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Anora Mac Tir was unsure what to make of the youngest Cousland boy.

She had seen him before at noble parties, boasting about his prowess with a bow, a pair of swords, or one of the local useless beauties to his compatriots, as young men were wont to do. She had dismissed him as another foolish young noble…yet here he was, one of the last two surviving wardens. And in her opinion, the more competent of the two.

And yet, as she watched this golden-haired, green-eyed fool lean back in his chair, propped up on only two legs, she felt the strangest urge to push him back, and send him toppling to the floor, just to see what he would do.

Something was not right with this. There was simply no way an idiot like the young Cousland could be so successful.

But before she could ponder his character further, he crossed his hands behind his head, and turned to her.

"So. Your Majesty. Queen Anora."

He gave her a smile that he undoubtedly thought was roguishly charming. She wanted nothing more than to knock his teeth out for wasting her time like this.

"Why should you be the queen?"

Was he serious? Surely, he couldn't be asking that!

But she kept the veneer of cool politeness on her face as she answered. "I have ruled this land for five years already. Cailan may have been the king, but I have been administrating in his name throughout his whole reign. No doubt you are aware of this. Not to mention I have the experience and the wisdom necessary to provide resources conducive to fighting the Blight. I understand that is your first priority. Do you really believe Alistair could provide the same?"

"Why not?"

"Because he is not kingly material, Warden. He is kind and well-meaning, but those are not kingly qualities, though they are admirable."

"What Alistair does is irrelevant." Cousland shrugged. "It's Eamon that's going to be running the show."

Anora quirked her brows at this assessment. "And what makes you believe that?"

"Logic, really. Alistair is nowhere ready to be king. He has a tendency to imprint himself on those around him that show him a measure of kindness, and are stronger than himself. Duncan, Eamon, myself."

Cousland shrugged. "When it comes to being king, Eamon will undoubtedly be his closest advisor, and Alistair will take his words with the same reverence one holds for the chant."

His green eyes locked with her own blue, a previously unseen intelligence glimmering in that stare. "So let me rephrase that question, your majesty: why should I support you over Eamon, who has done nothing but support us thus far?"

Shrewd. Very shrewd.

"Eamon is a traditionalist." Anora pointed out. "The kingdom will not prosper under his conservatism. Surely you know this?"

"Of course I do. Eamon cares more for the blood in a man's veins than the brain in his head."

If Cousland knew this, then why was he wasting her time with these questions?

"Here's the thing though, I can receive support from either you or Eamon, depending on how things turn out. The resources needed to fight the Blight will be mine regardless of who sits on the throne."

"And you wish to know what I can offer that Eamon cannot." Anora murmured, smiling despite herself. This fool was proving more interesting than she had given him credit for. "That is a tricky question, Warden. What is it you wish for, precisely?"

"I'm so glad you asked." Cousland sent her another one of those ridiculous grins. "Your hand in marriage, of course."

Seeing her unfazed expression, he added, "I suppose I could ask for Eamon's, but I doubt Isolde would approve. Or Alistair's, but I doubt he would look as pretty in a wedding dress. And what would the children look like? No, it would never work."

Anora cracked a smile despite herself. "Naturally, I'm the most suitable choice. Very well, Warden. Make your case. Why should I accept your offer?"

"Oh, that's simple. A union with me will bring more unity to Ferelden than Alistair's Theirin blood could ever provide." Cousland gave her a smile laced with cunning. "I am the last living Cousland, second only to royalty. And I am the son of a noblewoman, rather than a scullery maid. I carry the support of the dwarves, the circle of Magi, and the Dalish. Not to mention many of the nobles, some of whom will support me due to some of the things I discovered in Howe's estate, some who will support me because of my father, some who will support me because as evidenced by Howe's death, I've shown what I can do to those that cross me, and some who will support me because I will convince them to in the Landsmeet. Most of all, the worst threat to your throne right now, Eamon, is indebted to me. I saved his son's life, and that of his wife's. I even preserved his beloved Redcliffe from destruction. Even if he chooses to turn on me, I need only reveal certain nasty details to the court regarding what occurred there. And most importantly, if you marry me, I will do what I can to spare your father's life."

His smile was actually genuine. "He's much more useful alive, than dead. That should be obvious to anyone."

"All excellent points." Anora conceded.

"Not to mention there is a solid chance that I will die in the Blight." Cousland smirked. "Even if that happens, I will be remembered as a hero of Ferelden. And you will be painted as the woman that won my heart. The people love that sort of shit."

She didn't even flinch at his profanity. Her father was a soldier, after all. "Very well, Warden. My hand in return for your support. You will be the prince-consort."

"You would have received my support regardless." Cousland informed her, causing her to blink in surprise.

That smirk returned to his lips. "It would be utterly foolish to change regimes in the middle of a war. Not to mention that you're right: Alistair is a good man. But good men make for terrible kings."

Six months later found her sitting before her vanity on the night of her wedding, gently running a brush through her golden hair.

Her husband had slipped away at some point during the evening, but it was of little consequence. He would be here shortly, he'd assured her, before darting off to attend to whatever errand he considered so crucial. No matter. She would take care of her duties, and then she would question him about it.

Scooping her hair over one shoulder, Anora allowed her robe to drop to the floor, and lay back on the nearby bed, shivering with cold as she slid beneath the sheets.

One minute turned to ten. And ten minutes to twenty.

Where the hell was her husband?

Two hours later, Orion let out a yawn as he stepped into his wife's bedroom, his green eyes going wide at the sight of his new wife, naked and curled up on the mattress, glossy blonde hair spilled out in a messy pile over her pillow.

The sheets had fallen to her waist in the middle of the night, and his eyes immediately fixed on the soft rise of her breasts.

When he had been younger, he had had the worst crush on Anora Mac Tir. Every time his mother invited the lovely young girl to stay at Highever, it had been torture for his shy, awkward, teenage self. Were he still a boy of fifteen, the sight of those lush spheres of flesh would have made him faint, the sight equivalent to seeing the face of the Maker.

