Quiet as a Chantry mouse. What a stupid saying. The mice in the stables squeak all the time.
Maybe that was it, Alistair thought. Those were stable mice, not Chantry mice. The Maker must have mice take a vow of silence before allowing them to live in His house.
Regardless, he dared not ignore the instructions of Arl Urien's kennel master. He was to sit on the crates in the corner and be as quiet as a Chantry mouse, if he wished to be present when the Mabari pups were born.
So there he sat, curiosity as well as fear of the dog keeper's anger holding him in place. It was hard to keep quiet, so very hard, because this whole process made his stomach feel not-so-good a lot of the time. Fortunately, Braedan's attention was on the laboring Mabari bitch in the birthing pen so Alistair's squirming went unnoticed. The sounds she made were at times enough to almost make him no longer care about staying quiet. He could, after all, just come back when the whole messy process was over. But that would prove the kennel master right about him when he said Alistair didn't belong there, and By the Maker he wasn't going to let Braedan think that about him. Never mind that if Gareth back at Redcliffe heard about him causing problems in Arl Urien's kennels, he'd be punished for sure as soon as they returned. Arl Eamon's hound master was not a pleasant man to those he felt disrespected dogs, especially Mabari.
The amulet Alistair wore under his shirt had somehow made it into his hand, his thumb running over the familiar design on the face. When the connection between the amulet, his mother, and the Mabari he was watching came to him, he quickly tucked the trinket back under his shirt. Those thoughts were far too uncomfortable to contemplate, and would surely upset him enough to have him thrown out of the kennels.
He watched, frozen between wonder and disgust, as the third pup was wetly deposited onto the straw in the pen. It never ceased to amaze him, the way that the Mabari mother used the same mouth full of razor sharp teeth to tenderly clean and move her tiny newborn puppies. That was his favorite part of the whole process, watching the baby Mabari emerge from the mess and become something recognizable rather than a squirming lump of goo.
"Well, Braedan, all goes well I take it?" Alistair looked up toward the kennel doorway and saw none other than Arl Urien himself standing there. "Everything alright with my girl?"
"She's doing just fine, m'lord," Braedan responded, standing as he spoke to greet the arl. "Holdin' up like a champ, she is. Three pups so far, and I don't think she's done yet."
Alistair shuddered. If the way she sounded earlier counts as good, I'd hate to hear what bad would sound like.
"Excellent! I should have expected no less from my Gracie," the arl exclaimed, smiling broadly. He headed toward the birthing pen, but stopped short when he heard the Mabari's throaty growl.
"Careful, your lordship," Braeden said. "She's gonna be a might touchy with the new pups around, even with you."
"Of course, I understand," Arl Urien agreed. He stepped backwards to stand in the door frame once again. "And I see you have company, Braedan. I hope the boy isn't disturbing you."
"What? Oh, right, the boy." Braedan looked at Alistair. Alistair smiled back at him, hoping they wouldn't see how nervous he was to have drawn their attention. "Almost forgot he was there, I did. He's been quiet as a Chantry mouse, just as he was told."
"Good lad. Now, Braedan," the arl said, his attention turning back to the kennel master. "You will let me know when the pups are all delivered, yes? Teryn Cousland asked that I send word. His daughter wishes to see them."
"Of course I will my lord, but you will kindly remind her that she needs to be respectful-like. To disrespect a Mabari with pups is to lose a hand, and that's on a good day."
"I will do just that. Please send word to me if anything changes with Grace's condition."
"Understood, my lord," Braedan said with a firm nod. With that, Arl Urien turned and left the kennels.
Oh great. Just great. Not her. Teryn Cousland of Highever had arrived in Denerim not two weeks past, and while he had only visited the Arl of Denerim's estate a couple times since then, he always brought his insufferable daughter along with him. It was hard for Alistair to believe that she and he were of an age. Lady Elisara was perhaps a little younger, but close enough. She was a wild thing who dressed as a boy and loved to poke people with the wooden daggers she never seemed to go anywhere without. But she was still a noble's daughter, a fact that she rarely let anyone forget, so he was expected to be respectful. How someone as well regarded as Teryn Cousland could proudly claim the girl as his daughter was something that Alistair just couldn't understand.
She'd never survive a day living in the stables with me, that's for damned sure. Noble blood does you a fat lot of good there.
"You. Boy. Alistair." Braedan's voice snapped his attention back to the space outside his head.
"Yes, ser?"
"Come down here for a moment."
