Chapter 2

Destruction was spread all throughout the city of Denerim. Buildings shattered, and dead filled the streets. But even though there was so much destruction and death, the smiles of the soldiers and bystanders could not have been bigger as they made there way towards the Castle.

"Why do they all look so happy?" Alistair asked, his tone bland. He was looking through a stained glass window. The entire Cathedral was surrounded by people, all ready for the coronation of their king, who had led them to victory.

"It's peculiar isn't it. Probably every single one of those people have lost someone, if not today, then sometime throughout this war. Yet they smile." Arl Eamon had one of his grey eyebrows raised, but a cheeky smile was on his face. Alistair's stone face did not move, not even at the sight of the old man's tender smile. "Because it is over Alistair. They can now live in peace."

"For now." Alistair blinked, and turned away from the window. The armor set that he now wore caused him to walk awkwardly, as it was not his own. Eamon had informed him earlier that he was to wear Cailan's old gold plated armor, which Alistair was entirely horrified by. But Eamon insisted, as it was tradition. The only thing that got Alistair through the process was thinking that his own father had worn the same armor. And now there he was, standing in a place he could have never imagined in his entire life.

"They are ready for you, your Majesty." It was a young elf woman, her skin as pale as snow, and her eyes a white gray.

Alistair stared her down, "Right." He hung his head low, and began to follow the elf.

"Just a word on the battle will suffice after the commencement." It was Eamon, trailing behind him.

He knew that Eamon was simply doing what he thought was needed, and any other time then now Alistair would have appreciated it. Hunching his shoulders up even further, he ignored him, and simply thought of what he would do after all this nonsense was over.

The young elf woman had taken him into a grand room, with large stained glass windows and beautiful fireplaces scattered all down the walls. Even in the mood Alistair was in he could not help but take in the beauty of what surrounded him. He had not had time to take in the same room, during the landsmeet, but now he did. There was warm glow to it, and all the hostility inside him almost seemed to vanish.

"Please wait over to your left, your Majesty." The young woman said, gesturing over to a small simple room, with a vase of red roses inside. Alistair obeyed her, and then waited quietly. They both stood in silence for what seemed like several long moments, before the young woman stepped to the side, and gestured for Alistair to continue.

Alistair turned the around the corner to face the beautiful room again. But this time it was full of glowing faces. An aisle had been made out of the sea of people that now stood inside the room. A weight seemed to suddenly crush his chest, as he began to walk slowly down the blue and gold rug, that lay between the two crowds. Alistair could feel all the eyes in the room follow him, as he stopped just before the grand stone stairs. Looking up he saw the Revered Mother of the Chantry, her frail hands folded together in front of her, and a smile etched into her ancient face. Breathing deeply, he took each step at a time, and at each step two soldiers saluted him. At the top of the stairs he bent down to one knee, feeling the friction of the joints of his armor.

As soon as the Revered Mother began to bless him, it seemed as if Alistair had become deaf. He did not hear anything she said, as it was all drowned out by the sound of the pounding of his own heart. Nor could he see anything, as he had closed his eyes so tightly that it hurt his head.

At the feeling of a light touch on both of his shoulders, Alistair stood, opening his eyes last. He found himself staring straight into the old, wise eyes of the Revered Mother, who then bowed her head to him. Mouth slightly open, he turned around slowly to find himself staring at a crowd of kneeled people, bowing to their new King.

Sten was the first to stand up out of the crowd, towering over those who still kneeled. He nodded sternly, and then relaxed his shoulders before others began to join him and stand. Alistair then lost sight of Sten in the crowd of people.

Alistair swallowed hard, before addressing them. "People of Ferelden." He paused, allowing himself to look at the crowd once more. "The Blight has been stopped. Ferelden is saved. But at the cost of many lives, and homes. I've seen the same as you, with my own eyes, and I feel the same pain as you, with my own heart." Grabbing his hand with his other to stop it from shaking, he continued. "Much has happened to this beautiful land, and we will be the ones to restore it's beauty once again. I will follow in the great steps of my father and brother." And that was all he could say, nothing else could leave him, other then short, shallow breaths.

The crowd stood in awe, and silence at their new King. Then suddenly a shout came from the crowd. "Long live King Alistair!" And then every person in the room repeated it. "Long live King Alistair!"

He managed a small smile, before heading down the small hallway from the coronation theater. Once he was out of sight, he began to jog down the cobble steps, his body screaming at him to stop. He strained his ears to find the sound of steps following his, but there was nothing.
Moving through hallway, he began to feel more and more worried. A sickly feeling was creeping up through his stomach into his throat. He had been gone to long, anything could had happen to her. For all he could know she could be gone. Dead. Alistair felt his chest cave in on itself, when he thought that. Falling down to his knee, his armors clanked together loudly, echoing off of the stone floor and walls.

