-oo-
Chapter 52 – Leftovers
Light streamed through the window, penetrating Alyce's gummy eyelids layer by layer. She rolled over and opened her eyes, shielding one side of her face with her hand. It was later in the day than she would have liked, hoping that Aunt Mildred hadn't had to wait for her too long. While her aunt had not specified a particular time she didn't want to inconvenience…She bolted upright, suddenly realising she had forgotten to leave a note for Dagna. Not that she could have. When she had offered to escort Morwenna home, she had not planned on staying out all night. Still, she didn't want anyone to worry. The sooner she headed back to Cousland Castle, the better. The last thing Alyce wanted was a panicking Dagna breaking into the Denerim Chantry to try and steal her phylactery so the dwarf could 'hunt' her herself…
Rubbing at her eyes, Alyce swung her legs over the side of the bed, coming face to knee with a set of large, blue-brown eyes beneath a messy thatch of darkish hair.
The child swayed on its chubby feet, clutching at the material of her dress in chubbier, drool-sticky hands in an attempt to remain upright. When Alyce did nothing more than stare in bewilderment, it chewed experimentally on her knee with surprising strength. Suppressing the urge to scream, Alyce merely sighed. Looking about the room, she was completely unsurprised to find not a trace of Neria. Nor were there any provisions left for the child, setting off her internal alarms.
Neria never did mention exactly how she obtained this…child and if she marched right now to Vigil's Keep, Alyce doubted she would find the Warden Commander in residence there to question. She would very much want to know whether anyone was likely to come looking for the child. More accurately, she wanted to know whether anyone angry was likely to come searching for the child…and whether or not it would be human…
Grinding her own teeth, Alyce carefully and gently prised the baby's jaws from around her knee. She could cheerfully throttle Neria Surana right now. Damn her…!
Leaning down, Alyce picked up the child, checking what little clothes it wore for a name tag or even more hopefully…instructions. There was nothing, except a familiar, pungent smell as warm fluid soaked into her sleeve. She screwed up her nose.
"Come on…thing," she told it…him…Hadn't Neria mentioned it was a boy? Would it be rude to look? She wasn't willing to try. "I think I had better take you to an expert…"
Aunt Mildred would know what to do…surely…Because if she didn't then it was the end of the world as she knew it to be.
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"And you're quite sure she intended to return to the castle?"
Morwenna lifted her eyebrows at her brother. It was the third time he had asked. As far as she was concerned, that particular topic had already been discussed and while not concluded to everyone's satisfaction, it was a mystery why Ryan was still here, and not leaping onto his white destrier and riding off to find his lady love.
Of course, that was only a brief image flashing in her mind. Her brother Ryan was the last person she could imagine leaping onto anything, much less a horse. He was a competent horseman, but he was not particularly hot headed, romantic or spontaneous. Or at least, he never used to be…She reached out and poked him hard in the chest.
"Just go and look for her, Ry," she told him. "You're welcome to look under the cushions in Mama's sitting room," she added dryly, "but I doubt you'll find her there."
Ser Ryan frowned impatiently. "I merely asked a question," he said rather defensively. "As part of my current inquiries…"
"Oh for the Maker's sake Ryan," Morwenna rolled her eyes in exasperation. "You're a man, aren't you?" she demanded. "Your lady love is missing. Just go and find her, in as manly a way as possible!"
There it was…a creep of dark red washing up the exposed skin of his neck. When Ser Ryan blushed it encompassed his entire face, including the tips of his ears and the back of his neck. Morwenna grinned smugly at him, justifiably proud of her handiwork. Causing embarrassment to her twin had always been such a challenge. Not even when he had that awful crush on that barmaid could she manage to discombobulate him as she had just now. For that reason alone, she adored Alyce Amell…
"Well?" she asked him. "Are you going or not?"
He raised a hand. He managed to waggle a warning finger at her, but found it difficult doing anything else. Turning on his heel, Ser Ryan left, the sound of his sister's rather witchy laughter ringing in his ears. Lady love…He supposed it was – sort of – true. It was simply something he preferred to associate with a younger Ryan, someone who still believed in the goodness of people; a long lost individual with the energy and optimism of youth. As a Templar, he knew he could not be with Alyce, despite his father's own example. The vow he took eschewing all but the Maker and His Prophet had been done with the full intention of never breaking it.
Not even for Alyce.
He would not be worthy of her if he broke that vow; any vow, even if he wished that he could. Or wanted to…
Lucky the morning was a cold one.
