"Don't do this…Meli, please."

"I have to. Alistair, just trust me. I have to." Melisande glanced at Riordan, pleading wordlessly with him, but he gazed stonily back at her, silent. Bloody Orlesian arse. Zevran and Wynne looked between them. She'd brought them because they knew how to keep their mouths shut and their eyes open. But now, oh Maker, what she wouldn't give for Morrigan or Sten to say something blunt and cutting.

She should just say it. Yell it out so that the older Warden had no choice but to tell the truth. So that Alistair would listen.

Melisande opened her mouth to do just that when a cough from the crowded hall reminded her. The nobles of the Landsmeet stood about, hushed as the drama played out before them. The new king against the Warden.

The words lodged in her throat. Grey Warden secrets.

All Melisande's life she'd been told that Grey Wardens were due all honor. That their secrets were necessary. Even the journal she'd discovered in Father's desk that long ago afternoon, where he'd speculated about Wardens and archdemons and what death required, even there Bryce Cousland had reemphasized the need to keep his thoughts to himself. And what had she cared? She'd just opened the toughest lock in the keep, bar the treasury. That feat had meant more to a budding rogue than any other secret, at the time.

"Alistair, it's the only way..." There was Riordan, now, too. Could she take the chance? Take the chance that her father had been wrong. Or that Riordan would take the blow? But the older Warden was tired, strength eroded from his months in Howe's prison. And anyway…what sort of a Warden was he, that he couldn't break out of an arl's dungeon? She and Alistair had broken out of Fort Drakon, of all places.

Frozen to the spot, Alistair wanted to beg. But- Meli had made him King and even he knew he couldn't start off begging. Well, any more than he already had. He loved her. Maker, he loved her. And she loved him, he knew it. They had plans. She wouldn't. He'd say it clearly and she'd realize and this would all be a momentary thing and they'd laugh later at how stupid they'd been.

"I...can't. I don't believe it and even if I did...Blast it all, Meli, I will not stand beside that traitor as a brother." He had his sword in hand, the one she'd given to him. It wouldn't take but a half step and a swing to separate Loghain's head from his shoulders and end this foolishness. But…what sort of a beginning was that? Was that the sort of king he'd be?

She saw it, when his face changed, the pleading look faded and that jaw of his tightened. The warmth in his eyes gone and replaced with that damned resolute gleam. Maker, please. He'll never let me. He'll die. I can't let him die. Look at him. The betrayal written on his beloved face made her gut writhe.

"Melisande, if you allow this, I will be king. And nothing more."

Steel in his voice and in his spine, now and she wanted nothing more than to throw herself at his feet. But she was a Cousland. And a Warden. If he wouldn't trust her, she would protect her king and doom herself. She inclined her head and closed her eyes. "As you wish,Your Majesty. This is Grey Warden business now." Better he hated her and lived. Ferelden needed him. She needed him. Even if he never forgave her.

Alistair stared at her bright red head, bowed before him. Maker. Why would she do this? Fury pressed in on him. She would put that traitor before him. Damn stubborn nobleborn...why did she never listen? Always her way. Never taking advice, not since he'd said "you lead." Well, no more. She'd made him king and he would not follow her down this path.

Over the buzzing in her ears that threatened to pull her down, Melisande could hear...who? Anora, going on about how this was a perfect solution, since her father might die in the Joining.

Melisande spun around, narrowing her eyes at the woman and snapped out an order, "Stop."

"Excuse me?"

Imperious, back-stabbing...and now spilling secrets she had no right to. Sodding...where was Eamon? Surely the Arl had sense enough to keep this woman away from Alistair? Melisande advanced upon the former queen, with enough menace in her poise to make Anora fall silent.

"I said, stop. His Majesty will make those decisions. You are a widow, not the king's consort , not yet." See, Loghain? This is how you betray your heart and support your king, you sodding bastard.

"But..." Anora glanced between her father, still on his knees, and Alistair, who was eyeing them with distaste showing through his anger before he spoke.

"Until he joins the Grey Wardens, Loghain Mac Tir is still a traitor and a regicide. He and his daughter have no place making decisions for Ferelden." The king growled and his new... subjects seemed to sigh a bit of relief. Authority. Mel...she had been right on that, at least. Give them a hard line and they snap to, just like soldiers.

Melisande drew her Cousland name about her like a mantle and raised her chin, standing before the assembled court. One last time she would play Bryce Cousland's spitfire, the teyrn's daughter, use the lessons she'd learned at her mother's knee and never mind that she wanted to escape into shadow where she belonged. "Ladies and Lords, you have your Theirin king. I suggest Ferelden look to him." She managed not to sob, making her voice ring, instead. "He will ever have you foremost in his thoughts, now."

