up. He had no answers either.

DA:O

The fire blazed in the fireplace, and food had been laid out upon the room's sole table. Confusion marred Nelaros' handsome face as he stepped fully into the room that resembled Loghain's at the palace.

"So, you actually eat while in the Fade?" the elf asked as he neared the table, his sword and shield hanging at his sides.

Loghain shrugged as he settled his weapon and shield down next to a chair, and then seated himself, taking some of the food. "It seems that when there is food provided here, that my…real body is gaining sustenance in some fashion." He looked up at the elf. "I would suggest you partake of this as well, elf. I am hazarding a guess that if you can interact with it easily, it was provided for you as well."

Frowning, the elven man took a seat, setting his shield and sword against his leg and then reached for the food.

As Loghain suggested, he was able to gather food to a plate and eat what appeared to be turkey, potatoes, bread and cheese. Water and wine were provided in carafes and the elf gratefully poured himself a full cup of water.

They ate in silence for a while, each concentrating upon the food before him. Despite it being unreal, Nelaros found that the meal left him satisfied. He looked up to see Loghain watching him.

Tearing the piece of bread he held in two, the elf prompted, "Yes?"

"As it appears we shall be each other's company for some time," the Teyrn remarked, picking up a goblet filled with water. "I thought perhaps we could talk."

Nelaros chuckled slightly. "From all I hear of you, Your Grace, you are not one for idle banter."

Answering the elf's chuckle with a low one of his own, Loghain nodded. "True enough. However, after having spent far too much time alone," he waved an arm to indicate not only his room, but the Fade itself. "I find myself relishing the idea of talking with someone new."

Chewing thoughtfully, the elf nodded. Swallowing, he replied, "Yes, I can see how even the most…recluse of people could get tired of only this," he nodded his chin at a wall, "and demons as company." He put the rest of his bread down, folding his arms before him. "So, what would you like to ask or discuss?"

His pale blue eyes fixed to the elf's darker, more gemlike blues, he shrugged. "Anything, truly. How you came to travel to Denerim instead of your betrothed going to Highever; your family; the girl's family; news of Highever." He chuckled in a self deprecating fashion. "Truly anything of interest would be welcome."

Laughing, the elf nodded. "Well, my family is well respected in the Highever alienage," the younger man began. "We are craftsmen at the best of times, carpenters and blacksmiths when money is sorely needed and there is not much demand for the more delicate crafts." he smiled. "Actually, my family and my betrothed's had a great deal in common. As far as my going to Denerim, it seemed only fair. The last exchange had the Denerim elf traveling to Highever. The elders agreed that it a far exchange for me to go to Denerim instead of her coming to Highever."

Loghain nodded thoughtfully. "I've not much news, I fear, since events at Ostagar. I do know, however, that the Cousland family was attacked by Arl Howe." He saw the concern cross Nelaros' face. "I am sorry. I do not know how the surrounding area of Highever fares. All I know is that the Couslands were all killed."

Nelaros kept silent for some time, his head bowed. "It is a shame," he whispered, raising his blond head. "The Couslands were perhaps the only noble family in all of Fereldan that treated everyone - human and elf - as equals." He ignored the scowl that formed on Loghain's face. "That they are no longer…it does not sit well with me, and I am certain, many others throughout the country."

Loghain remained quiet, thoughtful, and then spoke up. "They were a family loyal to kith and kin, duty always first, country and king always to be supported. I had the honor of fighting beside Bryce and Eleanor during the rebellion, but it was when the nobles called for Bryce to assume the throne upon Maric's death, and his thoughtful refusal, that my respect for him and his family increased." The commoner turned noble frowned. "They were perhaps one of the few noble families that had accepted me as being on equal footing, all things considered."

"It would seem that Howe has much to answer to," the elf replied, his eyes thoughtful. "If he is aligned with the blood mage that has captured you…" He let the thought drift off, uncertain how to proceed, uncertain, completely, of the true ramifications of Howe's actions. After all, as an elf from an alienage, he had not much knowledge regarding politics and nobles. For all he knew, Howe's actions may well meet with approval from the other nobles.

"Ah, well," the elf stammered slightly, smirking at the human. "Let us see, my betrothed. As I said, my family and hers had a great deal in common."

