Alistair peeked around the corner of the archway leading to the balcony, bouncing up and down on his toes. He couldn't see anything from here, but he could hear the crowds below. He wanted so badly to run out and look, but Papa said he had to wait for the rest of them.
With one final glance out of the doorway, he ran back over to Maric and Cailan and tugged on his father's hand. "Can we go yet, Papa? Please? Can we?"
Maric laughed and reached down to ruffle his youngest son's hair. "Not yet, Alistair. We'll go out in a few minutes. We're just waiting for Loghain to arrive."
Alistair stuck his lip out in a pout, causing Maric to laugh again. "Patience, Alistair. We'll go very soon, I promise."
"Okay."
They didn't have long to wait. After a few minutes, the door opened and Teyrn Loghain, glad in his customary gray armor, walked in. Alistair watched him with huge eyes. Loghain was his father's best friend, but he scared him a little. He was always so quiet and serious, and Alistair got the feeling the teyrn didn't like him very much. Then again, he got the feeling Loghain didn't like Papa very much either.
"Let's get this over with." Loghain's voice was harsh and flat, entirely without humor.
Grinning, Maric looked his friend over. "You should be happy, my friend! Today we celebrate your victory over the Orlesians. Just listen to the crowds outside waiting to see the Hero of River Dane."
Loghain grimaced. "I don't know why you insist on these displays. They're foolish and a waste of time."
Maric sighed. "It's only once a year, Loghain. Surely it's not too arduous a task? Come, the sooner we get started, the sooner it will be over. And besides, my sons are eager to get going."
He held out a hand to Alistair and laid his other across Cailan's shoulders and led them towards the balcony. Loghain followed behind them. As they walked out, the roar of the crowds increased. Alistair strained on his tiptoes, trying to pull himself up high enough to see over the stone balustrade.
"Here," Papa said behind him, and Alistair felt strong hands lift him up and settle him on his father's shoulders. He wrapped his arms around his father's neck and grinned. From up here, he could see everything. Down below, the streets were crowded with people dressed in brightly colored clothes. There was music playing and it seemed like everyone was talking and laughing.
Papa let him look for a few minutes and then handed him to Cailan. "Here, hold onto this rascal for me for a moment." Cailan grabbed his little brother, and helped support him so that Alistair could keep looking at the crowds.
Holding up his hands for silence, Maric gave a short speech. He briefly introduced his children, and Alistair flushed when the crowds cheered his name. It was silly, but he loved the way Papa sounded so proud when he introduced him to people. There was a longer and louder roar from the crowd when Maric gestured to Loghain. The general waved briefly to the crowd and then the parade began.
When he was done, Papa reached for him again and Alistair found himself once again settled on his father's broad shoulder. Papa stepped right up to the balcony, keeping one hand braced on Alistair's waist so he wouldn't fall. His other hand rested on Cailan's shoulder as the older boy leaned over to point out something exciting.
The parade lasted for several hours, and eventually Alistair's eyes grew heavy. The sun shine was hot, the crowds loud and he fell asleep halfway through. He woke up and rubbed his eyes.
"Hey, there, sleepyhead."
Alistair looked up at his father. Papa was sitting on his throne, Alistair nestled in his lap. Maric smiled down fondly at his son. "I was thinking you were going to sleep the whole day away."
"Oh, no!" Alistair cried in dismay. "I missed the rest of the parade!"
Papa hugged him close. "There'll be another one next year. And maybe you'll be able to keep your eyes open, then. Don't worry. Cailan used to do the same thing when he was your age."
Alistair nodded and yawned. Papa stroked his hair. "Go back to sleep, Alistair. It's been a long day. Maybe I'll take a nap, too."
"Okay," Alistair mumbled, curling up against his father's chest. Within moments, he was back asleep, and Maric joined him shortly thereafter.
Maric jerked awake with a start and for a moment was confused by his surroundings. Blinking, he tried to clear his head, and slowly the room around him came into focus. He was alone in the throne room, and the torches burned low. He must have fallen asleep when he came in to sit and think earlier that evening.
With a groan, he sat up and ran a weary hand across his face. He and Cailan had returned from Redcliffe two days ago and his sleep had been disturbed since then. In truth, he hadn't slept well since leaving Redcliffe and the dream he had just awoken from was the reason why.
He stood and walked out onto the balcony from his dreams, running his hands along the cool stone of the railing. The dream had seemed so vivid, so real, that he felt an actual pang of loss when he woke and found that it wasn't real.
Guilt wound through him. He should never have gone to Redcliffe. It had been hard enough giving Alistair up in the first place, and the urge to see the boy had never gone away. He had resisted the temptation for five years before it became unbearable. Eamon's reports hadn't been enough to satisfy him anymore and he had had to see how the boy was doing for himself.
It had been a mistake.
Seeing Alistair, seeing how much he looked and acted like Cailan, seeing his mother's eyes in his little face, had been like a knife to the heart. He realized then, for the first time, how much he had truly given up, how much he had lost. His dream mocked him, taunted him with images of what could have been, what should have been.
And it was too late now. His hands curled into fists and he squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden sting of unshed tears. Leaving Redcliffe and walking away from his son had been painful and he wasn't strong enough to do it again. He wouldn't see Alistair again, couldn't see him again. It wouldn't do either of them any good. And…it hurt too much.
He had never felt more than a coward than he did at that moment.