As an ordinary soldier on the other hand, there was little he could offer Alyce. He could barely afford to support his own family, much less a wife and a family of his own. He paused, pushing the thought of Alyce as his wife and the mother of his children firmly and resolutely out of his head. Perhaps it was that thought, brief though it was that conjured the noise in his ears…the universe plucking it out of his head and making him hear things. It sounded very much like a young child crying…and it did not abate or disappear.
Following the cry took him to the blasted path Alyce had cleared to Amell House. Sitting on a charred log half way along the path was Alyce Amell herself…jiggling an infant on her knee. Despite his thoughts earlier, it still took him several seconds for the sight to register; his brain being unable to accept what his eyes were seeing and then she happened to look up and the look of relief on her face was so ridiculous he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
"Oh, thank the Maker you're here, Ryan…!" she exclaimed, wobbling to her feet. She held the child out towards him like a loaf of bread. "You're a Templar," she told him. "You'd know what to do right? It won't stop crying, it smells funny and I have to see Aunt Mildred. If she sees me with this…never mind. Just take him, please!"
Ser Ryan made no move to claim the child, folding his arms across his chest. What did she mean by 'you're a Templar, you know what to do'? Part of Chantry training as far as he could recall, had not included child-raising. If he had, he would have noticed. Craning his neck around the child – who had stopped crying and simply bubbled wetly at him – he addressed Alyce.
"Is there…something you should have told me, Alyce?" he asked wryly. "I'm finding it difficult imagining you engaging in some torrid affair to produce this…" It was a poor choice of words, because of course, he could…
"Don't make me scar that pretty face of yours, Templar!" she bristled at him. "He's not mine…obviously."
"You do realise I was jesting?" he said, eyebrows rising. She thinks I have a pretty face?
"Just take it!"
"No."
"Poop." Lowering the child, but holding it so it made as little contact with her as possible, Alyce grimaced in distaste. "What am I going to do with it? Look at it; it can't do anything but be wet and smelly. I'm going to murder that elf when I see her next…If I see her…"
"Elf?" Ser Ryan enquired.
Alyce sighed. "Long story…Oh, don't you start…" she groaned, when the child began to cry again. She held it out towards him and it promptly stopped crying. Looking suddenly speculative, Alyce brought it back towards her and to Ser Ryan's intense disapproval, it began crying again. Once she extended it back towards him, it stopped wailing.
"Hoo…" she began, her expression brightening.
"Erase that thought from your head this minute, Enchanter Amell," he began in warning. "I am not taking charge of this child."
"Aw, but he likes you!" Alyce grinned hopefully at him. "At least, can you carry him for a while? He's damned heavy for someone so small and he's not so good at the walking bit just yet."
"And where are we taking him?" Ser Ryan asked, remaining solidly at a safe distance.
"Your place," she informed him. "I thought at first I'd take him to Aunt Mildred, but she doesn't hold with damp things, so I'm going to have Morwenna take a look at him and help me clean him up before I present him to my aunt."
"Present him to…" he scowled at her. "You're not seriously considering keeping this child? In the Tower? The Chantry is quite clear on this Alyce. All children of mages belong to the…"
"He's not a child of a Circle Mage!" Alyce exclaimed, trying to keep her face straight. It was sort of true. Neria's witch friend had not been part of the Circle, though if it showed signs of magic at some point in time, she was going to find it difficult explaining why, especially if the First Enchanter wasn't there to do all the explaining for her. Irving was not a young man, after all…How many springs did the old humbug have left in this mortal coil? Years? Months. If I had my way, it would be days…
Thinking how Neria consulted the First Enchanter before her best friend made Alyce scowl anew. It was all so…so…and how much did Irving know anyway? Most probably that old busybody Wynne had briefed him post-Blight and so Neria had been forced to confess….It was reason enough to be cautious and…oh, Holy Maker, how am I going to explain this to Senior Torrin…He's going to be sarcastic and witty at me, I just know it…
"If that is the case, who or whom is the parent or parents?" Ser Ryan asked coolly, clearly suspecting she knew more than she was willing to let on.
"A…friend," Alyce offered reluctantly.
"A 'friend'?"
"Yes. A friend," Alyce snapped. "Can we just move on? His lips are turning blue and I don't have anything to put him in…and before you ask," she added hotly, "I am not leaving him at some orphanage and if you suggest that I do, I'm going to stab you in the buttock with my…" She looked around, realised she did not have her mage staff with her but continued nevertheless. "…Wait until I get back to the castle, grab my mage staff and poke you very hard with it then…"
"I quake with fear," Ser Ryan sighed.
