But enough was not enough. Who ever saw
The limit in the given anyhow?
-Seamus Heaney, Wheels within Wheels
"With all due respect could you please stop squirming, milord?"
"Well, perhaps if you were a little gentler?"
The mage looked at him. Alistair could write a tome on suppressed anger since becoming King. It's all around the eyes, he thought as the mage tore the Veil once again. His shoulder sang with agony. What I wouldn't give for Wynne or 'Ria. Even the diminutive of his friends name soured his thoughts. Bloody void, she could've at least written.
Her absence had not been far from his mind since the bright autumnal day on which she'd left. Part of him knew it had been right for her to go. She'd been suffering at Vigil's Keep, made for inaction as little as he was. I should have done more, should have sent her with better people, not a pirate I barely trust and a mage I barely know. Leliana had came and left again like a whirlwind. He'd been unable to keep the rumours of Elaria's disappearance from the tricksy bard for even a day. Leli going was a bad idea, adding wood to an already blazing inferno. Reports from Antiva were scarce, even his usual informants were silent. He exhaled heavily and the healer winced.
"Not you, Ardan. Fear not," Alistair rested his forehead on the back on the chair. "Are you almost done?"
"It's a deep wound, milord. It'll take as long as it takes." Ardan's fingers tingled over the burning scar. "Perhaps if you could keep still..."
Before Alistair could fumble for a witty retort the Mabari at his feet stirred, nose pointed towards the door, one ear cocked upwards. Shadow had been presented to the King as a pup, a gift from the kennels of Highever. The Cousland family were renowned for breeding sleek but muscular hounds, with noses sharper than any blade and an innate sense for danger that matched any of Alistair's personal guards. Shadow sniffed the air and sank his head back down with a soft whine.
"Who is it boy?" Alistair reached to scratch behind the ears.
Shadow woofed. The hound insisted that Teagan's smell had changed in the few months the Bann had been a father. Communicating with a Mabari was often like solving a riddle. Alistair remembered Elaria's amazement that two creatures, with such different perspectives on the world, managed to find common ground in which discussion was possible. She had spent hours with Tajiic, her own trusty beast, nodding and murmuring at his woofs and snorts as though she'd understood. Now Alistair understood.
There was a commotion in the hallway. Shadow opened a wrinkled eye, stretched out a paw and went straight back to sleep. Teagan burst into the room, quickly followed by an irate Malic Dunn, Captain of the Guard.
"What happened, Alistair?"
"I must ask that you leave, Bann Teagan," Malic's mailed fist crunched at his side. Shadow yawned as he stretched to his feet, padding over to Teagan and snuffling him hopefully.
"Really, Malic, it's fine," Alistair waved his hand. "Teagan is not here to assassinate me." Though I'm sure the lecture that's coming could bore me to death. Malic grunted, his steel plate clanking as he slammed the door. Alistair rolled his eyes. Shadow wagged his stubby tail.
"Are we done?" he raised an eyebrow at Ardan, almost miming the yes he hoped for.
"I'll need to see you again tonight, milord. And no straining that arm, the wound is liable to tear," Ardan began gathering his things. As Alistair stood, Ridgewell, Master of the Kings Bedchamber, scuttled in from the adjoining room. He was an eagle of a man with a long, hooked nose he seemed to enjoy peering down. Alistair waved him away.
"I didn't live to twenty three unable to dress myself," he murmured.
"That's a new one, sire," Ridgewell drawled, ignoring the King and picking invisible pieces of dust from the doublet he was holding.
"A new what?"
"A new quip, sire," he nodded to Bann Teagan. "Will you be joining us for the dressing, my lord."
"Ridgewell, please leave," Alistair was tired of having the same argument every morning but his manservant was as obstinate as a brick wall. How do I find myself constantly in the company of the pig-headed. His eyes flickered over Teagan. Yes, constantly. Ridgewell began his daily exhalations on the virtues of tradition and formality. Alistair gradually managed to shepherd him from the room. He bolted the chamber door behind him.
