A/N: A special thank you to the ladies of We 3 Alistair for their help in figuring out a good army size...even though I didn't end up using actual numbers. And SidheKate, your searchfu rocks especially.
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Proclamation
"Alistair, you need to eat something."
I shrugged off Anders's hand with a grunt. My stomach ached dully, but like the rest of me, it was mostly numb. In the last week, I'd moved from Kiann's side only to relieve myself. I'd had weak tea when it was forced upon me, but that was all. I'd stopped counting her breaths, lest I drive myself mad, and I'd been through every Canticle of the Chant a half-dozen times. The Maker had to hear me. He had to.
Anders retreated. Murmurs started behind me, but I ignored them. I held Kiann's hand in mine and pressed her knuckles against my forehead as the words of the Canticle of Transfigurations fell from my lips.
"The Light shall lead her safely
Through the paths of this world, and into the next.
For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.
As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,
She should see fire and go towards Light.
The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,
And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker
Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword."
"Alistair."
I blinked and looked up, startled. A familiar, beloved face looked down at me, her bright blue eyes glistening. "Wynne?" My voice was barely more than a breathy rasp.
The old mage nodded and placed a hand on my head, brushing my unkempt hair. Her gaze was full, and my own tears welled in response. My throat closed painfully.
"She's dying, Wynne."
Wynne nodded again, the corners of her mouth twitching downward. "I know, son."
"I can't..." I shook my head, the words lodging in my throat. "I can't..."
"Oh, Alistair."
She held her arms open and I tumbled into them, crying like a child. I'd cried so many tears, quiet streams of grief, I shouldn't have had more. She held my shaking shoulders tightly, and I felt the tremors in her body that said she was crying as well. My heart was broken. Ripped in two. And she understood. She didn't try to tell me everything would be all right, she didn't lie to ease my pain.
After an age, my sobs quieted. She pressed a kiss to my head and pulled away. "You need to eat something, son."
I turned away from the reproach in her eyes to stare at Kiann again. "What's the point?"
"For shame, Alistair." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Do you think she would want you to waste away beside her? After everything she's done for this country, do you think she would want its King to follow her so soon?"
"I don't want to be King without her." I squeezed my wife's limp hand.
"That's too bad." She laid a hand on my cheek, none-too-gently, and pulled my eyes to hers, a scolding look on her face. "You are the King. Ferelden needs you. So you need to eat, you need to wash, and you need to come back to us." Her gaze softened. "Please, Alistair. I don't want to have to mourn the both of you." She untangled my fingers from Kiann's with deft hands and gently pushed me out of the chair and away from the bed. "I'll stay with her. You go and take care of yourself."
I hesitated. "Wynne--"
"Go, young man."
Dipping my head, I gave in. "Yes, ma'am."
A pair of guards trailed behind me as I walked down the hall to my quarters unsteadily. Not the quarters in which Kiann had been attacked; these were smaller, less suited to the Commander or to royalty, but I didn't care. It wasn't like I'd spent any time in them anyway. I spared a moment's effort to wonder what the guards thought of their broken King, and decided I didn't care. I was a man, and only that.
Wash, Wynne had said. A bath had already been drawn, so sure was she that I would do her bidding. Just like old times, gently henpecking the companions until we acquiesced. So I bathed, my movements automatic and unthinking. I barely felt the heated water against my skin. Stubble was thickening into a full beard on my face; I rubbed a hand over it, debating if the effort of shaving was worthwhile, and I decided not. I'd wait, until... I'd wait, and then maybe as I was shaving, the razor could accidentally slip--
I jerked upright in the bath, the water splashing noisily, and cradled my head in my hands. Maker's breath. My limbs trembled as I fought to bring myself back from that darkness. If Kiann knew I'd even thought that...
