Again, thank you guys so much for the response. I really and truly cannot say that enough. The fact that you guys take the time every single week to pass on your enjoyment of this story humbles me. I apologize for being a day late, but my characters (and my beta, the lovely and talented Ravenia) had to beat me into submission. And while I emerge bloodied and bruised, I am not broken!


Chapter Eleven

The big roan gelding stood still as Alistair brushed it. If it didn't rain tomorrow—and he had never quite realized how much it rained during early spring before—he'd be able to get outside Denerim for a ride. Teagan was coming by, and Cailan was talking about a hunt, but Alistair doubted they'd find anything at this time of year.

He didn't particularly enjoy hunting, and he wasn't all that great at it. After the first few times he'd tried joining in, he went just for the opportunity to get out away from the city. It was relaxing and the atmosphere of camaraderie was refreshing. He suspected that's why both Cailan and Teagan loved it so much. They were undeniably better at catching their prey than he was, but they never seemed to bring in all that much.

The liberal imbibing of spirits also probably had something to do with that.

With a few final strokes of the curry brush, Alistair patted the gelding a few times and left the stall. Replacing the combs and brushes neatly back where he'd taken them from, he stepped out of the stable. He stood for a moment, stretching and thinking about what he should do next. Perhaps he should see if Ser Egil was around. The man was a terror with his greatsword and Alistair wanted to get in some more practice against an opponent like that. If he wasn't available, then maybe Ser Adela would be. Extra work defending against her knives also wouldn't go amiss.

Walking back to the armory where his sparring armor was kept, he slowed as he got closer to the building. A familiar figure was leaning against the wall near the door and Alistair cocked his head in curiosity as he got closer.

"I didn't expect to see you down here."

Maric smiled. "I figured you'd be by this way eventually. It's a nice day, so I decided to wait. Heading for a bit of training?"

Alistair nodded. "Yeah. I really need some work in a few areas."

"Feel like sparring for a bit?"

Alistair's jaw dropped. "Against you? Wait, seriously? You mean it?"

"Of course. If you'd like to, that is. I understand if you'd rather just stick with what you were planning to do."

"What? No! I mean, I'd love to!" Alistair practically yanked open the door to the armory, holding it open as his father entered behind him.

He tried not to rush through putting his armor on. His father had never offered to spar with him before and Alistair hadn't actually seen Maric practice against anyone except Loghain before. And even that was infrequent.

Next to him, Maric was buckling his own practice armor on. It was probably the nicest practice armor in Ferelden. It looked almost new, any scuffs or scrapes having been buffed and polished out. And the armor itself was finely crafted and worked. Not as elaborately as Maric and Cailan's official sets, but enough so that it was clear it belonged to nobility.

Maric caught him looking and laughed. "Absurd, isn't it?" he asked, gesturing to himself. "Even something as common as this has to be all fancy."

"It's nice," said Alistair.

"Nice." Maric sighed. "I knew men who would've given their left eye for armor like this during the war and I'm just supposed to use it for practice." With a rueful shake of his head, Maric finished tightening the last of his straps. "Some things you never get used to."

Alistair reached for his usual blunted blade, but when he reached for his shield, Maric touched his arm. Raising an eyebrow, Alistair glanced at his father, looking for an answer to his unspoken question.

"No shields," Maric confirmed.

"How come?"

"Because you won't always have one in a fight. They get lost or broken and it's a good idea to know how to defend yourself with just a sword."

"Makes sense."

"I manage to do that sometimes," Maric grinned. "In fact, if I were going to have a brilliant idea, I'd suggest we'd get you training while it's raining or at night. Battles can happen under any conditions and the better prepared you are for them, the better your odds."

His father's words, while different in tone, were startlingly similar to Loghain's previous ones, and he wondered if the two men got together to discuss words of wisdom they intended to pass on. Or they both felt that these were things that he needed pointed out.

Maric selected his own sword and the two walked across the flagstones to the middle of the yard. Once there, his father showed him how to alter his stance and guard to compensate for the lack of a shield and began walking him through a few routines.