"But, you said to stay out of the way. And you told the arl that not even he can approach his own bonded Mabari as she is now."
"I know, but you've been so quiet that I clean forgot you were sitting up there. If you're still here and haven't been scared off by the blood and mess, maybe there was something to what Arl Eamon said about you." Braedan motioned with his hand, trying to encourage the lad. "Come on down, then. I want to see how Grace reacts to you."
Alistair swallowed, scared but also curious as to why this man would think him worthy when the Mabari's own human was not. He climbed down carefully from the crates.
"Slowly now, lad. I'll let you know if you need to back away."
Nodding, Alistair slowly walked toward the pen, one foot slowly stepping in front of the other. Grace let out a pained whine, which stopped him in his tracks and turned Braedan's attention back to her. "It's alright lad, she's just getting ready to bear down on another pup."
Soon enough, Alistair found himself at Braedan's side, looking into the pen. She seemed so much larger up close, but some of that was due to her broad chest expanding with the huge breaths she was rapidly taking in and out. Grace whined again and turned her gaze to Alistair.
"It's alright Gracie, he's a friend," Braedan explained in a soothing tone. "He wants to see your pups as much as you do." The Mabari lay her head back down on the hay, focusing back on the task at hand. "There's a good lass, a strong lass. See boy? You can almost see the head of the next pup."
Alistair was certain he was going to throw up right then and there, all over the poor wiggling pups. Welcome to the world, little Mabari! This is what being vomited on feels like. No, I can't promise things will get better given time. Still, the last thing Alistair wanted was to be sent away, so he simply looked on and nodded. Not soon after, the pup seemed to gush out of its mother, ushered into the world on a flood of fluids. Grace tenderly saw to this pup as well, licking it clean and nosing it over to its littermates.
"I can't say for certain yet…" Braedan interjected, causing Alistair let out the breath he didn't even know he was holding. "Not until I get a closer look and make sure, but I think that one's a girl as well. Three girls and one boy. The arl will be most pleased."
"Do you think there will be any more pups?" Alistair asked, and as the words came out of his mouth he realized he wasn't sure which answer he hoped to be true.
"It's possible, I suppose, but Mabari tend to have smaller litters than other dogs. Four's actually a good size, all things considered." The keeper examined the Mabari mother with his keen eye. "Gracie's young though, and younger bitches tend to have larger litters. All we can do is wait and see."
Alistair was quiet for a moment as he examined the pups. Two of them were the same cinnamon brown as their mother, one was grey, and the last one to be born was a deep black color, dark as wood burned down to coals.
"Braedan, which Mabari is the pups' father?"
"Eh? Oh, she was bred with one of the finest dogs in the royal stables. Personal favor of the king for the arl, it was. They call him Nightrunner. Huge brute, black as night all over save for a little grey around his muzzle and toes. One of the few Mabari I've seen that matches Grace's height and girth. One of these pups, the best one most like, will be taken to the palace once it's old enough to leave Gracie's care. This is a prize litter, lad, and don't you forget it."
Alistair nodded, suddenly regretting having asked the question. He didn't like to think about the palace. Or the king. Or the other pups who would be left behind when the pick of the litter went to live in said palace.
"Something wrong, boy?" Braedan asked, but before he could receive an answer Grace let out another pained whine. Alistair was forgotten as they both turned their attention back to the dog. Her breathing still labored along with her body, her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. "By the Maker, she's still goin' at it. Atta girl, Gracie, you can do it!"
This pup did not come as fast as the other ones, however. Long minutes passed, and as more and more time went by Braedan became visibly worried.
"Alistair, lad, I'm going to need your help. You've muzzled dogs before, yes?"
Uh oh. "Well, yes, but never… like this, ser. I'm rather fond of my hands, attached as they are to my arms and all."
"Well, I bet if you could ask Gracie, she'd be rather fond of living. As would her stuck pup. I need your help, boy, and I need it now. Here." He handed Alistair a thick leather muzzle. "Careful, now. Climb into the pen, and make sure she sees you. Better she knows you're coming than to catch her by surprise, given her current state."
"Right. Okay. Sure." Alistair was very much not sure about this at all, but he knew better than to disobey a direct order. Slowly, one leg first and than the other, he climbed into the birthing pen. Grace growled at him, but she did not seem to have the strength to truly turn it into a threat.
"Hurry, lad. The sooner she's muzzled, the sooner I can help her."
