**A/N**: This is dedicated to redrosemary. Happy Holidays!
Chapter 1
Alistair shifted in his saddle again. He was a mediocre rider on a good day, and this wasn't a good day. "Remind me why I'm doing this again," he said, tugging at his collar. Though the wind was chill enough to redden his cheeks, sweat beaded his forehead and his clothes clung to him.
"For the good of Ferelden," Arl Eamon chuckled as he guided his horse next to Alistair's with ease.
"Yes, yes. That's why I had to be king," Alistair waved a dismissive hand at his uncle. "I mean this," he gestured to the winding road before them.
Without missing a beat, Eamon stiffened his shoulders and cleared his throat, "Every kingdom needs its king, and every king needs a queen."
Alistair rolled his eyes and huffed, "Ferelden would have a queen if you'd allow it. No one would make a better queen than Solona— ".
"I, and every other member of your council would disagree," Eamon cut him off. "Lady Elissa is by all accounts a war hero now with a title and an impeccable lineage besides. Anora herself looks a peasant in comparison," he finished, his chin slightly raised.
"War hero?! Title?!" Alistair's voice went up an octave. "Maker's Breath, Solona saved us all! She's the Hero of Ferelden! What title could possibly be more queen-worthy?!"
Arl Eamon took a deep breath, then gave the king a sideways glance, "She's the daughter of the late-Teryn of Highever and the sister to the current Teryn for starters…"
"That doesn't mean anything," Alistair retorted, his voice still higher than his norm. "I'm a bastard for Andraste's sake!"
"Yes, but you have Maric's blood—Calenhad's blood."
"It shouldn't matter. Solona saved me. She saved you; she saved all of Ferelden! It should be her…" Alistair continued his argument.
"She's a fine woman who did her duty for her Order and for her country. No one's disputing that. We're all grateful to the Warden and none will soon forget it, especially me," Eamon countered. "That's why she may remain in the palace as long as she wishes, but that doesn't mean that she is fit to be queen."
"And why not?!" Alistair raged.
Arl Eamon tightened the grip on the reigns with such force that his knuckles turned white and pulled back, causing his horse to come to an abrupt halt. It happened so sudden that Alistair just barely stopped his own horse without throwing himself off. As the king righted himself, Eamon sighed heavily, hung his head, and rubbed his temples.
Once Alistair was settled, Eamon looked at him directly, "Alistair, we've been through this countless times. The Hero is a mage. It would not only send all of Ferelden into turmoil, it would put the Chantry in an uproar. Even if I were to agree to it, they certainly would not."
Alistair went silent and looked away, choosing to instead stare at his gloved hands that loosely held his horse's reigns. His chest tightened, constricting the breath from his lungs. "But I love her…," the cracking in his voice caused the words to come out in an almost-whisper. His eyes stung as he forced them to meet those of his uncle's again.
Eamon's expression softened. He placed a hand on the king's shoulder and the two remained that way for a time, neither saying a word. Eventually, the arl lifted his hand and patted his king on the same shoulder, "Love is a fickle thing, my boy. Far better to put your efforts into something more lasting."
With that, Arl Eamon kicked his horse back into motion with a silent King Alistair following behind.