A/N: Extra chapter because last one was short, and many of you would have skipped the last half so here it is early. Back in Haven, and the chapter's rather more domestic, because it's nearly all Madanach chilling out at home with Maia, which might not sound interesting... until they get company for dinner in the form of a back early from the Mire Alistair. There was almost pr0n in this one. But someone got the jitters and refused to co-operate, so we've got this instead.
Warning for mentions of m/m sexual activity. Alas, the actual activity didn't materialise. Sigh.
Summary: Madanach's settled into a routine, taking care of Maia, even if the presence of spirits is making things harder than it really needed to be. However, all that changes when an unexpected guest brings welcome news... and Madanach's hospitality is stirring up unexpected feelings in Alistair, who is spectacularly ill-equipped to cope, and it seems the only way to avert disaster is to send him into the arms of the one person who cannot turn him away.
Late afternoon in Haven, and Madanach was putting the finishing touches to the dream catcher. Well, perhaps spirit catcher would be a better word, but it was a web of twine, lyrium, feathers, stones, gemstones, dried elfroot, and whatever else Madanach could lay hands on. In true Reach-magic style, it and the various other charms and warding artefacts he'd assembled were all a bit cobbled together from the ingredients at hand, but some of the most powerful artefacts in the Reach were slung together by a skilled witch at the last minute.
Madanach had never been anything but skilled in these matters. It'd work. It'd have to. The dreams were getting on his tits by this point, and the constant tweaking by fascinated spirits at his aura was likewise driving him up the wall. Worse, Maia had been having dreams too, and more than once he'd found her staring into space, having thought she'd seen a pixie or a sprite or something.
On talking to Fiona, he'd found out this was an endemic problem for mages over here, in that they attracted spirits and demons, and due to the shoddy Veil over here, spirit possession was all too real a danger. Most spirits were harmless, or not strong enough to harm anyone anyway, but all the same, it was a problem. The resulting pairing of mage and demon, or abomination as the Chantry referred to them, was a horror that could lay waste for miles around.
Madanach had laughed nervously and not said a word about Hagravens, in fact he made a mental note to ensure Keirine never came here. Not just for Keirine's own safety, but if the Chantry ever found out about the Matriarchs of the Reach, they'd likely declare an Exalted March on the spot. But it hadn't solved the immediate problem of making sure Maia was all right. The translation spirits Keirine had invoked into them would likely stop anything else getting in without their consent or knowledge, but Maia had no such protection. Haven had been relatively spirit-free after the Breach scared them off, but they were starting to creep back, and they seemed to find Maia fascinating.
Hence the warding charms on the cabin. Maia was sensible enough to handle a negotiation when awake, or at least aware enough (because he'd taught her) to agree to nothing and just say she would need to talk to her mother and father first, and if the spirit had a problem with that, it was probably really a demon. But her dreams were another matter. If all these things helped keep his baby that bit safer, then it was worth the effort. Despite the sidelong looks from everyone else.
"All right, Maia, these should help with the dreams," Madanach said as he fastened the last of the charms over the door. "No more demonic influences in the night. These'll keep out everything except ancestral guardian spirits."
Maia was sitting on her bed with Frogella in her arms, looking a bit pensive.
"But they're not all bad," Maia whispered. "Some of them are my friends! They're nice! They keep the bad ones away."
Words that struck a chill in Madanach's heart, because Maia having connections with people – spirits – he couldn't interact with and had no control over worried him. She was five years old, vulnerable, just a little girl. Madanach really didn't like the idea of spirits taking an interest, even if they were protecting her from others.
"That doesn't mean they're good themselves," Madanach pointed out to her, stepping down from the stepladder and coming to sit down next to her. "Who are these spirits anyway?"
"They're nice," Maia whispered. "I mean, they're grown-ups, mostly, but they're nice! Sigrun's pretty like Mama and has blonde hair which she braids like Mama does, and she's got black and red armour like Cicero's and some very sharp knives which she won't let me touch. And Varnyr's her husband and he's got red hair down to his chin and braids and a beard like Argis's and the same armour Sigrun has, and a bow and arrows and knives, and a lute! He can play and sing lots of songs! He says he went to the Bards' College when he was a young man! Bards are nice, right?"
"Bards are paid to be nice and charming and entertain people, Maia, that doesn't mean they're really like that when they're not being paid," Madanach sighed, although something was nagging at him. A bard called Varnyr, he'd heard that name. He just didn't know where. But the black and read armour like Cicero's, that was a worry. Why were the spirits of two Dark Brotherhood assassins so interested in his daughter?
"Did they say why they're looking after you in the Fade?" he asked. "They wouldn't do that for no reason."
Maia shrugged, looking a bit confused. "They said they were ansis – siss – sisteral spirits. And that they were worried I might get in trouble in the Fade and came to look after me. They wanted me to call them Granma and Granda but I said they weren't old enough and Sigrun was far too pretty, and that made them laugh, so they said I could use their names instead. They don't use mine though. They won't even let me say it. They just call me sweetie and little one and sometimes Dragon-Rider."
