Chapter 10: Undercover Brother

"I confess, highness, this is highly unusual," Revered Mother Boann said, smoothing her flyaway red hair. Though she maintained composure, Cailan could tell she was nervous, so he smiled to put her at ease. His stomach was a pit of writhing, crawling insects even as his sky blue eyes shone with confidence.

"I understand, of course," he said. "However, Brother Severus has been so insistent I crack down and write this essay on the templar order," he said, rolling his eyes skyward. Mother Boann gave a chuckle disguised as a 'humph'. Brother Severus's reputation preceded him, which Cailan had been counting on. "He also seems to think I'm unwilling to go above and beyond, and it would be so satisfying to prove him wrong," Cailan added with a grin. He ran a hand over his long blond hair, shining in the sunlight streaming through the window, and ducked his head apologetically while he watched the Revered Mother. She was thinking, he could tell. She had that look Anora got when she was skeptical, but didn't have anything to go on other than a feeling. Cailan had spent years learning how to dodge Anora's 'thinking looks'. Could a Revered Mother be so different?

The woman before him finally sighed, though she was trying not to smile. "Normally such a request would go through the Grand Cleric. However, such requests do not always come from the Crown Prince of Ferelden," she said, and Cailan bowed his head in quiet humility. She chuckled outright this time. "And Maker bless old Brother Severus. If this helps you get his goat I can think of a fair few in this Chantry alone who would applaud you. Come along, Highness."

Cailan's relieved laugh was just a bit too loud, but the Mother didn't notice. Or if she did, she thought he was nervous about one-upping Brother Severus. He had to stop over-analyzing every move he made. Otherwise, he would freeze up at the least opportune moment. Loghain had taught him that during an impromptu lesson on battle strategies. "Have a plan, but be ready to change at a moment's notice," he'd said in that gravelly voice that made him sound perpetually angry. "The temptation is to over think everything. I call it 'analysis paralysis.'" He'd given an uncharacteristic laugh. "But you must be ready to act even without a plan."

It was sound advice, and sometimes Cailan missed the Teyrn's spur of the moment lessons. Though Loghain came to Denerim often, he hadn't had time for Cailan since he'd learned of Cailan's… wandering eyes. Not like he was never sixteen, going on seventeen, Cailan thought, swallowing against the bitterness and keeping his carefree smile pasted on. Too bad the Teyrn was so tight-lipped about his past. Cailan was sure if he dug deeply enough he'd find something on him.

Revered Mother Boann paused before a heavy oak door and rapped on it with calloused knuckles. She bid Cailan enter. "Knight Commander Tavish," she said. "His Highness Prince Cailan wishes a look at the inner workings of the templar order."

Tavish looked surprisingly young for a Knight Commander. Though he sat behind his desk working his way through stacks of vellum scrolls, he was clad in full plate armor. When he rose, the rich maroon half-robes swished about his armor-clad legs. He tucked his longish light brown hair behind his ears and though he smiled in polite greeting, his eyes were tired. "This is an unexpected honor, Highness," he said with a bow so low his nose touched a pile of scrolls.

"Please, Knight Commander, the honor is mine," Cailan said. He related his tale of woe regarding Brother Severus. Tavish laughed aloud and nodded before exiting his office, gesturing for Cailan to follow. Cailan was happy to comply, if only so Tavish didn't see his look of relief, or catch the way his step faltered from the nerves that turned his legs to jelly.

Mother Boann took her leave as the trio stood at the head of a long stone corridor. "It was a pleasure to meet you in person, Highness," she said. "If you'll excuse me, I've Alienage matters to attend to. I'm the only one who ministers there, unfortunately. By your leave, Highness." Cailan nodded in farewell, and then he was alone with Tavish.

"So old Brother Severus is still at it," Tavish said, and Cailan nodded. Tavish chuckled. "He's an excellent tutor; I'm not surprised the King took him on as your instructor. But we were glad to see him go," he said with a grin. Cailan almost found the man… likeable. "So what do you need to know about the order?"

