Alistair was, for perhaps the first time in his life, completely speechless. Arl Eamon wanted to make him king. Him. The guy who needed Wynne to patch up his socks for him, who relied on Rhiann to make sure he was taking the right road to Denerim. In which land of crazy did that qualify him to run a country?
He had already voiced his objections, even though he felt he had always made his feelings on this subject perfectly clear.
So why were they still talking about it?
"Your support my very well be essential in this endeavor," Arl Eamon was saying to Rhiann, quite deliberately ignoring Alistair's presence as he devised plans for his life. Alistair was on the verge of another outburst, if anything to point out that he was in fact standing right there, but Rhiann surprised him into silence by shaking her head.
"I cannot give you my support," she said quietly, and wild hope rose within him. "Not until we've had time to think about this."
Dammit.
At least she had looked at him, anyway.
The Arl was growing impatient – Alistair was very familiar with the expression he now wore. "What support I may gather will grow weary of half answers quickly."
Rhiann's eyes narrowed, and Alistair half hoped she was about to do something insane and get him out of this mess. Half of the nation thought they were loony anyway – it wouldn't take much to push it over the edge.
He was frighteningly comfortable with the idea.
Yet her voice stayed calm, though there was a definite coolness to it. "I understand your position, Arl Eamon, but I also grow weary – weary of the nobility determining that their wishes are the best ones for all of Ferelden, and using that banner as justification to do whatever they like."
Arl Eamon looked startled at the bold statement, but he recovered himself quickly. "You are very familiar with the ways of this nation's rulers, madam. What alternative would you offer?"
"My responsibility is to the ending of this Blight, as is Alistair's. It's not my place to offer an alternative. I agree that the country must be united, but I will not blindly offer my support without first considering our options."
Eamon stroked his beard, perhaps trying to find a chink in her armor. Alistair would have liked to tell him he was wasting his time – he had yet to figure out how to budge her once her feet were planted, and since coming to Redcliffe, it was plain that Rhiann was in her element with this political nonsense. He remained silent, grinning to himself a little, curious as to what move the Arl would make next in this verbal combat.
"I'm sure you are familiar with the weight your name carries with it."
Alistair winced. That was the wrong one.
Rhiann's voice was ice now, though her civility didn't waver. "I am more than aware, Arl, as I'm sure that you are aware that I have no surname as a Grey Warden. And that the Couslands have never put as much importance on bloodlines as the character of the person who carries them. The wisdom of that thinking has been proven to me often in these past months."
Was it wishful thinking on his part, or did she look at Isolde when she said that?
Eamon seemed to be considering, but bringing up her family had been a misstep on his part, reminding him – reminding all of them, really – that Rhiann had never been, and now as a Warden never would be, answerable to him.
He bowed his head. "Very well. I hope that you will consider my proposal?"
"I will," she answered, and the ice in her voice melted. "I'm afraid we still have quite a bit of work ahead of us before we can act on any of this."
"So you do. Gather your armies, Warden. I will call the Landsmeet then."
Rhiann bowed to the Arl and his lady before taking her leave, though Alistair could tell by the set of her shoulders she was still annoyed. Apparently she didn't like the idea of tossing him on the throne any more than he did.
Alistair turned to the Arl, but any words that he may have uttered caught in his throat. Now that he was alone with him, alone with the reality that this man who had raised him was using him as a political ace, he could think of nothing conciliatory to say. Alistair wanted to tell himself that Eamon's heart was in the right place, that he honestly felt that he was doing what was best for Ferelden, but accusations whirled around in his head as he watched the couple on the dais talking in low voices, and he swallowed them back, feeling them claw through his chest and settle heavily in his stomach.
You were supposed to help, not throw in another twist in the road, he thought bitterly. I dragged her along all this way, telling her - promising her - that you could make this better.
He didn't say any of it, though. Instead he bowed to the couple with a muttered excuse, and turned to follow the one person who had ever bothered to care what he wanted.
-oOo-
Rhiann decided not to bring up the meeting at Redcliffe for the next few days, sensing that it would only start an argument, and she was too aware of just how sharp Alistair's tongue could become when he was pushed too far. She still fully intended to force him to at least consider Eamon's solution, but it could wait until he had cooled down a bit.
Instead she concentrated on once again battling winter winds as they made their way to Orzammar. A decent road tracked its way through the mountains towards the dwarven city, making their passing far less treacherous than the trail that lead to the Urn, but still the journey was difficult at this time of year. The snow fell until Rhiann, tall as she was, was knee-deep in the icy blanket. The sigh of relief from her companions was not quite lost on the wind when the enormous gates to the city appeared in the distance.