"Oh, is that so?" Loghain asked as he spooned some potatoes into his mouth before taking a sip of water.

Nelaros nodded, smiling fondly. "Indeed. Although her family is a great deal more acknowledged as some of the finest artisans in all of Fereldan."

Loghain stopped chewing, his eyes fixed upon the young elf's face. "Artisans, you say."

"Indeed. Her father, Cyrion Tabris, is known far and wide as perhaps the finest sculptor - human or elf - in all of Fereldan. His daughter, Adela, had apprenticed under him, but I have never seen any of her works."

Loghain had gone quiet, and Nelaros frowned slightly, searching the older man's face. A dawning realization came over him, and he asked, "Do you know the Tabris family?"

His eyes refocused upon the younger man. So this had been the man Adela had been betrothed to? He studied the elf's features, truly taking in their look at this time. He looked past the beauty that so many elves possessed and truly looked at the man. He saw strength, determination, great will and a strong sense of what was right. His eyes were sharp, watchful, and he knew from battling at this man's side that he would risk anything to protect those around him. The man's own tale of how he had come into Arawn's possession spoke volumes.

This would have been a man he would have chosen for Adela, if he had to choose anyone other than himself. Realizing the young man was awaiting an answer, Loghain slowly nodded. "I do, indeed, know the Tabris family." He smirked slightly. "How much of their history do you know?"

Nelaros frowned slightly, shaking his head. "Only that they are a family of artists of great renown," he admitted, feeling a little sheepish that he had, in fact, known very little of the family he had been set to marry into.

"Ah," Loghain muttered, then raised his voice slightly. "So, you do not know anything about her mother?"

"Only that she died when Adela was very young."

Nodding, Loghain then asked, "Adaia Tabris, formerly Adaia Mahariel, fought by my side during the rebellion." He smirked at the widening of the other man's eyes.

"She was a Night Elf?" he asked, reverence in his voice.

Loghain scoffed. "Hardly. She was a Dalish Hunter, second in her clan. She and her hunters had saved Maric's life at West Hills." His smirk widened to a grin as the elf's obvious respect for his affianced mother grew. "From there, she and those hunters she commanded fought at our side, helping to defeat our Orlesian conquerors."

"Why, then, no mention of her?" Nelaros asked, confused by the omission. After all, the Night Elves had been mentioned.

Loghain shrugged. "Bad enough historians had to admit to the existence of the Night Elves," the Teyrn speculated. "I think they felt justified including the Night Elves because they were a regiment I had recruited."

"But to mention Dalish elves fought by the king's side…"

Loghain shrugged. "Who knows? Maric and Rowan were furious when they had received the 'official' accounting of the rebellion. So, we wrote one of our own." Loghain frowned, snorting. "I understand few have read it."

"From the hands of the king and heroes who saved Fereldan, and no one wants to read it because of the truth of the words?" Nelaros asked, scowling. "Typical."

"Far easier for humans to believe elves inferior in all matters," the human said, eyeing his companion. "Those of us who have fought beside elves know well the ferocity of their skill, especially with bow and arrow."

"I think perhaps my family made out far better with this match then the Tabris family did," Nelaros muttered, frowning. "Artists of renown and now I learn Adela is descended from a hero of the rebellion. I knew she was special."

"Ha!" Loghain scoffed, frowning at the young man. "You claim she is special because of her family, yet you do not really know the value of the woman herself."

A perfect brow rose at Loghain's words. "I take it you knew my betrothed quite well." There was a tone in the elf's voice Loghain did not like, nor could he truly repudiate.

Frowning, Loghain replied, "Not as well as you are insinuating, boy." Or as well as I would like.

"But you would have liked to," he shot back, echoing the other man's thoughts.

Loghain leaned back in his chair, staring at the elf for a moment. "Perhaps." He watched as Nelaros' frown turned into a deep scowl. "However, that is neither here nor there. Would you like to know what happened to Adela after her escape from the manor?"

The elf perked at that, and quickly nodded his head. "Apparently, she had killed the Arl's son, and managed to get everyone else out of the manor." Loghain frowned. "I do not know what happened, because I did not know she had been kidnapped and assaulted. When I saw her at Ostagar, she had not mentioned any of this to me."

"Ostagar?"