But at age twenty-six, he merely stood there for a good five minutes, gaping unabashedly at the marvelous sight. Still, some shred of dignity soon seized him, and he caught himself.

Wait. Why was he bothering to stop? She was his wife, damn it. He could stare all he liked and more.

But before he could treat himself to another eyeful of breasts, Anora murmured something in her sleep, and rolled over onto her stomach.

There was no Maker. No creator could be so cruel as to entice her to roll over. Damned circadian rhythms and twitches. Damn errand. Damn it all to hell.

You're her husband, idiot, he cursed himself as he began to regain his senses. It wasn't as though he had to retire to his own chambers. It was his wedding nights. And even if he was loathe to wake her after such an exhausting ceremony, that didn't mean that she wouldn't wake in the night, and decide that she wished to carry on with their marriage rites. She was very driven. No doubt she wanted to get things accomplished as soon as possible.

The least he could do was make himself more available to her. In fact, as prince-consort, it was his duty to make himself available. To serve her. Hell, if he didn't sleep next to her that night, it could be construed as a wanton disregard of his service to the monarch. It could be considered treason. He could end up beheaded for such a thing.

And there was certainly no need for that, Orion decided as he stripped off his doublet and stepped out of his boots, disrobing down to his smalls.

As he lifted up the covers, he found himself staring once again, this time at her slim, lovely legs, and the round, supple curve of her backside. He could imagine digging his fingers into the soft, toned flesh of her backside, running his hands over those shapely legs, not stopping until he reached the blonde curls between them, sliding his thumb over a place that made her gasp, her cheeks heated with a passion-flush as he explored her, plunging his fingers into a place of impossible heat and slickness, watching her arch against his palm, begging him not to stop…

But he had to stop. Because if she woke up and caught sight of him then, it would be a little awkward to explain why he was looming over her sleeping body with an enormous erection. Not something to reminisce about years later, when they were old and grey.

Wincing at the way his remaining clothes were beginning to chafe, he finally laid down, and pulled the covers up to his chest.

He would forget about the woman sleeping beside him. He would think of old chantry sisters, and broodmothers, and Oghren…oh yes, thinking about Oghren was working miracles.

But Anora suddenly shivered beside him, and rolled over, her hair hitting his face in a spray of yellow silk, while her arms tangled over his chest, and her breasts brushed up against his side.

That familiar ache immediately returned, and he couldn't help a light whimper. He'd rather spend another day in a Fort Drakon cell, or face another arch demon. Anything besides *this*. Dealing with…with this bloody desire demon that was lying next to him.

Maybe he could wake her up? No, no…that wouldn't be right. She was sleeping. And he didn't know how she would react to being woken up in the night. Let sleeping dragons lie, they always said.

He took in a deep breath, drawing in the scent of roses as he pushed aside her hair.

It was going to be a long night.

Sometime later, Orion realized he was having the same dream from his adolescence. Anora Mac Tir leaning over him as they lay together in bed, surveying his bleary green eyes with interest, before moving downward, and brushing her lips against his.

He closed his eyes, allowing her to explore him, for her tongue to tentatively touch his own, for his teeth to gently bite down on her lower lip. It wasn't until the cool metal of a wedding ring passed down his chest that he came to his senses, gently taking Anora's hand in his own, and stopping her from reaching further.

"Are you sure you want to get this over and done with?" He asked quickly, seeing her confusion.

That befuddlement soon transformed into skepticism, as demonstrated by two haughty, raised brows. "I didn't think you the type to turn down an open invitation."

"I'm not." He assured her, before grinning. "Those invitations usually come with the option to sneak out the window early the next morning. And I think the servants would start to gossip if they saw their prince-consort sneaking out of the queen's window every morning for the next thirty years. We can't have that."

She smiled despite herself. "Thirty years is a very specific number."

"It is. But if we're going to continue this discussion, I'm going to have to ask you to pull the sheets to your shoulders. Otherwise, I won't be able to tell you my own name, let alone the thirty-year issue."

"Oh." Anora blushed as she pulled up the sheets. Whether it was from her state, or because of his words, he wouldn't know.

"This is a warden secret, so I trust that you'll keep it to yourself." He informed her, sitting back against the pillows. "Wardens don't exactly beat the taint. We have nightmares, we can sense darkspawn, and eventually—after thirty years, at the latest—we succumb to something called, 'The Calling'. The call of the old gods becomes so strong that we venture to the deep roads, and get ourselves killed fighting darkspawn. I know. Happy ending."

"Oh." To his surprise, Anora gave him a wry smile. "I suppose I shouldn't get too attached to you."

"It won't be too hard. I'm quite deplorable, I assure you." He answered with a grin.

"So I should assume that you were up to something dastardly and wicked last night?"

Orion's smile immediately dropped. "In a sense. I went to see Zevran. He visited Alistair once he was moved back to Fort Drakon. I wanted a report on his condition."

"And what is it?"

"Bitter. Angry. Unchanged." The newly made prince sighed. "I think that executing him would be a mistake, Anora."

She quirked a brow once more. "So I should simply allow a threat to my throne to go about unchecked?"

"Of course not." Orion reached up to pinch the narrow bridge of his nose in a show of stress. "I think he should be assassinated."

Anora blinked, surprised by that admission. "Go on."

"Legally speaking, he hasn't done anything wrong. He simply has Theirin blood. If you kill him, it may incite the nobles to conspire against you. Mainly Eamon." The warden tugged at the short bristles of his beard. "But if you pardon him, and have him assassinated, and make it untraceable back to you, then he's gone, and no one can accuse you of executing a man unjustly. After all, it's not your fault if he has an unfortunate accident."

The queen cocked her head, her blue eyes bright with interest. "I don't suppose this Zevran of yours could arrange for such a thing to occur?"

