"You should take it. You have every right to carry it." Zahara held Maric's sword out to Alistair. The mage's Rivani blood was obvious in her coloring, and her dark eyes looked steadily at Alistair. Sandal had just finished working his magic on the blade, and it pulsed with the enchantments he'd laid into it.
"That's the king's blade, and I'm not going to be king. It should go back to Denerim with Cailan's armor." Alistair stubbornly refused to take the blade Zahara offered. He never even acknowledged me! Why in Thedas does Zahara think I should carry his sword?
"Alistair, it's your father's sword. You are his son, just as Cailan was, and it's yours by right. I agree that we should take Cailan's armor back to Denerim. That armor can be displayed to honor what he sacrificed..."
"The sacrifice that Loghain forced on him." Alistair's bitterness was clear. It seemed his hatred of Loghain hadn't cooled any. "Besides, my father never even acknowledged me openly. If he truly thought of me as his son, couldn't he at least have visited me? Checked to see if I were okay?"
"Your father made many mistakes with you, and one of the biggest was trusting you to Eamon when it's plain to see that his wife leads him around by the beard. But, you are still his blood, and his sword is yours by right. If you don't want to carry it to honor your father, then carry it for the king who brought the Grey Wardens back to Ferelden."
Alistair stared at the blade for a moment longer before taking it from Zahara's hand. Oddly, the grip felt right in his hand, the balance perfect. I must have his hands. Their size and shape... There was an odd thrumming through the blade, and Alistair's Templar senses recognized an older magic than the runes Sandal had just added. The sword seemed to...know him. "Zahara, can you feel that? It feels..."
The mage nodded at him. "Yes, it recognizes your blood, your tie to your father. Whether he ever admitted it or not, his sword knows his son."
Something in Alistair warmed and eased. It was an odd sensation, but the fact that the sword knew him was...comforting in a way. "In honor of the king who brought the Grey Wardens back to Ferelden. The king who was Duncan's friend. Yes, I can carry it for those reasons." In this, at least, I can be my father's son.
"For the Grey Wardens."
"For the Grey Wardens." Alistair sheathed the blade and strapped it on.