The Teyrn nodded. "She had been conscripted into the Grey Wardens," his smirk returned as the elf's eyes widened. "From what I have gathered, she and another warden managed to escape the debacle at Ostagar, and are now the only grey wardens in all of Fereldan."

"Is it a Blight?" the elf asked, his hands clenching before him.

"I believe it is," Loghain answered. "Adela is the one I told you of that can traverse the Fade. She and I met several times, but I had always believed her either a dream or a demon playing on my…desires. From what I managed to piece together from our talks and from what little Howe and Arawn would reveal, they are gathering allies to fight against the Blight. And, ironically, me."

"You?" Nelaros shook his head. "How is that possible? You are a prisoner."

"To a blood mage," Loghain reminded the other man. "Arawn has been using me as a blood puppet. Apparently, I am the one ordering assassins to kill the last of the wardens. I am the one who has the Bannorn riled up. Apparently, I am the Regent."

The elf let out a low, long whistle. "That…could prove distracting when you try and convince everyone you weren't in control."

Loghain nodded. "I believe I have Adela convinced that I am not in control of my faculties." He shrugged his broad shoulders, pushing his plate of half-eaten food away. "I only hope she did believe me and that she yet lives."

Nelaros turned away from the human, his eyes dark with thought. Nodding his head, he responded, "I hope so as well, Your Grace."

DA:O

Wind brushed the wisps of red hair back from the strong features of the young knight-turned-warden recruit as he stood upon the battlements of Castle Redcliffe. Elissa Cousland had disappeared over a week prior, and no sign of the adventurous noblewoman had been turned up.

Roland was not, however, concerned over the fate of the young woman. She had carefully packed all of her belongings, leaving nothing behind. And while the Arl thought that strange, Roland knew, from previous experience with the young woman, that it was all too true to her nature.

What worried Roland was the Arl's behavior since her disappearance.

True, the nobleman had once again began to keep company with his wife. The Arlessa was making great strides in her recovery, both physically and emotional. She continued to grieve for her son, yet she seemed determined to make things right. She had, during one of their many talks, confided in Wynne that she was responsible for the misfortune to settle over Redcliffe and she was determined to make things are right as she possibly could. To that end, she had taken several personal items - jewelry and other items she had come into the marriage with - and arranged for Leliana to get the best price she could for each piece. The bard had traveled to Denerim, knowing of a jeweler therein who would be reasonable about pricing as well as prompt in payment.

Upon the bard's return, the Arlessa had then taken the funds procured and gave more than half to the Chantry to use for those poor folk displaced or otherwise affected by the Undead Plague (as it had been dubbed). The other half she had given directly to the Mayor, advising him to use the funds toward the rebuilding of the village homes. And while Mother Hannah had seemed nonplussed by the Arlessa's uncharacteristic charity, Murdock made no bones about thanking the woman as well as expressing how the funds would go about toward helping a great many who had lost so much.

Roland smiled slightly. The change over the Arlessa was greatly welcome, and he had seen how happy the woman had been once her husband had started appreciating her company once more. The Arl, however, continued to fret over the disappearance of the young Cousland, despite Roland's assurances that her disappearance was well in character for her. He shook his head as he recalled his conversation with the Arl just an hour prior.

"How can you be so certain?" Eamon demanded, glaring at the younger man. "Howe could very well have kidnapped her!"

Roland shrugged his broad shoulders. "Would Howe's men truly have let her pack all of her belongings - including the fine gowns Lady Isolde had given her?" He frowned. "Your Grace, I have known Lady Cousland since we were children; she often disappeared, sometimes for weeks on end. It would drive the Teyrn and Teyrna to distraction whenever she did thus, but she always returned."

Eamon's glare softened slightly as he studied the young man. With a heavy sigh, the older man nodded his prematurely gray head. "And where she had no duty to remain here, you truly believe she would have simply up and left without word?" There was a tired resignation in the man's voice, and Roland fought to keep from narrowing his eyes at the other.

With a nod, he answered, "I do."

Eamon turned from the former knight, hands clasped behind his back as he turned his gaze toward the great window that overlooked the lake. He had dismissed the other man with a nod, continuing his contemplation of the world outside the castle's walls.

