With his mind preoccupied, Alistair almost missed the justice of Hale's punch landing on Hawke's face. The resounding smack brought him back to the present, and he couldn't help but laugh. But the humor quickly faded as they followed Hale. Nathaniel remained cold to all of them, and Fiona helped Philippa walk. Absent-minded to the audible whispers of passersby, and still dumbfounded by the recent revelations to the group, Alistair did not help. Hawke lifted himself from the ground.
Granted a chance to calm down and wash up, they planned to reconvene over dinner in an hour. The Warden Commander forfeited his evening out with the Tantervalian elf in favor of the group's meeting. They would address the news of Philippa and how to proceed.
But other information took the forefront of Alistair's mind. After reaching his room at the inn, he changed his clothes and laid in bed, staring at the fine cracks and grooves of the stone ceiling.
"So she's been cured." Philippa's words repeated.
"What?" Alistair had vocalized his question, and none answered, moving on with the conversation as Philippa's symptoms declined. Worse, it seemed most of them knew what Hawke implied and Philippa admitted, and it came as no proclamation. Typical. The others had decided who was entitled to the information, and Alistair, no longer a Grey Warden and inactive with the Order, was deemed not privy to such details. His temples twitched as he gritted his teeth, quietly mulling over the details.
But that means Fiona was a Warden. He deducted what cure they referred. The clarity only provoked a longer list of questions, and the chance to ask them had disappeared as Philippa's state took precedence for the party.
Alistair's thoughts fixated on Fiona. When? With whom? What quests? What happened? The question most prominent echoed every other inquiry he could muster. Why lie?
There's more to this. Alistair was sure of it. He surmised either the others knew more about the circumstances of Fiona's history and kept the information private, or they were less bothered by her lack of communication. Which frustrated him more, he couldn't decide.
Why should I be more concerned about this than everyone else?
An undeserved sense of betrayal settled in, and he sighed. The two had shared many thoughtful conversations since his cure at Skyhold, more than either had with the other party members. Each time, Fiona showed concern and compassion for his well-being and offered insightful advice without criticism. He had opened up to her, displayed honesty, and admitted his struggles. She should have told me. The answer was clear.
He applied her name to the title, to see if it helped them sound less illogical — Warden Fiona.
The memory of Hawke's voice carrying through the Vigil's Keep hallway surfaced. "I don't think the name is a coincidence."
They were talking about Fiona, he realized, disappointed with his blindness. If he had paid more attention, he could have arrived at the apparent conclusion earlier.
Another memory arose, and his stomach dropped.
Caoilainn laughed along with him and told of a discovery she made in the Grey Warden Vault in the Denerim Market District. "The record I found listed a Fiona. Also a mage, cured about 32 years ago."
Alistair groaned and put his hands to his face, rubbing his palms on his eyes. "I should have known." The words came out loud, and he sighed at his naiveté.
The realization didn't alleviate the unease in his stomach, and he didn't expect it would vanish until he spoke with Fiona. I need answers. But other responsibilities would need to be handled first.
He joined the group for dinner in the inn's tavern downstairs.
Fiona stood at the doorway of her bedroom clenching her hands and releasing them. Aware of Philippa probably needed her help in the room next door before the meeting for the sorceress was due to begin. Fiona's stomach growled in hunger after going the day without eating. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to open the door.
She would have to face Alistair.
"So she's been cured..." As soon as the words had slipped from Philippa's lips, Fiona regretted her self-interested choices. She had offered kind words to Alistair more times than necessary, too much for him not to be upset by hearing this news from someone else. At some point, the altruism stopped being for him. It served her.
He deserves to know more. As Hawke, Philippa and Nathaniel uncovered her secret, the obligation to tell Alistair solidified. And as true as the detail might be, she couldn't have told him. It was plain and simple. Letting him know about her history as a Warden would invite more questions. Now he knew, and the questions would only come in a matter of time.
"Fiona, dear," Philippa's voice called from the hallway. "Tell me you're not staring at the door like a ninnyhammer."
Heat rushed through Fiona's face, anger rising. She swallowed, summoning every effort to keep her voice down. Her jaw set, frown locked as she swung open the door. "This is your fault, Philippa," she whispered.
Philippa looked better than when they had arrived. Probably loaded up on whatever concoction she had been drinking to hide her symptoms.