Orzammar was a fascinating place, the light tinged with a faint red glow from the streams of molten rock. The craftsmanship of the dwarves was boasted in every detail, from the towering monuments of the Paragons to the grace of the stone carved around the entrance to the Assembly Hall. The entire city smelled like heat and earth, and she would have been overwhelmed with curiosity, except like everything else these days the visit wasn't going as it was supposed to. Within a very short time they had been wrangled into dwarven politics, the contention for the throne tossed in as a defense for not honoring their ancient agreement with the Grey Wardens.
"Don't these people understand how a treaty works?" she demanded of Alistair the next day as they battled Jarvia's compound. Assaulted, more like, with the mood that Rhiann had steadily worked herself into. "It's very simple. You owe us men. We come and collect the men. There's no 'could you please' or 'first would you' about it!"
"I know," Alistair said wearily, and grabbed a dwarf that materialized from no where behind her. He shoved him towards Zevran, who slit his throat before the thief could collect himself. Rhiann didn't even seem to notice.
"As if we haven't got enough to do with a Blight going on. By all means, let's forget about that and fight in your little tournaments so you can prove something."
"Rhiann," he said cautiously, "I know how you feel, but don't you think this little rant may be alerting potential bad guys to our presence?"
She snorted at that. "We had more trouble with the thugs out in the streets. Zevran could probably clean out this compound all by himself."
A muttered chuckle behind him told Alistair that Zevran agreed with that assessment. "All the same, you should probably be paying better attention..."
Rhiann threw her arm out in front of him, blocking his path. With a grumble she stomped down on a bit of metal he hadn't noticed. A lethal looking claw trap snapped shut with a resounding clang right where he had been about to step.
"Right," he said weakly as she stormed on without so much as a pause. "Rant away, then."
-oOo-
They spent several days in Orzammar, running numerous errands for Lord Harrowmont while he prepared to make his bid for the crown. Despite her grumbling Rhiann found herself enjoying the city, particularly having a bed to sleep in again. She even agreed to carry a message for one young dwarf, which most assuredly fell into the list of things she couldn't understand people asking of her. But Dagna was so earnest in her desire to journey to the Circle. Besides, Rhiann knew that her part in saving the Circle Tower almost assured the dwarf a place there if she delivered the request personally, and so she hadn't had the heart to tell her no, even when Alistair laughed at her later for it.
But then came the Deep Roads.
Zevran had taken one glance into the gaping maw of a cave that led to the lost thaigs and gone white as a ghost. Unnerved as she was, Rhiann didn't have the heart to force the elf, so accustomed to open sky and sunshine, to go with her. Instead she chose Wynne and the strange Oghren, who undoubtedly would have followed along even if she had refused him, determined to find his wife. Or at least he seemed to be, between taking swigs from several bottles in his pack.
"Well," Alistair said with forced cheer as they approached the cavern. "You already have a bard who sees visions and an assassin with a hormonal imbalance – I suppose a drunken dwarf completes the set, somehow."
She gave him a tremulous smile, and then braced herself as she stepped into darkness.
-oOo-
It was as if all of her nightmares had collapsed into one and solidified to create this horrible place. The air was stagnant and smelled strongly of sulfur. The ceiling was lost in a maze of shadows, miles upon miles of solid rock that unnerved her in a way nothing else had. Blackness lay thick as a blanket over everything, a darkness so profound it seemed another entity, observing their every step and emitting strange noises that echoed from above and around them, the smallest sounds amplified into distorted whispers.
And she could feel them.
They were everywhere, around every rock and crevice. The taint in her blood twisted into song, pulling her mind in every direction as the darkspawn seemed to materialize from the living darkness. This was the shadow that coursed in her veins, the dark promise that Duncan had offered her in a chalice. She had accepted and drank and changed, and now it was a part of her. The song whispered the truth of it into her mind as they traveled deeper and deeper into the earth.
Rhiann drove her party on mercilessly, even when her body complained that they had been walking for hours upon hours – there was simply no way to tell how long in this sunless world. She only knew she was closer to panic then she had ever been in her life and she did not want to sleep down here. Her friends seemed to agree, even the dwarf on edge with death creeping around every corner. Soon everyone but Oghren was stumbling with exhaustion, and with no end in sight they had no choice but to call a halt.
She curled in a ball on her pallet and pulled the blanket over her head like she had as a child, hiding from nightmares. There was no comfort to be offered now, for the strange noises in the dark likely were monsters and there would be no first rays of dawn to chase the shadows away. She squeezed her eyes shut and listened to the relentless pounding of her own heart thrumming through her ears.
