Brands and Tattoos

Chapter 1: Scarred Memories

King Alistair Theirin

I remember coming across Zevran while he was sparring with Tabris. In a blatant attempt to entice her, he had stripped off his studded leather breastplate and shirt. He was sweating profusely with the exertion but she didn't seem to notice, continuing to advance and parry, unaffected by his appearance.

Feeling slightly miffed, I had insisted on sitting and watching in full view, perched on a fallen log. Having an audience, when Zevran realized I was there, only made things worse. The assassin seemed to preen more, making a show of his semi-nude, straining muscles until Tabris swept one of his legs out from under him and pressed the tip of her short sword to his throat, "If you are going to show-off for Alistair instead of taking me seriously, then we are done here. Go jump in the stream and cool off!"

"My apologies, Cara, but it was not for his benefit that I was showing off, but the reprimand was well earned. I was very unruly. Could I make it up to you by offering to scrub your back? We might cool off together after such vigorous exertions."

"Not interested," Tabris had called over her shoulder without even acknowledging me.

I might have looked chastened after such a rebuff, but no Zevran. He grinned mischievously, smirked in my direction and chuckled, "It is much more satisfying if they initially refuse to fall into your lap." With that he stretched languidly and began to saunter toward the stream with the leisurely gate of a cat after it has been hunting and before it curls up for a nap.

Looking at his retreating form, I don't know what possessed me to blurt out, "So those…designs you have all over your back…"**

"They're called tattoos," Zevran offered graciously while casting a careless smirk in my direction before adding, "and I have them in many more places than just on my back, my friend." The suggestiveness of this volunteered information was not lost on me.

I vaguely wondered how I had allowed myself to get drawn into this line of discussion before adding hastily, "Err…right. I hear that someone gets those by having needles put the ink under your skin?"

"A great many needles, amongst other things; yes, that would be true."

The thought made me cringe and I inquired, "Didn't that hurt?"

"Oh, yes, yes," he answered, his smile widening to something unpleasant, "but it is not so bad, in truth. If you like, I could give you one. I learned a bit of the art myself in Antiva."

Though his tone was benign, I didn't trust the glint in his tawny eyes with the offer and I stood up to avoid squirming where I sat, retreating hastily back to the safety of camp, "Oh, no. NO, I don't think so."

"Come, it will just be a small one…perhaps the symbol of the Grey Wardens? Something manly! Where are my needles?" While he said this, though, he made no move to follow me. He didn't have to. He knew he had succeeded in making me feel foolish and inept.

After some time had passed, I had approached him again, asked him if he would be willing to tattoo me after all. At that moment his smile had wilted around the edges, but his bravado had held fast. I secretly suspect, though, that he had never expected me to change my mind nor would he be asked to "perform" in such a fashion. True to his nature, Zevran twisted the situation, turning it into something suggestive and awkward in order to frighten me, throwing in talk of a ritual and a massage. Again I retreated from the offer and he had seemed vaguely relieved that he would not have to tattoo me after all.

These thoughts flitted through my mind as I examined my reflection in my suite alone. My eyes were drawn to the branding scars I had received from the former Arl Crewe when I had been his guest. They were no longer red, as they had healed in the few intervening months and were now a pale pink. No one else ever saw them since they were concealed by my tunics and doublets in public, but even alone something about them bothered me.

It shouldn't have…but it did.

As I thought of Svenya, of the mask she had often worn to conceal her own burns on her face, it seemed petty that my marks should bother me. It wasn't about how they looked, however; it was about what they represented. They symbolized how I was unable to protect her in the impotence of that moment.

Even with all I managed to achieve afterwards, even with all those I had saved, even though I returned her to her liberty, whenever I looked at the burns I returned to that moment when I could smell my own flesh sear and hear her shriek at her father to stop because she could not endure to see me tortured as she had been.

A tenuous knock sounded at the door and I quickly threw a robe over my shoulders and cinched it around my waist before calling, "You may enter."

Teagan entered with his usual formality before explaining, "Eamon sent me to fetch you. Representatives from the Alienage have arrived unannounced and wish an audience with you."

"Is there a problem?" Are the improvements causing issues?" I questioned, confused and rushing about to locate a nicer tunic and doublet because it would not have been appropriate to receive them in my robe.

"Truth be told, if there had been something wrong the elven lady would not have hesitated to tear up one side of Eamon and down the other…" Teagan observed before adding quietly with a smile, "…though I might have paid good coin to see that. However, she seemed in good spirits at this particular time."

