Angry Alistair is angry. Feedback about the pacing of this chapter would be helpful. Not sure if it's too rushed.
Chapter 9
Alistair leaned back in his chair and fell silent. He had just finished recounting what had happened when he and Lya had spoken to Riordan at Redcliffe. The two scribes in the room were writing down his words and waited for him to continue. When Alistair continued to sit there in silence, Osric looked up from the sheets of paper in front of him. "And?" he asked.
"And now we come to the part that everyone is so curious about," Alistair replied calmly. Osric's manner instantly changed. With an abrupt gesture, he sent the two scribes out, leaving only himself and Alistair in the room. He studied Alistair for a moment before telling to guard outside the door to summon someone. In a few minutes, two mages entered the room, neither one of them sparing him more than a glance as they entered. They were both older, a female elf whose black hair was graying at the temples and a thin, ascetic man who was almost completely bald. They seated themselves and looked at Osric.
"Continue," the First Warden gestured.
Alistair shifted in his seat, crossing his arms. He hadn't been looking forward to this and wondered if he could get through the story with blushing like he had when he told Zevran. "Right, well, Riordan finished telling us that one of us was going to get to die and we went to bed. Not that I thought I was actually going to sleep, mind you. I had a lot on my mind." He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "I was pacing in my room, actually, trying to figure out what we were going to do when Lya came in."
He grinned. "I was glad to see her, as I'm sure you can imagine. But that didn't last long." Alistair looked up, squinting at the ceiling. "You've never met her, so it's hard to explain. Lya gets this look on her face whenever she's making a big decision or has to do something unpleasant. I'd gotten to know it quite well during the last year, and it was not reassuring when she came in looking like that.
"I told you about Morrigan, the Witch of the Wilds who was with us, right? Anyway, Lya said that Morrigan had a way out for us. A ritual that would prevent a Grey Warden from being killed when they Archdemon was slain." Alistair leaned forward now, resting his elbows on his knees. "In order to do this ritual, Lya needed me to…participate." The change in his demeanor and tone immediately perked the two mages up. They, too, were leaning forward, listening intently and Alistair shifted uncomfortably again.
"So, long story short, Lya asked me to sleep with Morrigan in order to conceive a child. The child would bear the taint, and through the ritual, when the Archdemon was slain, the soul of the Old God would be drawn to the child instead of killing whoever struck the final blow. And I did it," he finished simply.
He looked up to see three identical expression of shock on the faces of the other Wardens. The silence filled the room until it was almost unbearable. Finally Osric looked at the mages. "Is that even possible?"
Alistair snorted. "Well, since Lya and I are still alive, I would say yes, it is possible."
Osric shot him a furious glance. "I am not talking to you. Do you have any idea what you may have done?"
"Do you?" Alistair shot back. "Tell me, First Warden, what may have I done? I know what I did do. I helped end a Blight without losing any more Grey Wardens than necessary. I made sure that even if Lya and I died before getting to it, anyone could slay it and it would still end the Blight."
"You fool!" Osric ground out. "You arrogant, blind fool! Don't sit there and pretend you did this for the Grey Wardens! You did it for yourself! You, in your selfish cowardice, made a decision you didn't understand and we might all have to pay for it!"
Alistair felt the anger rising in him and he slowly got to his feet. "If it comes to that, we will deal with the consequences. Lya and I. If there must be something done, we will do it. We have not shirked our duty before and we will not do it in the future."
"Never shirked your duty?! If you truly wanted to do your duty, you would have died in Denerim. But no! Instead you were too besotted with some whore to think ab-!" That was as far as Osric got because Alistair was suddenly moving. In a single fluid movement, he crossed the room, grabbed Osric and threw him against the wall. The man hit with a resounding crash of armor. As Alistair was picking him up to pin him to the wall, he heard the male mage begin to cast. Without stopping to even think about it, he called upon his templar training and released a burst of draining energy at the man. The mage collapsed to the floor, clutching his head and Alistair shot a glance at the elf. She was still sitting in her seat, arms crossed, and making no move to cast. She didn't even look angry. In fact, she looked…curious?
Osric was beginning to struggle and Alistair refocused his attention on the man. Gripping him by the throat, he leaned into the man's face and growled, "Now, listen to me carefully because I am only going to say this once: If you insult my wife again, I will kill you." Osric was clawing at Alistair's gauntleted hand, his face turning an alarming shade of red. Alistair was powerfully aware of how much bigger, how much younger, how much stronger he was than the man in front of him.