She jumped and nearly screamed when she felt the light touch on her shoulder, but it was Alistair, sliding beneath the blanket. "It's okay – it's only me." He curled himself around her, his strong arm slipping around her waist to hold her closely. "I'm here."
She nearly broke down then and rolled over so she could bury her head in his chest while he idly stroked her hair. Her heartbeat dropped down closer to normal a normal rhythm, and she was able to concentrate on familiar sounds like Wynne's soft breathing and the footsteps of someone patrolling the area – Oghren had volunteered to keep watch.
"Are you okay?" Alistair asked quietly.
Rhiann wanted to tell him yes, wanted to feel silly for the whole thing and laugh it off, but the terror had only receded to the edges of her mind and she thought if there was ever going to be a time to lose her control, it was going to be here. She didn't want to worry him, though, so she didn't answer. "Are you?" she asked instead.
She glanced up into his eyes and saw the fear he had tried to bury there. Alistair felt the calling as strongly as she in this forsaken place, had heard the same song that seemed to flow through her blood and bone. He had managed to keep his calm for her sake only, probably worrying his own fear would compound hers further.
And there, in the heart of the earth, a jolt went through her that was nearly as terrifying as she realized that she loved him.
-oOo-
They were two days outside of Orzammar, going on a detour to the Circle Tower for Danga's request when the storm hit. They were far enough out of the mountains that the snow had given way to rain, an icy downpour that had everyone scattering to get the camp set up in a sheltered clearing that managed to remain relatively dry. Rhiann was sitting in Alistair's tent, scribbling in her journal while he dozed nearby. So accustomed were they to spending each evening in each others' company that it had never occurred to them to hole up separately, though she wasn't much looking forward to leaving the warm shelter to get to her own.
She glanced over at him to find him staring moodily at the ceiling of the tent, fingering the amulet she had found for him. He had been uncharacteristically quiet so far, enough so that she was a little concerned for him. Apparently it was time to talk about what had happened at Redcliffe.
"He cares about you, you know."
He didn't bother to ask what she was talking about. "Is that so?"
She sighed at the sarcastic tone. Wearing down his defenses was never the easiest of tasks. She carefully marked her page with the quill and set her journal aside, preparing for a long battle ahead. "Alistair..."
"No!" he sat up, turning away from her as much as he could in the small space. He busied himself with digging through his pack for something likely non-existent just so he didn't have to look at her.
Unless he planned to shove her outside into the downpour, he wasn't getting away that easily. She pressed on. "We need to at least consider what Eamon suggested as an option."
"No we don't, really. Let Eamon find some other pawn to jump around at his whim."
"I don't think that's what he sees you as," she said quietly.
"No? I've wondered about that quite a lot, actually. I never did understand why he took me in in the first place, then lo and behold, it turns out I'm the king's bastard. Then he sends me away for the sake of that shrew, only to make friendly again when the throne is in question. Doesn't that seem more than a little convenient to you?"
"Of course it does," she admitted, and the answer seemed to surprise him. At least he turned back to her. "Arl Eamon is a man with a number of responsibilities," she said slowly. "The nobles' lives depend on building strategies that will unfold years later. They have to, with ambitious men like Howe in the world. I have no doubt that he had that in mind when he took you in."
"Well, then, discussion over, right? Want to get embarrassingly drunk with me?"
"That doesn't make his idea a bad one," she argued, ignoring him. "And it doesn't mean he doesn't care about you."
"Funny, I'd say it means exactly that."
"Why did you first join up with me?" she asked him, and it seemed to bring him up short. "Because you were instantly bowled over by my charm? Or because I was useful to you?"
"That was different."
"Not remotely. You needed me for what I was. So tell me you don't care about me."
He sighed and dropped his head into his hands. "Fine. I'll think about what you said. But that doesn't change the whole – king - thing. I don't want the crown and I never will. You know that."
She crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side as she regarded him. "Sometimes I wonder if you even know for sure."
He glared at her, stung. "Well then tell me, O Wise One. What is it that I want?"
She rolled her eyes at him, unaffected by the surly reply. "Honestly, Alistair, you can be such a child sometimes. I'm only asking you if you've ever really sat down and thought about it at all."
"I think about it every blasted day. Every time I watch you arguing with Morrigan and dealing with hysterical villagers and Maker knows what else, all I can think is that I'm glad it's not me, that I'm not stuck in a position where I can muck up everything. And you want me to run a country?"
She considered him for a moment, giving the question the careful thought it deserved. "I think you underestimate yourself."
That apparently wasn't what he wanted to hear. "Rhiann, I don't want to talk about this."
"You're going to have to face who you are eventually," she said, and the sudden gentleness in her voice seemed to take all of the fight out of him. He slumped back, rubbing his eyes.
