"Papa, is that bow for me?" Rowan leans over the edge of his bed, eyes wide in the sunlight streaming through the window. His bright gaze is trained on the small bow in Alistair's hands, the note tied to the wood swinging back and forth.

I thought it might be alright for him to be allowed to try, at least. The Crows always emphasized trying. It might be good for him, who knows? If not, it will make a fabulous wall decoration. Tell him I send greetings from Antiva! The weather is lovely.

-Z

Alistair smiles and shakes his head, glancing at Elissa out of the corner of her eye with a look that says Zevran… She returns the smile and nods, shrugging helplessly. The elf is his own person. Far be it from her to try to control him.

Pulling on the note's string gently, it falls into her hand, where she folds it and tucks it into the pocket of her dress. She nods at Alistair, who moves closer to Rowan and sits next to him. "It appears it is. Think you can handle something this powerful?"

"Of course I can!" Rowan almost jumps into Alistair's lap, wrapping his arms around his father's neck and smiling into the fabric of his shirt. "I want to try it. Can we… can we go outside?"

Elissa inhales slowly, marveling at the sudden burst of energy. Although still terribly pale, the shine in his eyes this recent year has allowed a new swathe of determination, farther walks, and even more time in the library with the books. Her heart has beaten easier than it has for six years. She smiles as Alistair nods, laughing.

"Well, we're not going to start firing arrows inside… so I guess we have to, right?" He twists out of his son's grip and hands him the bow, gently, waiting until Rowan's hands close around it securely before letting go.

Rowan's eyes are bright with excitement as he turns the weapon over in his hands, mouth forming a small, precise "O" of wonder. Elissa feels her pride curl in her chest; he is alive, he is stronger, and he is her son. He will survive and grow to be a fine prince. For now, however, Alistair lifts him into his arms and carries him through the castle to the courtyard. Elissa trails not far behind, smiling at Rowan over his father's shoulder.

The castle's training grounds are blissfully empty, devoid of soldiers practicing or the clipped voice of the captain. Alistair sets Rowan down in the archery field, retrieving him a small quiver of arrows. The target looks so far away compared to his small frame. Elissa laces her fingers together and gives the two of them space, listening to Alistair's attempted coaching.

"Okay, good, good—no, don't point it at me! Yes, over there. Okay, now, take this arrow and fit it… there, yes, good. Not bad at all, but—hey, don't point it at Mama either, okay?! Arrow directed at the target or the ground. No, I'm not mad, of course not. I just like both of my eyes, and I'm sure your mother does too."

Elissa laughs silently at Alistair's stumbling teachings, but Rowan turns an eager face to her, a bright smile dominating most of his face. He's shaking slightly, a bit unsteady, a bit weak, but he's smiling. Alistair keeps a steadying hand on the small of his back as he kneels next to him, lifting the bow and aligning the arrow. Then his eyebrows fall over his amber eyes as he meets Elissa's gaze over Rowan's head.

"Wait… why am I doing this? You're the archer of the family, Hero of Ferelden. Come show Rowan how it's done." He waves her over, grinning playfully. Elissa obliges, joining them both and crouching at Rowan's side.

"You were doing well, Alistair. I would have interfered earlier had you been about to break something." She flashes him a wicked grin. Her husband rolls his eyes, but Rowan laughs, the movement shaking his small frame. His arms twitch as he lifts the bow, pulled as taut as he can, and releases a shuddering breath through his lips. He becomes eerily still, eerily calm, all smiles fading.

His form is… well, perfect. Elissa blinks. Alistair's eyebrows disappear behind his hair. They exchange a look, and he drops his hand as unspoken words pass between them. Rowan doesn't seem to notice the sudden lack of support, his jade eyes fixated on the target in the distance. He looks like an archer with years of experience to perfect his form, like a boy who has been holding a bow since before he could walk. But he isn't. He hasn't. And the sight of him so calm and so sure is almost unsettling.

She can't ponder his form anymore as he stands straight, inhales, and lets the arrow fly on an exhale without being told. It sails beautifully through the air, the twanging of the bowstring an all too familiar sound, and sinks into the dead center of the target fifty feet away. No one moves as its fletching vibrates rapidly. All three of them stare before Alistair lets a low whistle slide into the stillness. "Where did that come from? That was… that was incredible!"