"Alistair..."
"Don't say it Teagan, I know," said Alistair, moving behind a screen to disrobe. "I need some better staff."
"You need to be more careful," he could hear Teagan pacing. "Who was it this time?"
"I've got it all under control, really I do," Alistair pulled the stiff fabric of the doublet across his chest, deftly hooking it together at the shoulder.
"Tell me who," said Teagan.
"None of them are alive to tell," Alistair straightened up from lacing his suede boots, reaching for the velvet half cape dangling across the screen. "No distinguishing armour, no distinguishing features, Crows most likely." He fastened the fur trimmed cloak to his doublet and gave himself a once over in the reflection glass.
"Again?" Teagan muttered. Alistair strode from behind the screen and towards the cabinet that housed his weaponry.
"Nothing we can't handle." It was nice to get a bit of real exercise, he added silently to himself.
Maric's Blade was fit for the man it had been named for, robust and eloquent, the rubies on the hilt glistened in the early morning light. It had taken all the persuasive power he had to convince Elaria to part with the beautiful weapon. He'd never seen her so crestfallen. He fastened the blade to his hip with a smile, turning as Teagan cleared his throat.
"Alistair, we need to talk." Here it comes, Alistair thought. My lecture.
"I know what you're going to say and I won't hear any of it, not today."
"The day is significant to the matter, the attempt on your life more so," Teagan ran his fingers through his auburn hair. Alistair noticed lines around his old friend's eyes that deepened as he looked upon his King.
"I have yet to meet her..."
"Two years is too long to reign without a marriage," the words burst from Teagan's mouth and before Alistair could dam the tide he continued. "I don't know what you're waiting for."
"How many times, Teagan?" Shadow whined as his master's voice rose. "When I meet the right woman, I promise, I'll marry her as soon as she'll let me..."
"May I speak candidly..."
"What else have you been doing my entire life?" Alistair rolled his eyes.
"Is this about," Teagan cleared his throat, his umber eyes darting around the room, "is this about the Hero of Ferelden?"
"What exactly are you suggesting?" Alistair folded his arms, his eyebrows creased together.
"There are rumours..." Teagan stammered, unusually stuck for words. "That the two of you..."
"For Maker's sake," Alistair gritted his teeth. "Were she and the elf not obvious enough for you?"
"All I'm saying," Teagan raised his palms. "Is if you're judging these women by the standards of a hero then they are bound to come up...a little short." A knock on the door stopped Alistair from his answer. He pulled back the bolt a little vigorously, opening it just a crack. Ridgewell's angular nose regarded his King.
"Your Majesty, they are awaiting your pleasure."
Thrones aren't made for comfort, Alistair thought as he shifted his numb backside. He had exhausted the extent of his Orlesian and the Ambassador refused to speak the King's Tongue. He plastered a grin across his face though he felt no such good humour. The Ambassador bowed stiffly and shuffled off into the crowd. Alistair resisted the urge to sigh with relief.
A violin mewled over the mutterings of the crowd. Two years ago the great hall had been full of his friends, his companions, the hundreds of men and women who had helped defend the land against the blight. Only a handful of them were present today, Alistair caught glimpses of their faces like stars against vacant, black skies. Surrounded by people and as lonely as I've ever been. Secretly he'd hoped that the Wardens would send a contingency but Commander Howe was not fond of such ceremonies. Alistair didn't blame him.
"Teryn Cousland, of Highever," the herald boomed as Fergus mounted the dais. Alistair's heart lightened. Ceremony be damned he thought, standing to meet the man halfway. They grasped each other's forearms in a warriors greeting. The King grinned from ear to ear.
"It's good to see you, Fergus."
