Chapter 4

"To all appearances, he was a hedge wizard hailing from the Frostbacks, perhaps Alamarri—but from the wild lands if so. Venerable, certainly worthy of respect, but not commanding it. When he stormed into my master's feasthall and offered his service in a resounding voice, there was laughter at his audacity. Several bondsmen offered to remove the miscreant, but before they could grab him the mage lifted his staff and the bondsmen fell to the ground. Each time they stood, they slipped again, and their antics were met with laughter. Arl Tenedor the Elder, who was not long for this world, demanded to know who this arrogant invader was."

—excerpt from The Recollections of Ser Devith, banner knight of King Calenhad

Malcolm

When they reached the edge of the field where the Battle of Highever had taken place, there were far more dead still being collected than they had imagined. Before Teyrna Cauthrien had arrived with the army to swing the balance to Ferelden's favor, the soldiers of Highever and its bannorns, along with the Royal Guards left to help, had sustained heavy losses. Even the flanking army under Cauthrien hadn't been able to avoid significant casualties. As for the templar army, Malcolm couldn't imagine there to be more survivors than he saw bodies on the field.

Bodies that were still being gathered by special details to be burned on proper pyres, as custom for Andrastians. At least half the Templar bodies were already partially burned. Malcolm couldn't fathom why. Wynne would've been healing, not fighting, and even if she were pressed into battle out of dire need, her magic wasn't strong enough to wreak this kind of devastation. Had the winning side started burning the enemy bodies where they'd fallen and then thought better of it halfway through?

When the captain of the Royal Guard met them at the outskirts of the battlefield, it was the first topic Malcolm asked about. "What burned all those templars?"

Captain Somerled looked skeptically to the sky, as if still disbelieving the answer he would give. "A dragon, Your Highness." The Royal Guards, Malcolm had forgotten, were very adamant about using proper titles.

"Dragon?" asked Alistair. "I thought we'd killed it."

"Wouldn't be the first time something we supposedly killed came back to life. The dead don't stay dead around here." Malcolm had a sneaking suspicion about the identity of the dragon.

Somerled gave Malcolm a dubious look before addressing Alistair. "Wasn't the half-tailed dragon, Your Majesty. Was a new one that flew on over the Waking Sea then swooped down and burned nearly all the templars. Never heard such screams. And then, just like that, it flew away."

"Huh," said Alistair. "I guess all swooping isn't bad."

Malcolm gave Líadan a triumphant grin. "Flemeth does like us!"

"Or she just hates templars more," said Hildur. "She is a mage, so it's hard to tell."

Sigrun frowned. "I thought Flemeth was a dragon."

"Only sometimes," said Malcolm. "And I thought you were over your thing with dragons. You got to fight one, didn't you?"

"No." She scowled up at the sky. "We didn't get to Highever from the Vigil until the soldiers and the Dalish had already killed it."

He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry. With the way things have been going, we're sure to come across another one within the next couple of years."

Somerled cleared his throat to interrupt the Wardens—something he was well familiar with after the winter in Denerim. "We should get back to the castle, ser. The Queen is awaiting your arrival, as is Teyrn Fergus." When that didn't seem to motivate the Wardens still distracted by the battlefield, he said, "Dinner is also waiting. I believe it's both fresh, and if you get there quickly enough, hot."

"Bless you, Somerled," said Alistair.

"It's the cooks you should bless, ser."

The retinue skirted around the field of the dead, keeping a respectful silence as they did, and headed for the half-destroyed Highever Castle. After they passed through the barbican in the other wall, they found Anora and Fergus standing side by side outside the entrance to the keep. Fergus' presence, Malcolm understood. When matters were urgent or the separation from friends and family long, his impatience drove him to wait outside because he couldn't stand to be inside. Anora, however, Malcolm knew usually had far more patience, or at least had better control over how she outwardly reacted to her impatience.

The reason became clear when he saw more than a trace of a smile grace her lips when she caught sight of an alive and well Alistair.

"You don't have to look so shocked," Líadan whispered to him. "She has grown rather fond of him." Then she indicated toward them with her head, where Alistair had returned the smile with an ear-to-ear grin. "And I believe Alistair feels the same."

Malcolm smiled. "Good for them. They deserve it after all that's happened."

