"Wot do you suppose is going on here?" The old farmer peered out from behind his cabbages at the soldiers. "They're fairly runnin'!"
"Didn't you hear, old granfer?" asked the man in the next stall. He finished placing potatoes in a bin and turned. "This morning, early like, the princess left the palace with a Grey Warden."
"Get out." The old man's mouth hung open, his pipe in danger of spilling out onto the cobblestones.
"It's the Maker's truth. Me own boy saw 'em on the road. Said they were gallopin' long down the Western Road. Now these soldiers goin' back and forth between the palace and Fort Drakon, looks like."
"Wot's our princess doin' with soldiers?"
"Dunno, but I hear the prince hasn't gone. When's the last time you saw one without t'other?"
The two men shook their heads at each other ruefully.
"Here, you! Ser Watchman!" The younger farmer called out to a passing guard on patrol. "What's the trouble? Why're all the men runnin' around scarin' off our customers?"
The guardsman leaned on his pike and pushed his visor up.
"No need for alarm, citizen," he said. "There's a bit of trouble down at Ostagar, but we'll soon get it sorted out. Don't concern yourselves overmuch." He passed on, sauntering toward the Gnawed Noble Tavern, but keeping well clear of the soldiers hustling down the lane. The two farmers returned to their vegetables and spoke no more of the strange business in the city that day.
Alistair was tightening the buckles on his greaves when he heard a cough from the doorway. He straightened up and met the gaze of his wife.
"What in the name of Andraste's nightgown do you think you're doing?"
He flinched a little under the stern tone, but it only served to strengthen his resolve. He said nothing, but started to pull on and buckle the tassets over his thighs.
"Did you think I would notice your absence?" Charlotte uncrossed her arms and stepped into room. She placed her hands on his to stop him.
"No, I knew you'd find me," he replied. He glanced up into her face again. "Maker, Charlotte, we don't know what could happen down there." He dropped the segmented armor onto the floor, where it rang against a breastplate. "I'm going with the soldiers. I can't trust anyone to protect her but myself."
To his surprise, she didn't argue with him further, but put her arms around him. He hugged her back, resting his hot face in her hair.
She released him after a few moments, and said, "You are a good man, Alistair. You have been a good husband, king, and father all these years, and I love you beyond measure." She looked up into his face, which was filled with worry, doubt, and fear. "Yes, we must go. I'm glad you've decided. I'll get—"
Alistair shook his head. "No, you have to stay here, with Duncan. Don't quarrel with me about it. There's still that business with the Free Marchers to sort out. He'll need your guidance; it's a difficult situation, and I don't think they'll accept his authority alone." He stooped to retrieve the fallen piece of plate mail from the floor.
"You're not wearing the royal armor?" Charlotte stepped behind him to help with the buckles. Together they quickly fastened the remaining tasset, the breastplate, and the pauldrons over his shoulders. It was a deceptively plain set, but at a closer glance it shone with the faint light of lyrium infusion.
"I prefer this," he replied, rolling his shoulders to test the straps. "And I see that look you're giving me." He leaned toward her so their foreheads touched.
"I feel like we're all moving in something we cannot control," she said. Her voice was low. "First Eleanor has gone, and now you… And I can't come with you. What if… what if something happens?"
"Nothing will happen," he replied. "I'll just nip down with the guard I promised Cullen I'd send, and the whole thing will probably be sorted out before we know it. In fact, I bet Eleanor will have it settled before I even arrive. She always was the diplomat in the family."
Charlotte smiled, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Her lips pressed together in a line.
"Let's go find Duncan. I want to get the men organized and set out as early as possible." Alistair strapped on his sword and shield and, taking her by the hand, they went out to find their son.
Duncan was in the study adjoining the throne room poring over a map of the lands north of the Waking Sea. He looked up when his parents entered and rose from the chair, but did not speak. Charlotte recalled how, as a small child, he would stare at everyone in an extremely similar calm manner, as if trying to communicate without words.
He waited until they were standing quite close before he said, "Mother. Father. I see you're marching with the soldiers." His voice was even.
"Ah, yes," Alistair replied. "I decided to go, to look after your sister. We'll return shortly. Are you all right? You look a bit… strained."
"I didn't sleep much last night," said Duncan. He tried to smile. "I'm a bit worried, too."
"Don't be. Just remember," Alistair pointed at the map. "Ser Vant from Wildervale hates Ser Feddick from Starkhaven. Don't leave them alone together. And don't let that Ser Andel from Nickwell push you around. He's a bossy fellow; he thinks that lands near the Waking Sea give him prominence over the others."
Duncan's smile broadened. "Be careful, Father," he said.
"I will. Hold down the kingdom while I'm gone, you two," said Alistair, laughing a little. He embraced Duncan and Charlotte, kissing the latter firmly before he let them go again. "I'm going to Fort Drakon now. Will you come see me off in an hour? Goodbye for now."
With that, he turned and exited the room and the palace, feeling almost confident enough to whistle. After all, he thought, this had to be some misunderstanding. He didn't know why he felt such anxiety about the whole business—certainly it would be cleared up in no time.