"He could, but I won't ask him to do that. I want someone neutral to Alistair to perform the deed. I'd hate for one of Zev's better impulses to get the better of him." Orion frowned. "I was thinking that we could release him under the pretense of allowing the Grey Wardens to deal with him, for abandoning his duty during the blight. Then, we could figure out where to go from there."

"It's a good start." Anora admitted, before casting her husband a curious look. "Why offer this solution? I know you care about Alistair. I could pardon him, so long as he swears to forsake the throne for himself and his heirs."

"That would never work." Orion replied, his voice deadpan and fatalistic. "Alistair is a good man, but he's bitter, and he's easily influenced. It wouldn't take much to convince him to go after you, or Loghain, maybe even one of our children, should we have them. I won't allow that."

"And why not?" Anora gave him a suspicious look. "Loghain killed your mentor. And you could easily assume power in the event of my death, you know."

"Loghain killed *Alistair's* mentor." Orion corrected with more bitterness than Anora had ever heard from the man.

Another sigh escaped him. "When that bastard Howe came to my family's home and started his mass slaughter, my mother, my father, Duncan, and myself ended up in the cellar. There was a tunnel out of the fortress, and my father asked Duncan to save me. Duncan agreed, in return for having me become a warden."

His fist clenched in the sheets. "I was furious. I'm a selfish man, Anora. I wanted nothing more than to stay with my family, to defend my parents to my last breath. I hated the wardens. I hated that I was part of them at the expense of my family's life. And when the blight came, I had access to treaties. Treaties for armies against the blights. At first I went along because I had nothing better to do, and marching to Denerim to kill Howe myself wasn't a wise option. Then, I started seeking out those armies. And in order to get them, I did marvelous things for the people I helped. The dwarves, elves, mages…all in my debt. I figured that asking them to assist me in killing one bastard arl wouldn't be much in addition to defeating the blight. And they would have done it, had you not provided me the opportunity yourself during your rescue."

He shook his head. "I care little for the wardens. They fight the blight, and they are a force to be reckoned with. But they are not an order of heroes. Perhaps they are in Alistair's foolishly black and white world, but that's never been the truth. He complained about dishonoring Duncan by allowing Loghain to live, but I think it would have been a worse dishonor to toss aside a potentially magnificent warden in favor of revenge."

"I see." Anora was quiet for a moment. "And me?"

"You?" Orion blinked, as if stunned that she even had to ask the question. "You're my wife. I wouldn't let anyone harm you."

And despite everything, she believed him. The Cousland family was rich with loyalties. She had seen the bond between Bryce and Eleanor, and Fergus and Oriana. One arranged marriage, one love match. Both carried the same weight of loyalty and devotion in the eyes of the Cousland men. It was no surprise that Orion would hold the same true.

She found herself biting down on her lower lip in a look of unease, before slipping her fingers through her husband's. "But this decision weighs on you, doesn't it?"

"Maker, yes." The warden admitted, his shoulders slumping as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose again. "Alistair is a good man. A friend. And he is completely justified in his feelings. Maker, if someone had arranged for Howe to become a warden, I'd have chopped him to pieces before anyone could so much as collect the joining cup. Yet here I am, willing to condemn a man simply because of his blood."

He set his jaw in a steely fashion. "But that does not matter. He is a threat to you and your throne, Anora. My feelings aside, I know that Alistair is a good man, but also easily influenced, and foolish. It wouldn't take much to provoke him into a rebellion. I won't allow that."

Orion had already let his parents down by not being there for them. He would not allow the same to happen to his wife.

To his surprise, Anora cupped his face in her hands, pressing a bruising kiss to his lips.

"Anora? Are you--"

"Stop talking." She interrupted, digging her fingers into his hair, and raking her nails across his scalp, the resulting tingles of slight pain and marvelous pleasure causing him to groan against her mouth.

Her lips began to tread lower, scathing over his cheeks, his jaws, and his neck. And when he reached up to brush back her hair, smoothing his hand over the downy curve of her shoulder, he believed that he would be all smooth charm. That she would love what he had to offer, and she would demand—no, beg—for more.

Instead, he reverted back to his awkward teenage self. And he was chatty.

"I had the worst crush on you when I was a boy."

Anora came to a halt, casting an amused smile up at her husband. "Oh?"

Color began to heat his cheeks, and the sensible side of him cursed himself for his stupidity. "I did. Every time my mother invited you to stay at the castle, it was wonderful. It was also torture, because Cailan often visited at the same time as you."

Seeing her raise her brow once more, he admitted, "You used to lead him on all sorts of adventures around the castle, while I had to sit in the study and be tutored. And I was so damn fidgety, that it was nearly dinner by the time I was let out. By then everyone had retired to their rooms, and there was no one but the dog to keep me company."

His blush rose under her scrutiny, and he confessed quietly, "I wanted you to pay attention to *me* instead of *Cailan*."

"I see." Anora could barely hold back the smile on her lips. "Is that why you asked me to marry you instead of Alistair?"

"I know your marrying Alistair would have been the simplest solution." Orion couldn't help a smile of his own. "But as I said, I'm selfish, and the idea of you wiping the snot from Alistair's nose for the rest of his life while he tried to fit into his role in the kingdom made me want to snap his neck. And any other fool that saw fit to seek your hand, for that matter."

To his surprise, a soft smile came over Anora's lips, and her cheeks turned pink. But before he could dig deeper, her lips were on his once more, and he forgot all about their conversation.

Soon, he forgot about everything around him. There was nothing in the world but this woman, with her soft, shapely figure lying back on the mattress as he loomed over her.

Nothing but her radiant blue eyes, her marvelous blonde hair, the smell of roses, and the soft, barely perceptible little moans she let out his hands grazed over her breasts.

Heat soared right to his loins the moment his thumbs circled over the rosy peaks of her nipples, his calculating green eyes watching in renewed fascination as they rose against his fingers.

A sharp gasp escaped her once his mouth closed over one of the buds, tugging her gently with his mouth. Those slender hands slid into his short, blond hair, her nails once again digging into his scalp in open encouragement.