Names had power and knowing a name, using it, gave you power over something, and these two seemed to know that. They'd given their own names but not used Maia's. Interesting. Although not as interesting as hearing they'd asked Maia to refer to them as her grandparents, and it was with dawning horror that Madanach recalled who Varnyr the bard had been. Varnyr Silvertongue, famous bard from decades ago, who'd trained in Solitude, plied his trade over in High Rock, married and been widowed with a young daughter, and eventually come back to his home city of Solitude to die, bringing his teenage daughter with him… and that daughter had gone on to marry the High King's son, get widowed in turn, ended up as Jarl and gone on to change the world.
Elisif's parents, coming to protect their granddaughter, which was not unwelcome… but also couldn't help but unnerve him, and them being Dark Brotherhood was news to him. Probably news to Elisif too.
"Do they ever mention your mother?" Madanach asked, hoping to get some confirmation of his fears. "And me?"
"Oh yes!" Maia said, brightening up. "I told them stories, and they seemed really happy although Sigrun cried a bit and Varnyr might have too although he said he had something in his eye. Daddy, can spirits get things in their eyes?"
"I'm not sure, love," Madanach said, his fears confirmed. "Maybe spirits can get Fade dust in their eyes. But your mama's story is impressive. I'm not surprised they're proud. What about me? Did they mention me at all?"
Maia hesitated a bit this time before slowly nodding.
"They weren't sure about you. I don't think Varnyr likes you very much," Maia admitted. "But I told them you were the best daddy ever and were nice to me and looked after me and told me stories about the Reach and that you'd never let Templars hurt me or take me away, and that Mama loved you and you'd helped her save Skyrim, and Sigrun seemed to like you a bit after that. Although she did ask if you'd ever hit me, but I told her you never would, you're nice!" Maia looked up, suddenly nervous and her voice dropped to a tiny whisper. "You wouldn't, would you?"
"Of course not!" Madanach protested, taking her hand. "I don't hit children! Especially not you. You're my little girl and I love you."
The joy on Maia's face was a sight to behold and she promptly cuddled Madanach.
"Why did you think I might hit you?" Madanach asked, relieved but a bit worried she'd think it, as neither he nor Elisif had ever raised a hand to her, and certainly no one else ever would have.
"Because they hit children here!" Maia whispered. "They used to whip naughty apprentices in the Circle, and sometimes mamas and daddies smack children here too!"
It wasn't unknown in Tamriel either, and Reachman culture did have a tendency to portray children collectively as little pains in the backside from Namira herself, but Madanach guessed Maia had been sheltered from that, and even Reachmen tended not to beat their own kids – not really necessary when threats of the Matriarch's wrath were so much more effective. All the same, he had noticed a slightly punitive streak towards humanity over here – humanity had been rejected by the Maker in the Chantry's eyes and children had a burden of sin to struggle against, mage children in particular. Nothing like that was found in Tamrielic lore – humanity was as it was, possibly a degraded form of elven blood in some accounts, certainly not perfect, but children of Mara nonetheless. Most decent parents tended to accept that their children were trying their best, and extended the same patience Mara showed her imperfect children. Beatings were definitely a last resort, reserved only for the worst infractions.
"Well, your mama and I don't," Madanach promised. "You're quite safe. We won't let anyone hurt you."
Maia's pathetic grateful smile tore at his heartstrings as she cuddled him, and Madanach quietly vowed to stop at nothing to keep her safe.
And then Maia managed to bring tears to his eyes again with her next words.
"Granda Caradach was there too, he was teaching me illusion magic, I told him I'd read his book and he looked really pleased! And he said he was very pleased to meet me and I was a credit to my parents. And I told him you'd been ill but got better and were King of the Reach and the best mage ever except maybe Auntie Keirine, and he looked like he was going to cry but he smiled and said he was proud of you both. He's been keeping bad spirits away too, he puts up illusions and they get confused or scared and they leave."
Madanach wasn't really able to say any more than that, but it really did sound so like his own long-dead (murdered by Nords) father. Caradach had been a scholar and a man of peace. Madanach's own career was rather different, spurred on by rage against the injustice that had orphaned him, and he'd long wondered if his father would actually approve. Hearing that he had… well, it was probably a spirit with his father's form maybe. A trick of the Fade, and the charms would soon prove if it was the real thing or an impostor.
Vivienne would no doubt tell him this was how spirits got under your skin in the first place and that he should silence his heart to any sentimentality on this subject and start crushing his daughter's dreams in addition to his own for all their sakes.
But Vivienne was not here and Vivienne knew nothing about parenting, and frankly Vivienne could eat it. And so Madanach cuddled his daughter and sat with her and the afternoon slipped by before either of them knew it.