Alistair felt distinctly off balance. The missing weight of a shield kept distracting him and he didn't know how to move his left arm. Maric seemed to have no such troubles and time after time his father's blade slipped under his inexpert guard. It was never hard, never enough hurt, but the sheer number of times it happened soon had him swearing in frustration.

Finally, he stepped back and lowered his sword, breathing harshly and trying to unclench his jaw.

"Frustrating, isn't it?" Maric's tone seemly wryly sympathetic.

"Yes," he bit off. "It's like all my skill is just…gone! Like I worked for nothing!"

Shaking his head, Maric also stepped back, dropping the tip of his sword to touch the ground. "Don't feel like that. This is supposed to be difficult and it's not something you have any experience in yet."

"I know. I know that, but I want to be good at it."

"And you will be. Give it time. You're still young yet."

"Not that young."

Maric groaned. "All right, really? You're sixteen. Until your hair starts turning grey, your joints ache when it's cold and you start running to fat, you're not allowed to complain about not being young. Understood? We elderly folks need something to complain about that's all our own."

Alistair laughed, understanding that his father was deliberately joking to lessen his tension. "Sorry. I sounded ridiculous. Don't know why it bothered me so much."

Waving his free hand, Maric dismissed it. "Not to worry. Apparently, it's something all children go through. If I managed to survive Cailan at that age, I think I'll survive you."

"Cailan was the same way?"

Maric rolled his eyes. "Oh, you have no idea. At least you're not moping about the palace writing bad poetry."

That earned an incredulous look. "Cailan wrote poetry? I think I would remember that."

"It was before you came. But trust me, it was bad poetry. I'm not even sure it counts, really."

For a moment, Alistair said nothing. Then he started laughing. A few chuckles at first and then came deep, belly-shaking laughter. It shouldn't have been that funny, but the thought Cailan—who tended to take his public appearance so seriously—moon-eyed and scribing bad odes when he was Alistair's age was hilarious. He laughed until he cried and eventually had to put his hands on his knees to keep from falling over.

It must have been infectious because his father soon joined him, the both of them gasping for breath in the middle of the practice yard while they laughed like fools.

"Okay, okay, we need to stop," Maric choked out.

"Right."

It took a few minutes, but they managed to get themselves under control. There were still a few lip twitches as they faced off against one another again, but an outside observer wouldn't think they had suddenly taken leave of their senses.

His father raised his sword again and then lowered it just a quickly. "Oh, sod it. Go get the shields, Alistair. If we're going to do this, we might as well do this right."

Alistair jogged back into the armory, grabbed two shields and hurried back out, handing one to his father. They slipped the shields on, and Alistair immediately felt more confident. This was what he knew and was good at.

Once more they set themselves. Grinning at him, his father said, "Take it easy on the old man, all right?"

"You're hardly old," Alistair replied, bracing against a blow and then darting forward to return it.

"I suppose it just feels that way, then. Besides, I'm more likely to win if you're worried about hitting me too hard and breaking a hip."

They were going at each other in earnest now, and Alistair had to concentrate on keeping his father at bay. It was unlike sparring with Loghain or the other knights. Again and again they traded blows and Alistair was aware that time was passing, the sun climbing higher and hotter in the sky.

"You fight different," he said when he pressed close, their shields pushing against each other.

Maric shoved him back, causing Alistair to stagger a little. "I do. If you listen to Loghain, I'm too reckless."

"I'd have thought the two of you would fight pretty much the same way, since you fought in the war together." Blocking yet another cut, he saw a brief gap and thrust his blade forward, jabbing the blunted tip into his father's thigh.

"Gah! Maker's blood, that hurt." He caught his father's return parry, but Maric unexpectedly dropped his arm, and he stumbled forward a step only to be met with Maric's shield striking his shoulder. Arm slightly numb, he struggled to keep his grip on his sword as he moved quickly out of range.

"I can see why you might think that," Maric panted. "But Loghain kept refining his technique. Me, I stuck with what worked."

"I can see that," Alistair grunted, trying to dodge yet another cut and failing. "Ow! All right, enough. I yield."

