Duncan's Traveling Journal
Highever - 9:10 Dragon
"I am in Highever today, my beloved Highever by the sea, as a guest to Teyrn Bryce Cousland and his lovely and very pregnant wife Eleanor. Bryce wanted me to evaluate a few men who he thinks show promise as Grey Wardens but my visit also happens to coincide with the celebrations for their son Fergus' ninth birthday. Truth be told, I am glad to be here during such a happy occasion as good food and a warm bed are made that much more enjoyable when the atmosphere is jovial.
While I was unpacking in my chamber, my secret courier from Redcliffe brought word that the King's ill-advised romance with Warden Fiona, the Orlesian mage, has indeed produced a child. My source inside Redcliffe tells me the babe is a boy and that like all products of a half-human/half-elven union, the child does not bear any of the features of his elvish mother. Apparently, the boy looks remarkably like Maric, unlike his dark-haired, black-eyed mother in every way, though it is difficult to tell such things at such a young age.
His name is Alistair, after Fiona's father, I believe. It is a very Orlesian name and the only thing she is giving the child. Not surprisingly, Fiona has already returned to Weisshaupt, back to her life with the Grey Wardens there. As I warned her in the Deep Roads when she was dallying with Maric, life as a mage battling Darkspawn is not conducive to motherhood. By all accounts, she was disinterested in the baby from the moment he was born, and let a serving-lass at Redcliffe wet nurse the babe for her immediately. Alistair has been left in the care of Maric's brother-in-law, Arl Eamon of Redcliffe, for the time being.
I was also informed that Maric his secretly visited the child twice already under the guise of "hunting trips" with Eamon and his younger brother, Bann Teagan. Strange the King should take such an interest in his bastard son when he hardly spends any time with Cailan, his legitimate child and heir to his throne. Maric once told me Cailan was too much like Rowan for his liking but I really did not understand what he meant. To my way of thinking, he should love and cherish Cailan regardless of the prince's temperament but Maric's affections are changeable and shifty as the wind. It is a shame Queen Rowan died so tragically leaving such a young son behind…alone…with a father like Maric. It is a shame poor Alistair, considering the circumstances surrounding his birth, will grow up without his real parents. My heart is heavy for both boys.
As to be expected, no one is to know of Alistair's parentage, ever. Though I grow weary of the intrigues of the Fereldan court, I made a promise to my King once, and I intend to keep it: I will keep silent watch over Alistair through the years...and bring him into the Grey Wardens someday, should the opportunity or need arise. Maric's hero-worship of the Grey Wardens troubles me and I regret promising him that I would conscript a prince of the Theirin line into the Grey Wardens. I can only hope that I will never have to fulfill such a vow…."
Alistair Theirin sat shocked for a moment, staring blankly at the neatly-written words on the yellowed page. "Where…did you find this?" he choked.
"In the Grey Warden's weapon cache, underneath Duncan's shield," Brielle murmured. "I didn't know what it was at the time…just a beat-up leather book. I tucked it away and forgot about it until earlier tonight when it fell out of my pack. The moment I stumbled across that entry, I brought it to you."
Very slowly and deliberately he closed the leather-worn journal and tapped the cover twice. "This clears up a few things," he said darkly.
"Alistair…." she murmured, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. She gave it a squeeze and leaned forward to kiss the top of his head. He remained motionless but she could feel the tension surrounding him, coiling tightly like a spring. "Knowing the truth doesn't change who you are."
With a snort of disgust, he shrugged her hand off his shoulder and jumped to his feet, stalking towards the window across the chamber, "Really? It must be nice knowing who you are, Lady Cousland, because apparently, not only am I the bastard prince of a rutting, pathetic king, I am the son of an ELVEN….MAGE!"
"She was a Grey Warden too," Brielle said softly.
"Brilliant! Doesn't that little tidbit just put everything in perspective?" Alistair scowled and gestured wildly, "Now we know why Maric was obsessed with the Grey Wardens. Now we know why Loghain probably hates the Grey Wardens…because his best friend got a child on one instead of focusing on being a good King! And lastly, Maric's obsession fueled Cailan's fairy-tale worship of the Grey Wardens which in turn, eventually got him AND Duncan killed!"
Brielle sighed and tucked an errant russet curl behind her ear out of nervous habit, "It is good to know where we come from so we can move forward. Now you know the full truth and we can focus on defeating the Arch Demon. This… insight into your parentage changes nothing. You are still Warden Alistair, and Future King of Fereldan."
Alistair crossed his arms over his chest and stared out the window. The hills surrounding Redcliffe village glowed with ruddy sun-drenched light that contrasted beautifully with the peaceful grey-blue waves of Lake Calenhad. Unfortunately, the picturesque view was lost on him at the moment as dark, twisting emotions broiled inside of him.
"I think I need to be alone right now," he said gravely, struggling to keep his voice neutral.
"Of course," Brielle replied. With a light step, she was at his side for only a moment, and placed a kiss on his cheek. "I will see you in the morning. We travel at dawn to Orzammar."
He gave her a non-committal nod and she smiled slightly, and even though it was a hard thing to do, forced herself to turn around and leave him alone to process his dark thoughts.
The moment the door closed behind her, Alistair walked over to the desk and stared at the faded leather cover of Duncan's journal. Without blinking, he thumbed through the book to the offending entry and neatly ripped the pages out. He then crumpled the paper into tight balls and tossed them into the roaring fire in the chamber's fireplace.
"No one is to know is to know of Alistair's parentage, ever," Alistair repeated Duncan's line as he watched the pages burn into oblivion.