"Stop channelling Torrin," she scolded, holding out the child for him again. "And carry him will you? My arms are about to fall out of their sockets."
Ser Ryan reluctantly took charge of the child, concerned that it was indeed turning slightly blue-ish, but trying manfully not to show it. The fact that the two of them walked rather companionably along the path with an infant between them made him feel even more uncomfortable. He glanced down at Alyce's still-scowling face. She appeared to be muttering something unpleasant under her breath. And then he noticed that she was not in her usual garb…
"You're…dressed for a…is that what you wore last night?" he asked, kicking himself for the inane comment, but thinking how the colour suited her. It was also cut rather low for a…mage, causing his thoughts to wander down some very un-Templar-like paths. Again.
"It's rather…" He forced his eyes ahead. The road was uneven and he could not afford to trip while holding a small, vulnerable child…"…different from what you usually wear."
"I know…" she said. "Pretty isn't it?" she added. "Though I can't say the same for the person wearing it right now," she sighed. Lifting the skirt slightly, she grimaced. "I've completely ruined it of course, walking about in the icy mud." She turned an unhappy look on him. "It belonged to the Teyrna, apparently. I hope she doesn't intend to wear it again…"
"Well you look lovely, mud and all," he said before he could stop himself.
"Flatterer."
"Hardly." Clearing his throat self-consciously, he continued. "It was merely an observation," he told her matter-of-factly. "Even if…your hair looks as though a bird assaulted it…"
"That's because it was…" Seeing the look on his face, she rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh, long story too, but I think I'll leave the telling of that to your sister."
"My sister…" Ser Ryan muttered darkly under his breath.
After a while she glanced up at him tentatively. "So…" she began quietly. "Have you told your family yet? About the offer from the Knight Commander…not that it's any of my business, of course," she added hastily.
Ser Ryan shook his head. "I have yet to decide," he told her, drawing the child closer for warmth. He looked down on the muddy head of hair. It could have been anyone's child; there was nothing particularly distinctive about it…not that he could imagine any child this age looking anything but like a baby. He had no idea what his nieces had looked like at this age so he had no reference for comparison. Older, they were accurate likenesses of their mother, who was in turn a younger version of her mother, wondering what the creature in his arms would look like in a few years…if it survived life at the Tower.
He sighed. The child looked well-fed and cared for despite the pervasive miasma of soiled wrappings; a smell far more bearable than the stench of darkspawn, or even of the Tower itself…
"When I do, I will speak to them," he told Alyce. "There seems little point in worrying my family in the meantime."
"Hm…" she murmured, giving a speculative stare. "Undecided? I guess you aren't the man of action I thought you were…"
Frowning himself, he glared at her. "Criticism, Enchanter Amell?"
"No, no. It was merely an observation," she told him simply, smiling to herself at the formal address. "Why?" she tossed him an adorably impish look, which he resolutely ignored. "Were you hoping for a more exciting character description?" she asked, batting her eyelashes at him. "Ser Ryan…'My Hero'? Beh…don't think for a moment that I've forgotten how our first outing into the great wide world of Ferelden turned out."
His eyebrows rose at that. "Saving a Teyrnir?" He asked. "Fighting the Blight? All good things, I thought."
"I am really going to thump you," she threatened him. "I don't care whether you're holding a baby or not…coochie coochie…Urk! Why is it doing that?"
He sighed. "Doing what?"
"It keeps pointing at me. Make it stop."
"Doesn't 'it' have a name?" Ser Ryan asked. "Do you intend to call it 'It' for the rest of its life?"
Alyce screwed up her face, putting some distance between the two of them and herself. The smell was beginning to get to her. It was like travelling with a two-legged chamber pot. On the other hand, she probably didn't smell any better, having had to sleep in her evening dress, walked through mud and who knew what else overnight. Ser Ryan did not seem to notice, or else he was too polite to point out that she probably needed a bath. As for a name…She looked over at the creature in Ser Ryan's arms. It looked back. This thing has the soul of an old god…? It pointed to her again. What is with that…?
"Greagoir," she said abruptly, plucking a name randomly out of her head. Ser Ryan choked.
"You can't be serious!" he said hoarsely, not wanting to think how that would go down at the Tower…Clearly, she had not considered what sort of questions the sudden appearance of a child named after the Knight Commander would raise.