Wynne was right. My wife wouldn't want me to waste away beside her. In fact, I had no doubt that if I showed up at the Maker's side shortly after her, I would wish I'd gone to the Black City instead. I didn't want to go on without her. My heart twisted horribly at the thought that soon--too soon--she'd be gone. I'd be alone. But only for the next twenty-some-odd years. If there was one time the Wardens' curse was truly a blessing, I supposed this was it.
I scrubbed my hands over my face. Well, from suicidal thoughts to black humor. That was an improvement, right?
A simple meal awaited me on the table by the fireplace. Bread, cheese, tea, and crackers. Easy, comforting food. I grabbed a slice of the cheese and chewed. It tasted like sawdust, as did the bread, and the crackers. But it assuaged the emptiness in my stomach for the time-being.
A knock sounded on the door and I considered ignoring it. The bed looked terribly inviting; just to stretch out in, if not to actually sleep. But the knock sounded again, and I reluctantly bade whomever it was to enter.
Arl Eamon strode in. My brows drew low. "Why are you here?" I blinked and shook my head. "I'm sorry, I--"
"My boy, in this of all times, you can be forgiven for a lack of propriety. Commander Oghren summoned me. I arrived two days ago, but I'm not surprised you didn't realize it." He walked over to me, his steps purposeful, and laid his hands on my shoulders. I looked up at the face of the man I'd once considered as close to a father as I was going to get to see concern and worry written across his features. He frowned. "I won't say you look well."
"I'm not." I turned back to my repast as Eamon's hands left me, and waved him toward the seat across the table. "Help yourself. I'm not very hungry."
"But at least you're eating. Maker's mercy, Alistair, you had me worried."
"Afraid you were going to lose your pet king?" I winced the moment the words left my lips. "I'm sorry, my lord. I'm all...rough edges. It feels like--"
"You've been broken and put back together wrong."
I stared at him, then nodded slowly. "Exactly. How..."
"Grief is a horrible thing. It can twist you up inside, turn you into someone you're not. When Isolde died..." The Arl's voice was quiet, subdued enough that I could barely hear him over the crackling of the fire. Eamon gazed into the flames, memories etched across his face. "Because of her scheming and plotting and the lies she told to protect our son, she harmed the very people we were sworn to care for. How could I forgive her for that? And yet, she died nobly. I loved her, and I missed her, and Andraste forgive me, I hated her horribly. Both for what she'd done, and for leaving me."
Bitterness rose in my throat as I acknowledged the truth of his words. I didn't want to, but, Maker, yes--there was a kernel of hatred in my chest, hatred that Kiann had promised me that she would always be with me, and she'd lied. She'd lied. We wouldn't take our Calling together. We wouldn't leave this world hand-in-hand.
"I don't want to hate her. I just--" I broke off, clearing my gruff throat. "I just don't know how to go on without her."
"You'll learn how to, because you have to." He leaned forward, placing a large hand on my knee. "But, Alistair...you need to let her go, son."
My eyes shot to his, and his meaning was clear. "No. Eamon, I--" I shook my head vehemently. "No."
"The mages themselves have said they're only prolonging the inevitable. You know this." He shifted, moving back, deeper into his seat. "Let her go to the Maker, son."
I jumped to my feet and staggered away. The chair I'd been in tipped and crashed to the floor. Panic threatened to choke me. "Don't ask me to do that. Sweet Maker, Eamon. I can't. I won't! There's always a chance--"
Eamon rose as well. His words sank into my soul like shards of glass. "There is no chance, and you well know it. You're being selfish, Alistair. You're not thinking about what's best for her, or for the kingdom."
"What does Ferelden have to do with this?" I demanded, fury starting to outweigh the grief and horror at his suggestion.
"Ferelden factors into everything you do now, lad. Everything. The nation knows what happened here, Alistair." Eamon crossed his arms over his chest. "The Chantry was quick to spread the word."
"The Chantry--" The rage that had been bubbling exploded full force. "They dare?"
