Disclaimer: I own absolutely and completely nothing. Bioware has that particular pleasure.
Author's note: Quicker chapter just because. TBC.
In this chapter: If he ignores it hard enough, it'll go away.
006.
The letter haunts him. Eamon speaks about a whole bunch of things – reconstruction, construction, Gold and more Gold, everything he could even begin to care about for the moment. Because of that letter. It lays underneath all others, you see, well covered, tightly packed and it's not even a long letter. Just a couple of lines – maybe a little more – a bunch of thanks, a lot of empty words and very well phrased nice orders. Not important. So totally to the bottom of the whole thing. Very bottom. Very deep. To be forgotten, Maker damnit.
Guess it's his own damned fault for giving them Amaranthine. He should have given them Redcliffe instead only that would kinda defeat the purpose because then, he'd have to give Amaranthine to the Arl who would lose the Arling and Teagan would leave and wouldn't that be a bummer. She doesn't want him to leave – ew – and he doesn't want to leave – dear Maker, ew.
Alistair doesn't want this letter to reach her hands. He owes her. His city is safe, the Archdemon is dead, his nightmares seem so much less frightening without the undertone of eternal damnation and the thousand darkspawn which litter the streets lay dead. He kind of owes her for that. She doesn't need to know this and. If he forgets it underneath a huge pile of paperwork, so be it. Everyone will be happier. They deserve that, don't they?
Unfortunately, Tasha has other ideas.
She doesn't knock nor does she announce herself before entering. Which is a shining giveaway that it is her and not some other random person with respect for his position. The clacking of the armor? Also a giveaway. The new longsword peeking over her shoulder, so not needed. And he needs to have a little talk with Warren about exactly who had the brilliant idea to arm her so quickly.
"Give it to me."
Eh…?
He lived with this woman for almost a year and learned a few things. This look, coupled with that eyebrow and that stance it's either I'm about to kill you, do as I say or do as I say and I won't harm you. They're very similar, so sue him.
"The letter from the Anderfels." Good freaking Maker, is she a bloody mind reader? "I know you have it. Give it to me."
His arms cross over his chest, feeling uncomfortable due to the lack of armor – a problem that she clearly doesn't have, covered in dragonbone as she is – and he tries to muster his best kingly look. Borrowed directly from Cailan. Which isn't the best role model but details, details.
"It could have been addressed to me," he says, also in his best commanding voice. "I am the King of Ferelden."
Tasha extends her hand and wiggles her armored fingers – what's with all the armor, woman?
"I know," she states simply. Wow, way to make him feel insignificant. "I made you into it. But that letter comes from the Anderfels to the Warden-Commander. Until further notice, that is what I am. You're no Grey Warden either. So give it to me."
Maker damnit, it was Eamon. No details had been given but Eamon knows and Alistair can bet five of his hard earned thirty years that he knows exactly why the advisor told her this. One more chance and he'll be able to change his brother's mind, even he can understand this. …oy. He is replacing Morrigan and insulting himself. That can't be good.
But her words are more effective than a punch and he obeys without even thinking about it. Within a moment, Alistair reaches for the pile of scrolls on his table and moves them around till the last, the very last, well hidden, a haunting presence for something so small. And her hands grasp it without warning, she begins reading and he deals with the largest amount of guilt he has ever felt in his life. There's a strong urge to wriggle his hands. He beats it down by gripping the edges of his chair. See? All honorable and kingly.
"No longer Acting-Commander," she sums it out loud, calm and at ease, eyes skimming through the document with the practice of someone who has been collecting scrolls all over the place. "Congratulations for your victory, brothers and sisters on the way to Amaranthine. Financial aid when required, our best regards. Hm, the First Warden. Doubt it but why not."
She doesn't seem surprised. She doesn't seem surprised, what in the Maker's name?
"You were expecting this?" Alistair finds himself standing from his chair, leaning over his desk as if he's missing some detail of her face. "What about Shianni? And your dad? And, well. Him." Goddamnit, she may be flirting with his uncle – just flirting, that's all they're doing, breathe – but he doesn't have to acknowledge it.
The elf smiles, very slowly, the kind of smile which is that close to being amused or calling him an idiot. "Big girl. Even bigger boy. Born in a family of warriors. We already knew this would happen eventually. The world doesn't turn safe just because we kill one big dragon. And I'm senior in Ferelden now. One plus one equals."
"But you seemed so." At ease. Comfortable. As if the whole world's weight suddenly disappeared.
"It's called pretending, your majesty. We're very good at it," Tasha continues not quite meeting his eyes. Her tone shifts and changes, turns reassuring in a heartbeat as she talks to some unknown audience. "Things will work out, don't worry, everything will be fine, oh no, your son and daughter are not lost and they will be found, just give us time." And back to normal. "Teagan knows how to do it really well for a nobleman. I picked it up along the way."
Alistair wishes again he was armored. Clenching fists when you're not, the nails actually hurt. He should cut them more often. And how womanly that sounds.
"You'll be going?"
Her eyes meet his and yes, of course, don't be an idiot, Alistair.
"So? What now?"
The letter is carefully folded and slipped in whatever place is left inside that armor of hers.
"Stand with me. Father will, so will Soris. I already have bridesmaids and I asked Jowan and Loghain to attend. They deserve it. Battling an Archdemon together is the sort of things that creates some respect." Wow, stab right there. The elf doesn't seem to notice his uneasiness, continuing to speak in that calm controlled tone. If he didn't know her, Alistair would never think she was bothered. But he does, he does. "Zevran and Oghren too. And Mother Boann will leave Denerim to perform the ceremony. I still don't know how Teagan managed to convince her to walk to Redcliffe for this but."
The elf finally stops talking, giving him the time, a chance to react. This is a test for him alone and he's back being watched by every Templar in the building, every person telling him how to do and how to act and Maker help him if he didn't learn his lessons. But this is a test and an important one. All he has to do is.
"Yes."
Ignore how he hates Loghain, ignore how he failed them all and how he wishes the man to drop dead. Acknowledge that he was also wrong and stand by his sister. Like she did that day, sitting on the street.
"Yes, I can do that." A reassuring tone, a little happy because this is what forgiveness feels like. You know. Even if not everything's forgotten. "I mean, I want to do that. Really."
Huh. Her smile is prettier than I remembered.