His father immediately stepped back. "Good. I think I'm just about done anyway."

Slipping his shield free, he walked back to armory and racked his sword and shield before slumping onto a bench. Maric sunk down on the bench opposite him. Both of them were still catching their breath and covered in sweat. Alistair shucked off his gauntlets and fumbled for a water skin, took a long drink and then passed it over to his father.

"Old man, eh?"

With a weak grin, his father nodded and took a drink. "Loghain ever get this winded?"

Alistair shook his head. "Nah. He's usually still ready to go when I'm begging off…oh."

Loghain and his father were the same age, just about—Loghain might have been slightly older. His father was still active, still fit, but Alistair hadn't realized how much Loghain had kept himself in a fighting state until now. He and his father were always linked together, one rarely mentioned without the other.

"Why don't you train more?" he asked, now genuinely curious. "Against others, I mean. I know you work by yourself."

"Who do you suggest I train against?"

"Any of the knights, Loghain. I guess there are Cailan and me, too."

"Hmmm." Maric stretched his legs out, stripping his own gauntlets off and starting to work on his buckles slowly. "Cailan and I…we're not very good as sparring partners. You and I might be, but…." He looked over slyly. "I'm still too much for you."

With a laugh, Alistair half-heartedly threw a gauntlet at him.

"Hey," Maric protested, catching it easily. "That's not very nice."

The straps on his breastplate were undone and he pulled it off, his padded jacket underneath completely soaked. Maric pulled it off with a grimace of distaste.

"As for the knights…well, they would if I asked them to, but none of them like it. So I don't."

"That doesn't make a lot of sense."

"Doesn't it?"

"Wouldn't they want to spar against you? They seem eager enough with us—Cailan and me, I mean."

"Ah, but you and Cailan are people." Alistair's confusion must have shown plainly in his face. "I'm not a person to most people. I'm a…a title, a story, a legend. A thing to be looked at and even admired. But risk bloodying me? Oh, no, not a chance. That doesn't leave me with many options."

"Loghain?" Alistair prompted.

Maric looked away, a sad, thoughtful expression on his face. "We used to a long time ago. Not anymore though."

"Why not?"

Rarely did Alistair ever feel he pressed for too much information from his father. This was one of those times. The look Maric directed at him wasn't angry, but there was a sense of warning he'd gone slightly too far.

"Sometimes, Alistair, you go through too much together. And raising a blade to your friend, even blunted and in practice, is a poor idea. Remember that."

"Yes, ser."

They finished removing their armor, cleaning it and putting it away in silence. The silence held even after the exited the armory and began the walk back to the palace.

Maric stopped suddenly. Alistair got a couple steps passed him and then turned back, wondering what was going on.

"Do you like this?"

"You lost me."

"Everything we've been having you do—the training, the fighting, all of it."

Alistair shrugged. "I guess so."

"No." His father shook his head. "I need more than an 'I guess so.' Is this something you really enjoy?"

"Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

Ignoring the question, Maric continued, "Why?"

"Why? I don't know."

"Not good enough."

Alistair sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. "Why is this so important all of a sudden?"

"I need to know."

He blew out a breath and chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "I guess because…I like the discipline, the challenge. It's something I'm good at and…I don't know. I just…I fit. You know?"

Pursing his lips, Maric nodded. "All right then. Good." Then he started back to the palace.

Alistair didn't like the way his father said that. There was something he wasn't being told. Something he thought might be pretty important. But his father said nothing else in response to his questioning looks and Alistair let the matter drop.


The Landsmeet was coming to a close. It had gone a little longer than usual this spring, drawing out over a week and a half while more intense arguments of increased trade and the ramifications that would have among the Bannorn had consumed most of the discussion.

Alistair was eager for it to be finished. He wanted to get a chance to talk to Bryce Cousland. The teyrn had come down from Highever late, not two days before the start of the Landsmeet and alone. The reason for that was easily explained by the fact that Oriana had given birth to a son not two weeks earlier. Alistair tried to be happy at the news of little Oren's birth and made all the polite replies, but he didn't particularly care.