"They have said the Maker has made His will known by striking down the Mage Queen, and that the King acts against His wishes." The Arl shrugged his shoulders. "Some believe it. Most don't, but...that number dwindles with each passing day. And, Alistair--" He broke off and looked at the floor.
Worry spiked through me. "What is it?"
"I didn't want to throw all of this at you at once, and not when I didn't know for sure. You need time to reacclimatize--"
"Eamon," I growled, "what is it?"
"There have been reports--unsubstantiated reports--of unusual activity at Jader. I've sent scouts to verify whether the reports are true, and if so, if it's the Orlesian army gathering, or the Chantry's templars." He pressed his lips into a tight line. "Or both."
I stumbled back and fell to my ass on the floor as my knees gave out. The Arl jerked forward, his hand outstretched, but I waved him off. "An invasion?"
"We don't know, yet." He folded his arms across his chest again. "Possibly. I wouldn't put it past the Empress to invade under the cover of an Exalted March; she'd have the support of the other Andrastian nations for that."
My lungs seized, refusing to draw air. Suddenly all the stories I'd heard about the Orlesian occupation came flooding back. The brutality, the horrors, the servitude. My father had fought for years against the oppression, to force the usurper king from the throne, and he'd succeeded--but only after suffering great losses. With Ferelden still weak from the Blight, with the Bannorn and the army still recovering and rebuilding...oh, Maker, could we resist?
"When will we know?" I braced my elbow against my upraised knee, and pressed my palm against my forehead.
"I'm expecting word any time now. The scouts were instructed to send their report via carrier pigeon."
The pigeon would return to Denerim, and a messenger would be sent to the Arl. A plan began to form in my mind, should the courier bring the worst information. I pushed myself to my feet and straightened. "Tell me as soon as you hear anything, Eamon."
The Arl nodded, and I saw approval in his eyes. "I will, your Majesty. About what I mentioned earlier--"
I held up a hand, stalling his words. "That's not your decision. I appreciate your input, as always, but..." A deep breath shuddered into my lungs.
Eamon just watched me for a moment, then nodded again. "I understand. But, Alistair, as difficult as it is, you need to remember something my sister once shared with me."
Queen Rowan, the woman on whom my father had cheated to sire me. I pressed my eyes closed for an instant. "What is that?"
"I'd questioned, once, how Maric could be so cold in some of his decisions. Her reply was simply that 'being a king and being a man are not always the same thing.'"
A sad smile quirked my lips. "So I'm discovering."
###
The courier arrived less than two hours later, road-stained and breathless. The activity at Jader was indeed the military. Ten divisions of Chevaliers thus far, and a smaller contingent of templars, with more arriving daily.
I stared at Eamon as he told me. Oghren and Nate Howe stood next to him, their expressions somber. My heart pounded against my breastbone at the knowledge of what I needed to do. I refused to let my anguish show on my face, however; what the Arl had said earlier was true, as much as I hated it. Ferelden didn't need me to be a man in mourning. It needed me to be its King.
"Send word to the dwarves and the Dalish that Ferelden needs their aid once again." My voice was strong, now, my fears and heartache locked away for the moment. "Tell them that the Warden lays dying because of the Chantry's treachery, and the King rides to take vengeance. I need their strength. As soon as we are done here, send messengers as well to Highever, Gwaren, and the arlings. Ferelden marches to war once again. Commander Oghren."
"Aye, your Majesty?"
I almost blinked at that--the dwarf had never addressed me by my title. A first time for everything, I supposed. "I know I have no right to ask for the Wardens' assistance. This has nothing to do with the darkspawn--"
"If you think I would abandon you now, you don't sodding know me, do you? She is one of us, and I'm not walking away. She saw in me something that no one else did, the blighter." The Commander narrowed his eyes. "The Wardens ride with the King, and if the First Warden don't like it...well, he can kiss my arse."