Trying very, very hard not to think of his fingers as delicious sausages, he moved toward Grace. She still growled at him between panting breaths, but she did not stop him as he kneeled down and slipped the muzzle around her giant head.
"Buckles are secure, ser," Alistair proclaimed when the job was done. Quickly he turned away from the Mabari, looking to get out of the pen as quickly as possible.
"No, boy! Stay with her. If she let you do that much, she'll take comfort from you as well. Keep her calm, if you can. She's not gonna like what I have to do."
Don't think, Alistair, just do what he says. He returned to the Mabari, and sat down cross legged near her head. "It's alright, girl. Braedan's gonna help you, and your pup, and everything's gonna be okay, okay? Your pups are amazing, and I'm sure this one is too."
He kept talking to the Mabari, repetitive soothing words, and he even braved scratching her pointed ear. He tried very hard to ignore Braedan, who's gloved hand was doing things he simply didn't want to think about around poor Grace's nether regions. So he didn't think about it, and focused on talking to the dog. "It's okay, it'll be over soon. Then we'll find you a nice big juicy bone, or maybe a steak! Yes, you'd like that. I know I would."
Grace squirmed and yipped, head lashing toward Braeden as she tried to pull away from the man. "Hold her down! Sit on her if you have to! And watch for the pups!"
Don't think, don't think, just do. And he did.
Not long after, Braedan's gloved and gore-covered hand helped ease a tiny pink body into the world. He motioned Alistair out of the pen as he laid the small creature near Grace's head and removed her muzzle.
"Something's wrong," Alistair said as he watched the pup with its mother. Grace only halfheartedly cleaned him, and soon enough she nosed him to the side and turned her attention to the rest of her litter.
"After all that… it figures. Well, can't win 'em all, I suppose. Better Gracie lives and we lose one, rather than her dying and potentially losing them all." The kennel master shook his head, and went to retrieve the rejected puppy.
"What's wrong? What happened? Why didn't she put that pup with the rest of them?" Alistair asked.
"It happens sometimes, lad. Just the nature of beasts, I suppose. Sometimes, they just know that something's wrong with one of their children, and it's best to let them die rather than to be a burden on everyone. Harsh, but that's life for you."
"But… he looks fine to me! It's a he, yes?"
"Yes, it's a he. But it doesn't really matter now. Better we don't even mention the last one to the arl at all. No need for anyone else to know. I'll take him down to the river tonight."
"The…river? But… what good will that do?" Alistair was feeling sick all over again.
"A quick end in a sack of rubble is better one than starving to death."
"NO!" Alistair screamed. "I won't let you! I can't let you. That's just… just… not fair."
Braedan laughed a short, harsh laugh. "Life is supposed to be fair? I must have missed that decree. Did it come from the palace, or is this presumed cosmic fairness just something that applies in Redcliffe?"
"Can't someone take him? There has to be some way to feed him. Or maybe another Mabari? She can't be the only one in all of Denerim with pups right now."
"Alistair, please. No, no other Mabari will take him. His mother was the only chance he had there. And I have much else to worry about. I can't devote my every waking moment, never mind un-awake moments since he'll need constant feeding, to one tiny pup that probably wouldn't even live to adulthood." He looked at Alistair and shook his head. "It's a tough lesson, lad, but one you'd best learn."
"You may be too busy for him, but I'm not! I'll feed him, just show me how. I don't care if I have to carry him everywhere I go, and feed him every hour, and clean up after him. He deserves a chance. It's not his fault his mother abandoned him, and his father lives in the palace and knows nothing of his existence!" Trying fiercely not to burst into tears, Alistair latched onto his anger and tried to shoot daggers with his eyes at Braedan.
"Silly boy, that's not how Mabari work. They're not like humans. I doubt Nightrunner would even recognize his own pups."
Alistair still glared at him, turning away only when he felt himself losing control. Anger was acceptable, tears were not.
"But…" Braedan continued. "I suppose if you really want to, there's no harm in trying. Arl Eamon is staying in Denerim for the rest of the winter, yes? The pup will need at least two months of care, maybe more, before he'll be able to live on his own. The first month he'll need pretty much constant attention, just as his mother would have had to do. Just please, Alistair, make sure you're not granting him a lingering death. If he seems to be going downhill… we must do what's right."
"That's more of a chance that you're giving him now, so I'll take it. Give him to me."