Fergus stepped forward, wearing a grin much like the king's. Then he wrapped his brother in a hug, let him go, and did the same with Líadan. "It's good to see you both alive and all those other nice things."

Yet even through Fergus' good cheer, Malcolm could see a haunting in his eyes. So things were not as they were originally reported. "How bad?" he asked.

"Worse than you were told." Fergus' voice fell to a near-whisper. "Had Cauthrien not shown up when she had, the walls would've been overrun not long after. Sten informed us afterward that we'd had minutes at best before our defenses would've been breached. As it is, we lost a third of the Royal Guard, half the Highever guards, and the banns are still accounting for their own men." He clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. "Come. We'll give everyone the full report inside, over food and drink. Maybe especially drink."

The group walked inside, Oisín staying outside to help direct the Ra'asiel to set up in the space the seneschal had set aside for them within the outer walls. Malcolm suspected it would be mostly out of sight, for the benefit of the Dalish and their need for privacy, probably near the cliffs next to the sea.

Lanaya accompanied the humans, presumably to get the same report about the current state of northern Ferelden as the King and the Wardens. She would certainly require the information in order to decide where it would be best for her clan to go, and when. Panowen and Ariane went in as well, for more than obvious reasons. Once most of the group had passed through the entrance, Anora waited until Malcolm and Líadan approached. She gave Malcolm a small smile and nod in greeting, and then shockingly gave Líadan a quick hug—a greeting for a friend that Malcolm hadn't expected to be so public. Then again, the outer yard was almost deserted, with the servants and grooms too busy with other tasks to be loitering. Plus, Malcolm wasn't even sure if Highever had a full complement after the attack from the rampaging dragon, followed quickly by the battle with the Orlesian templars.

Fergus led them to the smaller family dining hall, presumably to keep the rest of the household's dinner from being interrupted by the entrance of the king and queen. With the size of their group, the room would be close to bursting, but privacy was a necessity for the Wardens' report, especially so where Morrigan and Flemeth were concerned. They found the room's long, polished wooden table set, along with a few bustling servants. Malcolm made eye contact with Fergus and raised an eyebrow. He hoped their dining needs hadn't shorted the staff needed in the main hall.

As the rest of the group filed into the room, Fergus fell back to speak with Malcolm. "Almost all of the household staff survived both attacks, thank the Maker. We had one death—the journeyman smith Wade had taken on. He was running a new shield up to one of the knights when he was crushed by a collapsing wall. Wade, you should know, is also very upset at the loss of the most promising journeyman he'd ever employed."

"Did he leave behind any family?"

"We're still making inquiries. It's been difficult in the chaos. Hopefully, if there's anyone, we'll be able to locate them so they're provided for."

It was exactly something Bryce Cousland would have said and done. It warmed Malcolm to hear the same from Fergus. "Father would have done the same."

"I know." Fergus seemed to hold in another sigh, and then glanced down the empty hallway, almost wistfully. "Sometimes, I just really wish he were here and teyrn again."

"You've done well, despite the challenges. He'd be proud."

"I still miss him. Seeing his face, having him around, it was such a reassurance that everything would turn out fine. Of course, it didn't, not for him or... the rest of them. There are times I wish Howe could be executed again, and then I think I'm becoming like him to feel such things. It isn't the Highever way. It's not the Cousland way."

Fergus had to be the farthest thing from Rendon Howe in existence, except for maybe kittens and puppies. "It isn't like you're trying to find his ashes to resurrect them so you can have him killed again. That's way more his level of nastiness. You, you just want justice to fill the hole he ripped in your life, when it's something you can never entirely replace, only mend."

"Yes, I suppose. I'm..." He gave in and sighed. "I'm going to have to remarry soon. Once Highever is closer to normal, the castle rebuilt, I'll have to start searching. I don't look forward to it, but I don't want the Cousland line to end with me."