He was impatient to see Lya again, had waited months and the only contact they'd had were letters. Cailan had teased him about pining away for his "little friend" and for some reason Alistair had gotten truly angry with his brother. He certainly wasn't pining for her, but he wanted to see her and Cailan making light of it bothered him.

But hopefully, he could talk to her father very shortly and see if they'd be able to visit at all.

"My lords and ladies!" Maric's voice called out over the crowd of assembled nobles and their representatives. The quiet murmurings died down as those present listened to the closing comments of the Landsmeet.

"I want to thank you for coming. This year has held many changes and there were some difficult things to work out. I'm glad we were able to reach a satisfactory conclusion to most matters."

There was some grumbling. Not all were pleased with the settlements and resolutions reached.

"There is one last matter I'd like to address before we call this Landsmeet to a close." His father turned and paced slowly on the dais, the movement forcing those below and on the balconies and pay attention. It was Lya who'd pointed out the little bit of theatrics needed to capture the attention of the crowd, the way a speaker had to keep his audience engaged.

Finally, Maric stopped and clasped his hands behind his back. "It has been a number of years since Ferelden's military was assessed. With that in mind, and having already discussed it with a number of notable figures you, we shall be taking a look into how well prepared we are should, Maker forbid, any conflict arise. Teyrn Loghain will conduct the assessment, and we hope to have it finished by the fall Landsmeet."

There was immediate protest from some of the crowd while others nodded and murmured their agreement.

"Our people are our own," one bann spoke up. "What right do you have to meddle?"

"Your people are their own," Maric countered. "Everyone in this room, and everyone who serves under them, has the right to serve whom they wish. But for all of us, our allegiance is to Ferelden. Should our homeland come under attack, and we all know well that it has happened before, we must be ready to defend it. And in order to do that, we need to know what forces we can call upon in a time of crisis."

He raised his voice to silence more protests before they could begin. "This is not mandatory or required. If you truly object, you do not have to participate. We are trying to do what is best for Ferelden as a whole."

A pause as he waited for further objections or comments, but none came. "Very good. I thank you, my lords and ladies. We will see each other again in the fall."

And with that, the Landsmeet was over, Maric stepped down from the dais, a subtle incline of his head commanding Alistair to follow as he left the hall and headed back to his study. Loghain also followed, while Cailan and Anora stayed behind to mingle with the nobles who hadn't begun dispersing yet.

Maric sighed as Loghain shut the door behind them. "I expected them to put up more of a fight."

"They're tired," Loghain shrugged. "Had you announced that at the beginning, undoubtedly they'd still be arguing about it now."

"True." Rolling his neck to relieve the tension, his father looked at him. "What do you think about it?"

"Me?" Alistair blinked in confusion, looking back and forth between the two men. "I, um, think it's a good idea?"

"Good, because you're going with Loghain."

"What?"

"Is there a problem?"

Alistair fumbled helplessly for an answer, one that wouldn't leave him looking like an ingrate, an idiot or both. His shoulders slumped. So much for his hopes this summer.

"No, ser."

"Then I'll leave the two of you to begin going over what you'll need."

With that, they were dismissed. Alistair glanced at Loghain, hoping for an explanation, but the teyrn merely returned the look impassively.


Later that night after going over in detail what he was going to need during months of traversing the Bannorn with Loghain, Alistair made his way back to the family quarters. They'd been hours at it and he was exhausted. Sleep and the oblivion it brought with it were a welcome thought right now.

He was almost at his room when he caught the sound of a conversation. Curiosity piqued, he wandered closer to his father's room, recognizing Cailan's voice. After their marriage, Cailan and Anora had taken over one of the suites in another area of the palace. It gave them privacy and place to call their own. Alistair wouldn't have expected his brother to be back here, not this late at night.

"…understand why he's going."

"Because I said he is. There's nothing more to discuss."

"Do you know what this is going to look like? For him to accompany Loghain while assessing our military strength?"

"Would you prefer to go instead?"

"No! That's not what I'm saying."

"So you just don't want him going."

"Maker, no, that's not what I'm trying to say." There was a frustrated sigh. "It's just going to look…odd…to some people."

