"You know, we could have just brought the Anvil back with us. We might as well have, with the amount of stuff we're carrying."
Shifting her own bulging pack, Kylyn grinned up at him. "You're still whining about this?"
"No." Alistair flushed. "Not really."
She laughed, setting the bag aside with a welcome sigh. "Here. Let's take a break."
Sinking to his knees with an exaggerated groan, he watched her stretch, rolling her neck to work the ache from her shoulders. "I could help with that, you know."
"Could you?" Again she smiled for him, but her eyes lit on something in the rubble beyond. "Maybe later."
Kylyn picked her way over the broken stone, crouching before a small pile of armor and bone. Dwarf or darkspawn, he couldn't tell, but it was strange how accustomed he growing to the sight, to the idea of scavenging from the dead. This was how they had filled most of the packs.
He knelt beside her. "Tell me why we're doing this again."
"The Grey Wardens aren't exactly in the best shape at the moment, if you haven't noticed." She rolled her eyes, chuckling for the old argument. "Fighting a Blight isn't cheap. And you can't be greedy if you have nothing."
"That doesn't make sense…"
"We might need this stuff."
"Riiight. Very practical. Is this a dwarf thing?"
She slugged him in the arm.
"Racism, now? Tsk." Zevran pushed between them, bending to help her in her search. Slipping a thick chain from around the dead man's neck, he held it up to the light. "Marvelous."
"Should fetch a decent price." Kylyn plucked it from his fingers with a smirk. "All for the war effort, right Zev?"
He sighed, looking to Alistair. "She would have us living like monks, my friend. How can you endure it?"
"Oh, it's not so bad. The food's pretty good, actually. You should try it sometime."
"Ahh, but there is more to life than bread and cheese, is there not? I fear the cloistered life is a bit too… solitary for my tastes."
Kylyn stifled a giggle behind her hand, meeting the elf grin for grin. Something must have passed cross Alistair's face, for they both chuckled as they looked at him. She lay a reassuring hand on his arm.
"The necklace goes. Even Alistair agrees. It's only practical."
He shook his head. "I didn't exactly say that…"
She smiled down at him as she stood, moving back to where Oghren waited on the path. Alistair stumbled as he followed, brushing the dust from his knees. It was only reluctantly that he reshouldered his pack, watched her jaw set in determination as she adjusted her own.
"If it's too heavy, I could—"
"—No, I've got it."
"Stubborn today, aren't we?"
"Now, that's a dwarf thing. Oh!" Reaching into her packs, she produced and small piece of stone. "Here. I thought you might like this."
Alistair turned it round in his hand. The figurine was delicate and intricately carved, worked into the shape of one of those rabbit-earred pig things. "Hey! A nug, right? Don't have one of these yet."
Kylyn laughed. "You're adorable."
"But… where did you get it?"
"Where do you think?"
Glancing over his shoulder, he looked to the forgotten dwarf. "It's… not right."
"Alistair." She stepped close, stretching up on her toes to lay a kiss on his cheek. "You don't have a greedy bone in your body. It's one of the things I love about you."
He watched her walk away, watched her fall into step beside Zevran. As the elf leaned close to whisper in her ear, she laughed and slipped an arm through his.
Alistair's hand closed hard round the tiny nug. Right. Not greedy. Never him.
Pulling himself up on the fence, he swung one leg over the side. It was just unfair. The Arl had a whole pen full of chickens; he didn't see how a few more eggs could hurt. Missus Porter always said he was a growing boy but still the old cook had rapped his knuckles when he reached for a second plate.
"Mustn't take more than your fair share," she had said. "Mustn't be greedy."
Alistair scowled, rubbing at his hands. From the top of the fence he could see almost the entire yard, the knights practicing, the other boys going about their chores. With a final defiant grin, he dropped over the side.
It had rained in the night, the mud splashing as he landed, sucking at his boots. But he wriggled free, crouching as he crept toward the henhouse. There would be plenty of eggs here, more than enough for everyone. He would just have to get them himself.
Ducking through the narrow door, he held his breath. The hens seemed to be asleep, long rows of them stirring quietly atop their treasure. He had done this once before, never alone but…
He crept quietly forward, chewing his lip in concentration. Taking one of the birds carefully between both hands, he lifted, setting her gently aside. When she didn't stir, he sagged with relief, hastily scooping the three waiting eggs into his shirt. Holding it to make a sort of sack, he replaced the hen and moved on to the next.
