I've wanted to write another Morgana/Alistair oneshot and a Teagan-POV piece for a while, and the two ideas converged into this.

This may or may not be canon for Armour, as I'm still not sure how I'll end it... I'll change the note then, I suppose.


Youth

Teagan

Redcliffe Castle; following the horde.

Something has changed in them. He can see it, though he can't quite put his finger on it.

They are no longer the terrified new Wardens that came to this castle before, eyes still wide from the horrors witnessed at Ostagar; no longer the mage with hands barely able to hold a dagger, the bashful almost-nephew of his, the two that he heard not-so-quietly arguing as they walked out of the Chantry.

There is steel behind their eyes as well as in their hands now, their jaws set, fingers to their sword hilts instinctively, something resigned in their blood-streaked faces; the awkwardness of before is absent, too, the two intruding comfortably into each other's space in the way of old friends, or...

Ah.

He'd have thought a Chantry upbringing, the dogma and the tales of mages, would have prevented such an occurrence, but it seems not. He wonders how he missed it at the Landsmeet - after all, he saw the long look she gave Alistair, the unsaid things resting heavily between them, before she announced that Anora would keep the throne... He had assumed there had been an argument, but it seems he was entirely wrong.

He sees it in the way Alistair stands here as a Warden, no crown on his head, and the way Eamon's teeth are gritted as he stares at the man who could have been a king, much as he tries to hide it. The man is still looking for what could have been, rather than what is; Alistair is not his father, nor his brother.

He sees it in the way they mirror each other's body language, in the way their hands, by their sides, unconsciously stray towards the other's.

She swallows as she realises that they will never make it in time to stop the horde, only, perhaps, to face them, her eyes darting to her fellow Warden; they share a glance before breaking the link, looking once more at Eamon. Then, with a nod and a remark that they will need to tell the others, they head out of the room, manner deceptively and worryingly calm.

He sees it in the way the facade breaks for a moment as they walk away, stepping away from their companions; stopping and looking round the hallway as if to check they are alone, she leans heavily against the wall. A moment of silence, and then Alistair trails a hand down her cheek in comfort, soft words spilling from his lips.

Teagan doesn't hear the words exchanged, but doesn't think it matters.

He is subtle enough not to stare at the two of them, trapped in a kiss as if it is their last, hands in each other's hair, ignoring the blood; he sees Alistair bring an arm to her waist to pull her closer, not even coming up for air.

Well, the boy has certainly grown up, he thinks, raising an eyebrow and quietly shutting the door. He turns back to his brother, not wanting to intrude, and sees Eamon bent over a map, tracing routes with a finger. The Arl looks up, eyebrows knitted, unaware of the couple in the next room, and begins to discuss tactics.


The two leave soon afterwards, and he doesn't miss the way her fingers briefly thread through Alistair's, their eyes meeting; they swiftly step away when they reach the courtyard, on their guard once again. They stand tall, always close to one another, refusing to be separated, as they walk into battle. As if love is enough to shield them from darkspawn and duty.

He shakes his head almost unnoticeably, saying nothing, simply watching, and sighs at the foolish hope of youth.