It was all he needed to move his mouth lower, kissing a trail down her abdomen, and towards the silky patch of gold that marked her womanhood.

She gave a shriek of protest as the short prickles of his beard brushed against her inner thighs, and grabbed him by his ears, yanking his head away. "What are you doing?!"

"What?" He gave her a perplexed look. "You're protesting *this*?"

"Of course I am!" Anora snapped, staring at him like his brain just melted and oozed out of his ears. "That's disgusting! Warden, I command you to--"

"Orion."

"What?"

"My name is Orion. Not 'Warden'. Would you like me to start calling you, 'My queen' while we're here."

"Well, now that you mention it…"

Orion rolled his eyes at the pleased expression on her face, and ducked back down. Before she could realize what was happening, his tongue curled over her slick folds, and drove upwards, bumping into a part of her that was so sensitive, she gasped in surprise and pleasure, her hips jolting against him.

"Terrible, isn't it?" He drawled, his breath maddeningly cool against her skin as he lifted his head, savoring her distraught expression. "Though if you'd like me to stop, you need only--"

"Don't you *dare*." She hissed, pushing his head right back down, desperation superseding her pride and forcing her to ignore the utterly smug smile on his face.

Warmth began to gather deep in her core as he moved the flat of his tongue over her in broad strokes, lapping at that same, marvelous, toe-curling place of utter delight. It wasn't long before something began to coil deep in her abdomen, thrumming against her skin. And when he pressed his tongue inside of her, something snapped, and she found herself shrieking her husband's name—not his title—as bliss curled through her.

Orion continued his ministrations until each jerk of her hips became progressively weaker, and the little moues of pleasure stopped sounding from her mouth.

But before he spread her thighs and dunked his way into his own pleasure, he couldn't resist looking up at her. Looking up at the face that had bewitched his dreams, his heart, and quite frankly, his loins, since he had been a boy, he couldn't help but blink.

Her expression held the most bizarre combination of pleasure and horror that he had ever witnessed.

"Fetch a healer." She commanded, her voice thick with renewed tension as she yanked the covers over the two of them. "I…I think I just had a small seizure."

All of Orion's worry dissipated immediately, replaced completely by mirth. It took all of his willpower to keep from laughing. "A seizure? What makes you think that?"

"I started having spasms!" Her face turned a bright shade of red. "You…you must have felt them too!"

"I did." Orion shrugged in a deceptively casual manner. "I thought you were having an orgasm."

"What?" Anora scoffed. "Now you're just being ridiculous."

"I suppose so." Tremors began to form on his chin. "Tell me though, for curiosity's sake, what have your orgasms been like?"

"What kind of question is that?'" The queen made a face. "Everyone knows what they're like! That odd, warm tingling sensation that hits you for a moment, then disappears after a few minutes or so."

She shook her head. "Something must be wrong with you if you don't know what that's like."

Orion stared, petrified from pent up laughter. "And this? What was this seizure like?"

"Hot. Very warm, in fact." She replied carefully, the color rising in her cheeks. "I…I felt like the pit of my stomach dropped right out of my body. And I couldn't do anything but…but lay there."

Anora blinked. "Now that I think of it, it wasn't entirely unpleasant."

"Uh-huh." Orion's mask of seriousness was about to crack in half. "That's because it *was* an orgasm."

The sight of Anora's brows creasing, and her mouth dropping wide open sent Orion into the most unmanly fit of giggles that had ever seized him. He tried valiantly to smother them, going so far as to bury his face in a pillow to silence himself.

When he finally got the courage to look at his wife again, she was giving him the nastiest glare she could muster, her face now a deep, cherry red.

"Maker, I'm sorry, Anora." He gasped out between bouts of laughter. "I just…well…it's just…I can hardly believe…I mean…you were married to Cailan for…"

"Five years. Yes, yes I know." She snapped out, her voice more venomous than she intended.

His laughter stopped then and there, and he sent her a soft smile, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. "I'm sorry."

He couldn't help another smile as he kissed her other cheek. "Won't happen again, I promise."

"I should hope not." She retorted shortly, her arms crossed irritably over her breasts.

Presenting her new husband with a haughty glare, she implored, "Well? Aren't you going to finish?"

It wasn't long before the covers had been tossed back, and Orion found himself locked in an embrace with his new wife, their lips and tongues tangling together as his rough fingers explored every curve of her body, tracing over smooth skin and massaging over firm muscle, until he could slide the pad of his thumb over that same place as before, her hips arching against his palm, as he discovered her to be every bit as hot and wet as before.

"Orion." She whispered into his ear, her voice heavy with desperation. "Will you please…just…"

That was all it took for him to sink into the soft cradle of her thighs, a gasp escaping his own lips as heat and warmth surrounded him, tugging him deeper and farther, until he was fully inside of her.

Nearly dizzy with sensation, Orion began to move. This woman was all-consuming, not a single thought registering with him beyond her soft sighs and gentle moans, increasing in pitch and pleasure as he began to rock against her, following the rhythm of her hips as they sought more of the friction he provided. Her legs twisted over his hips, her ankles hooking together and pulling him closer.

And suddenly, she tightened around him, sending him spiraling into a trip of pleasure that was so vast, so powerful, that he thought he could simply die right then and there, and face the Maker a satisfied man.

But as he went boneless above her, some part of him took note of Anora's disarmed expression, as she tossed back her head against the pillows, her nails raking over his back and slicing open the skin in helpless pleasure. He didn't care about the cuts. He barely even noticed them.

When he had been a boy, he had believed her to be the most beautiful woman in the world, her soft features, her icy demeanor, and her occasional smiles more nourishing than ambrosia. And yet, seeing her here, with her hair mussed and her skin flushed, she had never looked more lovely.

And as he leaned to kiss her, and draw her into his arms, he considered what Leliana had asked him after he announced his engagement. It was true. He could certainly learn to love this striking, intelligent woman.

Perhaps he already did.