Soon the shirt was growing heavy, one arm clutching the load to his chest. Just a few more… that was all he needed. Alistair reached for the bird with one hand. Its eyes flew open, small and black and beady, seeming to hold to his for one breathless second.
Oh no.
It came at him in a squawking torrent of feathers and claws. Alistair stumbled backward out of the henhouse as the others came awake, screeching and flapping their wings. He didn't see the rooster, tripping over it to land hard on his side.
The thing shrieked indignant, face only inches from his own. It puffed itself up, beating its wings, beak snapping perilously close to his nose. Alistair screamed. But he was close to the fence now, managing to wriggle beneath it as the bird gave chase.
Miraculously, most of the eggs seemed to be intact, his elbow having taken the brunt of the fall. He was muddied to the chin, drawing astonished gasps from the people in the yard as he ran past. And still the rooster kept close, squawking all the while, darting between the legs of knights and maids and scullery boys.
Alistair risked a backward glance, stumbling as he almost lost an egg. He didn't see the man, didn't hear the shout… until it was too late.
Bann Teagan, the Arl's younger brother, wiped a hand across his tunic, shaking off the dripping mixture of mud and egg. Looking down at him, he quirked a brow. "Alistair?"
Alistair swallowed hard.
But the Bann had only chuckled, taking him firmly by the hand, returning him to Missus Porter. She had protested that he wasn't hers to look after, but Teagan had only smiled, leaving him to be washed and scrubbed beneath an endless barrage of scolding and complaints. He had had to go before the Arl as well, but somehow Eamon's silence had been even worse.
After a week of spending his afternoons at scrubbing pots, of being referred to as "that greedy little child" by the old cook, Alistair found himself back in the henhouse. He had been sure to be much more careful this time, waiting until he saw the rooster slip beneath the fence and go strutting cross the yard.
Eggs were all well and good, but this called for cleverness. Moving quietly as he could, he again lifted one of the hens, cradling her in his arms as he slipped back outside. He would have to be patient, of course, but the chicken could give him far more eggs than he could ever steal. Being careful not to wake her, Alistair dropped back over the fence.
"Alistair. What are you doing, boy?"
He could hear Bann Teagan approaching behind him as his eyes darted round. Oh Maker, not again. Pinching his eyes shut, Alistair stuffed the hen beneath his shirt.
"What is it you have there?"
A hand on his shoulder turned him round. Alistair met the man's eyes as best he could, biting his lip as he held his breath. The chicken was suddenly awake… very, very awake.
"Alistair, are you alright?"
He whimpered.
Teagan had obviously noticed the thrashing bulge, his eyes widening in surprise.
Alistair screamed. The beast tore free as he lifted his shirt, dropping to the ground with an indignant shriek. It scuttled away, back to the safety of the pen. Alistair burst into tears.
Teagan had steered him back toward the castle, stifling a laugh as he forced his expression to sternness. After a visit to the healers and some ointments for the scratches Alistair was again marched before Arl Eamon. The brothers had seemed to share some amusement over the event, but Alistair had not noticed the older man's bemused smile at the time. There had been only pain, pain and shame.
He had stood red-faced and ashamed, not raising his eyes from the tiles of the hall. It was there in that place that the Arl himself had lectured him, told him of stealing and of greed. It was that day that Alistair had first understood. And he had done his best ever since.
There had been that one incident with the cheeses in the Chantry, but the Revered Mother had been stern, sentencing him to a week of silent contemplation. Greed might be a sin but all that silence was worse.
No, he had learned his lesson and learned it well.
Alistair sat some way beyond the fire, resting his head in his hands. They had made camp just outside of Denerim, had stopped here on their way south to find the Dalish. He had been so certain and yet…
How had things changed so much? Maker, what he wouldn't give to be back in that pen again, angry chickens or no. But he was a Grey Warden now and Eamon… Eamon wanted to make him king. He had never been anybody, had never wanted to be anybody… And the one thing that he did want, the one thing that he had wanted all his life…
Kylyn crouched before him, laying a hand on his knee.
Well, maybe not the only thing.
"I'm sorry."