"I don't envy you." Malcolm at least had Alistair, so he wasn't the very last of his line. And with the addition of Cáel, the Theirin line seemed in almost decent shape for once. The throne would be another matter, though. Alistair and Anora really needed to have an heir of their own, because almost the last thing Malcolm wanted for his son would be to become king. The only other thing he wanted even less for his son was to be a mage. Not because magic frightened him or he thought it was evil, but that other people, namely the very powerful Chantry, did believe such things. He never wanted to face the choice of handing his child over to the Chantry, nor could he imagine himself doing so. Not after seeing the state of the Circle of Magi at Kinloch Hold during the Blight. Then again, he couldn't allow what happened at Redcliffe to happen again, either. There had to be a better way. At least, if he ever had to face that choice, he had a few years before Cáel would show any signs of magic. Meanwhile, he fervently hoped that Morrigan's prediction that Cáel would not be a mage would come true.

Fergus put an arm around Malcolm's shoulder. "All right, enough moping with both of us. You've got to be hungry, and you don't want the other Wardens eating your share."

"Where's Teyrna Cauthrien?" Malcolm asked as they moved into the dining hall.

"Sorting out the makeshift camp for the prisoners. It's taken her longer than she estimated. She'll be disappointed at missing everyone's arrival. Also for missing a hot meal."

He wondered just how many templar prisoners they had with needing a camp for them instead of using Highever's scant dungeons. However, Alistair and Anora needed that information as well, so it was best to hold his more detailed questions until they could hear the answers. Inside the room, they found the Wardens had ignored proper protocol, as usual, and had started eating before the lord of the manor began himself. Which, Malcolm knew, Fergus had expected and didn't care much for—another reason for eating in the small dining hall instead of the main one, where protocol had to be followed.

Líadan smiled warmly at him when he walked in, and motioned toward the empty seat next to her. After his saved seat was Panowen, deftly wrangling Cáel while eating her dinner, making the entire process look incredibly easy. Behind her, almost in an unobtrusive corner, Ariane had Panowen's daughter, Elin, but she looked almost surly about it, which was unusual. The Dalish hunter, even though her duty was more bodyguard than nursemaid, hadn't yet seemed to mind watching either child. Thus far, she'd even looked to enjoy it, for the most part. She had also eaten before they'd arrived at the battlefield, saying it would be easier to pay attention to guard duties while not also being hungry. Next to Panowen was Anora, which took Malcolm by surprise. Then he saw how she kept interacting with Cáel, and understanding replaced the surprise.

When Malcolm went to sit down, Anora smiled at him again, and if he wasn't mistaken, he saw a hint of mischief in her eyes. "So I see you got to meet him. Good. We will speak on more official matters regarding him later, I presume. Perhaps tomorrow. Everyone will need to get rest tonight after a journey such as yours."

As Fergus started to sit, he looked from the babe Panowen held, to Malcolm, to Anora, and back to Malcolm again. "Who did you get to meet?"

Oghren managed to answer before anyone else could, including Malcolm and an overly enthusiastic Alistair. "Little blighter had another little blighter with that witchy-type. Then she dumped the nuglet on him and the elf before taking off to parts unknown. Heh. Parts." With that, he went back to devouring his meal.

"Really?" asked Fergus.

"Really," said Alistair, motioning toward Cáel. "We're uncles!"

Fergus, a grin slowly spreading on his face, abandoned his attempt at sitting to walk over and pull Malcolm into a hug. "That's wonderful!" He let go of his foster brother and turned to Panowen. "And this is my nephew?"

"His name is Cáel." Panowen studied Fergus for a moment, apparently seeing the same longing and wistfulness that Malcolm saw, and then asked, "Would you like to hold him?"

"Please."

Panowen carefully deposited the infant in Fergus' waiting arms and resumed eating her food—a little faster than before, Malcolm noticed. He really needed to take notes on her technique so he could do the same when handling Cáel. Fergus held the child with practiced ease, and Malcolm easily saw just how much Fergus missed his own son. Then, taking the cue from Panowen, Malcolm ate while he had the chance. Soon enough, Fergus relinquished Cáel, told Malcolm he'd have to explain specifics later, and then went back to his dinner, as well as discussing what had happened at Highever while the rest of them had been in Drake's Fall.

"There are over hundred templar prisoners," Fergus said, going back to the subject Malcolm had inadvertently brought up earlier. "That's where Cauthrien is right now instead of meeting you lot, like the rest of us did. "She's getting a full accounting of their numbers tonight, I believe. Or was intending to. It'll depend on how organized she can get things."