"It's a perfectly good name," Alyce said obstinately. "Besides," she added a frown. "It suits him. He keeps watching me. It's kind of creepy actually."
"Cottage…" Ser Ryan pointed out, relieved to be in sight of his home. If they had been further away, he would have been forced to defend his old Knight Commander…or the child. He had been about to suggest 'John' or 'William'. Something safe and commonplace, but by the set of Alyce's jaw, he knew that now she had proposed the name, it had already been set firmly in her mind. And then a look of pure evil crossed her features.
Turning to him she smirked. "If you don't like it, I could always call him 'Ryan'…" she sang. "Considering how long you've been out of the Order, he could even be yours…Ooh…!" He could almost see the lamp flashing above her head…
"No," he told her firmly.
"Aww…"
"No."
"You're just no fun."
And so Greagoir, it was…
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"And now we've lost Ser Ryan as well…" Dagna didn't so much sit down as abruptly allow her bottom to make contact with the stone bench. Her arms flopped by her sides, her legs she drew up onto the bench, hugging them. She looked so small and helpless Ser Hanleigh wanted to hug her too.
"I don't think we've lost him," Ser Hanleigh reassured her with a smile instead. "If anyone can find Enchanter Amell, it would be Ser Ryan."
"And who's going to find Ser Ryan?" Dagna asked.
"Well, Ser Ryan of course," Ser Hanleigh said with a wink. Dagna laughed. Comfortable silence fell between the two. Ser Hanleigh considered sitting next to her, but was not confident he could do so in full plate armour and not on such a narrow slab of stone. He wondered if he did, whether she might let him hold her hand. She might axe him, but that's where the plate came in. He wasn't afraid of her. He'd seen what she could do with that tiny hand axe of hers and had been impressed. If he were ever in a fight again, he'd have her beside him no question. No darkspawn or bandit could ever threaten his knees with her at his side…
"So…" he heard her say. He looked down into her twinkling blue eyes, feeling as though he were falling into them. "Are you going to sit down?" she asked. "You've been on your feet all morning."
Ser Hanleigh blushed. "I'm used to standing," he told her. "I can stand all day. It's a talent," he added with some pride. "My personal best is eighteen hours straight."
"Golly!" Dagna continued to twinkle at him.
Dog paddling in the ocean of those blue, blue eyes, Ser Hanleigh nodded happily. "Even Ser Ryan hasn't been able to stand that long, and he's pretty good at standing."
She smiled at him and he sunk, needing to take his helm off or cook inside his armour. It only made her smile wider. "Oh that's much better!" she exclaimed. "And…" she added. "You seem to think very highly of Ser Ryan. He's a good friend, huh?"
Ser Hanleigh nodded an affirmative. "Ser Ryan is kind to me," he told her. "Sometimes the men – the other Templars – tell me I'm not the sharpest sword on the rack, but Ryan…he reckons I'm smart in other ways. He says I have heart-sight and that makes me a good Templar; that I'm thoughtful, a good Andrastian and a good person. He says that's more important than being smart or clever."
Dagna gazed down at her feet, causing Ser Hanleigh to immediately apologise. "Oh, I didn't mean that smart people were bad…It's just that…"
"No, he's right," Dagna said with a sigh. "I've always prided myself on my cleverness; on being smarter than everyone," she told him. "But I know I haven't always been good, even when I knew I could have been; or should have been. Nor have I always been kind…"
"I can't imagine you not being kind," he told her firmly. Dagna laughed. She patted the space beside her on the seat. Deciding to accept the invitation, Ser Hanleigh gingerly lowered himself onto the stone, allowing his weight to rest bit by bit. When everything had settled, he sighed with relief, allowing himself to relax a little; the leather padding beneath the plate wheezing slightly in response.
"You know," Dagna began thoughtfully, her head lilting to the side. "I think we're perfect for each other."
"Are we?" Ser Hanleigh asked, blushing so hard it felt as though his entire head was roasting from the inside out. Dagna did not seem to notice, swinging her legs off the edge of the stone seat.
She nodded. "I'm smart enough for the both of us," she told him matter-of-factly. "And you're kind enough for me as well. Together," she dimpled at him, "we make one perfect person. Don't you agree?"
Ser Hanleigh sat rock-still. He didn't know quite what to say to that, but he felt it was alright, because he was happy enough for her to talk for him too. And she did.
"Is it alright if I hold your hand?" she asked him. He nodded. And so she did.
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