Now he lifted his face to the wind and closed his eyes. The sooner Adela and the others returned from Haven (and he was determined to remain optimistic that she would return), the sooner they can all leave the Arl's hospitality.

DA:O

The fire crackled, and Adela leaned forward, her hands held out to the warming flames. Alistair sat next to her, tending to his weapons and shields. Zevran and Niall were cheerfully preparing that evening's meal, the Antivan promising something more palatable than the grey lamb stew Alistair insisted upon making.

"Trust me, my dear Warden," Zev had purred as he chopped herbs and tossed them into the pot. "You will appreciate the Antivan cuisine far more than that tasteless gruel your young Warden seems to fond of."

"Hey!" said young warden exclaimed, scowling over his shoulder at the cheeky assassin. "I'll have you know that my stew is a popular dish here in Fereldan."

"Oh, is that so?" the elven male quipped, placing cut up rabbit meat into the pot and giving the ingredients a stir.

"Yeah," Alistair continued, turning his eyes back to the sword and oil rage. "You take lamb and peas, put them in a pot with some water, and then cook it until it comes out a uniform gray color." He smacked his lips. "Hmmm…"

Zevran scoffed as Adela giggled lightly. "Tasteless as well as thick, sloppy and gray?" He shook his blond head. "No thank you, my dear Alistair. Tonight, we shall eat well of food that tastes as good as it looks."

The young warden merely shrugged his broad shoulders as he reached for his shield. "Yeah, well, your loss."

Smiling, Adela reached over and placating patted Alistair's arm as Zevran picked up the pot and placed it over the fire. The young man, without looking up, returned her smile with his own.

During this, Morrigan had settled near Adela, her strange yellow eyes fixed upon the leaping flames in the fire pit. As Adela turned her own attention back to the fire's warmth, she glanced at the witch. Morrigan, noticing her look, turned fully to the young elf.

"Might I a moment of your time?" the human woman asked of the elf. Adela nodded turning fully to face her friend. After a moment's pause, Morrigan shifted closer to the elf, leaning forward just slightly. "I am wondering if you have taken time to think over my request."

Adela's brow furrowed for a moment, and then, recalling the conversation she and Alistair had had between the two of them and then, later, with Morrigan, she nodded.

Morrigan let out a breath, unsure how to proceed. She was, after all, asking for a favor. One that could well endanger the very lives of her companions - her friends - as well as their overall mission. And, while she would completely understand if the elf had decided against such a course of action, that selfish part of her was already raging against it.

Taking a deep breath, the witch asked, "And has a decision been rendered?"

Smiling softly, Adela placed a small, calloused hand upon the soft forearm of the lovely mage. "Morrigan," the witch raised her eyes to look directly into Adela's blue eyes. "Alistair and I both agree that it is well worth our time and effort to make certain that you are free of any threat from Flemeth." Her smile widened slightly as Morrigan's eyes opened with astonished gratitude. Alistair chuckled from beside the women.

"My thanks," Morrigan said, almost as a whisper. Then, glancing over at the male warden, she said, "My thanks to you as well, Alistair. It is…most appreciated and somewhat of a surprise that you would both agree to such a course."

"Why?" Alistair asked, this time raising his eyes from his work.

The witch shrugged gracefully, the feathers upon her shoulder fluttering lightly with the movement. "You and I do not always see eye to eye," she reminded the ex-templar, who merely snorted at her words. "The Blight must be stopped at all costs, and yet you have both agreed to take on a quest that, frankly, has no affect to your mission in one way or another."

"There you are wrong," Adela put in, smiling at the woman. "Forget that we do this out of true friendship and concern for your well being," she chuckled slightly at the roll of Morrigan's eyes. "If we need to worry about your mother popping out of the woods at any moment to claim your body as her own, that would really hurt our mission."

"We rely upon you a great deal," Alistair put in, still watching the witch as she nervously fidgeted with her hands. "You saved Adela's life when the high dragon caught her." Morrigan actually blushed as the emotion so evident in Alistair's voice.

"And you have proven time and again to our cause," Niall put in from behind the group, smirking as the others turned to the normally quiet mage.

"You cannot fool us any longer, my beautiful swamp witch," Zev purred as he stirred the contents of the pot that was now hanging over the fire. "We are on to you and your wily witchy ways."