"Oh, calm down," Philippa ordered and put her hands to Fiona's shoulders, condescending as if Fiona were a child. "Nothing has happened, and the information does not change a single thing about the present situation. Anyway, most already knew."
"Alistair didn't know." Fiona wrung her hands, looking over Philippa's shoulder to see if any occupied the hallway.
"Even better then." Philippa rubbed Fiona's shoulders in a soothing motion. "You two are on good terms, are you not? He'll be more understanding than anyone."
Doubt rooted itself deep in Fiona's chest. She had witnessed Alistair's response to lies when Caoilainn admitted her pregnancy; when Alistair chose to leave her for this mission. Being lied to by those he cared for was worse than deceit from a stranger.
With a meager nod, Fiona voiced, "I hope so."
"Hush now, Fiona." Philippa patted her with one hand. "Now it's time to determine my fate."
The tavern was comfortable. Tables of treated oak filled the room, lined with used candles, their wax dripped down their holders and securing them to the wood. A nearby fireplace warmed the room. The barkeep brought drinks and food to the party's table, whatever the kitchen had available that night. And Philippa ate what felt like her last meal, enjoying her food and the decent ale before they decided to remove her from the group.
No evidence they collected suggested the Warden illness was communicable, affecting Wardens at random since Alistair and Caoilainn's cure. Nevertheless, the committee sat away from her, leaving Philippa at the end of a table by herself. That included Hale, who had shared the same bedroll with Philippa for weeks, and now chose to sit next to Nathaniel. The young Warden avoided Philippa's gaze as she ate.
Unwilling to delay the inevitable any longer, Philippa took a drink and set it down. She patted her mouth with a dining cloth. "All right, let's not dally. What are you all to do with me?"
Dumbly they stared as if they had all forgotten the purpose of the meeting, voluntarily choosing to sit in awkward silence at the same time.
"Come on," Philippa raised her drink to them with an expectant look, "I'll not have my time wasted."
Nathaniel cleared his throat and spoke before the rest. "This certainly makes things complicated, but I'd rather not lose a Warden, whether that's because they become a ghoul, or we carry on without them."
Before picking up his glass, Alistair mumbled, "I'd rather not have a ghoul in our party, thank you." He drank water, instead of ale like the others.
"Of course not, your majesty." Philippa gave a polite smile to Alistair "I would never wish to impose that on you."
Still avoiding Philippa's eyes, Hale nodded toward her while talking to the other group members. "She's gotta potion that keeps her going."
Such a clever girl. The endearment Philippa felt for Hale's perceptiveness was magnified. And as the circumstances stood, it served no one for Philippa to continue to omit the truth.
"Dear child," Philippa softened her voice, "I am sure you have noticed I have needed far more of the potion as of late. It may be impossible for me to keep my supplies filled to brew more of the elixir as my illness progresses. I am sure to be a burden."
The small voice of Fiona followed Philippa's statement. She looked at Nathaniel as she spoke. "I will help her gather what she needs. I don't know the potion, but I am sure we can keep her supplied."
"I'll help too." The young hunter added her pledge to Fiona's.
Philippa glanced around the group, seeking any other responses. Aside from Hawke, whose eyes were hidden beneath the shadow of his hand as he rubbed his temples with his index finger and thumb, the rest looked at ease. Philippa smiled in relief. "Splendid. Then it's simple. We should reach Ansburg and find an answer to all of this so I can heal along with the Order."
The Champion of Kirkwall made a wry laugh. His hand lowered, showing the extent of his swollen nose and haggardness, unhidden by his facial hair. Free of his usual sarcasm, he informed, "I don't agree. It would be too risky."
Alistair's head turned in surprise. "Right, and since when do you care about our safety?"
"If I'm honest," Hawke lifted a matter-of-fact brow as he responded, and extended his hand in annoyance. "I am concerned about my safety, thank you. She should stay here or travel back to Vigil's Keep on her own. After getting lost in the Silent Plains and the unplanned journey with the refugees, this trip is taking much longer than we anticipated. Waiting for Philippa to stop and gather herbs will only slow us more."
A concerned hum came from Fiona. "The only pattern to the illness we've determined is the Warden's connection to the Bond. The unity of the Ferelden order preserved them longer. If Philippa is on her own, she is sure to suffer more."
"And Aidan," Hale trailed the end of Fiona's words with her own, "Phil's far from her mate. Could be why she got the illness, yeah?"
