"Then the Maker said:
To you, my second-born, I grant this gift:
In your heart shall burn
An unquenchable flame
All-consuming, and never satisfied.
From the Fade I crafted you,
And to the Fade you shall return
Each night in dreams
That you may always remember me."

Canticle of Threnodies 5:7


"I beg your pardon, Bann Teagan... there's a message arrived from the palace for you, ser..."

"From the palace?" Teagan said, looking up with a frown from the book he'd been reading. "Thank you, Matilda," he said, carefully marking his place and setting the book aside before taking the folded message from her hand. She nodded and walked away.

He raised his eyebrows at the sight of the royal seal, his name scrawled in a blocky script across the flap. Why on earth was Maric writing to him! He slid his thumb under the flap, cracking the wax seal, and unfolded the paper, quickly reading the brief message penned inside, requesting him to attend the king at the castle, early the following afternoon. He put it aside, wondering why. He, unlike his brother Eamon, was not a particular friend of the king. He'd just have to wait and see, he supposed. For now, he resumed reading his book.


"Your majesty," Bann Teagan said, bowing to his king.

King Maric looked up, smiled, and rose to his feet from behind his desk. "Ah, Bann Teagan – thank you for obliging me with a little of your time."

"Of course, King Theirin..."

"Just Maric, please... this is an informal conversation," Maric said, and gestured to a pair of comfortable chairs placed to either side of a window overlooking the palace gardens. "Please, join me."

Teagan nodded, and sat down, feeling nervous in his king's presence. Doubtless his brother would have handled this situation with his usual calm aplomb, but then he had been a close friend of the king for years. Teagan's only exposure to Maric before this had been at a handful of formal occasions, and in his brother's presence.

"Am I correct in my belief that you will be stopping in at Redcliffe to see your brother, on your way back to Rainesfere?" Maric asked, his voice a deep, pleasant rumble.

"Er, yes, your majesty."

"Maric," the king reproved him.

"Yes... Maric." Teagan said hesitantly.

Maric smiled warm approval at him. "Good. Then perhaps you can assist me with a... rather delicate personal matter. You are aware, of course, of the identity of your brother's ward, Alistair? I do recall giving Eamon specific permission to inform you of his true parentage..."

"Yes, I am aware that he is your... issue," Teagan said carefully.

Maric laughed. "My bastard, you mean. It's actually because of him that I wanted to speak to you."

"Your majesty?" Teagan said, puzzled.

Maric laughed again. "I know it may not seem like it, when I've so carefully avoided him all these years, but I do care for the boy, you know. He is my son, as much as Cailan is, even if I am unable to acknowledge him as such," he said regretfully. Abruptly he rose to his feet. Teagan started to rise as well, but Maric waved him down.

"Sit," he gently commanded. "I just prefer pacing. Anyway, the boy's tenth birthday is in a few days – just around the time you'll be arriving in Redcliffe. So I was hoping to enlist your aid in both selecting and delivering a present for him. Something suitable," Maric added, frowning thoughtfully. "The sort of thing your brother can easily claim to be a gift from himself. You undoubtedly know the boy much better then I, sadly, so I shall have to rely on your opinion as to what the boy would like."

"Errr... I'm not sure what sort of thing would be suitable," Teagan said hesitantly, mind already racing. There was so little that Eamon could be seen to give to a stable boy without it raising comment, which seemed to be exactly what Maric wanted to avoid.

"He's a bit young for it still, but perhaps a sword? Just a training one of course. Or a mabari puppy?" Maric said eagerly. "What does the boy like doing?"

Teagan blinked, surprised. Both suggestions were wildly inappropriate for one of the boy's station. He put aside thought of that for now, and instead focused on the king's question. "He likes getting in trouble, is what he likes doing," he blurted, then flushed with embarrassment. That had not been in the least diplomatic!

Maric roared, thankfully seeming more tickled then offended at the comment. "Sounds like me at his age," he said, grinning. "The scamp. Maybe a pony of his own? Or does he have one already?"

"Errr... no, he does not possess a pony," Teagan said, surprised again. "And the gift of one might seem a little... excessive. As would be a sword or a mabari," he added.

"Really?" Maric said, looking surprised. "Well, never mind those then," he said, and stepped over to a sideboard, picking up a decanter and pouring a glass of spirits. "Care to join me?" he asked, holding up the bottle. "Some very nice Sun Blonde."

"Thank you, yes," Teagan agreed, then frowned in thought. "I suppose a puppy would do, if it was only a cull, and was presented as a reward of some kind, maybe for the outcome of that recent mishap on the lake."

"Mishap on the lake?" Maric said, pausing in the middle of pouring the second glass of spirits.

"Yes, that business a few weeks ago when he and the other stable boys were out on the lake in a storm. Terrible tragedy, of course, but Alistair apparently did real yeoman's work in keeping it from turning into a complete disaster; only two dead, instead of all seven of them, which could well have been the outcome," Teagan said, frowning at the memory of that terrible night, then started as he looked up and caught the appalled look on King Maric's face. "I'm sorry, didn't Eamon write you about it?" he asked.

"I'm afraid Eamon's letter to me about it must have gone astray," Maric said calmly as he walked over, handing Teagan a brimming glass before resuming his own seat. "This is the first I've heard about it. Please, fill me in on the details of this little... adventure... of my son's."


Maric smiled pleasantly as he said farewell to Bann Teagan, promising to take the man's suggestions under advisement and have a suitable gift for Alistair brought to him before he departed for Redcliffe in two days time. Only after the door was safely shut did he allow his anger to show.

By the Maker! His son, being raised as nothing more than a stable boy! He had trusted Eamon to look after the boy properly. Trusted him as his close friend, trusted him as the brother of his now long-deceased wife, believed the boy was being raised as befit the bastard son of the king. To learn that Eamon had been betraying his confidence in him all these years; lying through his teeth, or at the very least lying by omission... it stung.

By Andraste's light, he would see that Eamon received the full weight of his displeasure on this matter. The first step, of course, would be to see that the boy was given a proper education, in all the things that he should have been learning all these years. By Teagan's words, it sounded like the boy didn't even know how to read, much less any of the skills he should have by now. Skills that would enable him to serve as a page, then a squire, eventually becoming Ser Alistair, as his blood deserved. Even Bann Alistair if he proved himself worthy of the title through his deeds once he was older.

A stable boy! He poured himself a second drink, and knocked it back in one gulp, hissing the foulest curses he knew under his breath.

There was a quiet knock at the door. "Yes!" he roared, irritated.

There was a brief silence, then the door opened and Teryn Loghain stepped in, closing the door silently behind him before turning to look at his king. "If this is a poor time for our meeting, I can come back another day...?" Loghain asked calmly, raising one eyebrow questioningly.

"No, no, now is fine," Maric growled, putting aside the glass, and trying to put aside his current anger as well, as he moved to take a seat. "I'd rather get these details sorted out now, then have to deal with them later."

Loghain sat down as well in his usual seat. "Good. In that case, I have some suggestions for..."

Maric nodded and leaned forward, listening intently, his friend's usual phlegmatic personality serving, as it so often did, to calm his own raging emotions. For now, his anger was dampened as he focused on the task at hand. Not gone, of course, simply put aside for the moment, as his old friend Eamon would learn as soon as he had the time to properly address the issue of young Alistair...