He sighed, sliding aside to make room for her beside him on the log. "I just… she didn't even…"
"She only wanted your money. Some people are like that."
Alistair had met his sister today. And all she had wanted was his coin. "But she's… my sister. She's supposed to…" He saw Kylyn's eyes darken, realized too late what he had said. "Oh Maker, I'm sorry."
She shook her head. "It's alright. But I know what you're thinking. You cannot blame your sister, not really. Trust me when I say it's not the same."
His raised his eyes, tried not to let her see his relief. "I mean, I was thinking… Goldanna, she doesn't know me; she hasn't been… looking for me her whole life. And she said she has – what? – five mouths to feed. Maybe she just-just…"
"She saw an opportunity and she took it."
"Right. She just wanted to take care of her family."
Kylyn nodded but still her gaze was distant, stretching away toward the west, back toward Orzammar. "Sometimes a little greed is good. And sometimes it's very, very bad."
She had killed her brother not two weeks ago. The brother who had taken everything from her, who had tried to take even more. He had no right to complain over fifteen sovereigns.
Alistair sighed. "Personally, I don't see how you can say that. How can it ever be good?"
"You said it yourself. There's a line between self-interest and greed for the sake of greed. You can't turn your back on it entirely; it's just not possible. The important thing is to know where that line is."
They sat in silence for a long while. Finally, Alistair raised his head. "It's like the… king thing."
She arched a brow.
"I didn't think I wanted to be king. I've never even thought about it. But a king… a king would have the power to support the Wardens, the armies to face the Blight, the coin to…" He trailed off, hanging his head.
When he looked again, Kylyn was smiling at him. "What are you saying?"
"I-I think I want to be king." He sighed. "But I can't help but feel guilty for wanting it, guilty for wanting…"
She was sitting close enough that he could see the color creep into her cheeks. "Sometimes a little greed is good."
Alistair swallowed hard. "You're sure about that?"
"You need to learn this, Alistair. The sooner the better. And your intentions are—"
"—Me or Zevran."
She blinked. "What?"
"I…" He ran a nervous hand through his hair. "I know I don't have the right to ask, to… demand anything of you. But I want to." His eyes snapped to hers. "I want to know that you're mine and only mine and if that's greedy I don't care."
Kylyn sat in stunned silence. After a long moment, she shook her head. "Alistair…"
"What? You said I had to—?"
Sliding closer, she put a finger to his lips. "It's you. It's always been you." She smirked. "Though I can't say this isn't… impressive."
He grinned.
Kylyn's eyes flickered, roaming over him as she pulled her hand away. "Just how greedy are we talking here?"
He chuckled, leaning low to bring his lips to hers. "What can I say? I'm a bad, bad man."
Wrenching the sword free of a fallen ogre, Kylyn spun. The archdemon was wounded, its massive chest heaving as it loosed a final, disbelieving gasp of black flame. Eyes narrowing, she steadied the blade. But Alistair caught her arm.
"What are you doing? This is the way it has to be!"
He could see the exhaustion, the quivering frustration as he pried her fingers from the hilt.
"Alistair!" She collapsed against him, fighting still, pushing away as she tried to keep her feet.
Stroking a hand through her hair, he lay a kiss there. "Shh. It's alright."
"No, it isn't! I have to do this!"
Cupping her chin, he tilted her eyes up to meet his own. Something wavered there, guilt behind the frustration, shame behind the tears.
"It's my fault."
He shook his head.
"We-we didn't have to die, neither one of us. I could have… Morrigan had a way… but I was selfish, I didn't want to share you. I knew what it meant, I knew that I would have to… but still I couldn't bear the thought." Her jaw stiffened, resolve hardening. "I have to do this. It has to be me."
Alistair smiled. "It's my turn to be selfish now."
She blinked up at him, confused.
"I want you to live; it's all I want. Just the knowledge that the world is whole, that it has you in it… Even if I die, at least I'll die with that. I'll die more satisfied than I've ever been."
"No."
He pulled her to him, crushing her against him, covering her mouth with his. "Then know that I couldn't live with myself if you died, if I let you do this. That, in doing this for you, I do this for me. Finally, I do something for myself."
"No." Her chin trembled as he traced a hand there, her gasps choking as he let her sink to her knees.
Turning to the archdemon, Alistair raised his blade. With a final scream, he took the world for his own.