The light was only just filtering through the windows of the royal apartments when the crying started. Alistair groaned and rolled over to face his wife, whose eyes were open and fixed on him with a pleading look in her eyes. He sighed and got to his feet.
"Sorry, my love," she said softly. "It's the fourth time."
He smiled at her and gently touched her cheek before he padded into the small room next to theirs where Duncan's crib was. The little boy stopped crying as soon as he saw his father and gave a goo that melted his heart. It was hard to stay grumpy, even short on sleep as they both were. "What is it, little one?" he said softly as he picked the boy up and cradled him against his chest. "Nappy? Or milk?" He patted the child's bottom and felt the unmistakable wetness that meant the former.
He accomplished the nappy change with a minimum of fuss (the things you got used to, with babies) and decided he was up for the day. Miranda's sleep had been far more disrupted than his own lately so he rang for the nursemaid. There was an unspoken rule that Miranda and Alistair would deal with Duncan through the night - that was their family time, but once it was light he felt less guilty about calling for help. He popped Duncan down on the floor and quietly tickled his tummy while he waved his little fists in the air and kicked his stubby legs adorably, making delighted, wet sounds that Alistair supposed would eventually become words. His favourite trick these days was rolling over and over to get around the room - the nursemaid said it was a precursor to crawling and it was hilarious to watch. One afternoon he had managed to roll all the way under his and Miranda's bed. It had taken them a fair while to find him.
A short time later the nursemaid, Karalena, arrived. A stout, middle aged woman with five grown children of her own, she had been an invaluable asset to the royal staff and Alistair and Miranda had on more than one occasion considered ennobling her for her efforts. Although Duncan was far from a difficult baby (he was told) the pressures of ruling the kingdom and dealing with a seven month old were too much for the couple to handle on their own and once Duncan had ceased being completely reliant on Miranda for nutrition Karalena had stepped in and given them both valuable time.
"Breakfast for him, I think, Kari," Alistair said. The woman nodded and gathered the boy in her arms, taking him with her.
Careful not to wake his wife, who had fallen asleep again probably as soon as he left the room, he had a short wash and dressed. The day was not full, but he had paperwork to catch up on and he would take advantage of the early hour when few others would be about to hassle him with requests.
Autumn was drawing to a close but the full cold of winter had not hit the capital as yet - snow probably wouldn't be arriving for at least a month. There was a definite chill in the air of his study, though, and he busied himself with the fire for a few moments before returning to his desk. Missives from the Chantry, economic reports, things that his secretary couldn't deal with were piled on one side of his desk waiting his attention. He liked reading, but he didn't like this sort of reading.
After an hour of wading through the paperwork he there was a knock at the door.
"Come in," he said.
A servant entered and delivered a single letter with Sigrun's crest stamped on it. He felt a small thrill of excitement as he took the letter - this would be something interesting. The dwarf Commander was not a regular correspondent - at least not to him - and this looked like official warden business. He broke the seal and ran his eyes over the contents, then got to his feet and started back towards their quarters.
Miranda was awake and nursing Duncan when he got there. "Two course breakfast today then?" he said, smiling. There really wasn't anything much more beautiful than his wife nursing their son. Miranda smiled back up at him.
"When isn't it?" she said, but there was fondness in her tone.
"You know, there's probably something lewd I could say here, but I'm going to self censor for a change and just say..." he leant over to give his son a kiss on the crown of his dark haired head, "good on you, little one."
She rolled her eyes, then caught sight of the letter he held. "News?" she said.
He nodded sharply. "Sigrun's requesting reinforcements at the Vigil. It seems your little apostate conscript has stirred up an army of corpses."
She held out her free hand for the letter. "What's Anders been doing this time?" she muttered as she started to read. She raised her eyebrows. "Well. That's not good news. We'll have to send a contingent of soldiers as soon as possible. The garrison at Amaranthine isn't enough."
"Sigrun's informed the tower as well," he said. "But it will take them much longer to get there."
"Shall we send Kylon?" she asked.
He pursed his lips. "Actually I thought I should go," he said.
She raised her eyebrow at him. "That makes sense. You've had experience with the fade."
