If Alistair had to hear one more Bann proposition him with their daughter's hand in marriage he was going to resurrect the Archdemon himself and bring back the bloody blight.
He was King, he understood that a queen and heirs were expected. He did. It had been burrowed into his brain through countless meetings with Arl Eamon over the course of the one year since he had taken his throne. Burrowed. Absolutely burrowed in there. Maker forbid that the mighty Theirin bloodline end after four ages. Maker forbid it end with the Bastard King, already a stain on such a noble house.
He still had that silly notion in his mind that he could one day marry for love. Not that it would be likely that he would be able to now. But it was a notion he clung to nonetheless. The last scraps of the Alistair who had wanted to stay some Warden who'd been too lucky to die at Ostagar. Not that he would have been encouraged to marry as a Warden… or have children…
But King Alistair Theirin would be expected to do both.
And so he was at Eamon's mercy, at the mercy of his politics, at the mercy of his country's need for a continued line of rule - lest another succession crisis occur.
Eamon and Teagan had dreamt up an idea to find him a bride after several long meetings with him. They would invite Southern Thedas' most eligible noble ladies for a ball. The ones he - no, the ones that Eamon preferred - would be invited to stay longer, until he choose to officially begin courting one.
Tonight felt more like a parade, each woman dipping in a curtsy before him, drawling out 'your majesty ' as seductively as possible before she was gone once more. He didn't get to know any of the ladies, too busy with Eamon and Teagan making sure he met each of of their fathers and mothers, planning alliances should their daughter be chosen for Ferelden. He didn't like the schmoozing, he didn't like the thought of a woman to simply wanting him for his crown, for the power they imagined he held.
Was it too much to ask that someone like him for him? To love him simply as Alistair?
Blighted politics. Liam could have helped him navigate them, Maker, he would have been a better choice for a King. He'd grown up in this world, grown up as the second son of a powerful Teryn. Alistair had grown up in the stables and kennels of Redcliffe, hardly a place to learn to be king.
King of the mabaris, maybe.
But instead, Liam had decided that Alistair would be the better choice for Ferelden. The Maker only knew why. He was growing to enjoy some aspects of his kingship, that he couldn't deny. He loved helping his people, was thrilled by the aspect of helping his homeland heal after such devastation. But Liam should have been here with him, together they could have done twice as much good. And where was his blighted best friend when he needed him desperately?
Oh right, he'd disappeared without a trace… with Morrigan.
William Cousland would certainly be of no help to him now.
He slouched down on the throne, resting his elbow on the arm of the wood and fur monstrosity, and settling his chin upon his fist. Would Wintersend never end? It seemed only fitting that the holiday dedicated to the corrupted Old God he'd had a hand in defeating was the one plaguing him presently. In Tevinter, he could have spent the day in the Proving Grounds, participating in a tourney, feeling like the old Alistair. The Alistair whose time wasn't devoured by meetings, audiences, and banquets. The Alistair who could risk bodily harm for a bit of bloody fun. But no, he had no heir… so he couldn't spar, couldn't train, couldn't fight, couldn't do anything that Warden Alistair could have done whenever he damn well pleased.
But no, in Southern Thedas it was a day for arranging marriages. And so Eamon meant to find him a bride. Maker help him. Maker help whichever poor young woman fell into the Arl's plan.
His eyes drifted round the main hall, seeking anything to pass the time. He fell back on an old habit that had kept him occupied during his days within the Chantry. He'd choose one person from the crowd, creating a backstory for them simply from his imagination and any clues he could find on their person. It amused him for a short while, but eventually each story either became 'wants to be the Queen' or 'want their family to be related to the Queen'. Tonight was not going well it seemed.
Teagan came to his side shortly after, more than likely catching the way Alistair was glowering and Alistair suspected his adoptive uncle would reprimand him for it sooner rather than later. But inside the younger Guerrin brother simple stood, watching the crowds with him for a few moments in silence before a grin turned up a side of his lips. "See anyone to your liking, your Majesty?"
"Does it matter if I do?"
A laugh from the older man. "Once this portion of the evening is over, you'll be expected to dance with each of the young ladies, before your decision is made. Hopefully that will help you, Alistair."
"How many more families do I have to meet?"
Teagan's brow furrowed for a moment as he surveyed the crows. "I believe that there is only one family left. The pair of brunettes with their backs to us by Arl Bryland, I think that is them."
A sigh. "And who are they exactly?"
"Those two… they are from Kirkwall's Amell family. Their uncle was Aristide Amell, former Viscount of Kirkwall. Now it is assumed that the elder of the pair, Gavin, will assume his uncle's title now that he's recently passed. The lady with him is his sister, but I… I cannot recall her name."
As if he'd heard his own name… which seemed ridiculous given that he was halfway across the main hall, Gavin Amell turned, heading towards the front of the hall where Alistair sat. He could catch glimpses of the sister, the woman much shorter than her sibling and disappearing often between the clusters of taller nobility.
He was barely able to get a look at them before she was dropping into a curtsy and he into a sweeping bow. Gavin stood first, a wide grin greeting Alistair.
"May I present my sister, Lady Mira Amell."
She lifted her head from her curtsy, her green eyes finding his.
Oh .