Description
Anora Mac Tir was unsure what to make of the youngest Cousland boy.

She had seen him before at noble parties, boasting about his prowess with a bow, a pair of swords, or one of the local useless beauties to his compatriots, as young men were wont to do. She had dismissed him as another foolish young noble…yet here he was, one of the last two surviving wardens. And in her opinion, the more competent of the two.

And yet, as she watched this golden-haired, green-eyed fool lean back in his chair, propped up on only two legs, she felt the strangest urge to push him back, and send him toppling to the floor, just to see what he would do.

Something was not right with this. There was simply no way an idiot like the young Cousland could be so successful.

But before she could ponder his character further, he crossed his hands behind his head, and turned to her.

"So. Your Majesty. Queen Anora."

He gave her a smile that he undoubtedly thought was roguishly charming. She wanted nothing more than to knock his teeth out for wasting her time like this.

"Why should you be the queen?"

Was he serious? Surely, he couldn't be asking that!

But she kept the veneer of cool politeness on her face as she answered. "I have ruled this land for five years already. Cailan may have been the king, but I have been administrating in his name throughout his whole reign. No doubt you are aware of this. Not to mention I have the experience and the wisdom necessary to provide resources conducive to fighting the Blight. I understand that is your first priority. Do you really believe Alistair could provide the same?"

"Why not?"

"Because he is not kingly material, Warden. He is kind and well-meaning, but those are not kingly qualities, though they are admirable."

"What Alistair does is irrelevant." Cousland shrugged. "It's Eamon that's going to be running the show."

Anora quirked her brows at this assessment. "And what makes you believe that?"

"Logic, really. Alistair is nowhere ready to be king. He has a tendency to imprint himself on those around him that show him a measure of kindness, and are stronger than himself. Duncan, Eamon, myself."

Cousland shrugged. "When it comes to being king, Eamon will undoubtedly be his closest advisor, and Alistair will take his words with the same reverence one holds for the chant."

His green eyes locked with her own blue, a previously unseen intelligence glimmering in that stare. "So let me rephrase that question, your majesty: why should I support you over Eamon, who has done nothing but support us thus far?"

Shrewd. Very shrewd.

"Eamon is a traditionalist." Anora pointed out. "The kingdom will not prosper under his conservatism. Surely you know this?"

"Of course I do. Eamon cares more for the blood in a man's veins than the brain in his head."

If Cousland knew this, then why was he wasting her time with these questions?

"Here's the thing though, I can receive support from either you or Eamon, depending on how things turn out. The resources needed to fight the Blight will be mine regardless of who sits on the throne."

"And you wish to know what I can offer that Eamon cannot." Anora murmured, smiling despite herself. This fool was proving more interesting than she had given him credit for. "That is a tricky question, Warden. What is it you wish for, precisely?"

"I'm so glad you asked." Cousland sent her another one of those ridiculous grins. "Your hand in marriage, of course."

Seeing her unfazed expression, he added, "I suppose I could ask for Eamon's, but I doubt Isolde would approve. Or Alistair's, but I doubt he would look as pretty in a wedding dress. And what would the children look like? No, it would never work."

Anora cracked a smile despite herself. "Naturally, I'm the most suitable choice. Very well, Warden. Make your case. Why should I accept your offer?"

"Oh, that's simple. A union with me will bring more unity to Ferelden than Alistair's Theirin blood could ever provide." Cousland gave her a smile laced with cunning. "I am the last living Cousland, second only to royalty. And I am the son of a noblewoman, rather than a scullery maid. I carry the support of the dwarves, the circle of Magi, and the Dalish. Not to mention many of the nobles, some of whom will support me due to some of the things I discovered in Howe's estate, some who will support me because of my father, some who will support me because as evidenced by Howe's death, I've shown what I can do to those that cross me, and some who will support me because I will convince them to in the Landsmeet. Most of all, the worst threat to your throne right now, Eamon, is indebted to me. I saved his son's life, and that of his wife's. I even preserved his beloved Redcliffe from destruction. Even if he chooses to turn on me, I need only reveal certain nasty details to the court regarding what occurred there. And most importantly, if you marry me, I will do what I can to spare your father's life."

His smile was actually genuine. "He's much more useful alive, than dead. That should be obvious to anyone."

"All excellent points." Anora conceded.

"Not to mention there is a solid chance that I will die in the Blight." Cousland smirked. "Even if that happens, I will be remembered as a hero of Ferelden. And you will be painted as the woman that won my heart. The people love that sort of shit."

She didn't even flinch at his profanity. Her father was a soldier, after all. "Very well, Warden. My hand in return for your support. You will be the prince-consort."

"You would have received my support regardless." Cousland informed her, causing her to blink in surprise.

That smirk returned to his lips. "It would be utterly foolish to change regimes in the middle of a war. Not to mention that you're right: Alistair is a good man. But good men make for terrible kings."

Six months later found her sitting before her vanity on the night of her wedding, gently running a brush through her golden hair.

Her husband had slipped away at some point during the evening, but it was of little consequence. He would be here shortly, he'd assured her, before darting off to attend to whatever errand he considered so crucial. No matter. She would take care of her duties, and then she would question him about it.

Scooping her hair over one shoulder, Anora allowed her robe to drop to the floor, and lay back on the nearby bed, shivering with cold as she slid beneath the sheets.

One minute turned to ten. And ten minutes to twenty.

Where the hell was her husband?

Two hours later, Orion let out a yawn as he stepped into his wife's bedroom, his green eyes going wide at the sight of his new wife, naked and curled up on the mattress, glossy blonde hair spilled out in a messy pile over her pillow.

The sheets had fallen to her waist in the middle of the night, and his eyes immediately fixed on the soft rise of her breasts.

When he had been younger, he had had the worst crush on Anora Mac Tir. Every time his mother invited the lovely young girl to stay at Highever, it had been torture for his shy, awkward, teenage self. Were he still a boy of fifteen, the sight of those lush spheres of flesh would have made him faint, the sight equivalent to seeing the face of the Maker.