I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and nodded. "Thank you." I looked down for a moment, my teeth gritted, as I evaluated my planned action. No, I had to do this. They'd left me no choice. "Henceforth, let it be known that the Ferelden Chantry is separate from that of Val Royeaux. I do not wish to deny my people their right to worship the Maker, but I will not have an enemy organization operating within Ferelden's borders. The templars, revered mothers, sisters, brothers, and so forth must swear fealty to Ferelden's King in addition to their oaths to the Maker, and renounce all loyalty to the Divine. If they choose not to, they shall be imprisoned for the security of the nation. Is that understood?"
Eamon had paled, but he nodded sharply. "Yes, your Majesty."
"See it is made so, then. And one more thing, Eamon." I let some of the fury ever-present in my gut trickle forth. "The Grand Cleric and her templars don't get to make a choice. They go to Fort Drakon immediately."
"Understood, your Majesty."
"Good. Oghren, can your men be ready to march by morning?"
"You bet your ass we will be," the dwarf rumbled. "Uh, your Majesty."
"Then we leave for Highever just past dawn. Make sure that messenger leaves now; I don't want to catch Teyrn Fergus off-guard." I glanced at the door to Kiann's chamber. Now came the hardest part of all.
A hand clapped against my arm and I looked over, surprised to see it belonged to Nate. "You're not alone, Alistair," he said gruffly. "Before you were King, you were our brother, and we stand with our own."
I swallowed past a sudden lump in my throat and inclined my head. "Thank you, Nate. That--it means a lot."
He nodded and withdrew his hand, then the three men retreated down the hall to undertake the tasks I'd set before them. I pushed open the door beside me and slipped inside. It was probably my imagination, but Kiann seemed paler than she had even a few moments ago, when Eamon had summoned me into the corridor.
Wynne glanced over at me, a wan smile on her lips. "Gathering yet another army, young man?"
"Eavesdropping is rude, you know."
"But terribly useful." She reached for my hand and I gave it to her, welcoming her warm grasp. "Don't feel guilty. You have to do what you must."
My lips twisted. "Like a good Grey Warden."
"Like a good King."
I sucked in a breath, then blurted out the question I'd been afraid to voice. "Is there any hope, Wynne? Any at all?"
"Oh, Alistair, there's always hope." She patted my hand. "If we give up hope, we give up everything. Anders and I will do what we can. If there is any way to bring her back, I promise you, we will. But I won't lie to you. You know we can only do so much. If the Maker calls her...when he does..."
I clenched my jaw, holding back the grief that wanted to spew forth. I didn't have that luxury, not anymore. "Thank you for staying with her, Wynne. I'd like to be alone now."
"Of course, son." She rose from the chair and squeezed my hand before leaving the room quietly.
I just watched Kiann for a moment, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the lines of the tattoo that had surprised me when it had appeared one morning, almost like magic. I'd learned later that she'd had Zevran ink her in order to camouflage the scars on her face from the horrible attack at Lake Calenhad, but also to mark her as separate from the girl she'd once been. I hadn't realized then exactly what had transpired. I'd been innocent in so many ways that had nothing to do with me being a virgin. The idea that men could do what they'd done to her--simply for the fact that she was a mage, and an elf--I still couldn't comprehend it. More unbelievable, though, was that she'd succeeded in the seemingly impossible job that had been before us, despite it all.
Sweet Maker, she was special. So special. And she never saw it in herself.
"I have to go," I whispered as I sat down and took her placid hand in mine. "I'm the one gathering the army this time, but I'd give anything for it to be you, instead. You're much prettier; you'd make a better figurehead. I don't know when I'll return. I won't--I won't ask for you to wait for me. Stay as long as you can, but, if you must go..." I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Twenty-five years isn't so long, in the grand scheme of things, is it?" My eyes burned, and I squeezed them shut. I breathed in her scent, a light, airy aroma that always reminded me of a rose garden. "I love you, Kiann. Always."