"I imagine she is determined to finish the organization tonight, and that is why she's been gone so long," said Anora. "Cauthrien cannot abide disorganization."

"I would like to tour the camp and see the prisoners tomorrow," said Alistair.

"As would I," said Hildur.

Anora turned to her. "I've been meaning to ask where Nathaniel is. I noticed he did not return with the rest of you."

Hildur sighed. "Malcolm lost him."

"I did not. He followed Morrigan to... wherever it was she went."

"See?" said Hildur. "Lost him."

"Arlathan," said Lanaya, taking pity on Malcolm. She then explained, for the most part, how Morrigan had left Thedas, where she was, and how she would not be coming back for some time, possibly ever. Alistair jumped in and recounted the rest of what happened at Drake's Fall. Teyrna Cauthrien entered halfway through the retelling, quietly sliding into a chair close to the door. Tiredness showed in how heavily she sat, along with the smudges under her eyes, yet she seemed satisfied. When Alistair acknowledged her presence, she asked him to please continue his report before she gave hers.

Anora took the entire explanation with remarkable aplomb, understanding it all without needing to ask questions. Then she looked to Hildur again. "Will you be staying on as Warden Commander, considering Nathaniel's disappearance?"

"I will be staying, yes. We haven't a suitable replacement among the Wardens left to us, and the Fereldan Wardens could stand for a bit of stability when it comes to its command. I'm sure the First Warden will agree with my assessment." Hildur folded her hands in front of her on the table, her plate already taken away by one of the servants. "What does concern me at the moment is Ferelden's stability as a country."

Alistair indicated for Cauthrien to answer, who stood to give her report, despite her tiredness. "Our losses were heavy, even though we caught the templars by surprise from the rear." Oghren chuckled, and Cauthrien stopped speaking to fire a glare at him. He managed to smother his chuckles and motion for her to continue. "Between the slow recovery after the Blight, and this latest large-scale battle, our army is weak, far weaker than I or any other Fereldan would like. Our navy remains strong, but it has never been large. If we are challenged, we cannot stand, not for long. Our only hope is that the other countries in Thedas, as well as the Divine, turn to other matters and leave Ferelden alone."

"You'd think they'd be nice to us just because we managed to stop a Blight," said Alistair.

Malcolm sat back in his chair so he could cross his arms. "Amazing how quickly it seems to slip everyone's mind."

Anora turned matters back to Cauthrien. "I assume from your countenance that the prisoners' camp is organized?"

She nodded. "Yes. We still wait on the King's decision on what to do with the prisoners, but they are now provided with shelter, and what food we can spare. The Highever chantry was able to supply them with enough lyrium to provide for half-rations until the templars from Kinloch Hold are able to bring more. They are also quite secure and should not be able to escape into the countryside."

"I can't imagine them receiving a warm welcome from the resident Fereldans if they did manage to escape. Even if they made it to a chantry, I highly doubt they'd be welcome with open arms," said Alistair.

Fergus chuckled. "Not in Highever, that's for sure." He considered Cauthrien for a moment, and then looked at the Wardens and Dalish seated at the table before returning to Alistair. "Do you think we could hold off any other reports and preparations until everyone's had a good night's rest?"

"I think that would be wise," said Alistair.

"We do have one more issue to address before we can retire." Anora looked over at Cáel, who was currently being held by Líadan, and then returned her gaze to Alistair. "Cáel will need a guard."

That brought Ariane to her feet, Elin having been passed to Panowen some time ago. "I am his guard."

"He is a prince," said Anora, unperturbed by Ariane's aggressive posture. "Protocol dictates that he require a Royal Guard assigned to his person."

Ariane's posture did not relax, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "I don't care about human protocol. The Dalish will always protect him. I am his guard."

Malcolm had assumed, in the long term, that particular job was going to fall to Líadan, but he wasn't going to question Ariane. Not with her in this sort of mood. He liked having his head attached to his neck, thank you very much.

"You do realize you're guarding a human, right?" asked Alistair, either oblivious or uncaring of the danger an angered Dalish presented. Líadan made several gestures with her free hand for the King to shut up, but he ignored them and plowed onward. "It isn't like he should be that important to you."

Ariane's dark glare moved to the King as she crossed her arms, as if making sure she didn't draw her weapon. "You would not understand."