But at age twenty-six, he merely stood there for a good five minutes, gaping unabashedly at the marvelous sight. Still, some shred of dignity soon seized him, and he caught himself.

Wait. Why was he bothering to stop? She was his wife, damn it. He could stare all he liked and more.

But before he could treat himself to another eyeful of breasts, Anora murmured something in her sleep, and rolled over onto her stomach.

There was no Maker. No creator could be so cruel as to entice her to roll over. Damned circadian rhythms and twitches. Damn errand. Damn it all to hell.

You're her husband, idiot, he cursed himself as he began to regain his senses. It wasn't as though he had to retire to his own chambers. It was his wedding nights. And even if he was loathe to wake her after such an exhausting ceremony, that didn't mean that she wouldn't wake in the night, and decide that she wished to carry on with their marriage rites. She was very driven. No doubt she wanted to get things accomplished as soon as possible.

The least he could do was make himself more available to her. In fact, as prince-consort, it was his duty to make himself available. To serve her. Hell, if he didn't sleep next to her that night, it could be construed as a wanton disregard of his service to the monarch. It could be considered treason. He could end up beheaded for such a thing.

And there was certainly no need for that, Orion decided as he stripped off his doublet and stepped out of his boots, disrobing down to his smalls.

As he lifted up the covers, he found himself staring once again, this time at her slim, lovely legs, and the round, supple curve of her backside. He could imagine digging his fingers into the soft, toned flesh of her backside, running his hands over those shapely legs, not stopping until he reached the blonde curls between them, sliding his thumb over a place that made her gasp, her cheeks heated with a passion-flush as he explored her, plunging his fingers into a place of impossible heat and slickness, watching her arch against his palm, begging him not to stop…

But he had to stop. Because if she woke up and caught sight of him then, it would be a little awkward to explain why he was looming over her sleeping body with an enormous erection. Not something to reminisce about years later, when they were old and grey.

Wincing at the way his remaining clothes were beginning to chafe, he finally laid down, and pulled the covers up to his chest.

He would forget about the woman sleeping beside him. He would think of old chantry sisters, and broodmothers, and Oghren…oh yes, thinking about Oghren was working miracles.

But Anora suddenly shivered beside him, and rolled over, her hair hitting his face in a spray of yellow silk, while her arms tangled over his chest, and her breasts brushed up against his side.

That familiar ache immediately returned, and he couldn't help a light whimper. He'd rather spend another day in a Fort Drakon cell, or face another arch demon. Anything besides *this*. Dealing with…with this bloody desire demon that was lying next to him.

Maybe he could wake her up? No, no…that wouldn't be right. She was sleeping. And he didn't know how she would react to being woken up in the night. Let sleeping dragons lie, they always said.

He took in a deep breath, drawing in the scent of roses as he pushed aside her hair.

It was going to be a long night.

Sometime later, Orion realized he was having the same dream from his adolescence. Anora Mac Tir leaning over him as they lay together in bed, surveying his bleary green eyes with interest, before moving downward, and brushing her lips against his.

He closed his eyes, allowing her to explore him, for her tongue to tentatively touch his own, for his teeth to gently bite down on her lower lip. It wasn't until the cool metal of a wedding ring passed down his chest that he came to his senses, gently taking Anora's hand in his own, and stopping her from reaching further.

"Are you sure you want to get this over and done with?" He asked quickly, seeing her confusion.

That befuddlement soon transformed into skepticism, as demonstrated by two haughty, raised brows. "I didn't think you the type to turn down an open invitation."

"I'm not." He assured her, before grinning. "Those invitations usually come with the option to sneak out the window early the next morning. And I think the servants would start to gossip if they saw their prince-consort sneaking out of the queen's window every morning for the next thirty years. We can't have that."

She smiled despite herself. "Thirty years is a very specific number."

"It is. But if we're going to continue this discussion, I'm going to have to ask you to pull the sheets to your shoulders. Otherwise, I won't be able to tell you my own name, let alone the thirty-year issue."

"Oh." Anora blushed as she pulled up the sheets. Whether it was from her state, or because of his words, he wouldn't know.

"This is a warden secret, so I trust that you'll keep it to yourself." He informed her, sitting back against the pillows. "Wardens don't exactly beat the taint. We have nightmares, we can sense darkspawn, and eventually—after thirty years, at the latest—we succumb to something called, 'The Calling'. The call of the old gods becomes so strong that we venture to the deep roads, and get ourselves killed fighting darkspawn. I know. Happy ending."

"Oh." To his surprise, Anora gave him a wry smile. "I suppose I shouldn't get too attached to you."

"It won't be too hard. I'm quite deplorable, I assure you." He answered with a grin.

"So I should assume that you were up to something dastardly and wicked last night?"

Orion's smile immediately dropped. "In a sense. I went to see Zevran. He visited Alistair once he was moved back to Fort Drakon. I wanted a report on his condition."

"And what is it?"

"Bitter. Angry. Unchanged." The newly made prince sighed. "I think that executing him would be a mistake, Anora."

She quirked a brow once more. "So I should simply allow a threat to my throne to go about unchecked?"

"Of course not." Orion reached up to pinch the narrow bridge of his nose in a show of stress. "I think he should be assassinated."

Anora blinked, surprised by that admission. "Go on."

"Legally speaking, he hasn't done anything wrong. He simply has Theirin blood. If you kill him, it may incite the nobles to conspire against you. Mainly Eamon." The warden tugged at the short bristles of his beard. "But if you pardon him, and have him assassinated, and make it untraceable back to you, then he's gone, and no one can accuse you of executing a man unjustly. After all, it's not your fault if he has an unfortunate accident."

The queen cocked her head, her blue eyes bright with interest. "I don't suppose this Zevran of yours could arrange for such a thing to occur?"