Cailan raised his eyebrows, smiled, and shrugged just enough to look apologetic. "Whatever you can tell me, really," he said, even though he'd thoroughly researched templar training methods in the palace's extensive library. That had been another of Loghain's tips to him: always know more than your opponent, but don't let your opponent know that. He knew that templars were essentially mage hunters, no matter what the Chantry might say. He'd read about the mana disruption techniques and was pretty sure his conjecture about the lyrium dependence was correct. As Tavish talked on about templar history, which he didn't know Cailan already knew, Cailan wondered how often someone like Tavish would have to take lyrium to avoid the madness of withdrawal.

"Excuse me, Ser," Cailan piped up in a break from Tavish's lecture. They had passed by several classrooms, each one disappointingly empty. "But I wondered if it might be at all possible to see some templar training in person." Tavish's brown eyes landed on him and Cailan fought to keep his 'clueless fool' façade from faltering. "Not that the history isn't fascinating," he added. "But I think seeing some of the theory in application would help me understand the role of the order in the kingdom." It wasn't entirely a lie. Cailan always told Brother Severus, and Maric, when confronted with disappointing reports from the tutor, that he only really 'got it' when the knowledge was applied. What good was theory when you didn't know what to do with it? That was why he liked Loghain's lessons best, few and far between as they were.

Tavish regarded him for what felt like forever. Cailan stood his ground, though it was difficult with the stern templar's gaze searching him. He reminded himself that he was the Prince of Ferelden, son of Maric the Savior, and as such had certain rights. But then there was the possibility that another son of Maric the Savior was also here and could not claim those rights, and Cailan nearly wilted. Tavish didn't notice, thank the Maker. "I suppose you have a valid point, Highness," he said. "It is a fine day, so the initiates will likely be out in the fields."

The outdoor air was refreshing after the oppressive atmosphere of the Chantry's halls, and Cailan felt himself relax in the summer sun. They paused at a fenced-in sparring arena, where a line of boys and girls, all with the gangly awkwardness of pre-teenaged years, stood before a lecturing templar. This far away Cailan couldn't hear exactly what the man was saying, but it didn't matter. He squinted in the bright light and moved around Tavish to get a bit closer.

The children stood at some semblance of attention. Some had their eyes closed; Cailan would bet his birthright they were letting the sweet summer air color their daydreams of freedom. A couple watched the straw dummy before them as if it was a dangerous maleficar they had cornered. They shifted their weight, and the sharpness in their eyes made Cailan glad he wasn't a mage. "What are they learning?" he asked, still scanning the line.

"Holy Smite," Tavish said. "It's one of the first skills a templar learns. It tends to knock down a mage pretty quickly, which is good because if a templar's cornered an apostate, she's not going to let him get close enough to use weapons before she breaks out the spells."

Cailan watched, fascinated, as each child stepped forward. He moved closer to get a look at them in turn. "Focus, Talrew," the templar at the center of the ring said, and the boy closed his eyes for a moment. Only the slightest quirk of his eyebrows told Cailan he'd done anything. The straw practice dummy looked like it had been hit only by a small breeze. "If that had been a mage," Tavish said, so close Cailan nearly jumped, "it'd be writhing on the ground."

One by one the children took their turns focusing their willpower to smite the dummy. Cailan would have been annoyed if any of his weapons masters had him doing such an exercise: working so hard with nothing to show for it. Some of the children's efforts were met with the approval of their trainer; others, the templar merely shook his head and motioned them back in line.

The second to last child stepped up, a gangly boy that Cailan knew was roughly twelve years of age. His blond hair was darker, and worn short and spiky; but the three years since they'd last met had enhanced the resemblance between them. He found he was holding his breath as the other boy stared the dummy down.

"Continue your focusing exercises, Alistair," the trainer said after several moments. "We'll try again tomorrow."

"I've been working at them, Ser," Alistair said. "Let me try once more." Alistair closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, and nothing happened. He clenched his jaw and balled his fists, and still nothing.

"Alistair, it is Erhyn's turn," the trainer said, glancing over to a haughty, dark-haired girl who was tapping her foot in the dust.

"I can do this," Alistair said, staring at the dummy with a frightened look on his face. Could he possibly be scared of the dummy? Cailan wondered. He found he was holding his breath, willing Alistair on.

The training templar sighed. "Enough," he said, reaching for Alistair's arm.

"I said I can do this!" Alistair exclaimed, whipping about to face the templar, who fell into the dust without being pushed. Alistair paled beneath his sun-browned skin and his eyes went wide.