"You're honestly worried this might make people think he has aspirations to your position." Silence. "Damn it, Cailan, really?"

"You cannot deny how some people will view this."

Maric laughed. "If some people choose to be fools, let them. You should know better than that. Alistair has no designs on your throne. Even if I wanted him to—and I don't—that was taken care of long before he came here."

Alistair felt his cheeks heating slightly at the frank discussion about him. It was one thing to know people thought you couldn't do something, another to hear them talk about it openly.

"Then why?"

"Because it'll be good for him. And it'll be good for you. You need to trust me on this. I know what I'm doing. I'm not going to do anything to harm either of you or your position."

There was a sigh and Maric said tiredly, "Just let it go, Cailan. You should be above this. I would've hoped you would have taken this as an opportunity to give him some advice about dealing with the pit of vipers the Bannorn can be."

"You don't think he's ready for that?"

"Do you? I don't know that he ever will be. I wish you'd rubbed off him a little more in that regard."

With that, Alistair slipped back and into his room, closing the door noiselessly. He leaned against it, swallowing hard. That's what he got for eavesdropping. Total, brutal honesty at how he failed to measure up.

Spending several months in the Bannorn was suddenly looking very appealing.


They left Denerim a week later with a score of guards handpicked by Loghain and Maric, and Adara who would not be left behind.

Some of what their father had said to Cailan must have stuck, because during that week he sought Alistair out to give him some advice about dealing with all the nobles he'd be meeting. Alistair tried not to let on that he'd overheard his father and brother and thought that he'd succeeded.

Listening to Cailan's advice objectively had helped, as most of what he had to say made sense. Be polite, smile, and promise nothing. People would think that because of his youth and background he would be an easy mark to elicit favors or guarantees from that, even if he couldn't fulfill them, could be used against their father.

And then they were off. Loghain was concentrating his attentions on the main part of the Bannorn itself. There was no need to venture south as he personally attended to the military affairs of his teyrnir. And any further west than Lake Calenhad was unnecessary as there were few bannorns there and the arls could be trusted to deliver fair and accurate reports. Travel would start west along the North Road, where they would then venture into the heart of the Bannorn. About halfway through, Loghain intended to head north to visit Highever briefly and resupply before finishing his survey.

Alistair was looking forward to stopping at Highever, no matter how short the visit was. In truth, it was completely unneeded except for the supplies, as Bryce Cousland was well-known for his support of the Crown and his vigilance in keeping his teyrnir well maintained.

The weeks passed quickly and Alistair forgot his original disappointment quickly as the task before them consumed his attention. Seeing Loghain out in the field was quite different from in the city walls of Denerim. He was…almost relaxed, seemingly completely at ease surrounded by his men. Normally quite taciturn, conversation flowed more freely, especially when discussing plans with his second, Cauthrien. He often drew Alistair into the conversations as well and Alistair learned more about the subtleties of leading men in those few months than he had in years in Denerim.

He learned about what to look for when judging the readiness of a fighting force, how to tell when nobles weren't provisioning their men adequately, to look for signs of equipment that needed to be replaced or was shoddily maintained. Loghain would quietly point out what to look for in the leaders of the forces, whether or not the nobles led their men themselves or passed the responsibilities off to others. He was taught how to tell the difference between men who followed others because they chose to or because they felt they had to.

The last of his resentment towards his father and brother bled away as he realized that what he was learning was in many ways far more practical and valuable than anything Warwick had taught him. And while dealing with the nobles was sometimes every bit the pit of vipers Maric described them as, he was truly coming to enjoy this expedition.

That didn't stop him from grinning like an idiot when they stopped at Highever midway through the adventure.

Bryce came out to greet them, welcoming them with promises of baths and cool drinks to refresh themselves from the sweltering summer weather. Alistair glanced around as he dismounted, half surprised that Lya wasn't already out here. Maybe she was still inside and didn't realize he was here.

Her father caught him looking around and sighed regretfully. "Ah, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Alistair, but Lya's not here."

"Not here? Where did she go?"