The kennel master handed the puppy over to the boy. "You'll need goat's milk, and it's the Maker's own blessing that it's winter and we can easily get snow from outside to store with it and keep it cold. But you'll also need a way to heat up some of the milk as well, before you give it to him. You'll need clean rags which you can soak in the milk and use for him to suck from. And I suggest for now you keep him in a crate full of hay. He'll be blind and helpless until his eyes open, and not much less helpless once they do."
Alistair felt his anger fading. Using a corner of the rag the pup was wrapped in, he wiped the pup's face clean. He wasn't pink after all, that was just the birthing blood tainting the color of his fur. His fur was white, pure white. Even his muzzle, which traditionally was black or grey on purebred Mabari, was white.
"We won't know for certain until he opens his eyes, of course," Braedan said, "But given that he's completely white all over, he may very well be what they call an albino. Probably why Gracie rejected 'im. They don't often grow up to be the healthiest of dogs. Somethin' queer about 'em on the inside, and it shows up on the outside as you see there, with no coloration."
"I don't care," Alistair proclaimed. "He's alive now, and I see no reason to give up on him." He paused. "Wait, what did you mean about his eyes?"
"A true albino, Mabari or otherwise, has red eyes. No color at all in 'em, y'see, besides the color of blood."
"Red eyes? Truly? Creepy." Alistair couldn't help feeling a bit emboldened by this fact though. A Mabari saved from death couldn't help but bond to the person who saved him… right? No one would push him around or ignore him ever again if he had a giant red-eyed ghostly monster at his side who obeyed his every word.
"Better hurry and find those supplies, boy. He should already have his first meal in his belly by now."
"Yes, ser," Alistair said as he turned and ran for the kitchens.
Quiet as a shadow, silent as a wraith.
Elisara had read that once, in one of the books she had "borrowed" from Aldous's library back at home in Highever. It was about a thief who was known by many names, with a hundred tools in his belt and a thousand sovereigns in his coffers. He stole from traitorous Orlesian lords and ladies, and returned their ill gotten gains to the rightful nobles living in the woods, fighting to regain their lands and titles. Her mother would have disapproved highly were she to know just what books Ellie was reading. Some of the things the Black Wolf did in that book with the Orlesian ladies… Elisara was quite sure that Mother would deem the book "far too adult for a noble lady of your tender years." She could read rings around her age mates in the castle, but this was no surprise. They were just servants or knight's sons or elves, after all. Mother probably didn't even realize she could make sense of the words in that book at all.
The Black Wolf's phrase had quickly become her unofficial chant, repeated to herself whenever she was trying to sneak around unnoticed. And since Arl Urien's guards were not used to her ways, it was even easier to avoid them and slip out of her room in the dark of night. The snows and the cold had been particularly wicked this evening, and her father deemed it wise for them to spend the night here rather than returning to their estate.
She wandered the hallways, looking for the stairs she hoped she would recognize as the ones that lead to the basement. Father may think I'm too young to have a Mabari, but he will have no choice if one chooses me! Not even her father could keep her apart from her Mabari were one to bond to her. It would be cruel to the both of them, and besides, the Mabari would be useless to anyone else. They would have to let her take it home with them, simple as that.
Earlier that day, she had been allowed to visit the mother Mabari and her pups, and they were simply the cutest things she had ever seen. Well, the cutest things she'd ever seen since the last time Father's breeding pair of Mabari had pups, anyway. She had simply not been allowed enough time with them, and that just would not do. How was she supposed to bond with a Mabari pup if she was never allowed near any? No, this would not do at all. So Elisara had, as she often did, taken matters into her own hands.
Soon enough, she found the stairs she was looking for. She silently slid down them once the guard patrolling the hallway had moved on. She found the basement level to be thankfully less guarded than the main floor. So long as she avoided the prison wing she hoped she wouldn't run into any more guards.
Quiet as a shadow, silent as a wraith. You're so close, be on your guard.
She smelled the kennels before she saw them; fresh hay mixed with the unmistakable musk of Mabari. As she turned the corner she was shocked to see light escaping from the kennel door. Didn't Mabari ever sleep? They had to… didn't they? Well she had already come this far, she wasn't turning back without finding an answer to this mystery.
Inching slowly toward the kennels, she peeked carefully around the cracked open door. She saw nothing save a large cage which housed a tan Mabari. It was snoring quietly, clearly unbothered by the flickering candlelight, and clearly not the mother Mabari and pups she had come to see.