"Do you seek to replace Ariane or add an additional guard?" asked Lanaya.

Thank the Maker for her and her diplomacy, Malcolm thought.

Alistair's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Additional guard. Why would anyone want to replace such a determined guard?"

"I do not require assistance," said Ariane.

Líadan smacked her forehead with her free hand and muttered, "And I thought I could be a pain in the ass. She wasn't like this in Drake's Fall. She used to be reasonable."

"Two guards are better than one, are they not?" Lanaya asked Ariane.

For a moment, it seemed Ariane would object to even that, but she grumbled under her breath, and then relented. "You make a good argument, Keeper."

Panowen stood. "I must get to my room and prepare for the night." She looked to Fergus. "I assume that I will be provided a room close to Malcolm?"

Malcolm nearly laughed when he realized the Dalish never used his Fereldan title, which was entirely fine with him.

"Yes," said Fergus. He motioned toward the seneschal, Robert, who had appeared along with Captain Somerled during the argument with Ariane. "Please make sure Panowen and Ariane are installed nearest Malcolm's room."

Robert nodded, and then indicated for the two Dalish women to follow him. Panowen continued carrying Elin, and Ariane attempted to pluck Cáel out of Líadan's arms. Líadan gave her fellow Dalish a glare of her own, communicating quite clearly that she was Dalish as much as Ariane, and would not be treated like Ariane wanted to treat the humans. Ariane's expression softened just enough to seem a little apologetic to Líadan, and only then did she hand over Cáel. Lanaya seemed discomfited with how things had turned out, quickly nodded to the others, and followed the other two elves out.

When they had exited the room, Fergus turned to Líadan and asked, "Is she always like that?"

"Not from what I saw before," she said.

Anora turned to Somerled. "Who would be best assigned to guard the prince?"

The captain squinted in thought. "Kennard, I believe, might be the best match."

"In ability to deal with Ariane or ability to work with and guard children?"

Somerled smiled, having already caught on. "Both, Your Majesty."

"We should just assign one of the Antivans," said Alistair. "Baltasar would make a wonderful nursemaid, in my opinion. Also as deadly as a Dalish hunter."

Malcolm snorted.

"I do not think that would be appropriate," said Anora.

"Too bad," said Alistair. "I would've loved to see Ariane's face with that one."

Cauthrien went to reply, but a huge yawn caught her right as she opened her mouth. She blinked in surprise. "I apologize."

Alistair waved her off. "No need to apologize. You're exhausted. Everyone is." He stood up. "My royal order is for everyone to relax and rest for the rest of the night. Now go."

As if Alistair would take back his order, the Wardens quickly fled the dining all for other parts of the castle. Malcolm and Líadan escaped with them, slowly walking toward his room. Their room, he realized, with her presence there never having been questioned, not once. It was a nice change. Their belongings had already been taken to the room, and he was thrilled to see that servants had already brought up the bath and filled it with steaming water.

"Creators bless Fergus," Líadan said. "I feel like I'm encrusted with dirt." Then she went to her pack.

A bath. With someone else. With no interruptions. Things were looking up.

He glanced over at Líadan, who had dragged her clothing out of her pack and was studying them.

She noticed his attention. "What?"

He indicated the bath.

"Finding something clean to change into afterward will be a challenge," she said. To emphasize, she kicked at the clothes she had scattered on the floor.

"We could make that a non-issue."

Líadan lifted an eyebrow.

"Considering the last time we were in this room post-bath, you'd think we could possibly continue what was rudely interrupted by a dwarf who shall go unnamed," he said.

"You know, that's not such a bad idea." She considered Malcolm, the tub, and slowly went back to him. "I'm game."

He grinned, happy at her agreement, and also happy to see her more her normal self instead of how she'd been in the mountains. Yet, as soon as armor was blessedly off, and clothing following, there was a commotion outside. It started softly at first, and was easily ignored, then it quickly escalated to shouting, and judging from the accompanying noises, perhaps worse. Clothes were tossed back on before they opened the door.

They found Ariane glaring at the poor newly assigned guard, who, on his part, did a decent job of mostly masking his cower. The Royal Guard—Kennard, Malcolm remembered—glanced over at Malcolm as soon as the door opened. "Your Highness, I'm afraid I've not been allowed to carry out my duty."