"Not that far, but not close enough to get word to her. I sent her out into the teyrnir with a company of my knights and soldiers to learn about the teyrnir and the skills she would need if she ever has to lead a campaign."

"Excellent plan," Loghain commented.

Bryce nodded. "I sent Fergus when he was about her age. And when Maric said Alistair would also be unavailable this summer, I thought it best to have her do this now." He looked at Alistair sympathetically. "I can understand your disappointment and I'm sorry it worked out this way. She'll be coming with us to Denerim in the fall, though, and I'll see if we can't come down a little early."

Alistair nodded mutely, trying to hide his crushing disappointment. Telling himself that a few more months wouldn't be that much longer and that he could wait helped, but not much. The Couslands did their best to make him feel at home for the two days they were there, but it wasn't enough to make him forget the reason he'd been excited to come.

When they set back out, Alistair only felt relief at putting Highever behind him.


Teyrn Loghain's official report to King Maric stated that for the most part, Ferelden's military forces were up to strength. In the event of an emergency, troops could be called up quickly and most would be adequately outfitted and supplied Those nobles who were not prepared, but through no fault of their own would be offered help from the Crown to see their forces brought up to where they needed to be. The remaining nobles would be encouraged—strongly—to do the same with their own coin.

His father asked Alistair a lot of questions about the trip, asking for details about any and all things. By the time he was done, Alistair felt like he'd delivered a more in-depth report than Loghain had.

As he'd promised, Bryce brought his family down to Denerim more than a week before the Landsmeet. Alistair paced agitatedly while he waited for them to arrive at the palace for a smaller dinner party Maric was holding to talk with some of the banns. It had been nearly a year—a year—since he'd seen Lya last, months since they'd exchanged any communication at all. It was killing him to have to wait to know if the forced separation had changed anything.

What if she didn't feel the same way anymore? What if she'd found someone else? A hundred different questions tumbled about his head and by the time the steward announced the Couslands' arrival, he was just about ready to tear his hair out.

She was the first thing his eyes sought out when they walked in and almost all of his tension drained away when he saw that she did the same thing. She looked wonderful. Her skin had tanned to a golden glow from spending so much of the summer outside, and she was taller. He was shocked momentarily to see that her hair had been cut in a straight line just below her jaw. And she'd also…filled out in a way that made him feel uncomfortably warm.

He smiled broadly as greetings were exchanged, and she returned it with a small one of her own, but it was slightly off. It didn't quite light her face up like usual. There was something shuttered in her expression. His smile slipped slightly as she turned her attention back to her parents.

This…was not how things were supposed to go. He wasn't quite sure how they were supposed to go, but it definitely wasn't like this. Desperately wanting to ask what was wrong, Alistair was forced to wait as this was neither the time nor the place for it.

They were called to dinner and the conversations broke off as they took their seats. Being a more informal occasion, the younger people were allowed to sit next to each other so that the adults could hold their own conversations more easily.

Alistair ended up sitting across from Lya, surrounded by Thomas and Delilah Howe, Bann Sighard's son, Oswyn, and a few other nobles their own age. Most of the talk revolved around events of the summer, ranging from training to parties, but Alistair was having a very hard time focusing on anything. Lya wasn't avoiding or ignoring him, per se, but the familiarity and warmth he was used to from her were gone.

And she acted differently. He was used to being able to laugh and joke with her and get similar responses. She wasn't always poised and controlled, concerned with nothing but her image. But now when he tried to tease those same responses from her, she just smiled and changed the subject.

"So, Bryce," Arl Urien's voice rose slightly, "tell us. What plans do you have for your daughter? I see she's growing into quite a lovely young woman."

"Indeed," Arl Howe added. "She is…most accomplished."

There was something in their tones that set Alistair on edge, some slight, subtle dig that he didn't understand. Lya looked up at the men and then to her father, a slight flush on her cheeks.

"Ah, well, Eleanor and I haven't given it too much thought yet. She's still quite young, after all," Bryce replied diplomatically.

"They're never too young to be thinking about these things, especially for someone in your position, Bryce. With Highever's succession secured, your daughter could make an excellent alliance with one of Ferelden's other noble houses, to the benefit of both."