She's right. A pang in Philippa's chest as the mention of Aidan's name confirmed another insightful observation from Hale.
"He's my protégé, my dear child." A sentimental and sad smile pulled her lips.
Indignance coated Hawke's tone; he shook his head. "That's all well and good, but it's too late now. She's already sick."
Nathaniel's reply came too quick to be neutral, and annoyance lined the edges of his stoicism. "Why don't you leave, Champion?"
Hawke almost laughed, a surprised smile curving his mouth. "What?"
"We returned to Weisshaupt and found it vacant." Leaning back in his chair, Nathaniel crossed his arms over his chest. "I think your time with us is complete."
"Nice try." Hawke smirked and scooted his chair closer to the table. Hands laced, he rested them in front of him. "You need my help now more than ever. I've visited the Circle in Ansburg, and I've seen the Warden base."
Nathaniel grumbled, "I'm sure we could figure it out on our own."
"Need I remind your lack of manpower?" The bruises swollen beneath Hawke's eyes, and the enlarged bridge of his nose painted a different picture of the mage. Unamused and slightly threatening, he glanced to Philippa. "Can you afford to be down two mages?"
"He's right." Philippa lifted her chin, resisting the urge to defend herself. "The illness has already occurred. My time is limited until there is a cure."
Hale slammed her tankard down after taking a large gulp. "Don't be daft! With all the sodding books she carries," she gestured her hand to Philippa while speaking to the rest, "Phil knows more about magic than anyone."
"Age helps for some things," Hawke muttered into his mug.
Calm but concerned, Fiona kept Philippa's gaze as she spoke, "Despite my experience as a cured Warden, I trust Philippa's knowledge of arcane magic and necromancy more than my own, and Hawke's too for that matter. The subjects may be needed depending on what we face."
With a slow nod, Nathaniel's eyes narrowed, glancing around the table. He lifted his hand. "Those in favor of keeping Philippa with us, accepting her need for supplies for her potion along with the time and potential risks involved, raise your hands."
Philippa held her breath, watching the uneasy stares pass from person to person across the table. Delayed, none volunteered their vote too quickly.
Hale's hand rose first, and she bowed her head to Philippa. The sorceress felt her chest filling with pride, and a sense of relief washed over her. There is hope. A moment later, Fiona's hand raised. She gave a modest smile to the other sorceress.
And that was it. Hawke's hand stayed on the table, and his brow remained lifted in criticism. Alistair stared blankly at his plate, his hands in his lap. After a moment of silence, he glanced up to Philippa.
"I'm sorry. I can't willingly agree to make this trip last any longer. I need to return home."
With a compassionate lift of her glass, Philippa replied, "Of course, your majesty. I wouldn't expect otherwise." She drank in mock confidence.
Before she set her tankard down, Nathaniel's voice ruled the outcome. "The vote supports keeping Philippa with us. Will the two of you accept these terms?"
An embittered chuckle sounded from Hawke. He shrugged. "I have nowhere else to be, and let's be honest, you all would miss me too much."
Alistair sat in silence, studying the wall behind Philippa. The beard he had grown on their trip aged him, along with the lines defined on his forehead. He took a loud inhale. "Technically, I don't need to be here, since you already have a cured Warden among you." His eyes darted to Fiona. "But I've come this far, and as frustrating...and foolish as it is, I still feel a sense of responsibility for the outcome."
The lines on his face eased as his shoulders relaxed. Philippa squinted, focusing, curious to see this honest side of the man who had consistently shut himself off from the rest of the group, aside from Fiona.
"Then it's settled," Nathaniel said, not lingering on Alistair's reflection. "We continue on our path and address concerns about Philippa as they arise."
She couldn't help but smile, relieved and warmed by the choice the group made. In agreement on this verdict, they finished the last of their meals and sips of their drinks before dividing for the night.
In the privacy of her room, Philippa combined ingredients to make her elixir.
Following Philippa, Fiona took quiet steps up the staircase of the inn. The rest of the party dawdled in the bar downstairs. Lost in thoughts about the meeting, the events of the day, and what was to come, she didn't hear steps behind her.
"I must be here, you know. I could be at fault for the weakness of the Bond," the strong timber of Alistair's voice pulled Fiona from her distracted and guilty daze. She had realized the truth in his confession at the table. Alistair added, "At least in part, that is, just a little."