Morrigan looked from one friend to another, completing the circuit until her gaze finally rested upon Adela's open face. "'Tis a strange thing," the witch said bemusedly, picking up a stick and tossing it into the flames. "To have friends." She tilted her raven dark head, a true smile upon her face. "'Tis a nice change from the constant solitude found in the Wilds."

Adela returned the smile, rubbing Morrigan's arm before moving away. "You will always be my friend, Morrigan." This was followed by a course of masculine voices conceding the same.

Taking another glance around at her friends - and it did feel very good to acknowledge them as such - she rose and went to where her poultice making supplies lay. Adela and Alistair exchanged a grin, and the human went back to cleaning his shield while Adela's gaze settled, once more, upon the open flames.

DA:O

A week's travel from Redcliffe Castle. Mordred scowled at the young lady riding next to him. He had never been so pleased to see the gates of Denerim in all of his life as he was now.

The noblewoman had proven difficult and overly demanding, and many of his men had wanted to take the inconvenience she caused them out in trade. Mordred, however, had to report personally to Teyrn Howe and there was no way he was going to explain to the vicious little man that his prize had been compromised by his own men. With sharp tongue and threatened violence, the assassin leader was able to curb his men. But just barely.

With a nod, the mounted group - Elissa in the center, flanked on all sides by Mordred and his men - passed by the city guards and into the city.

About a half hour later, the group stood in the main hall of the Denerim Manor. With an order to his men to take Lady Cousland to Teyrn Howe's personal chambers, Mordred went off in search of his employer, who was on his way to the main hall. They spoke briefly, and a look of irritation flashed through Howe's eyes. With a nod, he dismissed his man, and hurried to his chambers.

Elissa stood in the center of the room, still flanked by Mordred's men. With a curt word of dismissal, the two nobles were alone.

Howe's eyes raked over the proud form of the Lady Cousland, taking in every detail of her form before raising his eyes to settle upon her dark, angry orbs. A roguish smile crossed the man's craggy features, and he took a step forward, placing himself within feet of his prize.

"You have caused a great deal of stress, my dear," Howe's voice flowed, purring, tsking at her as he smiled. "And I understand you caused Mordred and his men quite a bit of…difficulty en route here."

Lifting her proud chin, the Cousland noble glared at the man. "They are beneath me," she replied. "They are scoundrels and shall be treated as such."

Howe shook his head. "Mordred has served me well for many years, my dear."

"Teyrn, is it?" she asked, slight fatigue and anger in her voice, changing the subject.

"Ah, yes," he smirked, "The Regent was most generous for my unraveling a plot by the traitorous Highever nobles." He tilted his head, smirking at the irate look that crossed the young woman's face. "Plotting with Orlais is considered treason, you know."

Elissa snorted. "And I suppose you are going to tell me that a seven year old boy was in on the plot?" She took a step forward. "I suppose he was plotting to line the borders with his toy soldiers."

Howe smiled, raising a hand to gently brush the hair that had fallen at the woman's shoulders. "The line of succession had to be clear," he murmured, his eyes sweeping down the length of her shoulder and to her hand.

"Fergus…"

"Is dead," the Howe remarked, picking up the noblewoman's hand, which was limp, in his own warm and larger hand. "He was, after all, at the disastrous battle at Ostagar. There was no sign found of his regiment. Save for a few body parts."

Elissa winced slightly at that. "So that means…"

"That you, my dear," Howe breathed as he closed the space between the two, enjoying the flush that rose to the young woman's cheeks. "are the sole surviving blood heir to Highever."

The young woman took a step back, blinking, staring at the man. A sigh escaped her lips, and she bowed her head. Howe watched her for several moments take in the news before closing the gap between them once more. Pulling her into an embrace, he raised her chin with one hand. He could feel her tremble against him, and tightened his grip around her.

Bending down, he murmured, "I've missed you, Elissa," and then took her lips against his own, pressing a firm, warm kiss upon her. The young woman pushed him away, staring into his eyes. After a moment, she smiled softly, moving forward.

"I've missed you as well, my love," she answered before meeting his kiss with one of her own, passionate and demanding. Chuckling, Howe returned her kiss tenfold as he maneuvered her toward the massive four poster bed that dominated the room.