Hammering on the door woke them both up, and Dorian's voice shouting his name did nothing for Madanach's name.
And then it occurred to him that Dorian had been out there in the Fallow Mire with Elisif, and if he'd arrived, early, and was desperate to get Madanach's attention…
Heart in his mouth even before his empathy bond could tell him Elisif was still miles away and unharmed, Madanach had set Maia aside and run to the door to fling it open.
Dorian was there but it wasn't Elisif clinging onto him. It was Alistair, grimacing in pain and with an arm round the mage's shoulders.
Alistair looked up, hazel eyes staring up at him, anguished expression on his face as he let go of Dorian and flung himself into Madanach's arms, not saying a word.
"Alistair?" Madanach gasped as he instinctively held on to him. "Are you all right?"
Alistair clearly wasn't, shaking his head as he clung on to Madanach, and Dorian was rubbing Alistair's back and looking apologetic.
"His amulet broke," Dorian told him. "Got hit by an arrow during the battle. Which Elisif won quite handily, by the way, they're all on the way back with the captured soldiers. However, this one was going slowly mad from the Calling, has barely slept on the way back, and is teetering on the verge of a nervous breakdown. We all decided it would be best if he rode on ahead and I volunteered to bring him. Maker knows how Blackwall's coping, but he's the stoic and unbending type whereas Alistair is as delicate as he is high-strung and needs rather more love and attention."
"'m sorry," Alistair whispered, and Madanach reached up and cupped his head in his hand, stroking Alistair's hair and holding him closer.
"It is not your fault," Madanach murmured. "It's all right. It's all right. I've got you. I'm here. I'm here, bion. I've got you."
Alistair was still clinging onto him, but he was no longer shaking and he seemed a little bit calmer. Dorian certainly looked impressed.
"That's amazing. You haven't even cast any magic!" Dorian laughed. "Could you do that for me at some point? It looks so soothing."
The glare Madanach gave him was in sharp contrast to the gentle concern Alistair had received.
"You are not suffering distressing side-effects of the darkspawn taint," Madanach growled at him. "You appear to be just fine. Thank you for bringing him but if you don't mind, I think Alistair is best tended to in private?"
"Suit yourself," Dorian sighed, but his expression did soften a bit as he patted Alistair on the back. "You know where to find me if you need me for anything, my friend."
Alistair murmured a thank you, and Dorian took his leave. Madanach closed the door behind him, and it was only then he felt someone tugging on his kilt. Looking down, he felt his throat close up to see Maia staring up at him, wide-eyed and worried.
"Is Alistair all right?" she whispered, and Madanach felt Alistair stiffen in his arms as he too realised Maia was watching. Madanach promptly summoned a calming spell and wove it around Alistair, followed by the illusion shield itself to block the Calling, feeling him relax once more, and only then did he answer his daughter.
"He's not well, cariad," Madanach explained. "He has something called the Calling and it affects his mind if we don't use magic to treat it. Don't worry, you can't catch it."
"So how did he get it?" Maia asked, clutching Frogella to her chest nervously.
"It's a side-effect of being a Grey Warden," Alistair said, lifting his head from Madanach's chest and smiling down at Maia. "I don't mi – all right, I do mind, but I don't regret becoming one. So don't feel sorry and don't worry. I chose this."
From the look on Maia's face, it was clear she didn't understand this at all, but she did dart forward and cuddle Alistair's leg… and then promptly let him go, crying out as a sharp edge on his greaves had cut her cheek.
Madanach swiftly directed Alistair into the nearest chair before tending to Maia, and one healing spell and a cloth pressed to her cheek and kissing it better later, and Maia at least was fine.
"Alistair bion, could you change out of your plate armour please?" Madanach sighed. "No one can cuddle you in that. I have just about got it into Elisif's head to take the stuff off when she gets in so that Maia and I can cuddle her properly, I don't want to have to do the same thing with you."
Alistair opened his mouth to explain that he was OK with the plate, and actually felt at his most comfortable when covered from head to toe in solid metal, but he saw Maia staring sadly up at him and realised he couldn't do it. So he agreed, and with Madanach's assistance, soon had the armour off.
And immediately felt oddly vulnerable. Alistair shivered despite the fire being lit and a fire rune also blazing heat up from the floor. Madanach was over on the other side of the room removing and unwrapping a chicken which was apparently going to be spitroasted over the fire, and there was a thing, Madanach using telekinesis to levitate a chicken with one hand, while holding the spit with the other.
"The handwashing facilities here are not as good as I'd like and I'm not risking poisoning us all," Madanach told him. "Don't look at me like that, did no one ever tell you to always wash your hands after handling raw chicken?"