The entranced crowd indeed turned to Alistair. So...he should probably say something. Blast it all. "Your Warden Commander has united you and will defend you. The Blight will end here and we will rebuild Ferelden." Not a twitch from her. Just that damned cold noble daughter mien, her grey eyes shuttered. How could she... but what did it matter? If he didn't mean enough to her to change her mind, what did it matter, now? "Warden Commander. You and your...fellows are dismissed to make your...arrangements."

To the Void with her, then. Let her live with her choice.

She paused for just a moment, letting the chill in his voice and the stumble in his words sink into her bones. "Thank you. Your Majesty." Bowing deeply, rising gracefully before she turned to Riordan, who looked a bit put out at having to take second to this girl. "Well? Go get your Maker-forsaken poisoned cup. I'll meet you in the chapel."

She jerked her head and Zevran went to Loghain, who stood in a weary manner and shook himself before preceding her. She didn't pause. She looked neither left nor right. If she stopped to think, she'd stab the bastard through the heart and present his corpse to Alistair in abject submission and beg. But she couldn't do that.

Instead, she walked with her heart shattered and her head proud; out of the throne room that less than a candlemark before they had walked into, shoulder to shoulder.

She walked out. And he let her.

-000-

Another mark later and it was done. Loghain was a Warden.

She'd stood to the side, a silent witness. When Riordan asked her to recite the words Alistair had spoken at her Joining, Melisande lied, not caring particularly if the older Warden believed her. "I don't remember. I've been struck in the head rather often since, twice that next day actually." As if she could forget, ever forget the way Alistair had spoken the words with honor and reverence for every syllable and sentiment. Riordan had done the speaking, himself, then. Loghain took his cup with only a slight hesitation, passing out and letting the remnants spill across the flagged floor.

He'd live though. He hadn't choked on the taint, the way Daveth had. Her last chance to return to Alistair's side slipped away with every breath the former teyrn took.

Waiting for Loghain to wake from his sprawl on the flagged chapel floor, Melisande and Riordan discussed arrangements for the march to Redcliffe. Loghain would be her responsibility after tonight, but for the moment Riordan would take him in at the Wardens' barracks.

"I could simply stay in my quarters." Loghain offered upon his recovery, the pallor of his haggard face and bloodshot eyes a testament to the fact that his life had not been easy recently, Melisande noted with dispassion.

"I have no guarantee that you won't just turn tail and abandon us again, stabbing another Theirin in the back as you depart. You'll stay where someone can keep an eye on you." Drawing herself up from the slight slump she'd fallen into, Melisande took her leave. "I will see you in the morning, at the gate."

"Sister…" Riordan laid his hand on her elbow.

"I had a brother and brothers in arms, ser. You are neither."

"Cousland, then? Fine, if you like. It is possible your companion will recall his duty. He might yet change his mind."

"No. He won't. He knows what he believes and will be bound by it."

"A Theirin after all, then." Loghain said softly. Melisande nodded and left the chapel.

Her companions were waiting at Eamon's estate after she walked across the city, counting on the shadows to keep her safe from ruffians. Maker, what she wouldn't give for a sodding pickpocket just now.

Once in the estate, she held to the shadows a moment longer. Hesitant to join her friends, to hear their compassion, their pity. Resolutely, she dropped the illusion and walked to the dining room. Zev and Wynne had, indeed, been telling tales, from the looks on her companions' faces.

Melisande held up her hands, scarred and dusty, but at least not shaking, to stay their reactions. "It's fine. It's better. I can't imagine trying to protect him as a king should be, if he came. You know how he likes to stand forth."

"Melisande..." She braced herself, trying not to visibly recoil at the sadness in Leliana's voice. Recoil or run into her arms begging comfort. It was on a knife's blade, her choice.

"No. What were you expecting, Leliana? A glorious battle and then a wedding and a coronation decked in ribbons and flowers? Not likely." Melisande laughed, but it sounded hollow even to her. That was exactly what they'd expected. "It would have made a lovely song, though, I'm sure."

"But he...he proposed. You said yes." Even with all Leliana had been through, it seemed her bard was yet a romantic.

Melisande leveled cool grey eyes at her and Leliana recalled the first time they'd met. How distant and unfriendly the noblewoman had seemed then, how it had been Alistair who'd charmed Melisande into allowing the lay sister to accompany them. "And then I betrayed him and stayed his blade and his righteous vengeance by saving the life of his worst enemy. He begged me not to and I did it anyway. I'd do it again."

