Chapter 3: The King's Problems

Who were you?

Since taking the throne, that question had entered Alistair's head many times, and so far he had yet to find a satisfactory answer. It came when he travelled the palace district, looking at the statues made long ago to honor his father. It came when he looked at the portraits, the many generations of Fereldan Kings, his kin. These portraits were hidden during the days of the Orlesian occupation, lest the usurper Meghren destroyed them all in a fit of pique…

They had survived of course, just as the blood of Calenhad had survived. The last to be made was of King Maric, and it was this one that always drew Alistair's attention.

Who were you, Your Majesty, he thought, staring up at the man's strong face, a face that held such a strong resemblance to his own.

It…it felt strange looking up into that face, knowing the legend, knowing what Maric had done. He had freed his people, brought Ferelden back to a place of honor in this world. The legend of Maric the Savior, the Rebel Prince was still spoken of with great respect and reverence.

Yes, but who were you? How did you see yourself? Were you always just the king…?

Or…were…were you also…did you also see me as your son…?

Did you ever imagine me calling you…Father?

Alistair stared up into those cold eyes, the same eyes that had looked upon the Orlesian usurper and ended him, the same eyes that had watched over Ferelden, guiding it with a strong yet gentle hand…

The young king frowned.

The same eyes that saw a serving girl in Redcliffe Castle, that found her desirable, or at least a decent distraction for the night, a liaison that resulted in him being here, an unwanted child, abandoned by his father, now thrust onto the very throne that that same father never wanted him to have.

Alistair shook his head.

It was hard to separate the legend from the man now, to see the flawed man who had once sat on Ferelden's throne. Too many great things had happened around him, after all that, it was easy to see how the flaws could be overlooked.

Maric's actions had forged modern Ferelden, but at the same time, nearly destroyed it as well. His disappearance almost six years ago now had set in motion the events that had eventually had led to the Fereldan Civil War. Few nobles believed that Maric would have fallen so easily into the trap that Teyrn Loghain had set for his son. Few believed that Loghain would have even dared attempt such a thing if Maric had still been sitting on the throne.

Maric had been both loved and feared. Had he still sat on Ferelden's throne, would Teyrn Loghain still have betrayed him? Would Maric of met the same end as his first born son, or would Loghain have remained true to his duty? Would he have fought for both his country and King?

It was hard to say, Maric and Loghain had been like brothers, or so many people still said. The Teyrn had stood at Cailan's side many times, protecting him, guiding him down the past to wisdom…

Ostagar had changed that.

Alistair moved passed the portrait of his father, pausing at the last empty alcove, the spot reserved for Cailan's portrait. It would soon find its way here, as Cailan Theirin passed into history, just as his legendary father did.

One day, the legend would be all that was left. None would speak of Cailan's flaws. His womanizing, his lack of commitment to the throne, his choice to face the darkspawn horde that not only outnumbered him, but…nearly doomed his country as well. All those flaws would be forgotten, he would forever be good King Cailan, martyred ruler of Ferelden, victim of the darkspawn horde.

Alistair knew little about the man his brother truly was, they had only met a handful of times at Ostagar, and never had words passed between them. Had Cailan known about him? Probably, but if he had, he clearly had never considered his half-brother a threat; the former Templar turned Grey Warden…

In the end, it had not mattered, Cailan was gone, and Alistair was left to clean up the mess he had left behind, to rebuild the country, and earn his peoples trust.

It was a nearly impossible task, and with Kallian gone, it would be even more so. Still, he had Eamon and Teagan at his side.

They would do what they could…

…Though he feared that that would not be enough.

He made his way to the throne room, dressed for court, his shirt, trousers, shone with wealth; his great cloak was colored a deep bright crimson.

It drug behind him as he walked, all it would take was one guard stepping just right, and the king would find himself flat on his back on the hard stone floor.

One day that would likely happen, he feared, a minor embarrassment further revealing just how far Ferelden's royal line had fallen. After the failure of his attempt to impress the young ladies of Thedas, it would be just another misstep, another log on the pyre of his kingly reign.

So far he had avoided being roasted on that particular spit, but it was only a matter of time, he feared.

It was simply a matter of time.

IOI

A few hours later, he retreated back to the royal apartments, his head spinning from the latest batch of problems that had been dropped on him by his loyal subjects.

Most of them were to be expected, what his chancellor had called the normal issues of the crown, he would deal with them the best he could, but it was unlikely he would be able to please everyone with his decisions.

The western nobles wanted troops to defend against possible Orlesian incursions.

The southern nobles wanted coin to help rebuild, and promises that the Dalish that Alistair had granted Ostagar would not start raiding their holdings.

The northern nobles wanted assurances that their taxes would not be raised to pay for the rebuilding in the south.

The eastern nobles, who had many allies in the south demanded that the north pay their fair share.