Cailan glanced between Alistair and Tavish, who was tapping his chin thoughtfully. "He'll be good, if he can learn to control his emotions," Tavish said.

Cailan kept a straight face the best he could, but inside he was laughing. Laughing because Alistair had gotten the better of his trainer; because snotty Erhyn wasn't getting her turn; because controlling emotions was something Theirin males did as well as keeping their mouths shut. Seeing the boy in action, Cailan had no doubt that Alistair was as much Maric's son as he was. He was swelling inside thinking of it, and try as he might, he could not conceal his smile.

Cailan watched the line of young initiates file out of the ring. Tavish glanced over at the prince. "Something amusing, Highness?"

He shook his head. "No. Just… thinking of how surprised Brother Severus will be when I give him such a well-researched paper."

Though it was clear Tavish wanted to head back, Cailan made a point of leaning against the fence, soaking up the sunlight and asking questions to stall for time. The double line of pre-teen initiates was cresting the hill as Tavish ticked off some of the other skills of a templar: Cleanse, Righteous Strike, Mental Fortress… all designed to drain mana and incapacitate a mage, so the templar could get close enough to kill it.

Cailan watched the children pass him, some glancing furtively as others' eyes went wide when they recognized him. He was seventeen and knew about war, and his father's role in the rebellion. He knew being king sometimes meant doling out death. But he didn't like the thought of doing it. He liked even less the thought that his brother was being trained to take the life of a person he had first crippled.

There were an uneven number of initiates, and as such, Alistair was alone at the back of the line. He dragged his feet, stirring up clouds of dust and staring at the ground before him so that he didn't even see Cailan. He shuffled by, cheeks red, focused on whatever punishment he was likely to receive for his accidental smite. Cailan nodded to Tavish that he was ready to go, and Tavish headed to the front of the line to speak with the trainer. Cailan fell into slow step beside Alistair. "Nice smite," he murmured.

Alistair looked up at Cailan and he thought the younger boy might pass out. "It was an accident, Highness, honest."

"Alistair," Cailan said, and several emotions passed over the boy's face before he settled on being pleasantly, suspiciously surprised that that the Prince of Ferelden remembered his name. "Please, just call me Cailan."

"Why?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," Cailan said. He glanced up to see Tavish waiting for him at the gate, and laid a hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Look. I remember you saying you didn't know who your father was," he said, and Alistair looked away. Cailan realized it wasn't the most tactful way to approach what he wanted to say. He felt Tavish's aura of impatience as strongly as he would a Holy Smite. "I mean that if anyone could see what you did today, a father or… a brother… he'd probably think you'd done a good job."

Alistair glanced back at Cailan, a hint of a smile playing about his lips. This close, Cailan could see the same angles of the cheekbones, the same structure of the jaw, same line of the nose that he saw in every looking glass. "I'll remember that when they send me to bed without supper for smiting a knight," Alistair said before running to catch up with the others, while Cailan was stopped by Knight Commander Tavish.

Tavish rolled his eyes. "That boy's sarcasm will be the death of him," he said. "I apologize for his impertinence. Rest assured, he will be punished."

Cailan shook his head. "Be lenient. He's just a boy, and it was just an accident."

Tavish nodded once in assent. "As your Highness wishes. Though such leniency only encourages his smart mouth."

Cailan smiled and shrugged apologetically, and maintained his own silence. It was an impressive feat, for after all, Theirin males weren't known for keeping their mouths shut. But it was something Cailan was progressively getting better at doing. He reached into his pocket. "You've been extremely helpful, Ser Tavish," he said, handing a few gold sovereigns over to the Knight Commander. "I can show myself out, and hope the Chantry will appreciate the donation to her services, as much as I appreciate her silence?"

Tavish stared at the gold in his hand, and for a moment Cailan was terrified, especially when the man smiled and handed the coin back. "Your charity is appreciated, Highness, but your secret's safe with us." Cailan's sigh was audible. "Any chance to one-up old Severus is a chance worth taking." He laughed and showed Cailan out anyway, and the prince found he could only reply with nods, smiles, and shrugs. He didn't trust his voice, so he kept quiet.

Which, considering he was a Theirin male, was impressive.