"You too, your Majesty." The Teryn was more drawn than usual, though he hid it behind a painted smile. Alistair suspected the man's traumatic past sat heavily on his shoulders. It would put the heart out of any man, all that grief. He clapped Fergus on the shoulder.
"How's your little one, Eleanor, isn't it?"
"Still growing, sire. They get big so fast," Alistair was glad to see a smile melting Fergus's features. He had a face made to wear such a smile.
"I'm glad you managed to make it down, the roads have been terrible," Alistair sat and motioned for Fergus to do the same but the Teryn stood on the balls of his feet, folding his arms behind his back. "What troubles you, friend?" Alistair lowered his voice, aware of the little privacy they had among the whispering courtiers.
"I know now is perhaps not the best time," Fergus glanced around cautiously. "But I need to ask a favour." Alistair nodded, leaning forward in his chair. Fergus opened his mouth as though to say more but the crowd at the bottom of the dais began exclaiming loudly. The guardsman eventually broke through the tide of Banns and Arls, his face pale under his helmet.
"Your Majesty," he whispered hastily in the Kings ear, his breath hot and desperate. "There's a woman in the entranceway, she's covered in blood. She's got a hostage, says she'll only speak to you." Alistair raised an eyebrow as a shrill shriek echoed from the hallway. The music stopped. A nervous muttering broke over the courtiers. They parted as their King marched between them.
I knew I should've worn armour. Malic Dunn had to jog to reach Alistair's side. He was dimly aware of more guardsmen falling in behind him as he pushed the double doors open.
Courtiers had fled to the edges of the room, they grasped at each other, terrified and screaming, one woman had fainted. In the centre of the room several guardsmen created a circle of blades. The surrounded woman seemed to be paying them little heed. Even from across the room Alistair could see her cold, sapphire eyes focused on the man at whose neck she held a dagger. Her long, tawny limbs were coated in blood and more dripped from her loose raven curls. She snarled as Alistair and his retinue approached.
"So this is the King who replaced our beloved Cailan," her voice was deep, rich and coated in sarcasm. "I'd bow, your majesty, but my hands are rather full." She yanked her hostage's hair back, exposing his bobbing throat to her blade. Alistair signalled for the guards to sheathe their weapons.
"Who are you?" he asked, hand on the hilt of his blade.
"Unimportant," she shook her head. "What matters is who he is," with a swift kick to the back of his knees the man was sprawled before Alistair's feet. When he tried to scramble up she placed a foot on the small of his back. As she leaned close to the King, his heart skipped a beat. Maker's breath she's beautiful.
"And who is he?" Alistair managed a small smile though his stomach was roiling. The feral grin she gave him only made it worse.
"Claudio Valisti," she said before the hilt of Malic Dunn's blade knocked her unconscious.
"It was unnecessary; I had the situation under control..."
"Milord, she was holding a bloodied dagger, not a foot away from you."
"Still, Malic, she intended me no harm."
The footsteps of the King and his Captain of the Guard scuffed heavily against the granite floors. The afternoon's entertainment went on, only a little soured by the appearance of the mysterious woman. Courtiers loved such scandal and Alistair could only imagine how distorted the story would be by the end of the night. He was scowling as they turned down a corridor towards the dungeons.
"Your Majesty!" Alistair heard the shout and doubled back as a panting Fergus Cousland caught his breath. "I need to speak with you..."
"Can it wait Fergus, I have some important business..."
"It's about that actually," Fergus winced. "May I join you? There is something I must check."
"I don't think it appropriate..."
"Please, your majesty," there was a desperation in his tone that sent a thousand questions through Alistair's mind. Fergus stepped closer, checking over his shoulder and eyeing Malic Dunn cautiously.
"What's on your mind, my friend?"
"I believe," Fergus began, voice lower than a whisper. Alistair craned his neck even closer. "Moreso do I hope..." he trailed off, thick eyebrows drawn together like reluctant siblings. "That woman...she might just be my little sister."