"Um, no," Alistair said, blushing as Madanach tutted and told him he was never letting Alistair cook unsupervised, now starting to wonder how many people he'd inadvertently poisoned… before it occurred to him he hardly ever cooked for anyone anyway. That Madanach appeared quite capable of assembling a decent meal was a surprise, and seeing all the magic just casually employed in the making of said meal was just weird. But fascinating, and as Alistair watched, he felt the anxiety fade. He was perfectly safe, just sitting here watching a good friend cook dinner while his five year old… well, actually she was looking shyly up at him, as if she wanted to ask him something.
"What's up, Maia?" he asked, and Maia ran closer, going a bit pink as she hid her face with her hair.
"Can I sit on your lap?" she whispered. Which was an odd request, but maybe she didn't have anywhere else to sit. The only child-sized seat in the cabin was a small wooden stool with a frog painted on it, quite possibly newly commissioned or purchased by someone thinking the Herald's little girl might want a chair. But right now, it seemed he was her preferred choice.
"Go on then," he told her, unable to stop grinning at the way she squealed and bounced before he lifted her up and settled her in place. She promptly snuggled into his chest, cuddling him, and whatever Alistair had expected, it wasn't the sudden pang of broodiness that had just hit him. He'd thought he was OK with likely never having kids. He'd thought he'd accepted it, dealt with it, moved on.
He'd not thought that one little girl cuddling him would suddenly bring out all this emotion, but it was. Here he was, sitting in a cabin, with a little girl in his lap cuddling him, and someone he cared about making dinner, and it was just such a sweet, domestic scene… and Alistair wanted that. He wanted someone to come home to, who'd kiss him on the cheek, take him in his arms, tell him dinner was ready and the kids had missed him. He really wanted it. Because it would feel like this and this was really nice… but it wasn't real, was it? Because Madanach was married to someone else and was definitely not his lover, and crucially not female, and Maia was not his child even if she did seem to be getting rather attached to him. This was Elisif's family, not his, even if he did want to bed Elisif rather badly. Even if having Madanach cuddle him felt perfect.
Elisif's family. Not his, he reminded himself. He was just a guest, if a welcome one. So he closed his eyes, cuddled Maia and decided to just enjoy this while it lasted. Because it wouldn't and he had no place here.
Don't get used to this, Alistair.
"Alistair?" Maia was whispering hopefully. "Alistair, did you see Mama fight the bad Avvar?"
Alistair opened his eyes, looking down to see eagerness and hope in Maia's eyes, a child clearly hoping for a story, particularly a story of heroic deeds starring her beloved mama.
"See it?" Alistair laughed. "Maia, I was in it! Want to hear the story? It's VERY exciting!"
Particularly as it occurred to him neither knew he was Dragonborn yet. Neither knew he could Shout anyway. Neither knew the Avvar were Nords either. Maybe this was as good a time as any to tell them. Maia had squeaked, nodded and was now sitting attentively, and Madanach, the chicken on a magically-rotating spit over a blazing fire rune and the vegetables boiling away in a cauldron over the actual fire, had subtly positioned himself so he could hear it as well.
"All right then," Alistair promised. "Well, we'd already slogged through the marsh, up to our ar- er, up to our bottoms in mud and water and Maker knows what else, with the rain howling down and undead corpses rising up out of the mire, and only that sword of Elisif's keeping them at bay. We'd made a camp in a relatively sheltered bit, and set out on our way again after a rest and resupply and a firm word with Dorian about catching bogfishers in his area of effect spells, because if he casts chain lightning on one and it charges right at me again, bogfishing his own sorry carcass out of the mire is what he'll be doing, I can tell you."
Maia giggled at that, Madanach also snickering at that mental image, and it was funny, but at the time, bruised and soaked and cold and covered in mud because SOMEONE had fucked off the local wildlife with stray magic, it had not been funny at all and Dorian Pavus had nearly ended up dumped in the mire headfirst. But he was digressing and so he moved on to Skywatcher.
"And then we ran into the Avvar tribe's healer-priest who'd wandered off to study a Fade rift. We dealt with the rift, and he helped with the demons and then we all got talking, and we learnt a few fascinating things about Avvar culture."
Maia was staring up at him, wide-eyed and curious and Madanach was glancing up, interested despite himself.
"Well, it can't be completely dull if it held your interest," Madanach remarked. "What did you find out? Way I hear it, they're a bunch of hard-drinking barbarians who think a good punch-up is the highlight of the evening's recreational activity. Like Nords except more so."
Which was a bit rich from someone whose culture considered Watching Madanach Creatively Execute Someone an unmissable social event to be talked of for weeks, but Alistair was not to know that.
"They are Nords," Alistair told him proudly. "It turned out he understood Tamrielic. Sort of. They've diverged a bit. But they understand each other, they both worship the goddess Kyne, known as the Lady of the Skies, and it turns out they both believe the suicidally brave go to this eternal mead hall called Shovinnagarden."
