She had revealed the most significant secret he could fathom, and the reason she kept it, her lack of trust, marred what hope he had left. Pervasive doubt sank deep into his thoughts, shadowing what would have been the best discovery since he found Caoilainn at Skyhold, when he exuded confidence and certainty in the strength of their love, in winning her back. But his overconfidence proved preemptive. Insecurity and resentment stole their reunion; she continued keeping secrets, and his actions came from anger. It left him questioning his resilience for a future with her. He needed to get away.
"I'll be joining you," Alistair blurted.
He discovered the mages and Nathaniel Howe milling about the assembly room after breakfast the morning following the meeting. Discussing the events of the night prior, Alistair assumed, when their conversations ceased and startled faces turned to him.
Alistair took a deep breath and walked toward the table. He met the eyes of his new travel party as he repeated, "I'll be joining the mission." Lingering at Nathaniel Howe with narrowed eyes, Alistair held his stare until Nathaniel looked away, fixing his gaze at the table; the man's deliberate breathing a blatant mark of his discomfort.
Though Alistair despised the notion of joining a quest with the man who had slept with his wife, witnessing the Warden Commander's restrained despair satisfied the King. It provided a welcome contradiction to Howe's previous insolence.
Blank nods responded to his announcement until Philippa spoke on behalf of the group, smiling at the King, "Welcome, your Majesty. Your presence will be invaluable."
"Truly," Nathaniel's agreed ironically. "Since that's been decided we can leave. Immediately." He stood from his seat.
With Alistair's attendance confirmed, the date of departure remained the final detail left unresolved after the abrupt end to the previous assembly- when Caoilainn had announced her pregnancy to the entire room.
"Not yet." Alistair stepped to his chair at the head of the table. "We'll leave tomorrow, first thing in the morning. I've king-business to set in order before we depart. "
The muscles of Nathaniel's jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth .
Hawke's eyes moved from Alistair to Nate, and his mouth spread to a mischievous grin. "I completely agree. We can't rush fun, right lads?"
Ignoring Hawke's jibe, the Warden Commander kept his eyes on the King from the opposite end of the table. "With your leave, your Majesty, I have my own responsibilities as Warden Commander." He took a breath, easing his gaze. "If there is no need for me to stay, I will head back to the Keep today… your Majesty."
The King snorted and paused, baffled at the Nathaniel Howe's audacity to return to Vigil's Keep alone. Is this how it's going to be, Howe? Though Alistair suspected the act of sedition by the Warden Commander served as a preview of the journey ahead, he did not argue. The traitor can run home to his rude girlfriend. The surprise brought relief. Traveling without Nathaniel Howe for this portion would be an early reprieve from the rest of the trip.
Alistair tilted his head toward the open door, and Nathaniel returned a rigid nod, then exited the room without another word. The impromptu meeting continued. Remaining members tied loose ends, assessed final needs and drew plans for acquisition of supplies before the rest of the party departed the next day.
Dawn had not yet arrived when Alistair awoke. He opened his eyes, taking a moment to recognize his unfamiliar location, a spare bedroom on the ground floor of the palace. The crackling of the fireplace in the Grand Hall was audible from his bedroom; the smoky scent of burning logs permeated through the door. The temperature had dropped while he slept. Mild temperatures relented to a cold front, marking the imminent winter and the first day of their journey.
Alistair rose, taking blind steps in the dark to find his clothes. Despite the early hours, the royal palace was active. Voices and footsteps carried through the hall. Jumbled words of varying speakers resonated; he dressed, not attempting to comprehend conversations, until he heard her name.
The unmistakable tone of the Warden sorceress carried through the hallway. Footsteps echoed until two people met outside his door. "Caoilainn, my dear? Can your men bring the horses to the front? We've got all our things."
"I'll send for them," the Queen's tone edged on impatience. The sound of steps followed the reply and he assumed Caoilainn walked away.
But Philippa made another inquiry, "You're sure you cannot join us?" A long pause followed, and Philippa added, "We need your experience, Caoilainn, Commander of the Grey."
Not hearing an immediate reply, Alistair stepped closer to his door, ears peeling to catch whatever he could of Caoilainn's response.
"I want to."
Alistair held his breath. The audible longing in Caoilainn's voice made him worry. Determined to hear the truth of her motives, the authenticity of her reply, he lingered by the door. The Wardens had been Caoilainn's lifeblood, offering haven and purpose when she had none. This particular soldier reserved decorum for convenience; addressing Caoilainn by the revered title as a plea to save the Wardens would provoke her sense of duty.
Caoilainn's voice lowered and Alistair's ear pressed against the wooden door, catching only parts of her reply. "Won't risk it, Philippa...our work to find a cure... to Skyhold...Arbor Wilds, the Ritual. It was for this." She cleared her throat and laughed. "Besides, Morrigan would kill me."
Morrigan wouldn't be the only one. Alistair withheld the urge to laugh.
"Well," Philippa's etiquette disappeared, returning to her customary condescension. "I never grasped the compulsory urge for procreation of which you nobles seem so fond. To each her own, I suppose."