Quiet as a shadow, silent as a wraith. If you open the door slowly, perhaps no one will notice. Elisara pushed on the heavy door, hoping to open it just wide enough for her to slip through into the room. Slowly… slowly… like a wolf in the night among the sheep…
The door betrayed her with a loud creeeeeeak. Of course. The servants here must be as lazy as half the servants in Highever. The Black Wolf wouldn't have made such a stupid mistake. Then again, the Black Wolf always seemed to have a vial of oil handy whenever he went burgling.
"Who's there?" a voice called from within the kennel. Elisara let out her held breath, for it was clearly a child's voice and not an adult one. Maybe she wasn't caught quite yet. Bravely she stepped into the room.
"You question the actions of your princess? You are brave, for a dog-boy." She put on what she hoped was her best noble-and-full-of-seriousness face.
The boy narrowed his eyes at her. "You're no princess. We don't got no princesses right now, not in Ferelden anyway."
"Oh? And what of my friend Anora? She is betrothed to Prince Cailan himself. Does that not make her a princess?"
"No more than it makes me a prince." He looked positively angry now.
She scoffed. "Don't be absurd, Dog-Boy."
He stood and approached her. "What do you want? I highly doubt your father would approve of you sneaking around in the middle of the night. Shouldn't you be back in the palace or your father's estate or, well, somewhere other than here?"
"I will go where I like, when I like, and I will not be questioned by dog-boys!" Elisara wanted to say more, but more shouting would only draw attention. "Now," she continued, "Where are the pups? I would like to see them." Mother did always say it was more effective to get what you wanted from people if you asked politely and spoke clearly. It was just so hard to do when dealing with willful servants like Dog-Boy.
Dog-Boy sighed. "They're over there, in the birthing pen. Just don't come crying to me if Gracie decides your delicate princessy hands look like tasty meat snacks." With that, he returned to where he had been sitting, next to an open crate full of straw and a small bucket.
Elisara hurried over to the pen and peered inside. The mother Mabari was just as huge as she had been this morning. She reminded Ellie more of one of the king's Orlesian horses than of a dog. She had never seen a Mabari so huge, not in her entire life, and nine years was a very long time. Her pups, though only a week old, were larger than Spitfire and Miranda's pups grew to be at about a month old. Two slept in a pile, one grey and one brown, while the black one tried to maneuver using its tiny legs and failing miserably yet oh-so-adorably. Another brown pup sucked at one of its mother's teats.
Oh Holy Andraste, if I was bonded to a Mabari as big as their mother, no one would ever not listen to me or ignore my wants ever again. I simply must have one of these pups, I must!
"They can't bond to you yet, you know," Dog-Boy said, intruding unwelcome on her happy thoughts.
"Oh really? Just because you're a dog-boy, Dog-Boy, doesn't make you the expert here. I've read plenty about Mabari, and not just puppies either."
"Braedan says they can't bond with anyone until at least their eyes are open. Even that's not for certain. You can't force a Mabari to imprint on you, no matter how hard you try." He sounded sad about this, for all that he was being a smarty pants know-it-all dog-boy.
"Mabari choose the purest of soul, the noblest of heart, and the kindest of deed to bond with. What chance would a dog-boy like you have?"
"More than you, my lady." He said the last words like he was spitting sour grapes. "You charge in here in the middle of the night, hoping beyond hope to be chosen by one of the pups, because your high and mighty father said you can't have one. Princess or no, the Mabari don't care. They see you for you who truly are."
"And just who," Elisara said, lowering her voice dangerously, "do you think I truly am?"
"A spoiled brat noble's daughter who thinks she deserves everything she gets in life and then some."
Even though she heard her father, her mother, and Old Nan screaming at her in her head, her body leapt up as if she were a puppet on a string. Just as quickly, her fist found Dog-Boy's face.
"And you are a rude dog-boy who needs a good thrashing!"
She could see him quivering in anger. He wanted to strike her back so, so badly. But if he did, he truly would be thrashed, or worse. Elisara grinned wickedly. "Shall we speak civilly now, Dog-Boy?"
"As my lady commands," Dog-Boy replied, struggling to contain himself and staring at the floor.
"Oh good. Remember, if you tell anyone that I hit you, anyone at all, I will make sure they know how you hit me first and called me names and assaulted my honor as a noble woman." She wasn't quite sure what the last bit meant, but she'd read it in a book and it sounded impressive. Impressive enough to silence a mere dog-boy anyway.
"As my lady commands," he repeated.
It was then that she heard the puppy-like noises coming from the nearby crate. Had Dog-Boy stolen one of the pups and hidden it away from the kennel master? He was more bold than she dreamed be that the case.