"I am assuming you are referring to Shianni Tabris?" I prompted while ducking behind the screen to finish dressing.

"Yes. I think Eamon hoped you would have me return to them with your regrets and send them away. He has a number of items that he recommends you address today that do not include the Alienage."

"Eamon will learn to live with the disappointment then," I replied briskly walking out from behind the screen and heading purposefully toward the door.

Teagan chuckled as he followed behind, "I believe he is becoming accustomed to that as of late."

Since we had repelled the naval attack on Denerim and I had returned from the Cauldron, Eamon had discovered that I would be far more difficult to maneuver to his liking. He never yelled or scolded, but his eyebrows when he frowned were grim and threatening with disapproval. He frowned more often now, particularly when I rebuffed his requests that I begin earnestly seeking a bride. My commissioning of artisans from Orlais to work on the Chapel at Vigil's Keep had caused him to turn chartreuse. My proposed improvements to the Alienage to stem disease had caused him to grind his teeth. When I finally pushed forward my plans to allot a certain amount of land near Ostagar specifically for the Dalish clans to settle in recognition of their marshal contributions to help end the Blight, he nearly had a stroke.

"You need not pander to them," he had hissed, trying to maintain a modicum of control.

"It is not pandering," I insisted evenly, "I have seen their value on the battle field and I would much prefer having them as an ally on our shores than as a disgruntled neighbor. Also, their skills with plants and animals will help that land to recover faster from the effects of the Blight, don't you think?"

"But the nobles..." he put forward helplessly.

I shrugged, "Things will not heal if I only concern myself with keeping the fickle nobility smiling by supporting their petty prejudices. Give it time. When they see positive results they will be less grudging."

"And if they don't?" he fussed.

"Then they will learn I am not easily dissuaded by hard work. There is more than enough of it ahead for all of us."

I walked down the colonnade and around a corner before stopping and turning to Teagan, arrested by a thought, "Have you been disappointed in me?"

He considered the question a moment before offering, "I have different goals than my brother, Alistair. He wants things to run in ways he can control. On a certain level, he wants to have things return to the sleepy plodding that had been when Maric and Rowan were firmly established after the occupation ended. This country has been insulated and quiet for a long time. When Maric left abruptly and went to sea…the security went with him. Cailan allowed himself to be guided by Anora and Loghain controlled the army. He wants a return to the old monarchy, but Thedas is not the same. Things are moving. We cannot remain insulated as he wishes. I think you understand that."

"I respect your brother," I stated, "but I am neither Maric nor Cailan. I have to start standing on my own or this kingdom will fall."

"I know, Alistair," Teagan clapped me on the shoulder; "My brother will come to terms with it. In the end, we will probably all be better for it."

"I certainly hope you are right, Teagan!"

With that I entered the blue receiving room. Arl Eamon was standing with his arms crossed and a blank expression graced his face. When I walked in he looked toward me, pressing his lips into a thin line so that they were lost in his gray beard. The Alienage representatives bowed politely as I greeted them, "I am sorry if you were waiting long."

I recognized Tabris' father when he raised his head and stated, "We wished to come and extend our deepest gratitude. The first of our people sold from our Alienage were returned to us. You ransomed our people out of slavery and we are grateful."

I felt my chest swell a little at these words and thought to myself, "I could not return your daughter to you, the least I could do was save your people from such an evil fate."

I chose to state instead, "Your gratitude is misplaced. It should never have happened in the first place. I am deeply sorry it took so long. Agents are continuing to seek out those who were wrongly enslaved."

"This is our Elder Valendrian," Shianni ushered forward an older man with long silver hair and braids.

I extended a hand to him, saying, "Welcome back to Denerim, Elder Valendrian. I look forward to working in concert with you to improve the conditions here."

His grip shook briefly in my hand, but he betrayed no nervousness in his features and his eyes gazed openly into my own, "I have seen the improvements you have begun in our Alienage. It will make things better for us with clean water and more stable dwellings."

"Your majesty," Eamon cut in, though he made admirable efforts to hide the pointedness of his words, "You have other audiences that must be attended. I am sure your guests do not wish to keep you unnecessarily."

I nodded to my diligent and precise advisor, "Please, Arl Eamon, go on ahead to the chambers where Bann Alfstanna and the entourage for the Waking Sea are waiting. Tell her I will be with them shortly."

Eamon's mouth opened and closed once or twice before he inclined his head in a curt nod and exited the room.