"Sovngarde," Madanach said quietly, no longer laughing, and Maia was staring up with her mouth open wide. "Alistair, are you serious? The Avvar actually believe in exactly the same things Nords do?"
"Yes!" Alistair said, before he remembered what else they believed in. "They, er, believe the world will end when Alduin the Sky-Eater rises and destroys the Lady of the Skies, and only a Dragonborn can save them. Someone with the blood of dragons in their veins. Like, er, Elisif."
"And me!" Maia cried, bouncing up and down. "I'm Dragonborn! And Alduin's dead, Mama killed him!"
"Yes," Madanach said, watching Alistair intently. "Go on."
"She used the Thu'um when she went up against the chief, and they recognised her as Dragonborn," Alistair said quietly. "One fled for his life, but the others fought back. They wouldn't surrender or anything. We had to fight, and we won. Just about. I got hit with a couple of arrows, broke my amulet but my armour took the worst of it. Except it meant Elisif was fighting the chief alone, and he dodged a blow and tried to hit back and he'd have got her too… and then I discovered I can Shout. Because Elisif told me a Shout the night before and when he was going to hurt her, I couldn't… look, if I couldn't charge him down, I can Shout him away, right? And it worked, and Blackwall killed him. But I'm Dragonborn. I'm Dragonborn. I thought it was a ritual involving drinking actual dragon's blood, and who knows, maybe that works. But in the oldest tales, it was something else, wasn't it? It was knowing how to do this. And the Nords tend to revere their Dragonborns and put them in charge, like they did with Elisif, and it's not just Nords, is it? The Avvars do too, if they put anyone in charge. Because the Avvars split off from the Alamarri, and the ones that weren't Avvars became… became the Fereldans. Like me. And… and Andraste. Maker, Madanach, Elisif thinks Andraste might have been Dragonborn and it was her Thu'um not her singing that gave her power. And even if she wasn't, she's still Alamarri. She's descended from Nords. We would never have had Andrastianism without Tamriel. Fu- I mean, Madanach, this is… I mean… we owe you everything!"
Maia was looking between them, confused and trying to figure all this out, and Madanach, dinner forgotten, got up with a very strange look on his face and came over, perching on the arm of Alistair's chair with his arms round Alistair's shoulders, and he leaned over and kissed the top of Alistair's head, snuggling Alistair in his arms.
"You don't owe me anything, bion," Madanach murmured. "And I'm fairly certain your cultural hero owes nothing to a bunch of Reachman heathens."
Maia was cuddling up to him too, and Alistair put one arm round Maia and another round Madanach and held on to them for all he was worth, because right now all of this was terrifying and confusing and could rip Thedas apart for good. And he had no idea what to do.
"What happens now?" Alistair whispered. "I mean… this is huge. And the Avvar know the Herald's a Dragonborn, the friendly one's gone back to tell the rest. And Dorian and Varric and Blackwall know, which means Varric's one day going to put it in a book and..."
Hand on his chest and Madanach's lips were by his ear as he whispered "breathe".
Alistair stopped talking and breathed in time with Madanach increasing and decreasing pressure on his chest, and eventually the anxiety faded and he felt calmer.
"Thank you," he whispered as Madanach lifted his hand and cuddled him instead, kissing him on top of the head again. Alistair closed his eyes and found himself recalling another night, over a decade ago now, six months after his Joining, a few drinks the worse for wear and being helped back to bed by Duncan.
Vision blurring, clinging on to Duncan, too much to drink but it doesn't matter. Duncan's here, that's what matters. He's here and everything's going to be all right. And it had been until Alistair, his inhibitions down and in the arms of someone who cared about him, had lost his head entirely, snuggled up to Duncan, kissed his cheek and whispered he loved him.
And Duncan had flinched, before setting Alistair on his bed, stepping firmly away and providing him with some water and a bucket, telling Alistair he'd had far too much to drink and needed to rest. Alistair had woken up and felt ill from more than just the seven pints of ale from the previous night but thankfully Duncan hadn't mentioned it and had just acted as if it had never happened. Alistair had kept his thoughts to himself after that, ruthlessly repressing any thoughts or fantasies involving men getting up close and personal with him. Ladies. He liked ladies. Not men. Not like that. It would only end in tears and embarrassment and not everyone was as understanding as Duncan, were they?
Madanach was stepping back, ruffling first Alistair's hair then Maia's, and then picking Maia up, calmly commenting that dinner was nearly ready and perhaps Maia could fetch her stool and table, hmm?
Maia turned out to have a little table of her own and the frog stool, child-sized and perfect for eating off, and then Madanach was serving dinner and inviting Alistair to sit by the fire and join him.
"Seriously, what does happen now?" Alistair whispered. "This Andraste being a Nord thing could change everything."