"He could, but I won't ask him to do that. I want someone neutral to Alistair to perform the deed. I'd hate for one of Zev's better impulses to get the better of him." Orion frowned. "I was thinking that we could release him under the pretense of allowing the Grey Wardens to deal with him, for abandoning his duty during the blight. Then, we could figure out where to go from there."

"It's a good start." Anora admitted, before casting her husband a curious look. "Why offer this solution? I know you care about Alistair. I could pardon him, so long as he swears to forsake the throne for himself and his heirs."

"That would never work." Orion replied, his voice deadpan and fatalistic. "Alistair is a good man, but he's bitter, and he's easily influenced. It wouldn't take much to convince him to go after you, or Loghain, maybe even one of our children, should we have them. I won't allow that."

"And why not?" Anora gave him a suspicious look. "Loghain killed your mentor. And you could easily assume power in the event of my death, you know."

"Loghain killed *Alistair's* mentor." Orion corrected with more bitterness than Anora had ever heard from the man.

Another sigh escaped him. "When that bastard Howe came to my family's home and started his mass slaughter, my mother, my father, Duncan, and myself ended up in the cellar. There was a tunnel out of the fortress, and my father asked Duncan to save me. Duncan agreed, in return for having me become a warden."

His fist clenched in the sheets. "I was furious. I'm a selfish man, Anora. I wanted nothing more than to stay with my family, to defend my parents to my last breath. I hated the wardens. I hated that I was part of them at the expense of my family's life. And when the blight came, I had access to treaties. Treaties for armies against the blights. At first I went along because I had nothing better to do, and marching to Denerim to kill Howe myself wasn't a wise option. Then, I started seeking out those armies. And in order to get them, I did marvelous things for the people I helped. The dwarves, elves, mages…all in my debt. I figured that asking them to assist me in killing one bastard arl wouldn't be much in addition to defeating the blight. And they would have done it, had you not provided me the opportunity yourself during your rescue."

He shook his head. "I care little for the wardens. They fight the blight, and they are a force to be reckoned with. But they are not an order of heroes. Perhaps they are in Alistair's foolishly black and white world, but that's never been the truth. He complained about dishonoring Duncan by allowing Loghain to live, but I think it would have been a worse dishonor to toss aside a potentially magnificent warden in favor of revenge."

"I see." Anora was quiet for a moment. "And me?"

"You?" Orion blinked, as if stunned that she even had to ask the question. "You're my wife. I wouldn't let anyone harm you."

And despite everything, she believed him. The Cousland family was rich with loyalties. She had seen the bond between Bryce and Eleanor, and Fergus and Oriana. One arranged marriage, one love match. Both carried the same weight of loyalty and devotion in the eyes of the Cousland men. It was no surprise that Orion would hold the same true.

She found herself biting down on her lower lip in a look of unease, before slipping her fingers through her husband's. "But this decision weighs on you, doesn't it?"

"Maker, yes." The warden admitted, his shoulders slumping as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose again. "Alistair is a good man. A friend. And he is completely justified in his feelings. Maker, if someone had arranged for Howe to become a warden, I'd have chopped him to pieces before anyone could so much as collect the joining cup. Yet here I am, willing to condemn a man simply because of his blood."

He set his jaw in a steely fashion. "But that does not matter. He is a threat to you and your throne, Anora. My feelings aside, I know that Alistair is a good man, but also easily influenced, and foolish. It wouldn't take much to provoke him into a rebellion. I won't allow that."

Orion had already let his parents down by not being there for them. He would not allow the same to happen to his wife.

To his surprise, Anora cupped his face in her hands, pressing a bruising kiss to his lips.

"Anora? Are you--"

"Stop talking." She interrupted, digging her fingers into his hair, and raking her nails across his scalp, the resulting tingles of slight pain and marvelous pleasure causing him to groan against her mouth.

Her lips began to tread lower, scathing over his cheeks, his jaws, and his neck. And when he reached up to brush back her hair, smoothing his hand over the downy curve of her shoulder, he believed that he would be all smooth charm. That she would love what he had to offer, and she would demand—no, beg—for more.

Instead, he reverted back to his awkward teenage self. And he was chatty.

"I had the worst crush on you when I was a boy."

Anora came to a halt, casting an amused smile up at her husband. "Oh?"

Color began to heat his cheeks, and the sensible side of him cursed himself for his stupidity. "I did. Every time my mother invited you to stay at the castle, it was wonderful. It was also torture, because Cailan often visited at the same time as you."

Seeing her raise her brow once more, he admitted, "You used to lead him on all sorts of adventures around the castle, while I had to sit in the study and be tutored. And I was so damn fidgety, that it was nearly dinner by the time I was let out. By then everyone had retired to their rooms, and there was no one but the dog to keep me company."

His blush rose under her scrutiny, and he confessed quietly, "I wanted you to pay attention to *me* instead of *Cailan*."

"I see." Anora could barely hold back the smile on her lips. "Is that why you asked me to marry you instead of Alistair?"

"I know your marrying Alistair would have been the simplest solution." Orion couldn't help a smile of his own. "But as I said, I'm selfish, and the idea of you wiping the snot from Alistair's nose for the rest of his life while he tried to fit into his role in the kingdom made me want to snap his neck. And any other fool that saw fit to seek your hand, for that matter."

To his surprise, a soft smile came over Anora's lips, and her cheeks turned pink. But before he could dig deeper, her lips were on his once more, and he forgot all about their conversation.

Soon, he forgot about everything around him. There was nothing in the world but this woman, with her soft, shapely figure lying back on the mattress as he loomed over her.

Nothing but her radiant blue eyes, her marvelous blonde hair, the smell of roses, and the soft, barely perceptible little moans she let out his hands grazed over her breasts.

Heat soared right to his loins the moment his thumbs circled over the rosy peaks of her nipples, his calculating green eyes watching in renewed fascination as they rose against his fingers.

A sharp gasp escaped her once his mouth closed over one of the buds, tugging her gently with his mouth. Those slender hands slid into his short, blond hair, her nails once again digging into his scalp in open encouragement.