"You are correct, Urien. It is something we'll have to think carefully about."

"Indeed. It's about time for Vaughan to settle down and he will be in need of a capable arlessa by his side. The duties of the Arl of Denerim are not light after all. They would make a fine match."

"So that's your game, Urien. Take her off the playing field before the rest of us have a chance to make our own offers." Rendon Howe offered a smile as false as the warmth in his voice.

Urien laughed. "Your Thomas is too young for her, Rendon. Unless…." He looked over at the other man slyly. "Unless you're intending to bring Nathaniel home? Wouldn't that be a coup for you? It would practically reunite your arling with Bryce's teyrnir."

Howe's expression grew flinty and Bryce cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, I think perhaps these discussions are better left in private. I assure you, Eleanor and I will listen fairly and with an open-mind to whatever you want to discuss."

"A most excellent suggestion." Maric rose, forcing the others to also stand. "It's a lovely evening and might I suggest we enjoy the gardens? Some fresh air would do us all some good."

The guests rose and began to follow their king out into the gardens.

Throughout the entire uncomfortable conversation, Lya had kept silent, keeping her gaze mostly trained on her plate. As different as she was being, Alistair could tell she was upset. He wanted to grab her, drag her off someplace private and demand that she tell him what exactly was going on. But Lya followed her parents and Alistair was forced to trail after, still looking for an opportunity to get her alone and speak to her.

Once out in the gardens, Lya drifted off by herself and Alistair followed, coming up alongside her as she strolled down a path.

"Um, can I…walk with you?" he asked tentatively.

"Of course." She smiled and this time it was more real and she seemed more like herself. Alistair felt a little bit of his tension draining away.

They walked in silence for awhile, and he was tempted to try holding her hand, but she kept them clasped in front of her. "So," he said after several long minutes. "That was, uh, awkward."

"Very. I don't look forward to many more discussions like it."

"I can imagine." He grimaced. "Ugh, can you imagine being married to that toad, Vaughan? Eesh, the horror."

Expecting an agreement or a laugh from her, he was met with only more silence. Lya stopped walking and Alistair turned to look at her curiously. Her face was tight and unhappy and she wouldn't look at him. "It's not funny," she whispered.

"Oh, come on!" Disbelief painted his words. "You can't honestly be worried. There's no way your father would do that. And if he did, who says you have to listen?"

"Alistair." Her voice was pained. "You don't understand. I'm a Cousland."

"So?"

"So that means I have a duty to my family. I don't think my parents have any plans for me yet, but if they decide something is in our best interests, I will do it."

"Even if that means marrying someone like Vaughan?" He couldn't believe it. There was no way Lya would take that sitting down and just accept a decision that terrible. Not the Lya he knew.

She nodded miserably, hands twisting together in front of her. "I'm not free to just do what I want, not anymore. I can't act like a child any longer and ignore the consequences of my actions and the impact they have on my family."

Her hand reached out to him, but she drew it back quickly. "I'm sorry. This isn't…. I don't want…. I'm sorry, Alistair. I-I have to go." She turned and walked quickly away, leaving him standing dumbly on the path.

Alistair felt like someone had punched him in the gut and he was having a hard time drawing breath. This was wrong, all wrong, and he didn't know what to do. He wanted to be angry, but toward whom? Her for giving up what she was? Her parents for forcing her to make a decision like that in the first place? Or the nobles like Urien and Howe who saw her as a pawn to be used to further their own goals?

Or himself for not listening to that voice in his head all those years before and embarking on a course that ultimately just cost him his best friend?

For a long time he just stood there, the sense of loss just hanging over him. It's not the end of the world, he tried to tell himself. It's okay, I'll get over it. Except deep down, he knew this would stay with him. The hurt might fade in time, but it would never truly go away.

He took one deep, shuddering breath. Then another. And another. Shaking himself slightly, he started walking again, forcing a smile onto his face as he crossed paths with others and joined in some light, mind-numbing conversation. It was better than focusing on the way his chest ached.