Problems, problems and more problems, Alistair thought with a sigh, and not a glimmer of hope for the end in sight.

He flopped back into a chair near the fireplace, the hearth burned brightly, but the chill of the old stones never seemed to leave this place, except when they chose to settle into his bones.

He once again pursed his lips in frustration, once again he asked himself if Kallian had made a mistake, if she had chosen poorly in elevating him to the rank of king?

On days like today, he wondered if it would not have been better had Anora Mac Tyr remained queen, if she would have better luck attempting to rebuild their damaged country.

Eamon would have said no, but he was hardly impartial. So he turned to the one person who he could trust, the one who had followed him back to his apartments. He could always count on her to speak plainly to him. After all, she was one who had also been elevated from nothing, just as he was.

She never disappointed him.

She never failed to speak the truth.

He needed that, no matter how much it hurt.

"Well," she began, "At least you did not start another war."

Alistair glared at her, but there was little heat in his eyes.

He needed at least someone to speak the truth to him, even it if wasn't very popular.

"True enough, Shianni," he replied, "True enough."

Bann Shianni of the Alienage was not your typical Fereldan noble; in fact she was likely like no other noble found in Thedas. First of all, she was an elf, pale skinned with short fiery red hair done up in tiny braids. She fidgeted in her court clothes, as uncomfortable in them as he was in his.

She was also Kallian's cousin. Sharing a blood tie to the Hero of Ferelden meant that few on the court questioned her elevation to the nobility. She was also a bit of a fire brand; there were few nobles on the court who had not been on the receiving end of one of her tirades.

Never had the elves of Ferelden had a voice on the royal court, Shianni intended to make up for that. She intended to improve her people's lot, and Alistair did nothing to stop her, in fact, he supported her openly.

It was a situation that had not made him terribly popular of late.

The Bann paced before the fire, still worked up after her latest dust up with Bann Esmerelle of Amaranthine. Shianni intended to see conditions improved for elves working on the docks of Amaranthine. Esmerelle was resisting her. If not for Eamon's intervention, the two women might have come to blows right in the throne room.

The sight had made Alistair chuckle.

He did not know if he should have been appalled, or prepared to place a bet.

Shianni had not attended the gathering of ladies that Eamon had sponsored; problems in the Denerim Alienage had prevented that, though she had heard the stories, just like everyone else.

Alistair sighed.

Shianni was not wrong, after his little…incident in the stables…

It was lucky that Ferelden was not facing the threat of a new war.

He half expected to discover that the girl he had encountered was the daughter of one of Empress Celene's favorite cousins, or perhaps a niece of the King of Nevarra. That her noble kin had decided to take up the cause of getting the young woman satisfaction….

…That they were prepared to see all of Ferelden pay for her embarrassment. Fortunately, for both him, and Ferelden, that had not happened, not that that had improved the night any.

If anything, it had likely gone from bad to worse.

The noble girls Eamon had assembled; they did not know what to make of Ferelden's new king. Cailan had been a known commodity to them. Alistair…well…

…He caught them all off guard.

Shianni gave him a concerned look.

"So," she began, "How bad was it?"

"It was…awkward," he said with a snort, "That is as good a word as any."

Her ears twitched with curiosity.

"Awkward, how?" she inquired.

Now he did chuckle.

"Weeeell," he began, "Chancellor Eamon had three young ladies lined up. Ladies he had hoped would do well if they became my queen."

"Sound's good so far," the elf shrugged.

Oh, you haven't heard the best part," he said, "What the Chancellor did not know was that two of the three were former mistresses of my brother, mistresses that did not like each other very much, one had been thrown off because of the other, and there was still a lot of bad blood there. They almost came to blows, right there on the dance floor. As for the third, well, the third was already engaged, but was more than willing to break it off should I choose to pursue her in a more…physically romantic fashion."

Shianni gave him a surprised look.

"She told you that?"

"Her father did actually," he answered, "He assured me that his daughter would do what was expected of her, and if I…needed proof on that, I should consider inviting his daughter back to my chambers."

Alistair blushed as he told her that last part.

"He was… confident, that his dearest child could fulfill my needs."

Shianni's reaction was quite telling on that last part.

"Ugh," the Bann replied, shaking her head, "What is wrong with some people? Are all shemlen nobles so touched?"

Alistair snorted at that.

"Touched is not the word I would use," he said.

"How about gross," Shianni offered.

"No," he said.

"Desperate?"

"Maybe."

"Lacking morals found even in the lowest of Mabari?"

"I don't…"

The lowest of the low, even among the highest…"

"Shianni?"

"Yes?"

The king shook his head.

"I get the point."

The elf snorted and resumed her pacing. Alistair watched her with an amused look. There were no romantic feelings between the two of them, but that did not mean that he did not care about her welfare. She was the only thing he had left of his poor lost Kallian.