"It would, of course, be better if you could go," he said, smiling. "You've had more than I have. With the added advantage of not being sucked into the first vision a demon presented you with."
"Ah, but now you have everything you ever wished for. No desire demon could possibly tempt you."
He sat on the bed and stroked Duncan's dark hair. "Good point," he said.
"This isn't just a way to get a full night's sleep?" she said.
He laughed. "Tears in the veil? Walking corpses? What could possibly stop me from sleeping?"
She put down the letter and transferred Duncan to the other breast. "Then it's a way of avoiding paperwork," she said.
"Eamon can handle it," he said.
"True. Or I can. I sometimes think you should have gone to Amaranthine - there's a big part of you that just wants to run off and be a warden again." He grinned. "You can go. But no expeditions into the deep roads for you. And take Zevran - at least I know he'll follow my instructions and knock you senseless if you try to do something stupid."
"Did you just give the King of Ferelden permission to visit one of his cities?" he said.
She lifted her chin imperiously. "Yes, I believe I did. And if you don't want it rescinded you'll do exactly what I tell you."
"Yes ser," he said. He looked at his wife for a moment, then at his son and felt his heart swell. "I won't stay," he said. "I'll be gone for two weeks at the most. Even if the corpses start attacking."
"Don't make promises you might not be able to keep," she said. "Remember the first time I had to go to the Vigil."
He sighed. "Too well."
"We'll come and fetch you if you're away for too long. It's only a two day journey after all."
"I'll count on it."
Repair the tear in the veil, he thought to himself as he sat in on the same ledge where he'd released his firestorm three days previously. Why, certainly Commander. If you would be so kind as to stop someone else from doing it first!
"How?" Neria asked from beside him. "Tears in the veil don't just... repair themselves!"
"This is getting a little ridiculous," Anders agreed. The four of them had volunteered for this mission - well, Gabrielle and Garic had volunteered - Neria and Anders had been the only two mages with even an inkling of how to patch up the veil so they'd had to come. There were no darkspawn on the way - it seemed the entire population of this section of the deep roads had followed them on their last little expedition. One way to reduce the threat to Amaranthine, he'd thought to himself as they traveled down.
The cavern smelt smoky and its walls were blackened. He spent a while admiring his handiwork - there was a fine dusting of ash over the floor which was all that remained of the corpses that had been piled there - a blackened heap of armour in one corner that was probably the remains of one of the genlocks they'd seen.
"You really trashed this place," Garic said, chuckling.
Anders matched his grin. "Yes, and now we've got to work out why instead of ripping the veil wider open, which is what a spell of that magnitude should have done..."
"It fixed it," Neria finished for him. "But I don't think that's what did it."
"Aww," Anders said.
She grinned at him. "No. And you know it just as well as I do. We said someone tore the veil deliberately - it looks like they.. sewed it up again afterwards."
"This is getting worse and worse," Anders said.
"How so?" Gabrielle asked. She had a look on her face that said things couldn't really get worse.
"Demons don't have this sort of... forethought," he continued. "They're not concerned about being found out. They don't destroy evidence of their... fun. They revel in it."
"So we're talking about a person then?" Garic said.
"But there's the whole dream thing," Anders pointed out. "I don't know about you but I've never encountered any person who could influence the dreams of an entire country's grey wardens."
He suddenly wished he'd brought Pounce with him. Something about the presence of the animal helped him think, and he never gave complicated opinions. But the cat was too big to fit in his robes any more, and didn't like the deep roads much - too much darkspawn smell.
"The other groups are scouting for more tears in the veil," Anders said. "And there's nothing more we can do here. I suppose we go back to the keep."
"No hurry this time," Garic said, grinning at Neria. "We can appreciate the true beauty of the deep roads."
"Well I grew up in a Tower," Neria said. "Rocks are quite interesting, really."
"I'll second that," Anders said. "But Amaranthine is better. I think we all deserve a bit of leave once we get back to the keep."
"Are we finally going to hit the town and have a party?" Neria said, eyebrows raised. "I was wondering if you were ever going to deliver on this promise of having more freedom as a warden than as a circle mage."
"What can I say? Walking corpses interfere with everything."