Reaching the top of the stairway, Fiona stopped and waited. Her chest tightened, dreading the questions she was sure he would ask.
Alistair continued, "I've noticed you've been distant since I fought with Nathaniel. I thought I had upset you. To think it was because you were hiding something had never crossed my mind." The faintest traces of pain underlined his words.
She turned around. Considerate and unintimidating, Alistair stood a few steps lower, making their heights equal. He showed respect. The light from a nearby sconce reflected in his downturned eyes.
"I promise, it had nothing to do with you. Philippa had found out, and I didn't want you all to know." Her brow wrinkled in apology. "I know I should have said something to you sooner."
With a sarcastic glance to the ceiling, he nodded a subtle agreement."Be that as it may, it seems I was the last to know." When his eyes returned, his mouth pulled down, frowning. "Try as I might, I can't get past why? Why keep that a secret when we're on a quest for the Wardens?"
Because I'm your mother. The instinct response blared in her mind.
In habit, Fiona's hands reached for each other. "It's not an easy subject to explain, and it was so long ago. I knew it wouldn't help."
Please leave it alone, Alistair. The plea failed to pass her lips. Any urgency to end the conversation would only usher his need to know more.
With a strained laugh, Alistair forced a smile. Something about the whites of his teeth and the red in his hair reminded her of his nobility. His father. She watched in a conflicted admiration.
Alistair shrugged. "It doesn't have to help. It wouldn't have hurt anything either, and by now, everyone else already knows. Why not tell me?"
Because I'm your mother. The four words repeated themselves, and she almost laughed at their absurdity. She couldn't tell him. As simple as it would make the present situation, it would only hurt him. It would put his position as king at risk, uncovering the truth that he was the bastard child of an elven mage who was very much alive, and not whatever story Eamon had concocted. And the risk of his anger at another secret, betrayal deeper than any he had already experienced, only frightened her.
Fiona was present at the meeting in Denerim when Alistair opted to join their crew on a mission across Thedas to avoid his wife when she lied. I would certainly lose him forever.
"It's a subject I'd rather not revisit," Fiona muttered, hoping it would be enough to mollify his curiosity and put an end to the interrogation. "I knew you would have questions and I didn't want to disappoint you. I'm not willing to answer them."
"Of course, I have tons of questions!" His arms reached out to his sides in exasperation, and his face reddened. "Honestly, how could I not have loads of them?"
Fiona bit her lip, the apologetic wrinkle in her brow returned, but she remained silent. The frustration flickered in his expression, sharp and agitated. With an embittered sigh, Alistair's arms lowered to his side. "Fine. I'll keep my questions to myself, but I thought we were closer than that."
The words stung. His palpable anger and disappointment pushed her to say more, to accept whatever consequences arose and tell him everything. But I can't and I can't lie. The thought of misleading him made her queasy. "I'm sorry, Alistair."
"You don't owe me an apology. I'm sorry I asked." His voice was cold and his eyes glistened. A step below her, she witnessed a glimpse of innocence in the sadness of such a large man. "And now I know where we stand for next time."
The conversation ended. Alistair looked at the wall behind her, disconnected, waiting for her to move from his way. Biting her lip, Fiona lifted her hands to slow him down. "Please, I know you're upset but it's better this way," she murmured. The pit in her chest sank further.
"You—" He glanced at her, disdain lining his features before he chuckled, sneering. "Keep your secrets, Fiona, but don't decide what's best for me."
She couldn't argue with him, considerate of his frustration and not wishing to invite an argument. He doesn't understand. Instead, she nodded, holding silence, and moved out of his way.
He stepped up to her level and walked toward his room. Standing still, Fiona watched in remorse, and respectful to his reaction. He reached his door and turned around. "I'm angry with myself. The pieces were right in front of me and I didn't put them together."
"What?" Her brow knitted, confused.
He laughed again and rolled his eyes, fingers wrapping around the handle of his door. "I'm so dense that I didn't see the signs you were the Fiona that Caoilainn found a record on. In the Warden Vault in Denerim, of all places."
Because I'm your mother. Her heart raced, and the tightness in her chest dropped to her stomach. She knew the nervous and pestering flutter would not leave anytime soon— until she spoke with Caoilainn. Unclear how much of her case the Wardens reported in their records, there might be further information in the vault. I have to find out how much she knows.
Alistair added no other words and entered his room, shutting the door behind him with a curt slam.