The footsteps of the two women veered down the hall, away from Alistair's temporary room. Sighing, he pondered Caoilainn's reply to Philippa as he gathered the rest of his items. Light armor promised a faster ride and less to carry. He strapped his sword to his back beneath a more maneuverable shield than his usual.
The snippets of her whispered message to Philippa matched her words to him the night prior.
"I don't want you to go," she murmured from the doorway of their bedroom.
Her voice caught his attention, but did not distract him from packing. In his peripheral vision, he noticed she already wore a nightgown and a robe. Uncommon for the Commander to remove her armor so early, he attributed the change to pregnancy.
Alistair mumbled a reply without looking up, "So I've gathered." He sighed; instant regret for his snide comeback ushered an added response . He looked over his shoulder. "You know I need this time alone. And weren't you the one telling me we have a duty to the Wardens?"
She took small steps toward him, and each apprehensive step of the notoriously bossy woman irritated him. Covert manipulation, she expected her timidity would change his mind.
"They don't even know if you'll be of use to them," she said, shaking her head as she spoke. She stopped walking halfway through the room. "It's a hunch."
He let go of his bag, and arched a brow. "Are you willing to jeopardize your Wardens by ignoring a hunch, dear?" She would recognize the pointed endearment reserved for sarcasm. His humor seeped through his distance. "Or do you believe you'd be a more worthy companion?"
Her silvery eyes narrowed, and her response was delayed. "No," she lied.
He turned his head from side to side, making a poor attempt to tame his cynical grin. "I'm not only going for them."
She took a large step toward him. "I will give you space if that's what you need. Alistair, I don't want to do this alone."
Alistair valued these rare moments when Caoilainn's tenacity faltered.
"You won't be alone," he assured her, appreciating her vulnerability and taking careful strides in her direction. His hands extended to her shoulders, keeping her at arm's length. "Morrigan is staying with you. She'll make sure you're safe until I return."
Caoilainn's tension eased with his contact. Wary of her reaction to his touch, he remained conscious of her proximity as she replied, "I'm not having a child with Morrigan. I thought… I thought when I told you, you'd be happy."
"Happy?" An incredulous laugh escaped him, and his brow creased.
His heart had thrummed persistently within his ribcage since Caoilainn's announcement, a conflicting reaction incongruent with his resentment for her. Images of the child formed, tiny hands and feet, a part of him and Caoilainn bound, developing inside her as they spoke.
Despite his questions, he'd known the child was his from the moment the words 'I'm pregnant,' had fallen from her lips. But anger had influenced his perception, and led to his foolhardy question of paternity, triggering embarrassment and ire. Still, he placed partial blame for his blindness on her secrecy. How could she understand the desire for family this once-impossible child would fulfill? It created a yearning so deep it stung. But it came under the most unfavorable terms.
His eyes burned at the thought and he blinked; letting go of her shoulders, he crossed his arms. Mirroring him, Caoilainn's arms crossed over her chest. Her relaxed posture disappeared; she held a rigid stance, waiting for him to expand on his question.
"You have no idea how happy I am, Caoilainn. More than I've been in," he raised an eyebrow at her, watching her glare at his profession of joy, "well, a very long time. And damn it, if I'm not angrier with you now more than ever at the same bloody time-" He snorted and looked at the wall behind her, unsure what else to say.
"I know," she snapped a reply, frowning. Stewing on her words, her bullheadedness faded. She caught the unhealthy escalation of her irritation and relaxed her arms. An elegant hand, strong from fighting, lay gently over her midsection. "I meant to say I'll miss you."
Caoilainn's words carried more meaning than she realized. His eyes traveled from the wall to her gaze. Conflicted and desperate messages conveyed in her stare, but the enigmatic woman kept her added thoughts to herself.
"Is that so? Even though I've been, what was it you called me, a royal ass?"
She blushed in embarrassment. The faintest giggle escaped her as she looked away, and in an instant, she glowed. Fair skin, flushed cheeks, features brightened by humor, and Maker's breath he hadn't realized how much he longed for the sound. The few seconds of reverberating notes sparked craving for more, disrupting his burden of inner conflict. He watched her lips, following the traces of her grin before it vanished.
She stared back at him. "What is it?"
The question interrupted his fascination; Alistair caught himself ogling. He shook his head to clear his mind and swallowed his attraction , snuffing the temptation to betray his convictions.
"Nothing," he lied. Stepping away from Caoilainn, he returned to their bed and grabbed his packed bag, securing the buckle as he replied, "I'll miss you too." Distance maintained, he swung the bag over his back. "I'm going to sleep in an extra room downstairs… so I don't wake you in the morning."
To find she had awoken before him came as little surprise. Though tempted by her proclaimed devotion to him and their unborn child, he couldn't trust her. It's too late now. Their shared responsibility to the Wardens required him.
He walked outside from the great hall of the Royal Palace.
Sharp cold hit him; the tip of his nose tingled as he acclimated to the temperature. Patches of snow from the night prior collected around the trunks of trees and branches, and on the stairway of the palace.