Rowan drops his gaze to the ground, blinking rapidly. He shakes his head and rubs one of his eyes. "I… I don't know. I… did I do that, Papa?" The words are whispers, hoarse, and Elissa wraps a hand around his waist. He's swaying again, dangerously so, and his veins, once grey, fade to deep onyx once more. He falls against Elissa's side, limp. The bow slips from his hand and falls silently to the dirt.

Panic flutters in her chest, bright and screaming. No. No, not him. Please, no. "Rowan? Rowan!" She lays a hand on his forehead, and is nearly burned by the sudden heat. Pressing him against her chest, she gathers him into her arms and stands, dashing back to the palace. "Get the physician!"

Alistair doesn't hesitate either, flying to his feet and off at a dead run. Elissa prays fervently as she carries Rowan back to his room, his body warm, too warm, against her. Maker please, I beg you. Don't take him away from us. Not when we've had so little time.

Rowan begins speaking, wrapping one of his hands in the fabric of her dress. "Mama? It wants me to find it. It—ah!" His words are cut off as he twitches, nearly whirling right out of her arms. She holds him closer.

"What does, Rowan?" Keep him talking. Keep him awake. Don't let him fade.

"The…" he pauses, gritting his teeth together so they rattle while she runs. They've reached the castle by this point, and she thinks only of getting him cold, keeping him cool. This has happened before, but never this violently. He tries again to finish his sentence. "The… behemoth. One of them. It… it hurts, Mama."

The behemoth. Rowan's favorite story skips around her head. It's real meaning, what it alludes to… He can't possibly know that. And yet he speaks as though he understands what it means. She presses her lips to the side of his head, his skin still warm. "It's okay… I know it does. I'm here, and soon it will go away." I hope.

He shakes his head as she reaches his room, the physician already waiting, wringing his hands. Alistair hovers in the corner like an overprotective mabari, blinking, straining to see them. She weaves past them, to the bath, where the tub is full, thank the Maker. Elissa strips her son and plunges him into the water. It sizzles when he breaks the surface.

His head continues to shake, back and forth, back and forth, like a pendulum. She pours water over his hair, and it rolls down the blonde strands to splatter the walls and the floor when he doesn't stop moving. "Rowan… Rowan, stop. You have to stay still." She catches the side of his face in her hand, and his wide green eyes meet hers, full of pain. It cracks her heart.

The physician kneels next to her, resting a hand against Rowan's chest, listening. His brow furrows in a decidedly un-comforting way. "His heartbeat is out of control. We have to calm him down, and keep him cool. Don't let him move too much. Whatever triggered the reaction, it's literally burning him from the inside."

What had triggered the reaction was the way he stood, like a skilled archer with years of training. She didn't understand it. Hadn't then, and didn't now. It hadn't been an overly taxing action. He'd simply collapsed after delivering a nearly perfect shot. She traces her thumb in a circle on his cheek as the physician moves away from the tub to make room for Alistair. What does it mean?

Her husband kneels, pouring water over Rowan's head. His eyes are still wide, but they lock to Alistair's face now, bright and scared. "P-papa…" he stutters, as though searching for the words. "It won't leave me alone. It's… sharp."

"The behemoth?" Alistair is unfazed by the word, by the possibilities and the meaning. He looks at Rowan with honest understanding, the Taint in his own veins a fierce reminder. Elissa makes herself silent, still holding Rowan as he nods. Alistair smiles, though the gesture is brittle. "What I do… is I close my eyes, and think of something happy. Anything at all. A good memory, a favorite story, a song. Then I repeat it, over and over again, until my head belongs only to me." His hand twines with hers, anchoring her to the moment, to the sound of his voice. It keeps the panic from taking her, and she is silently grateful.

She remembers the nightmares, when the Archdemon was still alive. One of many things they shared during those quiet nights in camp. Waking, terrified, to his amber eyes across the fire, understanding. Elissa shakes the thoughts away. During a blight for Wardens is one thing, but for voices to be bothering Rowan…

He closes his eyes, begins whispering in a faint voice. "Beware ye well, my son and belle…" Elissa watches the edge of Alistair's mouth flick up in a smile, and finds herself mirroring it. That story, of course he would pick that story. But if it works, she'll accept anything.

He's on the third verse when the water begins to cool. His veins' stark onyx fades, if only slightly, and his voice becomes steadier. Elissa releases a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, tipping her face into Alistair's shoulder. Rowan finishes the story, the last words hovering in the now silent room. He reaches out to touch her hair, drawing her attention back to his gentle face. But what he says next does not soothe the worry in her heart.

"Mama, it's still whispering. But I'm louder now."