"Well, we don't say anything, for a start," Madanach said thoughtfully. "We can't hide that you've got the Thu'um but we can keep the shared ancestry hidden until we make contact with Tamriel again. With the Empire at our back, we might be able to use this to our advantage. The scary heathen land across the sea might be a bit less scary if we can tell people it's the Alamarri homeland. And the Chantry can't flood us with missionaries preaching the good news about Andraste if we've told everyone already that she's a Lost Dragonborn Nord."
That Madanach was thinking so far ahead worried Alistair, it really did, because he'd never have thought of all that. He didn't know whether to be impressed or scared. A bit of both maybe. If he was a loyal Andrastian, he might be appalled. But Alistair was no longer sure what he believed, and he'd seen the Chantry's care firsthand.
"And whatever happens, we need to know more," Madanach was also saying. "Some of the MageGuard seemed to think the Avvar had more enlightened attitudes to magic than the Chantry, and they'd marked a few engravings out in the Hinterlands. Liriel was going to investigate but obviously she's not here. In the light of this, researching the Avvar just shot up the priority list. I'll need to send a few scouts out there to get rubbings. And keep an eye on them. I don't trust the Chantry not to start removing evidence if they got wind of it."
"They wouldn't, would they?" Alistair gasped, before remembering the Chantry brothers who'd overseen his teen years and realised with horror they might.
"We'll get the Inquisition keeping an eye on the engravings," Madanach promised. "We won't tell them why. Just that some of us are interested in the various cultures of Thedas. They say it's the founding story of the Avvar and their foremother Tyrdda Bright-Axe, but it's engraved in several different tongues. Could be invaluable to scholars."
"Skywatcher pronounced it Teer-tha," Alistair said sleepily. "Said Elisif was a Daughter of Tyrdda."
Madanach put down his plate in stunned amazement, because there was only one tongue he knew of that had that combination of sounds.
"That's a Reachwoman's name," Madanach said quietly. "As are a lot of Fereldan names, thinking of it – yours, for example. I just thought it was coincidence, but… if the Alamarri came from Skyrim, it can't be. All right, we need to get copies of those carvings, they say some of it's never been translated, but what if it's in Tamrielic. Or the Reach tongue – gods, Alistair, you have no idea what that would mean!"
"You mean, your people came along too? Not just Nords?" Alistair said, excitement over this warring with sleepiness. "You mean… you mean South Reach really does have a North Reach!"
"South Reach?" Madanach asked, eyebrows shooting up.
"Yeah," Alistair said, suppressing a yawn, or trying to at any rate. "'S a town on the southern border'f Ferelden, they say it's cos it's on the southernmost reach of Ferelden but we always used to joke about what happened to North Reach. Drove Morrigan mad. But now we know!"
"There's another Reach name," Madanach murmured to himself, but Alistair didn't respond. He was too busy yawning, his empty plate sliding out of his lap, and it was clear the lack of sleep was telling on him.
Somebody needed a nap.
"Daddy, he's falling asleep!" Maia whispered. "Alistair's falling asleep!"
"Yes, he is," Madanach agreed, wondering what to do about it before realising he had little choice. "All right, Alistair, get up, come with me, there's a good boy."
Alistair was just about awake enough to respond, clinging on to Madanach as he steered him to the bed, staying upright long enough to collapse on it. Madanach helped him get some of his outer clothing off and pulled the covers over him, smiling fondly as Alistair closed his eyes.
"Well Maia, looks like Alistair is staying the night," Madanach said, grinning to himself. "Let's hope he doesn't snore, eh?"
Maia giggled, but did at least go out of her way to keep the noise down so Alistair didn't wake up, and so Madanach put the dishes out for collection, put Maia to bed, and then spent the next few hours staring at the sleeping Dragonborn in his bed. Blonde hair, not red. Skin a little lighter than Fiona's olive complexion, but not as Nord pale as Elisif's. Muscles. Dear gods, Alistair had them. Not like Borkul or Iron Bull, but he was no weakling either. Exactly Madanach's type.
And he got to sleep next to this stunningly handsome warrior all night, and couldn't do anything because… well, it would be bad. Still, there were worse people to sleep next to. Maybe he'd wake up to find Alistair cuddling him. He could but hope.
As Madanach finished his evening routine and climbed in alongside a sleeping Alistair, he wondered which of them would break first.
Alistair woke up to darkness, not knowing where he was, only that he was in a bed and didn't remember exactly how he got there. Which wasn't a novel sensation by any means, but he'd not been drinking last night. All he remembered was having dinner with Madanach and Maia then feeling increasingly tired due to not having slept very well for the last week what with the Calling keeping him up half the night and then…
Alistair looked around, his eyes adjusting to the gloom, and with growing horror he realised he did know where he was. This was Madanach and Elisif's bed. And…
He lowered his eyes from the ceiling and realised Madanach was lying alongside him, silvery-blonde hair the most visible part of him, the rest of him huddled underneath the covers. Close enough for Alistair to touch.