"Is there another puppy in that box? Where did it come from?"
"You stay away from him!" Dog-Boy screamed. "He's sick, and Grace abandoned him, and he's mine to care for, Braedan said so! For now he is anyway, until he's big enough to feed himself."
Her curiosity overcame her. "Can I see him? I won't touch him, I just want to look."
"Well…" Dog-Boy considered. "As my lady commands, I suppose. It's probably time to feed him again anyway."
"How do you feed a puppy without a mother for it to suckle from?"
"They didn't cover that in your books? Huh. Well, here, I can show you, but you have to listen and not punch me or yell at me anymore."
"Of course. What do you do?" Elisara smiled her friendliest smile at him, and received a scowl in return.
"Here. See this?" He showed her the bucket on the floor next to him. It contained a metal jug surrounded by packed snow. "It's goat's milk. Not as good as what Gracie could have given him, but better than cow's or sheep's milk, or so Braedan says."
He looked at her warily before continuing. "Anyway, here's what you do. First, pour some of the cold milk into this cup, here. Then, you heat it over the candle until it's warm but not hot." He did as he described.
"When the milk is warm, take the rag and roll it around until it kind of resembles a dog's teat. Then, you soak it in the goat's milk, like this," he said, showing her as he spoke. "From there, you take it and hold it near the pup's mouth. He's gotten much better at this over the past week."
Elisara watched Dog-Boy as he lowered the rag into the crate. He held the pointed bit close to the pup's nose, and sure enough the pup began sucking the milk out of the rag. "You have to re-soak it a lot, it doesn't hold very much at all," Dog-Boy explained.
"Can… may I try? Just once?"
Dog-Boy hesitated, but then he must have realized how nicely she asked rather than commanding him. "Just be careful, okay?" He handed her the rag and moved to the other side of the crate, watching her but not trying to stop her either.
She fumbled with the twisted shape, which quickly twisted apart as soon as she dipped it in the cup of milk. Trying again, the second time it seemed to stay more in a nipple-like shape. Sort of. Not to be outdone by Dog-Boy, she decided this was good enough and moved the rag into the dog's crate. He sniffed at the rag, and it took him several moments to realize this was indeed his food source. Clamping around the rag-teat, he began to suck.
"Maker, he pulls! I wasn't expecting that."
"I didn't either, at first. I guess I'm just used to it by now." He yawned, a huge yawn which seemed to possess his whole body.
"Does he always eat in the middle of the night like this?" Elisara asked.
"Several times a night. I'm lucky if I get more than an hour or two of sleep when I lie down. You're going to want to soak it again, he's pretty much drained it dry already."
"So, is this what dog-boys do then? Feed pups who are cast out by their mothers?"
"Hardly. Braedan was going to drown him in the river. I had to convince him I could care for him properly," Dog-Boy said, yawning yet again. "It hasn't been easy. I'm starting to understand why Braedan was going to kill him. I couldn't do this and take care of much else, and he has all of Arl Urien's dogs to think of, not just one stunted little albino."
"Albino?"
"They didn't cover that in your books either?"
"Enough out of you about the books. What's an albino?"
"Braedan says it means that something's wrong with him, on the inside. It shows on the outside as having no color, save whatever comes through from the color of his blood. He also says when his eyes open they'll be red. From the blood."
"Interesting. Thank you for the answer, Dog-Boy."
Dog-Boy watched her for a moment. She soon caught him grinning an odd one-sided grin. "You're much nicer when you're nose isn't so high in the air. And my name is Alistair, not Dog-Boy."
"And you are much nicer when you remember your place around a teryn's daughter, Alistair." She handed him the dog's rag back to him. "Does he have a name?"
"I've been calling him Chance, but I suppose Arl Urien or Braedan will probably give him an official name. But for now, his name is Chance."
"A suitable name. I hope his luck stays fair."
"As do I, my lady."
"My name is Elisara. Lady Elisara."
"Oh, I know. But one punch in the face from a girl is enough for one night, I think. 'My lady' is a far safer choice," Alistair said with a smirk.
The wind blew the heavy late winter rain through the door as it was opened, soaking the entrance way. Arl Urien's guards ushered him in along with his own small retinue of attendants.
"Your Majesty, you know you are always welcome here, but I must ask that you excuse the state of the estate," Arl Urien said as he bowed slightly and saluted his king. "We had only just learned of your return to Denerim, and it was but an hour ago when your messenger arrived announcing you were on your way."