"It is not your duty," Ariane said.

Malcolm held in a sigh, because he knew it would only anger Ariane further. "I thought you agreed to this earlier?"

Her glare moved straight to him. "I conceded a point to my Keeper. I did not agree to the addition of a human guard. If any of you were confused, it is not my fault."

"It isn't like he'll interfere with what you need to do." Malcolm was impressed with his ability to remain calm and thus far not frightened. He decided it had to do with lots of practice with Líadan and her temper. "You could even pretend he isn't there."

Ariane didn't seem convinced, yet she didn't object.

"You aren't going to be his only guard," said Líadan, taking advantage of the other woman's silence. "His father is a Grey Warden. I agreed to be his mother, and I'm a Grey Warden, as well as a trained Dalish hunter. Panowen is no slouch in Andruil's arts herself. He also has two mabari wardogs who would protect him with their lives. Sooner or later, you're going to have to relent and agree to sharing your duty. It's shared already, whether you see it or not. You can yell and protest, or you can accept it and continue to do the task Morrigan left to you."

"When Lanaya mentioned to me that Marethari had asked you to be her First, I did not understand. I see it now." Ariane nodded, more to herself than the others present. "Very well. I will... allow... this human guard's presence."

"My thanks," said Kennard.

"You say that now," Malcolm said under his breath. Líadan elbowed him in the ribs.

"You stay outside and guard the door," Ariane said to Kennard. "I will remain inside when Cáel is in the room."

Kennard seemed about to object, even raising a hand to get Ariane's attention.

"She's in charge," said Malcolm. "Do what she says."

"Yes, ser." After forcing a scowl from his face, Kennard took up a position to the side of Panowen's door. Ariane nodded once at him, and then stalked into the room.

Líadan started for the room she shared with Malcolm, him following. Right before she stepped through the door, she spun to face him. "The bath will be cold."

He frowned. Yes, yes it would be.

"Maybe you should see about getting it refilled. Also, more food." She reached out and ran her fingers along his jaw. "And then other things."

"On it." Then he kissed her quickly before heading down the hallway, focused on his new mission. He found the servants first, and begged them for new bathwater, using all his charms to keep them from getting frustrated. Hauling water wasn't exactly the easiest chore. They agreed, and then he was off to the kitchens. There, he managed to weasel a couple loaves of bread leftover from the morning's baking, as well as a few hunks of cheese. After stuffing his haul into a small cloth sack, he picked a little-used route so he wouldn't be delayed in returning to the room. It had been a while since it was just the two of them, and he really missed that connection, other parts of the experience aside.

Malcolm skidded to a halt when he turned the corner of the corridor to find both his brothers standing to block it. As it was, he barely kept himself from barreling straight into them. As soon as Malcolm was within their sight, they both crossed their arms.

This can't be good.

Malcolm did an about face, but found Fergus in the way. Since when was he that fast?

Said brother took him by the elbow and led him to the side of the hallway, mostly out of the way if a servant came by. Lucky for them, this was one of the least traveled routes in the keep, which wasn't so lucky for Malcolm.

"Funny story," said Alistair as he leaned against the stone wall with a deceptive casualness. "Here I was, talking to Lanaya about why Ariane seemed rather..."

"Prickly," said Fergus, still blocking Malcolm's avenue of escape.

Alistair nodded at him. "Right, prickly. Anyway, Lanaya tells me about Oisín having brought Ariane a gift—an illuminated script of a Dalish story, to be exact—essentially asking permission to bond with her. Well, he gave it to Lanaya first, who then told him to give it to Ariane, but you know what I mean."

Malcolm went to interrupt before it got too far, but Alistair waved him off.

"No, wait, there's more. So I'm telling Fergus about it, since he was curious as to the whys of the prickly Ariane as well, and he mentions to me about this bow you and Master Ilen happened to have made for Líadan that you gave to Fergus for safekeeping before we went to Drake's Fall."

Malcolm's interruption was waved off again.

"Let me finish," said Alistair. "Then Fergus tells me that you mentioned Ilen having given you permission for something. And there I stood, wondering what in the Maker's creation that permission was for. Care to shed a little light on the matter?"