Madanach turning over, silver eyes opening, inviting smile on his face, fingertips brushing along Alistair's arm, then up to his cheek and Alistair closing the distance and kissing him, rolling him onto his back, Madanach unresisting and opening his arms to invite Alistair in, yielding completely and letting Alistair take what he wanted.
Alistair gasped and shrank back, appalled at himself, and where was this even coming from? Women, he preferred women, pretty women, women with wide eyes and long hair and full breasts and…
A warrior's physique, muscles underneath the curves, a few scars, red hair, fierce blue eyes, the ability to Shout him onto his back and wrestle him into submission…
Andraste help him. This was no better. Worse if anything, because it occurred to him that not only did part of him want to despoil and ravage a dear friend, said dear friend was also the husband of the fierce and terrifying Herald of Andraste. Who would certainly punish an assault on her husband, and would not forgive such a betrayal.
What Madanach would think about Alistair shoving him down and forcing himself on him, Alistair couldn't even bring himself to think about.
He'd use magic on me. Except I can stop that, he'd be defenceless, oh Maker no, I can't…
But he wanted to. Forbidden, wrong, probably sinful, might be legal between two men but it was still considered not quite the done thing. Not condemned but not encouraged either. And Duncan had flinched away from him. Alistair had absorbed the lesson well. You did not do this with other men, you did not talk about it, you did not act on it. And definitely not with someone who was married, and to someone else you cared about as well.
Alistair had to get out of here, because he didn't know how he was going to lie here resisting temptation all night. So he slowly sat up, wondering how he was going to get out of here without waking Madanach.
He needn't have bothered. Behind him, Madanach stirred, turned over, cast a magelight and sat up, rubbing his eyes and shivering in the cold.
"Alistair? Are you all right?"
Alistair froze and didn't answer, forcing down the emotion that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him.
"Alistair?" And then Madanach was breathing in his ear, a hand on his far shoulder, clearly meant to pull him back to bed. "Alistair bion, you'll get cold. Come back to bed. If it's the Calling bothering you, I can cast the spells again, or we can just cuddle and talk if something else is worrying you."
YOU. YOU are what is worrying me. And it would not stop at cuddling, it would continue with kissing and groping, and it would probably end with Alistair making Madanach suck his cock, all the while hissing depravities at him.
Alistair felt revolted at the very thought, because Madanach was a friend, a man he cared about, he couldn't do that to him, he just couldn't.
"I need to leave," Alistair whispered. "I'm sorry, Madanach, I know it's late but I can't stay. You should – you should let me go."
"Go? Go where? Alistair, it's the middle of the night, where in the Void are you going to go?" Madanach demanded. "Alistair, what's wrong. You can talk to me about things, I won't judge you."
Alistair was absolutely certain Madanach would not want to hear about this and would definitely judge him, and he was just thankful that he was still in his woollen full-length underwear that covered most of his body. He had a feeling Madanach was topless at the very least – apparently Reachman culture involved showing off as much flesh as was decently allowed and using magic to keep warm instead.
"I'm sorry, Madanach," he said, kicking the covers back and crawling towards the end of the bed so as to get out that way without touching Madanach.
He did make it out of the bed, but alas Madanach had other ideas, as he followed him out and reached out to grab his arms from behind.
"Alistair, wait, you don't have to… don't go, love," Madanach was saying, voice running away with him as he forgot to censor himself and used the Thedosian word for a loved one, not a Reach one. "Please, tell me what's wrong. Was it anything I did?"
"No," Alistair whispered, feeling guilt, want, desire, terror, pain, all mingling. But his Templar training had not deserted him, and Alistair reined in the desire to turn on Madanach and cling onto him and tell him everything and face what judgement might come.
He wasn't to know there'd have been no judgement, no turning away, just Madanach kissing him and leading him back to bed, grinning as he whispered he'd had this exact same conversation with Elisif once and it hadn't worked out too badly, had it, now do please tell me more about these depraved fantasies you've been having.
But Elisif had been a Nord, raised in a culture with no Chantry and where the temples blessed same-sex relationships the same way they did different-sex relationships, and Dibella sanctified all acts of consensual love and pleasure, and Mara smiled on all loving families, even the unconventional ones. She had also seen Madanach being annoyed, irritated, angry, teasing, smug, a whole range of emotions, very few of which had been intended to court her. She'd seen the King in Rags before she'd ever seen the family man, and so she'd not worried about traumatising him or about him judging her, because by that point she was well aware that the moral high ground was unfamiliar territory for him, to put it mildly.
Alistair had none of that. He'd spent his sexually formative years in the prudish arms of the Chantry, and his first same-sex advance had been repelled with no further discussion. And most crucially, he knew nothing of Hagravens or Briarhearts or the many many crimes of the Forsworn Rebellion. He'd seen Madanach's compassion but none of his ruthlessness. And so he reacted very differently.