"Urien, I've been on a ship for the last month, either crammed in the supposed largest cabin or being pelted by wintery rain," replied King Maric with a grin. "Warm, dry, and spacious is more than enough hospitality to get my eternal thanks."
"As you wish, Your Majesty," Urien replied.
"Did something change while I was in Antiva, Urien? You can still call me just Maric, you know."
"Of course, Your Majesty. Of course." Urien said with an indulgent grin.
Maric rolled his eyes. "I just can't win with you, can I? At least Eamon has the sense to drop formality when the chance is offered him."
"You are his brother-by-marriage, Your Majesty. His rights are not the same as mine."
"Where is Eamon anyway?" Maric asked. "I'm surprised he's not here with you, chiding me for not returning to Denerim quickly enough. As if I had a choice in the matter."
"He is in my study, awaiting your arrival and I believe composing a letter to his lady wife. If you would follow me, my king?" Urien gestured toward the hallway behind him, and his guards took the lead. "I wish we could have all met under better circumstances, Your Majesty. Ones that coincided with daylight hours, to start."
"I know Urien, and I do apologize for that, all kidding aside. The winds were not with us on our return journey, and it took far longer than I would have liked. This way I can still converse with Eamon and not disrupt his plans to leave in the morning. I know he is in a hurry to return to Isolde. When is their child due?"
"If the midwives are to be believed, in about a month, give or take. Eamon almost didn't come to Denerim this winter because of it. Between that and you being off in Antiva… but he came anyway. She chose not to accompany him." Urien explained.
"All the more reason for us to meet and send him on his way. Ah, and here he is, the reluctant father-to-be!" Maric proclaimed as he entered Urien's study. Arl Eamon was sitting at Urien's desk, shuffling parchment and ink.
"Welcome home, Your Majesty," Eamon said solemnly. "I wish we had the convenience of more time to speak."
"Eamon, please. It's Maric. Just Maric." He could feel Urien's smug grin without even looking at the man.
"Fine, fine, Maric. Please, Maric, we have much to discuss."
The two lords and their king sat in the study in front of the fire discussing many varied topics. Everything from trade to taxes on Orlesian imports to the king's recent state visit to Antiva. It was only toward the end of their conversation, late into the night, when the topic turned to what Maric had come here to truly discuss and yet avoid the entire evening.
"He turned 10 this past fall, as I'm sure you're well aware. We must decide what the boy's future will be. It is not such a simple thing to keep him hidden as he grows, both in age and in knowledge," Eamon said.
"Blast it all, Eamon, why did you have to tell the boy? About me, I mean? I thought we'd agreed he was better off not knowing." Maric rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "That's all he knows, right? He knows nothing of his mother?"
"No. He believes the story that we've used all these years, that the serving girl who claimed to be carrying your child was his mother." Eamon replied.
"Well thank the Maker for small mercies then. I never understood why she asked that of me, but at least her wishes have been respected," the king stated, finishing off the last bit of brandy from his glass. "But you didn't answer my question. Why did you tell him?"
Eamon cleared his throat before continuing. "He's a bright lad. I had always told him that I was not his father, regardless of what the servant gossip said. But there were other rumors as well. He demanded to know the truth, and it felt dishonest not to tell him."
"I… suppose I understand. Still, that can't have made things easier for the boy."
"The truth is rarely something easy to face, Maric," Eamon answered. "He doesn't talk about it to anyone, from what I'm able to gather. But the problem of what to do with the boy is still an issue. Even if he didn't know who he was, he's still rapidly growing into a young man."
"If I may?" Urien interjected. "I believe the most prudent route here would be to turn the boy over to the Chantry. Have him sworn to celibacy and trained as a Templar. It gives him a purpose, a calling to pursue, and if all goes well it keeps him from muddying the waters of Cailan's succession. At worst, it gives us plausible deniability were he ever to conceive a son. It would be easy for the woman's claim to be brushed off as implausible, and if it was a mage, Maker forbid, the Chantry would lay claim on the child anyway. Nice and neat, I think."
Eamon looked at Urien, and Maric looked at Eamon. Eamon spoke first. "Alistair would make a horrible Templar, Urien. I don't doubt his devotion to duty and sense of right and wrong, but he's… a bit of a troublemaker. No offense intended, Your Majesty."
"I can hardly be offended, given how little influence I've been able to have on the boy," Maric replied. All was quiet for several moments. "Urien's idea has merit however. There is no ideal solution to this situation, and there's a lot that makes sense in what he says."