Malcolm then realized that it wasn't Marethari who was the member of the Mahariel clan one would truly go to for permission to bond with Líadan—Fenarel's actions aside—it was Master Ilen. The man himself had said Líadan's parents had been his closest friends. And in Malcolm's last conversation with him, Ilen's approval had been more than clear, provided that one had been entirely open to hearing it. However, all he managed to say out loud was an inauspicious, "Um..."

"Out with it, little brother," said Fergus.

He didn't want to discuss it because no matter how much he might want it, it couldn't happen. Not in the world they lived in. Not with the differences of Dalish elf and human prince. For either of them to get their hopes on it would be a setup for them to be dashed. "It doesn't matter—"

"Yes, it does," said Alistair. "You heard Hildur. And besides that, as your brothers, we want to see you happy."

Fergus nodded his agreement at Alistair, and then went back to Malcolm. "And Líadan is like a sister to us now, elf or not, and we want to see her happy as well."

"We can't—"

"Stop saying you can't. I'm the king of this Maker-forsaken country, which means I should be able to bend some rules somewhere to make friends and family and my people happy if I can. Things between myself and Anora are turning out all right, but we all know, including her, that it could've gone very sour very quickly. I agreed to marry Anora partly to give you the freedom to be happy. So you need to step up and make it happen."

"I—"

"If you say 'can't' or 'doesn't' or anything of that sort, I will use force, brother or no," said Alistair.

"That's standard for brothers, actually," said Fergus.

Malcolm drew a hand down his face. "Neither of you heard anything that she's said about bonding or marrying, okay? I have. She told me that because she's an elf, it can't happen."

"That's because she's convinced herself it can't, just like you have," said Fergus.

"And you said 'can't' after I warned you," said Alistair. He stepped forward, and Malcolm took a step backward to compensate for the closing distance between the two of them, but he bumped into Fergus, who hadn't moved. "What works best on him?" Alistair asked Fergus.

"Headlock."

Malcolm turned his head to look at his foster brother. "What? No! What are we, twelve?" He turned back to Alistair just in time to see him reaching out to employ said headlock. Malcolm tried to duck it, but Alistair had gotten too close. He grabbed Malcolm by the shoulders, sending the cloth sack with bread and cheese to the floor, twisted him around as he struggled, and brought him into the promised headlock. "Come on, this is ridiculous," Malcolm said as he pulled at Alistair's arms. If he really wanted to escape, he was fairly certain he could, but it would require a force that would hurt one or both of them. It wouldn't do to have the king and his brother walking around bruised and bloodied.

Then again, if this went on for long enough, it might be worth it. He clawed at Alistair's arms again, and then tried to maneuver his shoulder for leverage.

Alistair adjusted his grip, negating any advances Malcolm made. "Nope, I know that trick. Look, all you have to do is agree to ask Líadan to bond with you. You know what? I won't even demand you do that—just give her the bow." He managed to sound magnanimous as he gave a concession that wasn't even a real concession.

"Giving her the bow is asking her to bond with me. Nice try."

"Well, that's the goal, in case you haven't caught on," said Fergus. "I bet Keeper Lanaya would even agree to perform the ceremony if we asked."

"Doesn't matter, because I'm not asking," said Malcolm. He wouldn't do that to them. Her words on the matter that she'd spoken to him in the Planasene Forest had been very clear. Human. Dalish. Not possible. He repeated what she'd said to his brothers. "So there's no point."

Alistair huffed. "You're an idiot if you think that opinion still stands. If you were in the Planasene like you said, then she hadn't even visited her clan yet. None of the stuff that happened afterward—telling them the Wardens are her clan, letting her clan know she was with you, turning down that other elf, what was his name?"

"Fenarel," said Malcolm, and just saying the name set his teeth on edge.

"Right, Fenarel. Anyway, all that stuff happened after. And Master Ilen would've had to have given you the bow sometime in that mess. When did he give it to you?"

"Toward the end of the visit." Malcolm figured if he kept answering questions, he could use the conversation as a distraction to get himself out of Alistair's grip. He carefully changed the positioning of his feet in preparation to try to throw his brother, hopefully without hurting him. Much.

"So, after he found out about you and Líadan," said Fergus.