Brought to the entrance from the stables, horses waited for their bags to be packed, their breath creating cloudy plumes through the cold as they nickered with impatience. Philippa, Fiona, and Hawke worked together to load their rides, while Morrigan stood with crossed arms a few paces away from Caoilainn, witnessing the other mages' attempt at cooperating.
Alistair's sweaty palms contrasted the cold when he spotted Caoilainn. She watched the group prepare to leave, bundled to combat the cold; the newly formed habit caught Alistair's eye. A protective hand shielded what grew within her, what they had created in the face of nearly insurmountable odds. His stomach turned with confused elation, luring him to stay with her in Denerim rather than join the quest ahead.
Understanding the explanation for her recent quirks and changes in behavior, her pregnancy had been evident for weeks. Her hair, the ashen braid along the side of her head hung loose as if she lacked the energy to control it. The way she slept, often and intentional, curled on her side to protect her womb. She rose early, not because guilt gnawed through her sleep but rather due to sickness. She delegated commands to his army; foregoing full armor. She hadn't fought with the same intensity in over a month.
The glimpse of the tender side of the stubborn, secretive woman defied his anger and disappointment, stirring his sentimental nature. He strode to her, and Caoilainn looked at him, subdued and non-reactive. Her attempts to force cordiality had ceased, replaced with reservation. Alistair leaned in and placed a perfunctory kiss on Caoilainn's cheek. The briefest furrow of her brow lasted only a second before he fumbled through an awkward farewell and a stilted 'I love you.' The words were nearly drowned out by others' voices and clopping hooves.
The statement was true. His questions of commitment and the fate of their marriage did not change the fact. She knew it, he was certain. Withholding her efforts to dissuade him from leaving, Caoilainn tightened her lips before returning the sentiment. "I love you too," she replied, almost a question.
Sunlight peeked over the Denerim skyline, highlighting the fast-approaching journey, their separation. The daybreak did not lessen the frigid temperatures, but assured his need to leave before he changed his mind.
"This shouldn't take more than a few months," Alistair gave a timeframe to settle his anxiety as much as her own. "That is, if it all goes smoothly."
"It won't." She sighed, making a half-hearted offer. "But take as long as you need, Alistair."
Pending the end of their moment together, daunted by its potential finality, he wanted to hold her, to assure their healing, and guarantee successful parenthood. But empty promises served none and he ignored the urge. She settled her concerns of ruling alone and pregnant, and confirmed Teagan's added support. Affections muted by boundaries, the couple's final conversation ended with a few more words.
Brisk surges of wind animated the grassy hills. Chills crept up Nathaniel's spine as he kept his horse at a tempered pace back to Vigil's Keep. The gelding needed rest. Brief sprints gained distance but the bite of crisp weather stung. Nate found respite in the slowed canter, absorbing the sun until he sprinted again.
He'd return to Vigil's Keep in two nights if he kept good time and met no bandits. Since the Inquisition's successful efforts, the roads were safer. Fereldans enjoyed the peace of closed rifts, free of demons, and Red Templars who had wreaked havoc on both villages and countryside. The land healed with the guidance and care of King Alistair.
For now, the easy pace gave Nate solitude, relief from the anxious Wardens at Vigil's Keep, and the arrogant King in Denerim. Nathaniel rolled his eyes and sighed, recalling Caoilainn's timidity at the meeting. As hard as he had tried to stare at the wall of the palace, he could not miss her attempts at affection with the King. The man's avoidance and blatant disrespect for the most powerful woman Nate knew left a bad taste in his mouth. Worse yet, Caoilainn took Alistair's disregard in stride, tolerating the impudent behavior in a manner uncharacteristic of the former Warden Commander.
Did I cause this? If he had not continued the affair for so long, Alistair's treatment of Caoilainn could be different. He might not have made her leave the Wardens. Nate scowled; the former sense of pride for the debauched conquest disappeared, replaced with guilt for his part in the repercussions now inflicting the entire order.
His view of relationships had grown from noncommittal indulgence. Damn it, Hale. Thanks to the Huntress, previous judgment of the misled ideals of monogamy had involuntarily morphed into an odd understanding of the attraction. New awareness forced acceptance of responsibility for the royal couple's marital discord. He cringed, nudging the horse into a quicker gait with his heel.
Regret did not diminish loathing. No matter his new comprehension of meaningful relationships, whatever drew Caoilainn to Alistair, in all his overblown perfection, distracted her from the Wardens. The obligation to cooperate with the man responsible for the loss of the Mother of Griffons revolted Nathaniel.
He clicked his tongue and gave another nudge with his heel into the horse's flank; the creature neighed with annoyance but increased his speed to a gallop. Balancing posture, Nathaniel's feet pressed firmly into the stirrups. His thoughts dissolved into the blurring scenery. He summoned resolve, sustaining the intensity of the ride and the challenges that awaited, all in an effort to recover the Wardens. A fortunate recompense to the impending ordeal waited at his destination. The Huntress.