"I wasn't raised to this like you were," he said a moment later, sounding unsure for the first time since she had brought it up. "I don't know how to be a king."
"You're smart, Alistair. And I think the important things come more naturally to you than you might think. All the rest can be learned."
"But my life won't be my own anymore," he argued, so low that she could barely hear him, even as close as she was. "It will belong to Ferelden and I..." he looked up, and there was a combination of shame and desperation in his eyes. "Rhiann... I don't want to lose you."
She hadn't been ready for that. It took her breath away, emptying her mind of all the careful articulation she had planned for this argument, leaving her staring at him like a half wit.
"I know, it's the worst possible timing, but that honestly seems to be my specialty, and I'm likely and idiot for saying it out loud, but-" he rambled shakily, unnerved by her lack of response. "But I can't imagine being without you - not … ever."
She moved closer to him, sliding her arms around him. "Alistair..."
His fingers tangled in her hair as he looked into her eyes. "Don't. You know as well as I do if I agree to this that we can't know what will happen. Please – I don't want to think about it. Not yet."
She had no choice but to agree to that, because he was telling her he wanted to be with her, still, when this whole mess was over and done with - even if it was a little underhanded to scatter her train of thought that way. She leaned in and kissed him, letting herself sink into his warmth. Alistair was holding her like he had never asked for anything else in his life. She pushed every other thought from her mind, the desire to be lost in this one moment nearly overwhelming.
His hands were gentle as the pressure of his mouth increased, fingers drifting out of her hair and down the back of her neck. One arm coiled around her waist to pull her closer, and she obliged, pushing herself into his lap. A small noise escaped the back of his throat, but he didn't pull away. She felt his hand tentatively slip under the hem of her shirt to glide along the bare skin of her back. She coaxed him, shifting slightly to wrap her legs around his waist, and then came the breathtaking discovery that the emphatic bond between them would also include desire. She gasped as his mouth left hers to trail a warm, soft line down her throat, and instinct alone pressed her hips more firmly into his, reveling at the sound of his breath catching. She made a decision then, ramifications be damned.
She would enjoy this man while he was hers to enjoy.
Rhiann slowly and deliberately pulled away, and a single nagging voice in the back of her mind whispered that this was possibly the stupidest thing she'd ever done in her life since they were just talking about how difficult it could become for them to stay together, but the voice wasn't strong enough to dissuade her, and with a deep breath to settle her nerves she pulled her shirt over her head. His eyes widened, then became darker as they feasted on her bared skin. Slowly he came forward, consenting to her unvoiced decision by guiding her back to lie on the blankets beneath him. For a moment he hovered over her, braced on one arm while he yanked his own shirt off and tossed it aside. Briefly she felt a twinge of fear – he was so much larger than she was – but he was exceedingly gentle when he lowered his body over hers and kissed her again, softly now.
"I love you."
Even though he had all but admitted it already the words hit her powerfully, and she felt the tension leave her as suddenly as it had come, because she knew he meant it and that would make all the rest okay. He touched her, cautiously at first, but grew more daring with each sigh and gasp that escaped her. She melted into him as he explored her with his mouth and hands, and her remaining clothes felt awkward and out of place, so it was only natural to her when he began to pull clumsily at the laces of her leggings. She helped him, her breathing shallow and ragged, but when he knelt between her legs to unlace his own pants she had one last shiver of modesty and her eyes flew to his. They were dark with desire, running slowly over her body as she waited for him, and yes – he was just as nervous as she was. The thought brought a smile to her lips and she reached up to gather him to her.
His mouth was back on the tender skin of her neck and he was pushing into her, and though she expected the sharp stab of pain a cry escaped her anyway. Apparently her ex-Templar knew more about these things than he had let on, though, because for a long time he remained perfectly still, that wonderful mouth of his exploring hers with all the care he had shown the rest of her, though she could feel what the restraint was costing him as a thin sheen of perspiration dampened his skin. She wanted to know the rest of it, was ready for him, but she wasn't really sure how to tell him that so she did the only thing that made sense to her and tilted her hips up.
His willpower broke with a groan, and when he began to move within her the pain had become an abstract, distant thing. A new tension began to coil within her and she clung to him, bringing her legs up to curl around him, her body arching in demand for something she didn't understand. The unfamiliar tension built higher until at last it broke over her like a wave, and his mouth was back on hers to swallow her cry of pleasure before he shuddered and collapsed against her, his breathing as ragged as her own.
She felt as if she were drifting slowly back down to earth and reality, every muscle in her body feeling wonderfully languid, and she idly wondered with a grin why they hadn't done this sooner.