Wynne spoke now. "But Melisande, why? After everything Loghain has done..."

Cool, shuttered eyes switched to the mage. "Because it was necessary. He'll die, otherwise." Wynne seemed shocked, no wonder. Melisande explained, accepting that her companions weren't the people to keep secrets from. They knew of the nightmares, of the reason why Wardens were immune to the taint. Why not this, too?

"Wardens die when they kill archdemons, I…I don't know how or why, exactly. But, I'm sure of it. He doesn't believe me and Riordan won't tell him. I won't let him die and you know…Sodding Void, you know he'd never let me take the final blow."

From her corner of the room, Morrigan gave a dissatisfied hmph.

"Maker, Morrigan. You've been grumbling at me for months over the foolishness we've been deluding ourselves with. Not you, too? It's fine." The witch made a motion like she had something to say but then she closed her mouth and shook her dark head, eyes narrow and sharp. Melisande pushed off the door where she'd been leaning very casually. "We need to leave at first light for Redcliffe to meet the gathering troops. Get some sleep."

Sten, at least, simply nodded. "Sensible advice, kadan." Good old Sten. Oghren grumbled something about bootlicking giants.

Evading Zevran's hand, she stalked away, Finbar at her heels. Trotting up the stairs, eyes carefully forward, spine straight, Melisande reflexively turned towards Alistair's room at the top of the landing and almost turned the knob before snatching her hand away. Not there any longer was he? She clenched her jaw and breathed deeply, and the elvhen servant at the other end of the hall caught her eye.

"You...Fiona, was it?" The girl bobbed in acknowledgment. "Pack it all up and send King Alistair's gear to the palace. I imagine there are things he'll be needing." She'd turned away before, Void. "Please."

"Yes, m'lady."

Melisande bit out, "Warden."

The elf swallowed and spoke hesitantly, eyes cast down as she curtsied again. "Yes, Warden."

Sod. "I apologize. I've had a trying day. Thank you."

Fiona blinked huge green eyes and nodded, rather mystified at the apology. "Of course, Warden." Melisande nodded back and turned on her heel to her own room. There was a fire blazing in the grate and a plate of sausage and cheese and apples on the small table next to a carafe. Finbar sniffed and hesitated at the door. Ah. Food. Right .

She stuck her head out of the door. "Hey, if I send Fin down to the kitchen can you fix him up with a snack?"

The elf nodded, eyeing the mabari warily. "He likes chicken? The cook had several ready for the morrow."

"That'll be perfect. Thanks." Melisande pushed at his solid, tawny haunch with her foot. "Go on then." Finbar loped back down the passage to follow the girl.

Watching them, Melisande stood a moment before she turned inside. A copper hip bath was steaming in the corner. A bath. Right. Better do that . Who knew when she'd get another chance? She sat down and started to unbind her hair, working her fingers into the tight braided coronet that kept the long thick red locks well out of her way during fights. With every tug of her fingers though...Oh, Maker...make it stop. The sob she'd been swallowing for hours clogged her throat and her eyes burned. She could feel Alistair's hands, his long blunt fingers tightening in the strands. Heard him whispering in that low, husky tone telling her how beautiful...how he loved...

This morning. Just hours ago, Melisande had woken, unable to move, pressed against his long, solid warmth and he'd held a length of her hair wrapped in his fist like a security blanket...and then,he'd taken the comb and… Enough.

Dropping the comb, she yanked her belt knife out of its sheath and started hacking, handfuls falling fine and red-gold about her feet. Quickly, she gathered it up and cast it into the fire, watching it catch and blaze and writhe like living flame before it withered and shriveled into black dust. The room filled with the stench of burning hair but Melisande ignored it, standing, staring blankly into the fire. Grief. Oh, yes, the women of Highever were right. Grief required this. And more.

The water in the bath cooled. The logs dwindled into broken coals.

Finbar came back, Fiona discreetly opening and closing the door without entering the room. He cocked his head at the lingering odor and observed his mistress' still form. Nudging, the mabari wedged his broad head under her fingers and whined. Melisande dropped to her knees beside him, buried her face in his brindled coat and wept, silently, her whole body shaking as her hound leaned into her, giving her ear an occasional soothing lick.

"I had to. Fin, I had to. It's always us. He'll never..." The night fell away as she whispered to the one creature she knew would never judge her poorly for her weakness.