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Leliana did her best to keep her face impassive as Arl Teagan droned on and on about all his grievances, painting them as the grievances of all of Ferelden. Establishing an armed presence in Fereldan territory, seizing Caer Bronach in Crestwood … All things that shouldn't have been necessary if there had been stronger leadership on the throne of Ferelden.
Alistair knew it, too, remaining still in his seat with only by grace of the rigorous Templar and Grey Warden training of his youth.
What had Leyden been thinking? Leliana wondered, for at least the thousandth time. Alistair had never been suited for the throne. They should have gone with Anora, who had been the real hand on the reins before Cailan died. But by the time that decision was to be made, Leyden and Alistair had been together and Leliana's counsel was no longer required. Or heeded.
She wasn't bitter about that. Not anymore. Alistair had needed love far more than she had—without those months with Leyden, Leliana wasn't certain he would have survived the Blight, much less been able to take the throne of Ferelden. It wasn't Leyden's fault that she hadn't been enough to make a king out of someone who had been taught from his earliest years that he had no value. Leyden hadn't valued herself enough to want to live; she was hardly the person to have taught Alistair about the kind of inner strength he truly needed.
And now it was too late, Leliana imagined, watching Alistair's face as the Inquisitor shot back at Teagan, reminding him of the state of Ferelden in general and Redcliffe and the Hinterlands in specific when the Inquisition began. The Inquisitor's words landed harder than Teagan's, because they were nothing more nor less than the truth. Josephine tried to make excuses, to soften the condemnation of Fereldan leadership, but everyone in the room knew … and heads were kept carefully turned away from Alistair.
All except Teagan's. His eyes blazed as he stared at his 'nephew' in something like triumph. Was it all for this, all along, to take the throne? Was that what had turned the charming, savvy Teagan into this bitter old man, deserting his post and then grabbing greedily at it once someone else had saved it?
Teagan leaned forward, ostensibly looking at Josephine, but his words were aimed above her head as he hissed venomously, "Invading under pretext of restoring order is exactly what the Grey Wardens did to us centuries ago, and we exiled them!"
Alistair was on his feet, and even Leliana felt that Teagan had gone too far. She opened her mouth to speak, to forestall any hasty words from Alistair. But the King of Ferelden didn't speak. He turned on his heel, marching to the doors, and opened them firmly. The staccato thuds of his footsteps on the marble floor were audible to everyone in the Council chamber until the heavy doors slammed shut, the sound reverberating off every surface in the room.
Varric watched His Majesty, the King of Ferelden, scuttle out of the Council chamber with his tail between his legs. Served him right, Varric thought bitterly. Not just for what he'd done to Hawke, which she may have forgiven him for but Varric wasn't about to forget, but also for the mess he'd allowed his country to settle into. As Viscount of Kirkwall, Varric thought he had learned a little something about governing, and His Majesty had been messing it up ever since he took the throne.
Then a person came pushing along past everyone in Varric's row and sat down next to him, and the King of Ferelden was forgotten entirely.
"Hello, lover," Bianca purred.
Varric's heart thudded in his chest, nearly choking him. When he could breathe again, she was smiling at him, just like nothing had ever happened.
"What—what are you doing here?"
"Here?" She glanced dismissively around the chamber. "Being bored to tears. Sitting next to you?" Her hand settled on his thigh, the small fingers caressing him. "Looking for some fun. You know where I can find any?"
Her hand moved higher. For a moment, Varric considered letting it find its destination, but good sense triumphed—for once. He caught her hand and lifted it off his lap.
Bianca gave an exaggerated pout, then sighed. "Fine. I'll be bored, then." She crossed her arms and sat back next to him. She didn't speak another word for the rest of the session, but he could feel her there, practically hear her thinking.
At long last, it was decision-time … and Varric still wasn't sure what he wanted.
"Teagan! Could he have made it any more obvious what he meant?" Alistair demanded.
Lilias shook her head. "Doesn't sound like he could have, no. Does he want the throne?"
"He thinks it's his already. He can't imagine I would step down in favor of anyone else. And ten years ago I would have trusted him with it, no question! He would have been a far better choice than I was."
"What's happened since then?"
"I don't know, that's what's so frustrating. Somewhere along the way he became this bitter, angry old man." He stopped pacing and looked at her. "It's all right, you can say it."
"Say what?"
"That it was me. That my bumbling drove him to become what he is today."
"Alistair." He might not be entirely wrong, but Lilias believed there must be more to it. "When the mages and Templars began fighting over Redcliffe, what did Teagan do?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what did he do when his lands, his people, were under attack?"
"He … came to Denerim."
"Did he tell you anything about why he'd come?"
"He said …" Alistair frowned, trying to remember back. "I don't think he said anything. And I was so used to him being in Denerim that I didn't think to ask who he had running things in Redcliffe. I never asked. Maker, what an imbecile I was."
Lilias waved away Alistair's negligence with an impatient hand. "You can't be expected to know the details of every holding in Ferelden. A king can't function properly if he's trying to do not only his job, but those of his banns and arls and farmholders. At some point, you have to be able to trust that the people you have put in charge are doing what they should be. And Teagan not only abandoned his lands and his people to the mage-Templar conflict, he never even bothered to tell you about the rise of violence in his area. Teagan, who had your ear more closely than anyone else. You would have listened and dispatched troops, and Redcliffe could easily have been sorted out. But he didn't tell you because he didn't want to admit to his own cowardice."
Alistair sat heavily down on the bed. "You're right," he said slowly. "What's more, he was always like that—evading responsibility, withdrawing rather than get his hands dirty. I never saw it before." He looked up at her. "You should be the king. You'd be much better at it than I am."
Irritated, Lilias stood up and looked down at him. "You're no better than Teagan, you know. If you weren't constantly hiding behind your belief in your own incompetence, you could have been the king Ferelden needed all this time. Instead, you've just decided you can't do it, and because you can't decide who else should, no one is. That's not on Teagan, that's on you."
He winced. "I know it."
"Then fix it, Alistair. Make a decision. Take your life into your own hands. It's more than time." She wanted to tell him to stop resenting Leyden, to stop letting a dead woman's sacrifice outweigh the calls of the living people who counted on him, but she was not about to let her cousin's name come between them again. Instead, she put her hands on his shoulders and leaned down, resting her forehead against his. "I'll help you. You're not alone anymore. You never will be again."
"Promise?"
"I promise."