"Then I shall speak with the Reveared Mother and Knight-Commander when I return to Redcliffe," Eamon agreed with a firm nod. "Though you'll forgive me if I don't do send the boy to them right away. I have a feeling Isolde and our child will be holding most of my attention for some time. Plus, the boy is still young. There is no rush or pressing need to send him off."
"He's your ward, Eamon. Send him to the Chantry whenever you deem it best," Maric hated this feeling, where doing what was best and what was right still felt so inherently wrong.
"Where is the boy?" Maric asked.
"Probably asleep in the kennels," Urien replied. "Maker's Breath, I almost forgot to tell you. Remember that litter of Mabari pups you had sired on my Gracie? She had five pups, Your Majesty, five! Though only four were healthy. Huge brutes they are! I swear, every time the kennel master comes to me for more feed allowance, I think they're going to eat me out of house and home."
"That's wonderful news, Urien," Maric said, a smile returning to his face. "Shame about the fifth pup, but these things happen."
"Ah, but you didn't let me finish. Alistair was there when the pups were born, and he flat-out refused to let Braedan drown the sickly pup. In all honesty he's kind of a frightening little beast, completely white with blood-red eyes. An al-bye-no, I think is what Braedan called him. Anyway. Alistair took him in, and has been his nursemaid since the day he was born. He's nowhere near the size of the other pups, but that's not saying much given how large Nightrunner and Gracie are. He's been at it the entire winter, never leaving the pup's side, always making sure it was warm and fed. And, much to the kennel master's surprise, the pup lived. Thrived, even! It was rather an amazing feat, Your Majesty."
"Indeed…" Maric sank back into his chair, absorbing the story Urien had just shared. "He didn't bond with the pup, did he? I'm not sure it would be right to send him to the Chantry, if he would have to give up such a bond."
Urien shook his head. "I don't think they have, from what I've been told anyway. If the boy is hiding it, he's doing a damned good job at it. I think, if anything, the pup sees him as his mother. Some part of me has hoped all along that this would impede the imprinting process. Or, maybe he's just flat out different, and doesn't bond with humans in the way that normal Mabari do. He is something of an exception to every rule, you know."
"Sounds like Alistair has rubbed off on him more than I like to think about," Maric quipped. "Does this pup have a name?"
"He calls him Chance, Your Majesty."
"How fitting." Maric carefully weighed his next words. "He must be asleep at this hour, yes? I… would like to go see him. But only if he's truly asleep. No need to give the boy a false sense of hope." He could feel the pride he felt over Alistair's accomplishment turning to ash in his mouth with those words.
"Of course, Your Majesty. I will send one of my guards to check on him."
~*~
My poor, forgotten son. Or so you must believe. I'm so sorry, for all this.
Maric stepped cautiously into the room. The sounds of sleeping dogs surrounded him, quiet short snores and hints of whimpers and barking as they chased dream rabbits. In the far corner he found what he was looking for, a young boy, for he really could no longer call him small, lying on a pile of straw and cuddled around an unnaturally white beast. His reddish blonde hair was shaggily cut, as it had been every time he'd had these brief glimpses of the boy. He supposed the Templars would see to that, in time.
Kneeling, he quietly examined at the boy. He tried to remember every detail, since he didn't know when he may get another chance to do so. These unofficial glances into his illegitimate son's life would be all but impossible once he were living in a monastery. Maybe he would end up stationed in Denerim, he thought. A wistful hope, that. You know there's no way that Eamon's not going to tell the Revered Mother who his father is. They'll probably lock him up in the Circle Tower and keep him under as firm of a watch as they do the mages.
Was that truly what Fiona wanted? This Templar plan was hardly one which allowed him to live free to follow his own destiny. My blood will haunt him in ways yours never could, my dear. No one knows who you are, but everyone knows who I am.
"I'm sorry, Alistair. I am so, so sorry. I wish… I wish you could be my son in reality, not just in cold, hard truth."
Carefully, so as not to disturb the sleeping boy or his dog, Maric leaned over and kissed him lightly on the forehead. He quickly left the kennels after that, not trusting himself to be able to hold back his overwhelming desire to ignore his duty and bring the boy home with him.
~*~
On his way out of Urien's estate, Maric pulled the arl aside. "You will send the Mabari to me. I will at least see the pup my boy saved raised properly. It is the absolute last thing I can do for him, but it is all I've been granted."
"As you say, Your Majesty. As you say."