"Elder Valendrian, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. Nerine Tabris spoke very highly of you during my time with her. She also mentioned that you were an acquaintance of my former mentor, Duncan," I spoke these words warmly and the man genuinely smiled in response.

"I was very sorry to hear of their loss. They were apt warriors and good people."

"Very true," I nodded, feeling a vague tickle in the back of my throat with the rising of my emotion, but I rasped once to clear it and cover the pang, "but I have a service to ask of you. I regret I have to take my leave now to see to other duties, though. I wish to speak of it in more depth with you at a more discreet place and time. By your leave, could I arrange a meeting with you in my chambers? Bann Teagan will escort you there and back to your home again, if you would find that favorable?"

"If that is your wish, who am I to say no?" the Elder offered glibly, but I shook my head.

"You are Elder of the Denerim Alienage and I do not presume you are at my beck and call. If my invitation is a hardship then please inform me."

"No, your Majesty," the man reassured me, seeming encouraged by my words, "it would be my pleasure to meet with you."

Taking this as a cue, Teagan stepped forward, "I will fetch you from your home in the late afternoon tomorrow and convey you here."

"It would probably be less peculiar if Shianni escorted me to the side entrance of the castle. You might collect me there."

"You would both be welcome. She may be present. I wish you to be at your ease," I explained, accepting his caution.

"That will be fine."

Teagan agreed, "I will meet you both at the doors near the castle gardens."

We took our leave then and headed to the larger reception chamber, meant for more formal delegations, to meet with Bann Alfstanna. As we headed through the hallway, Teagan questioned, "What was that all about, Alistair?"

"I am moving forward and deciding which scars to keep and which to adjust."

"I suppose that is commendable, though I am unsure of how you propose to do it. However, if your plans enable me to spend more time in the presence of that fetching red-headed maid, I will be more than content."

Startled, but smiling at my confidante and accomplice, I warned him, "If what Nerine said is to be believed, Shianni has a temper and a loose tongue. She will never hide what she thinks."

"Do you know how many years I have had to listen to Eamon's wife? Any voice other than Isolde's is a blessed relief!"

"I did not realize that you disliked the Orlesian lilt," I smirked.

"No, only Isolde's," shaking his head with rueful vehemence, "And I doubt it could be characterized as a `lilt' in her case. Your former companion…uh…Leliana? She has a lilt. Isolde…no, it defies description. Some voices can shatter glass but hers can crack granite."

With those last words I opened the doors and smiled broadly, feeling at ease since my discussion with the Alienage representatives. I greeted Alfstanna with a thinly veiled jubilancy, "It is good to see you again, Bann Alfstanna. I apologize for my late arrival but I had something unexpected that I had to address. Before we get down to business, however, I would like to know how your brother, Irminric, is fairing these days."

Bann Alfstanna is a formidable woman and very serious, however at the mention of her brother she smiled demurely, "He was recently sent to the Cauldron to help in the recovery there. It has been good for him. One of the healers has helped him a great deal and he speaks highly of the new teyrn you installed there. Teyrn…Gray, correct?"

"Yes. I am glad to hear that things are well for him." I gestured for her to take a seat at the great meeting table and sat down beside her, "Now, you are here regarding fishing rights off the Isles of the Three Sisters. That is off the coast, southwest of West Hill Fortress?"

"We are in dispute with Bann Franderel over it. It used to be that his boats would not go past the mouth of the River Dane. Now he claims they have always fished off the Sisters."

"If you will allow it, I would like to send Arl Eamon to find a neutral place where you and Bann Franderel may sit down and try to deal with this rift. Eamon will serve as mediator. If a reasonable compromise can be reached peaceably, that would benefit all involved. Does this sound satisfactory to you?"

"That is reasonable. Will you send word that our conclave with Franderel should be held in a week's time?"

"It shall be so," I agreed, "provided that Arl Eamon is amenable to being the mediator. What say you, Arl? Will you agree to this?" I called over to Eamon who had been standing near the door.

The man seemed stunned to the point of being flabbergasted, though not unhappy with how I had navigated the situation, but he responded after a brief pause, "It would be my pleasure to serve in this capacity."

The concept for this story was inspired by Louvette through her portrait of of Alistair, entitled Alistair v1.5, posted on deviantart. This picture greatly impressed me and I have had this story niggling at the back of my mind ever since. She is an excellent artist and worthy of note for her various works, not just her Dragon Age inspired art. I am a big fan and I acknowledge her with the utmost awe and gratitude.

Continuity-wise, this story takes place after my larger story: Balance of Wings and before The Tabris Window.