Alistair was surprised he hadn't seen the resemblance immediately. The same jet black curls, the same slim physique, the same regal nose, slightly pointed at the end. There were differences. Her skin sang of sunsets in much warmer climes whereas his pallor was made from the stern Ferelden winters. His oaken eyes brimmed with warmth and love, her sapphire orbs were empty.
"Elissa," Fergus closed the door to the cell and leaned back on the wood to steady himself.
"Fergus," the woman almost spat his name. She flicked her eyes over her brother once before turning her attention back to the stone wall.
"I thought you were dead..." he gasped. Alistair looked between the two Couslands, feeling like an intruder in a very private moment.
"As I intended..." Elissa's lips pursed. Alistair had never been a particularly wordy man but he would liken those lips to rosebuds. He shook the thought from his mind. Entirely inappropriate, Elaria's voice rang around his skull as it always did when scolding himself. He cleared his throat.
"Would you two like a moment?" he asked, hoping the answer would be yes. Is it me or is it hot in here?
"No," Elissa replied, as cold as her eyes. "What I would like is to be unchained," she jangled the manacles in front of her.
"If you would answer a few questions, Lady Cousland, I would be happy to oblige," said Alistair.
"Lady Cousland was my mother," she sighed. "I am Elissa, Your Majesty."
"Just Alistair, please," he met her stare.
"If you insist, Just Alistair," she leaned back on the bench. "Ask what you will." She crossed her legs, tapping her foot impatiently.
"Where have you been?" Fergus blurted out before Alistair could speak. "I sent messengers..."
"Which I eluded," Elissa glared at her brother. "I would not be back if it wasn't for that scum I brought with me..."
"You heard what Howe did..." Fergus muttered.
"Of course, brother," Elissa shook her head. "The story is cried from Gwaren to Kont-arr, it was hard not to hear."
"And you didn't return..."
"What good would it have done?" She gave an unladylike snort. "Exiles are rarely welcomed back with open arms." Exiles? Alistair's mind raced with questions, but he was not about to complicate this argument further.
"Do you not even care?" said Fergus. In the years Alistair had known him he had never lost his cool demeanour. It was like watching an iceberg crumble. "Mother and Father, my wife and child, all dead. And you...it didn't even occur to you to write, to let me know you were safe..." Alistair put a hand on the Teryn's shoulder.
"Would you like me to say I'm sorry, Fergus?" Elissa cocked her head to one side, eyes still daggers. "I was told, in rather specific terms, never to return, not to write. Mother and Father were overjoyed to see the back of me. I was never what they wanted..."
"Enough!" Fergus roared. "I will not stay to hear you insult our parents..."
"The door is right behind you, dearest brother," Elissa's chains clunked as she turned her whole body away. Fergus was spluttering with rage when he flung the door to the cell open.
"I apologise for my sister, your Majesty," Fergus threw over his shoulder, his voice still shaking. "She's always been...difficult." He threw a last glance at Elissa, who seemed not to be listening, before slamming the door behind him.
"Guilt is such a useless emotion," she sighed to herself before arching a perfect eyebrow as she surveyed the King. Alistair felt very much like a mabari being inspected by a perspective breeder. Her eyes shuffled up and down. He almost melted when she grinned.
"You look like him you know," Alistair was surprised at the softness in her tone.
"Calian?" Alistair sighed. "Yeah, I get that alot."
"No," Elissa started picking flecks of blood off her leathers. "Maric. You're not as handsome as Calian." Not for the first time Alistair was lost for words, he gasped at the air like a fish out of water. Her laughter was almost lyrical. It burnt his stomach.
"You should be nicer to your brother."
"Is that an order, just Alistair?"
"You're an exile, not liable to take orders from anyone, least of all me," Alistair shrugged.