He intended to do what was necessary to keep her safe.

It had taken time to get Shianni to open up to him. Kallian had told her a little about the two of them, but that had not been enough. The new Bann had a serious distrust of human nobles, considering what Kallian had told him about her failed wedding; it was not hard to guess why.

It had taken a bit of doing, but after all these months Shianni finally accepted the fact that he was nothing like the late unlamented Vaughan Kendals, the noble who had assaulted her almost two years ago. During their first couple of meetings, Shianni had been almost openly hostile to him, no doubt believing that he had some ulterior motive promoting her beyond honoring her late cousin's memory.

Shianni was stubborn, but that was no vice. He had worked hard to earn her respect, and now that he had, he could see why Kallian had trusted Shianni so much. She had the heart of a lion.

Her people would need that if they were to continue to find their way in his new Ferelden.

"It is important not to panic," she said, "After all, things could have gone worse."

He gave her an arched look.

"How?" he inquired.

"Besides dousing some girl in a mud puddle, you performed well according to the chancellor."

"That is the problem Shianni; I needed to perform more than well. There are more than a few people in Ferelden who no doubt think I don't deserve my father's throne. Those people are looking for any excuse to push the bastard prince off it; an alliance through marriage would have strengthened my position, but…"

Alistair leaned back in his chair. He hated to say it, but he feared that all of Eamon's work on his behalf was for naught. He was no closer to finding a queen than he had been before the whole affair. That was not good…

…Time was definitely not on his side.

As a grey warden, it would already be difficult for him to produce a child, the taint in his blood already made that quite difficult. The longer he waited the more unlikely his chances would become.

Shianni put her right hand to her lips, he had seen her do that before, usually when she some idea was taking shape in her mind.

"Do you have any ideas," he asked.

The elf turned to him.

"You could always accept an arranged marriage…that would likely make the chancellor and the court happy; who knows you might even find someone you actually like…"

Alistair frowned at that. It was a possibility, but the very idea of it made him feel ill. What noble would actually want to saddle his daughter with someone like him?

So what was the alternative then?

He sighed.

He was worried that there wasn't one.

"It is a possibility," he said, "Though I hope it isn't the only one."

Shianni nodded, but said no more, likely trying to think of what to do next.

He needed a way to turn this all around.

The nobles had all feared that his bloodline had died with Cailan, if Alistair did nothing that is exactly what would happen. Still he was not quite ready to simply lay back and accept an arranged marriage, a marriage that might not even give him the heir his country needed.

He needed to come up with a plan, and fast.

No doubt word of his abysmal behavior towards the ladies at his latest function was already spreading throughout noble circles. He might have the crown, but feared that he might lose the respect of his vassals, if that happened, any chance of an alliance might dry up. He needed to do something to stop that before it got worse.

He needed to show that he was capable of kingly virtues, even though he was not sure what that meant.

In his mind he could almost see Kallian glaring at him, she had done that often during their journey against the Blight; he felt he was missing something, but…

Shianni blinked, and then a smile came across her face.

"Wait, the girl," she said.

"What girl?"

"The girl at the stables, what was her name?"

Alistair blinked.

"We did not get a chance to exchange names; being covered in mud will do that to you."

Shianni's ears twitched.

"You said you have heard nothing from the girl's family, right?"

"That is a good thing, Shianni that means I did not insult some high noble with my blundering."

The elven Bann smirked.

"I think you need to find that girl."

"Why? I…don't think…"

Alistair's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not going to punish her Shianni. I bumped into her; she doesn't deserve to be punished so that I can play the strong king."

"I don't think you should punish her," the elf answered, "Having been on the business end of royal outrage, I…I would..."

She did not finish that sentence, she did not need to.

Again Alistair felt like a fool.

Once again he had put his mouth into his foot.

"I think," she continued, "that you should apologize to the girl."

"I doubt she would accept."

"Oh she would, of course she would, what girl would not be flattered by king apologizing for something that might have been her fault as much as his."

Alistair considered that.

The girl would not have been invited if she did not have at least some noble support. If Alistair got on her family's good side, that might go a long way in silencing some of his detractors.

Not to mention the fact that it would take some of the strain off his conscience. He had not intended to harm anyone that night.

Apologizing would go a long way towards doing that.

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.

He would summon the girl to court, and formally apologize. He would appear the bigger man, and girl's family would gain prestige by his act.

Both sides would win.

He smiled slightly.

Now he just needed to find her.

He turned to Shianni.

"I don't suppose the elven servants helped a girl covered in mud the day of the party?"

"They probably did," she answered.

"I don't suppose they might have gotten her name?"

"They might have," Shianni chuckled, "But why do you suppose they would share that information with you."

"Well…I am king…sort of."

The Bann smirked.

"I'll see what I can do."