"Technically, I suppose. But he'd figured it out on his own before that. And had it confirmed when I admitted to his face that I loved her." Maker, he'd been convinced Ilen would kill him for just saying that, but the man had found it amusing instead.

"And he didn't kill you?" asked Alistair.

"Actually, he did. He totally did and I'm undead and walking around and everything." With that, Malcolm shifted his weight and went for the throw. He managed to tip both of them off balance, sending them tumbling to the floor. They rolled and jumped to their feet, but before Malcolm could get a breath, Alistair tackled him. Then, to add insult to injury, he sat on him to keep him from getting up or struggling.

"This'll do," said Alistair. "You're too squirmy, otherwise."

Malcolm lifted his head to glare at Alistair. "I hate you."

"If only you'd admitted I was taller."

"You aren't taller. I do think you're heavier, though. All that fancy food at the palace, I think. Oof."

Alistair ruffled his hair. "Aw, look at you all grumpy in your little no-win situation."

Footsteps sounded on the paving stones down the hall. "Company," said Fergus.

"They can gawk all they want," said Alistair, pretending to make himself comfortable from his seat on Malcolm's chest. "I'm not moving until he gives in."

The footsteps grew louder, and then they all heard a sigh. The sigh was followed by a brief silence, and then footsteps walking away. Malcolm, craning his head upward as far as it could go, was able to make out Anora's form. Damn. She might have saved him. He frowned. Or helped his brothers. There was no telling with her at times.

"All right, Malcolm," said Alistair. "You can capitulate anytime now."

"Nice word. You learn that in the Chantry?" Malcolm asked.

"No changing the subject. And yes, I did. But this is about you. Well, you and Líadan. Anyway. You promise to ask her sometime soon and I'll let you up."

Soon? Soon could be made subjective, Malcolm was sure of it. "Okay."

Alistair started getting up, but Fergus said, "Wait! Wait. He's wily. You need to be more specific with the time frame or he'll just redefine the word 'soon' to suit him." That sent Alistair right back down, trapping Malcolm once again.

"And they say I'm a bastard," Malcolm said to Fergus.

Alistair grumbled. "Come on, this is stupid. Just agree to ask. Besides, Morrigan asked her to be a mother to your son, and she agreed to it. She isn't going anywhere. She really doesn't have a reason to say no."

Fergus sighed, and his countenance became somewhat serious. "She really asked that of her? And she agreed?"

"Without any argument at all," said Alistair.

Malcolm let his head drop back to the floor, wincing a bit when it smacked softly against the stone. "How are you two so convinced that she'll agree to it when she's told me otherwise?" He wished he felt the same conviction they did. If he knew it wasn't hopeless for either of them, he would ask. But after seeing the turmoil before she'd visited her clan, it didn't seem wise.

Alistair shrugged. "We have our sources. So are you going to agree, or is this going to be an all night thing? Because I'd like to go spend some time with my wife, believe it or not. It's been a while."

"What? I don't want to hear about that! Keep that to yourself. You're my brother and Anora is like a sister and ugh. I will never get those images out of my head."

"You may have stumbled on a way to break him, Alistair," said Fergus.

"Oh?" Alistair's eyes lit up. "I suppose I could go on. I mean it's been ages since—"

"Stop! Stop! All right, I'll do it. There. You happy?"

Alistair didn't budge. "Need a when. You know what, I'll tell you when—if you haven't asked within the next three days, we'll have another little chat like this. And for that chat, we'll bring Oghren and Sten. Oh, and maybe we can get Wynne. She'll just guilt you into it."

"Fine."

"We want your word," said Fergus.

Malcolm muttered a few invectives under his breath. Fergus knew him far too well. "You have my word. Now can you please let me up? Breathing is starting to become difficult."

Fergus nodded. "The bow is in the cupboard in my study. Key's in my desk drawer."

Alistair, now smiling, jumped up, and then helped Malcolm to his feet. "Glad to see you came to your senses." Then he noticed the sack that'd gotten knocked out of Malcolm's hand and picked it up. "Cheese!" he said when he opened it. "I'll take this." He gave Malcolm a pat on the shoulder. "Have a good night." With that, he and Fergus strolled away, leaving Malcolm to stare after them.