It was all he needed to move his mouth lower, kissing a trail down her abdomen, and towards the silky patch of gold that marked her womanhood.

She gave a shriek of protest as the short prickles of his beard brushed against her inner thighs, and grabbed him by his ears, yanking his head away. "What are you doing?!"

"What?" He gave her a perplexed look. "You're protesting *this*?"

"Of course I am!" Anora snapped, staring at him like his brain just melted and oozed out of his ears. "That's disgusting! Warden, I command you to--"

"Orion."

"What?"

"My name is Orion. Not 'Warden'. Would you like me to start calling you, 'My queen' while we're here."

"Well, now that you mention it…"

Orion rolled his eyes at the pleased expression on her face, and ducked back down. Before she could realize what was happening, his tongue curled over her slick folds, and drove upwards, bumping into a part of her that was so sensitive, she gasped in surprise and pleasure, her hips jolting against him.

"Terrible, isn't it?" He drawled, his breath maddeningly cool against her skin as he lifted his head, savoring her distraught expression. "Though if you'd like me to stop, you need only--"

"Don't you *dare*." She hissed, pushing his head right back down, desperation superseding her pride and forcing her to ignore the utterly smug smile on his face.

Warmth began to gather deep in her core as he moved the flat of his tongue over her in broad strokes, lapping at that same, marvelous, toe-curling place of utter delight. It wasn't long before something began to coil deep in her abdomen, thrumming against her skin. And when he pressed his tongue inside of her, something snapped, and she found herself shrieking her husband's name—not his title—as bliss curled through her.

Orion continued his ministrations until each jerk of her hips became progressively weaker, and the little moues of pleasure stopped sounding from her mouth.

But before he spread her thighs and dunked his way into his own pleasure, he couldn't resist looking up at her. Looking up at the face that had bewitched his dreams, his heart, and quite frankly, his loins, since he had been a boy, he couldn't help but blink.

Her expression held the most bizarre combination of pleasure and horror that he had ever witnessed.

"Fetch a healer." She commanded, her voice thick with renewed tension as she yanked the covers over the two of them. "I…I think I just had a small seizure."

All of Orion's worry dissipated immediately, replaced completely by mirth. It took all of his willpower to keep from laughing. "A seizure? What makes you think that?"

"I started having spasms!" Her face turned a bright shade of red. "You…you must have felt them too!"

"I did." Orion shrugged in a deceptively casual manner. "I thought you were having an orgasm."

"What?" Anora scoffed. "Now you're just being ridiculous."

"I suppose so." Tremors began to form on his chin. "Tell me though, for curiosity's sake, what have your orgasms been like?"

"What kind of question is that?'" The queen made a face. "Everyone knows what they're like! That odd, warm tingling sensation that hits you for a moment, then disappears after a few minutes or so."

She shook her head. "Something must be wrong with you if you don't know what that's like."

Orion stared, petrified from pent up laughter. "And this? What was this seizure like?"

"Hot. Very warm, in fact." She replied carefully, the color rising in her cheeks. "I…I felt like the pit of my stomach dropped right out of my body. And I couldn't do anything but…but lay there."

Anora blinked. "Now that I think of it, it wasn't entirely unpleasant."

"Uh-huh." Orion's mask of seriousness was about to crack in half. "That's because it *was* an orgasm."

The sight of Anora's brows creasing, and her mouth dropping wide open sent Orion into the most unmanly fit of giggles that had ever seized him. He tried valiantly to smother them, going so far as to bury his face in a pillow to silence himself.

When he finally got the courage to look at his wife again, she was giving him the nastiest glare she could muster, her face now a deep, cherry red.

"Maker, I'm sorry, Anora." He gasped out between bouts of laughter. "I just…well…it's just…I can hardly believe…I mean…you were married to Cailan for…"

"Five years. Yes, yes I know." She snapped out, her voice more venomous than she intended.

His laughter stopped then and there, and he sent her a soft smile, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. "I'm sorry."

He couldn't help another smile as he kissed her other cheek. "Won't happen again, I promise."

"I should hope not." She retorted shortly, her arms crossed irritably over her breasts.

Presenting her new husband with a haughty glare, she implored, "Well? Aren't you going to finish?"

It wasn't long before the covers had been tossed back, and Orion found himself locked in an embrace with his new wife, their lips and tongues tangling together as his rough fingers explored every curve of her body, tracing over smooth skin and massaging over firm muscle, until he could slide the pad of his thumb over that same place as before, her hips arching against his palm, as he discovered her to be every bit as hot and wet as before.

"Orion." She whispered into his ear, her voice heavy with desperation. "Will you please…just…"

That was all it took for him to sink into the soft cradle of her thighs, a gasp escaping his own lips as heat and warmth surrounded him, tugging him deeper and farther, until he was fully inside of her.

Nearly dizzy with sensation, Orion began to move. This woman was all-consuming, not a single thought registering with him beyond her soft sighs and gentle moans, increasing in pitch and pleasure as he began to rock against her, following the rhythm of her hips as they sought more of the friction he provided. Her legs twisted over his hips, her ankles hooking together and pulling him closer.

And suddenly, she tightened around him, sending him spiraling into a trip of pleasure that was so vast, so powerful, that he thought he could simply die right then and there, and face the Maker a satisfied man.

But as he went boneless above her, some part of him took note of Anora's disarmed expression, as she tossed back her head against the pillows, her nails raking over his back and slicing open the skin in helpless pleasure. He didn't care about the cuts. He barely even noticed them.

When he had been a boy, he had believed her to be the most beautiful woman in the world, her soft features, her icy demeanor, and her occasional smiles more nourishing than ambrosia. And yet, seeing her here, with her hair mussed and her skin flushed, she had never looked more lovely.

And as he leaned to kiss her, and draw her into his arms, he considered what Leliana had asked him after he announced his engagement. It was true. He could certainly learn to love this striking, intelligent woman.

Perhaps he already did.