"You're much brighter than you look," she smirked. Alistair didn't know whether to bristle at the insult or go gooey at the compliment. Difficult, I see what you mean. "Didn't you have some questions for me, Just Alistair?" He liked the way she said his name. Her voice had hints of accents he couldn't place. Once again Elaria's disembodied voice admonished him. Get back to work.
"Yes...umm...right," he stumbled.
"You're not very Kingly, you know," and the way she said it almost sounded like praise.
"Well, you're not very ladylike."
The wicked grin she gave him made his stomach fall into his other vital organs.
"An excellent point," she said. He tried desperately not to blush. Work remember. He took a deep breath.
"Who is Claudio Valisti?" he asked. She gave him a quizzical look.
"You mean you don't know?" she seemed exasperated. "You should take more interest in foreign affairs." She clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Alistair shifted impatiently, feeling like a child being disciplined. As she leaned forward her chains jangled. "He's the third talon of the Crows; a master assassin and a merchant Prince to boot. Have you got a Crow problem, just Alistair?" He swallowed as her eyes sparkled.
"Nothing we can't deal with..."
"They managed to get to you though," she nodded at his shoulder. "You're holding that arm a little gingerly."
"I've had worse."
"I'm sure you have, just Alistair," her tongue darted over her teeth as she grinned. Alistair felt sweat beading down his spine.
"You think he's behind the attempts on my life?"
"Probably," she arched her back, sighing as it clicked. "Can't be many more Crows in Denerim. I hear they're in hot water, back in Antiva." Her eyes probed Alistair's face. He just managed to keep his mask from slipping. A hurried knock at the door stopped his burning questions.
"Milord," the guard's voice was muffled through the thick oak. "He's awake." Alistair turned to go.
"Wait," Elissa stopped him in his tracks. "Do not trust a word he says. Be cautious." Alistair nodded.
"Thank you," he mumbled as he opened the door. Her laughter rang in his ears as the jailer jangled with the keys, locking her door and opening the neighbouring cell.
Claudio Valisti had been shackled in the same manner as Elissa. Iron manacled his wrists, a thick chain joined his arms to his feet. His shoulders were slumped, ragged, jet black hair stuck up at every angle, the stubble on his chin spoke of days without a razor. When Alistair entered the cell the man threw himself at the Kings feet.
"Your Majesty," the Crow's eyes gleamed up at him. "Please your majesty, I have committed no crime. That..that woman...she dragged me from my bed...she...she..." his chest was heaving with a terror that was reflected in his eyes. Alistair raised a palm and the man's blubbering stilled.
"Are you Claudio Valisti, Master of Crows?" he asked, Malic Dunn sidled into the room, standing next to his King, arms folded over his barrel-like chest.
"I...I am, your majesty," Claudio stammered. "Please milord, it is not what you think..."
"I don't like to be told what I think, Crow," said Alistair. "Who were you sent to kill?"
"No-one, your majesty," Claudio's eyes widened as Malic Dunn huffed. "It's the Maker's truth, your Majesty. I swear it...I was sent to deliver a message..."
"A message? To who?" Alistair frowned.
"To you, your majesty," Claudio bit his lip. "Please, your man took the letter from me. I beg you to read it before you decide my fate."
Malic Dunn grunted. Alistair knew he was of the opinion that all men were guilty until their innocence was proven. Not in my country. He put his hand out and the Captain begrudgingly passed him the document. The parchment was thick, stained with dust and mud from the road. When he turned it over the seal made his heart skip a beat. The wax was a distinctive dark blue that Alistair had seen a thousand times. The griffon stamp only confirmed his fears. He tore it open hungrily.
Alistair,
Please treat this man with courtesy. He is the only one I can rely upon to deliver this message. Trust him as you would trust me.
Leliana is dead.
I'm sorry my friend,
Elaria.
AN: Phew! Didn't think I'd get this one up. Internet has become a rare commodity after another storm. Bloody weather! Hope you'll forgive me not replying to reviews and messages. I am, as ever, very grateful for the support. Keep warm!