"Madanach, you have been nothing but kind to me," Alistair said softly. "You've fed me, cared for me, invited me into your home… and I'd repay you with… Madanach, I can't talk about it. Just… just let me leave. Let me leave here and… and I'll never bother you again."
An addict's extreme reaction, an extravagant promise from someone who could only offer all or nothing, who couldn't think clearly or moderate his reactions. Someone who'd not had his own struggles might have let him go.
Madanach had not spent all that time in weekly Skooma addict support meetings for nothing. He knew what lay behind it.
"Don't," Madanach said, not bothering to keep the pleading out of his voice. "Don't leave the Inquisition. We still need you. Don't… look, bion, if you can't be near me, for whatever reason, whatever I remind you of, whatever emotions I stir in you, don't run away completely. Don't go fleeing into the night with no thought but to hide where no one will ever find you. There is still a place for you here, there always will be."
Alistair shook his head, lump in his throat, knowing it wasn't true and his best option was to flee into the night and do what a true Warden should have done the moment the Calling first meandered into his head – go to Orzammar, return to the Deep Roads and go to his death. It would be for the best, the lying addict voice whispered. Flee, leave it all behind you, you don't deserve to be happy, you're worthless and useless, just end it all and make your death mean something.
"What place do I have here," Alistair said softly. "Sitting here watching what I can't have, slowly going mad from the Calling and watching you and watching Elisif and either destroying myself or destroying your marriage… Madanach, please. Let me go. You're better off without me."
"Not true," Madanach said, voice husky and urgent. "But if you can't be here… go to Grand Enchanter Fiona. She could find a use for you. The free mages don't trust Templars, but you're not one. You left, and you have a lot of stories poking fun at Cullen. More importantly, you have their training and Fiona has apprentice mages prone to misfired magicka, and older mages who might need someone to help contain experiments before they get out of hand. It's a big camp, and I know Bethany thinks highly of you for helping her love life out. If you can't be with me… ask Fiona for help. I happen to know she's got a soft spot for you. Apparently you remind her of someone."
Alistair couldn't begin to imagine who. But he'd need to confess about his amulet anyway. Maybe she'd kill him and save everyone the trouble. He could but hope.
"All right," Alistair whispered, shoulders relaxing. Madanach took a deep breath and stepped away, returning to bed as Alistair gathered his clothes and got dressed. He only drew nearer when Alistair reached for the armour, helping fasten the back straps on his cuirass, and once Alistair was fully clad in metal, Madanach stepped away, sitting back on the bed and looking sad and defeated.
Alistair had done that and he didn't think he was going to be able to forgive himself for this, not for a long time. But the idea of going to Fiona wasn't a bad one. Perhaps he'd die heroically saving one of the mage kids from a stray fireball or something.
And so he took his leave, one last whispered 'I'm sorry' and then Alistair was gone out into the night. Leaving Madanach standing in the anteroom, shivering in his underwear and staring at the door, feeling his heart break. And then things got worse, because someone shuffled behind him, and then little footsteps padded on the floor as Maia came to see what was going on.
"Daddy?" she whispered. "Where's Alistair going?"
"He's moving to the mage camp, little one," Madanach said softly, seeing no reason to lie to her. "I'm sorry. I know you like him. I don't want him to go either."
Little gasp of despair and shock from Maia.
"But he can't!" Maia gasped. "How will he look after me if he's all the way over there? He's not a mage. He should be here!"
"I know," Madanach said, picking her up. "I wish he was here too. But he's free to live where he wants."
Maia sniffled and clung onto him as he carried her into the main room. Somehow he didn't think either of them would get much sleep if they slept alone tonight. So he tucked her up in the double bed instead and climbed in next to her.
"I don't want him to live with the mages, I want him to live with us," Maia whispered, sounding as despairing as he felt.
"I know, love," Madanach said softly, kissing the top of her head as she snuggled under the blankets. "He might change his mind, but right now he just needs space. And a bit of time."
"How much time," Maia asked, not happy with this at all.
"I don't know," Madanach sighed. "We need to give him time alone."
Maia didn't answer, but she clearly wasn't happy, because she rolled forward and clung on to him, lower lip jutting out. Madanach felt his heart go out to her.
"We will give him a bit of time, then go visit the mages," Madanach murmured. "I'm not sure I should see him, but no reason you can't."
It consoled her a bit. And so Madanach cuddled his daughter to comfort them both and eventually drifted off to sleep.
A/N: Oh Alistair, you poor messed up boy. Still, all this means he's going to end up staying with and spending time with the mother he doesn't know he has. How long do you think it will be before Fiona breaks, hmm?
I also wanted to deal with the effect of spirits pestering the Tamrielic mages. The adults are all capable of dealing with it, but Maia's vulnerable... so I got her some protection from some ancestor spirits. We can't have tiny little Maia getting possessed, can we? And it gives me a chance to flesh out some of Elisif and Madanach's backstories.