"Your Majesty," said a quiet voice behind him and he turned. The elf was regarding him calmly. "I think the First Warden might be better able to listen to what you have to say if he is conscious." Alistair turned back to Osric and released him with disgust. He stalked away, needing to get as far as he could away from the man. Osric slowly regained his feet, gasping and rubbing his throat. The mage was also coming back to his senses, but didn't look like he was going to be able to cast anything anytime soon.
"Tell me, First Warden," Alistair sneered, "when was the last time you watched a Blight slowly destroy your land? When was the last time you passed farms and villages that had fallen to darkspawn? Have you seen what they look like? The bodies desecrated and ruined, left to rot if they weren't eaten first. Having to look at the faces of women and children who died in agony and fear as their last minutes were spent in the hands of things their worst nightmares couldn't begin to conjure." He swallowed convulsively, willing himself not to be sick as those memories came back. He focused instead on his anger at the man in front of him.
This man, this weak, spineless man had the gall to judge him; who thought he could tear him from his life, the life he had fought for, just because he didn't like it. He would be damned if a man such as this took everything he loved from him. He went on, his voice flat with rage. "You know nothing! Have you ever even been to the Deep Roads? I have. I know what's waiting for each of us down there, and I think you will meet your death screaming in fear." He felt his lip curling in contempt. "Do not talk to me of duty, Osric. There is only one Grey Warden still living who has ever upheld their duty more than I have, and I would die a thousand deaths, face an Archdemon every day for the rest of my life before I will ever let any harm come to her."
Alistair was suddenly so sure that he was never supposed to return to Denerim alive. He knew it with every fiber of his being. Osric, for whatever reason, had decided that whatever they had done needed to be punished. "And tell me now, Osric, how were you planning to kill me? What was going to happen to me on my way home? What message would you send to Lya to remind her of her place?" He heard a gasp. The elf was sitting straight up in her chair, looking at Osric in disbelief. So, not all the senior Wardens were in on it. That was something, at least.
Osric was glaring at him in rage, the outline of Alistair's gauntlet etched on his throat in vivid red. Alistair got a grip on his anger, forcing it away. He called upon his templar discipline to calm his mind. He wrapped the lessons of the last two years of being a king around him. Drawing himself up, he recalled all those lessons on regal bearing and was grateful for it now. The change was impressive. He stood tall in his armor, his face cold as he looked at Osric. He was in control of this situation now. It wasn't going to last, but for this moment it was he who would dictate what happened.
"Before you make any hasty decisions, let me tell you what will happen if I don't return to Denerim exactly as I left. First, everything we know about the Grey Wardens will be released to the public. And I mean everything. The Joining, the taint and what it does to us, how an Archdemon is slain, the shortened lifespan that ends in the Deep Roads, all of it. Secondly, the Grey Wardens will be banned from Ferelden. Again. And the reasons why will also be told to everyone. How much support will you find in other courts then? How many will trust the Wardens if they fear for their lives?"
Osric was looking at him in horror. "You will destroy the Order! If that ever got out, there would be no Wardens. No one would consent to it. They would fight rather than be conscripted."
Alistair smiled coldly, thinly. There was nothing of the smiling, charming king in him now. "I know. This is why you should consider what you're going to do very carefully. And I haven't even gotten to the most important reason yet. If I don't return home, Lya will come for me. If you don't believe that, you truly know nothing of her. If you're the least bit doubtful that she could do it, read through everything I've told you about how we fought the Blight. We did all that because she had the will to do it and see it through. And others will follow her. You'll wake up one morning to find an army outside, Osric, with her at its head. The last time that happened, an Archdemon died. Do you think you would fair any better?"
Alistair took a deep breath. "I think I have overstayed my welcome at Weisshaupt. I will be leaving in the morning. I do not think we should speak again. Just remember, I am a Grey Warden. I have no desire to do what I've threatened. I do not want to do it. But if you force the issue, I will. Think about it." And he left the room. The guards outside were staring at the door, hands on their hilts of their weapons, but Alistair just looked at them coolly. They made no attempt to stop him as he made his way back to his room. Once the door was securely locked, he sank down onto the bed, his hands shaking. It had been an ugly scene, but he was done at Weisshaupt. He was going home.
Back in Osric's office, the elf was directing the guards to help her fellow mage back to his quarters. Osric sat slumped at his desk, disbelief that things had gone so wrong written on his face. She felt no sympathy for him; he deserved it. "There is something you should remember, First Warden."
"Oh? And what is that?" he asked thickly, looking into brown eyes so similar to the ones that were promising him ruin and death minutes ago.
Fiona shrugged a shoulder. "He is his father's son," she said simply, and she left.