A flicker of light, and a sudden shadow was casted over on top of him. Looking up he found himself staring up at a pair of tan, lean legs wearing a pair of expensive, leather boots. Raising his head higher, he saw the face of Zevran looking down at him, a sad looked on his face.

"Get up Alistair." He said, in his thick accent.

Scowling furiously, and breathing loudly Alistair looked back down at the ground.

"Get up." Zevran demanded.

"Leave me alone." Alistair said, he felt like a child, being scolded. He went to wipe his hands, but then realized he had on Cailan's large, golden gloves on.

Zevran ignored his childish remarked. "What would she do if she saw you like this, huh?" He stretched out one of his hands out, covered in the fingerless gloves. "It would kill her."

"Yeh, well it's killing me." Alistair grabbed on to his hand, and pushed himself up off the ground.

"I know. We all do." Zevran pushed his dirty blonde hair away from his face, revealing his big, elf ears. "You need rest Alistair."

"No. Not until I know what's going on." He shook his head.

"I know Alistair. But if you don't get some while you can, you might miss out on something yes?"

"Fine." Alistair said bitterly.

Noticing his tone, Zevran continued. "Leliana, Wynne, Sten and I have all volunteered ourselves to watch over the door, and get you if anything happens. If she wakes up though, you need to be ready for her yes?"

He remained silent, and merely began walking forward. Zevran joined him, and they walked in silence, the only sound was the echoing sound of Alistair's boots and the wisp
of Zevran's footsteps.

Several moments later, Alistair found himself in the same hallway as before. Zevran and him, stood back and allowed themselves to take in what they were seeing. Several healers were rushing in and out of the door, that was held open by a grey haired, women. Wynne saw the two of them, standing near the top of the staircase and quickly turned to one of the healers, and closed the door. She beckoned them over with one of her frail, old hands.

"Before you take your leave, one of the healers has a personal question about Elaine to ask, that only you would know as her betrothed. Then you will be lead to your room. I will have first shift, then Zevran if you need us." She spoke formally, but with the same glimmer of wisdom in her eyes that she has always had.

Alistair nodded again, and then turned to the healer standing next to Wynne. "A question about Elaine?"

"Oh yes, your Majesty. Perhaps you would like to speak more privately though." The healer said awkwardly.

Alistair glanced at Zevran and Wynne through the corner of his eye, and they took the hint and backed away from the two.

The healer stepped forward and asked in a hushed voice, "Your Majesty, is there any possibility that your betrothed is with child?"

"What?" Alistair blinked.

"Well, if she is with child our spells and potions will have to become very complicated."

"Umm," He did not know what to say. "No. No. Not that I am aware."

"Alright, thank you your Majesty." The healer bowed her head, and walked away.

Dumbfounded Alistair, turned to his friends standing off to the side they both had expressionless faces. Wynne went to speak but was interrupted by a skinny, elf maid.
"I will lead you to the master bedroom now, your Majesty."

"No. The closest bedroom to Elaine's room."

"Oh, of course, your Majesty. Right this way." The maid seemed taken a back by his tone, but she merely straightened her back, picked up her skirts and took the nearest corner. Alistair followed her down the hallway, but was stopped short outside the front of a small, decorative wooden door.

"This is a guest room, your Majesty. It is not as grand, but will serve it's purpose for you." Taking a small, golden key out of her apron, she unlocked the door with a click and turned the knob. The door swung open, revealing a room filled with a large, lavish carpet and tapestry. It looked similar to that of the room Elaine laid in, but the environment was completely different. A warm glow was casted from the lantern sitting next to the bed that sat in the middle of the room.

The door clicked softly behind him, leaving him alone in the soft glow and warm room. Alistair began stripping off his armor, and decided to leave it scattered across the floor. Standing in front of the mirror, Alistair looked at his reflection staring at his body. Black bruises, fresh scratches and old scars covered it completely. There was not one portion of his body that he could find that was some how not normal. Then he thought of what Elaine's body must look like, surely crumpled and torn.

Shaking the thought out of his head, Alistair climbed into the bed letting himself into the bed. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept in a real bed, never mind one with hand woven sheets and pillows. It felt as if he was floating. His eyelids suddenly felt heavy, and they closed continuously before they finally completely shut. And he fell into one of the deepest sleeps he had every had in his entire life, though it was riddled with fearsome dreams and realizations.