Salem

"Stop."

"But..."

"Here." I reached out and smoothed Alistair's hair before adjusting the stiff collar of the crimson tunic he wore. His irrepressible cowlick remained still beneath my fingers and I grinned at him. "That's better."

The rich red that he wore accentuated the flecks of gold in his eyes, making them seem almost aflame. I gladdened me that he had chosen to keep the traditional Theirin colors, choosing what the people knew, what they were familiar with. Appearances were everything in the noble's world, for perception was reality. Alistair had been opposed during the Landsmeet. It was only Fergus' miraculous reappearance and my victory against Loghain that had secured our position and made this day possible. There was still a great deal of work to be done. Keeping true to the standard colors would help convince those who fear too much change that perhaps not all was lost.

"I'm not ready for this." Alistair clenched and unclenched his fists, rolling the shoulder of his recently healed left arm, which had been broken by an ogre's first when my warden brother held the gates.

"You will be fine." I assured him, brushing imaginary motes of dust from his impeccable clothing.

He had never been to official court functions, as I had. He had been cast from Eamon's house when he was a mere ten years hold. They had sent him to the Chantry to be raised there. Unlike Leliana, he had not been able to choose the calmer paths. Instead, they thrust a sword in his hand and forced lyrium down his throat. He had been too young to understand, unable to deny those older and supposedly wiser.

The life of a Grey Warden was not something anyone would choose. I had found that out with Ser Jory...a man who had volunteered until he realized the true risk, and the very real cost of taking the warden's oath. My gut had turned when Duncan had killed him, but I understood the necessity of it. To kill an archdemon was to surrender one's life. To become a warden was to risk having to strike that final blow, and that manner of sacrifice needed to be instilled in the mind already.

Alistair had been different. He had willingly accepted Duncan's offer, eager to leave the life of a Templar behind him. Eager to be the judge of his own life, not submit to the edicts of others who declared death to men and women supposedly cursed with magic. A man who would willingly give his life to the taint and risk death in order to free his soul and aid others, with no compulsion pressed upon him to do so...I beamed with pride. Alistair looked, and was, every inch a king, even if he did not believe himself to be suited to the task.

"Salem, I'm not...I am not you." Alistair blushed and looked around, making certain that we were alone in the anteroom of the main hall of Fort Drakon.

I frowned, remembering those same words spilled from Leliana's lips. "And what bearing does that have on the situation?" I asked him. "I am no different than any of you. I am, in fact, perhaps lesser."

Alistair scoffed and pulled the collar away once more, irritated by its height and stiffness. "You saved Thedas and Ferelden and killed an archdemon. You are lesser than no one and greater than most. You are the name on every lips...I would wager that one child in five born in the last four months has been christened with your name."

I shook my head, refusing to believe him. I had done my duty to my Maker and my country. I did not wish to be called a hero. I did not even wish to be here. I longed for that which Bryce Cousland had made his life's dream. Peace. I needed no fanfare, no accolades. I needed a quiet place to be alone with my soul, with my lover...a place to leave the clamoring world behind for the first time in over a year.

"Alistair, if anyone deserves the credit for this, it is you, and those who joined us along the way. You did the same as I, and fought when none else would. I counted on your sword in battle. I relied on you for counsel when all else deserted me. Now, Ferelden needs you. It needs you more than it will ever need me."

"I'm not...I am not a king." he protested. "I have no taste for politics and even less for politicians. I..."

"Made an impassioned speech at the Landsmeet." I smiled. "Even though I could scarcely stand under my own power, I heard your words, I saw your bearing. And I saw the reactions of the bannorn. They were impressed by your words and your bearing."

"I said those words for you." Alistair blushed and picked at the heavily embroidered sleeve of his tunic. "You...you give people strength, Salem. If I did not know the truth, I would swear you possessed magic. You have always...I mean...dwarven politics. Do I really need to say anything more?"

I laughed, sobering as I remembered the horror of Orzammar, the sleepless nights I spent in the belly of the earth, wracking my mind, trying to decide which candidate for the crown I should back. In the end, I chose the main who had slain his father and siblings...but he was a man who looked forward, who wanted the caste system obliterated, the tattoos stricken from the faces of newborn babies. Sometimes progress could come at the touch of a kind hand, but more often it had to be paid for in blood.

"We've yet to see how those dwarven politics will play out." I walked to a chest in the room, where I had secured a gift for Alistair.

"And I am your next political experiment?" Alistair grumbled as a servant entered the room and tugged at his tunic, making last moment adjustments. "Throw the warden on the throne and see if he can swim?"

"No." I turned around and Alistair's jaw dropped as he saw what I held in my hands. "This is no experiment, Alistair. This is me, trusting you and the blood you were born with, to protect the land that I love and am sworn to."

"Where...where did you get...it cannot be." Alistair gasped. "Can it? Is that..."

"Yes." I smiled as I set the sword in his hands. "I found it when we returned to Ostagar. My first intention was to return it to Anora, but that was before you revealed your parentage. This is yours, Alistair. It is Cailan's blade, the sword that he inherited from Maric, your father. I secured it with Isolde at Redcliffe before we left for the Circle."

Alistair took the blade in trembling hands. "Salem, this is the Sword that Freed Ferelden. It is the symbol of our victory over Orlais. I couldn't...I cannot accept this."

"Yes, you can." I told him, pulling the blade from his hands and affixing the sheath to his belt. "Because you, too, freed Ferelden. You liberated her from the archdemon and the darkspawn, breaking the siege in Denerim as surely as your father did years ago."

"But you killed the archdemon." Alistair stressed, standing stiff as I wrapped the belt around his waist and affixed the various necessary trappings of gilded rope.

"And I survived it because of you." I finished with the sword and smoothed the wrinkles in his tunic that I had made. "We could stand here for days bickering about such trivialities. All that matters is this day, this moment. The crown is at last back in the hands of a good, sane man."

"Salem," Alistair lowered his voice, "I do not even know what I am going to say. These people...they are all looking at me and expecting me to effect change, to re-build the country. I...I...I do not know what to do. I do not have your preternatural skill for saying the appropriate thing at the appropriate time."

"I will be with you." I promised, taking his hand. "Every step of the way. The words will come to you, as they always have to me."

"Promise me?" he asked, looking so very, very young.

"I promise." I lied, as I had so many times.

I had given my word to so many, with know way of knowing if I could follow through. But I always had, in the end, no matter the pain endured or the wounds inflicted. Because I was a Cousland. I would turn lies to truth because I would keep my word no matter the cost or consequence.

The door to the antechamber opened and I lifted my swords onto my back for what I hoped would be the last time.

Let there be peace. Dear Maker, let there be peace.

A servant entered the room and bowed low. "Your Majesty, Lady Cousland," she addressed us, "the Revered Mother is ready and all the nobles are in place."

"I do not suppose there's any backing out of this?" Alistair asked the moment she left.

"Not in the least." I crooked my arm at the elbow and extended to him.

We would walk down the long hallway to the future arm in arm, side-by-side, facing this moment as we had all other trials during the Blight. Together.

"Well then." he took my proffered arm and we walked to the door.

Before we opened it, he turned to me, leant down, and placed a kiss on my lips. It was not lustful; it did not seek anything. It simply was. It was everything he felt for me and could never say...because he knew my heart belonged to another, and he was a good enough man to accept that.

"Forgive me." he whispered, resting his hand on the door.

"It's...it's all right." I resisted the urge to brush my hand across my lips, not wanting to hurt him. "I understand."

"You always do." he said, flinging the door open.