Monster Hunter

Summary: Alistair Theirin: King by day, the world's greatest monster hunter by night
Notes: One-shot for King Alistair Day, during Alistair Week on Tumblr. Have some nice, teeth-rotting fluff.


"The Bannorn is growing bolder, Your Majesty."

Alistair looked up with an arched brow from the wordy parchment he'd been studying. His steward was strolling into his study with an enormous stack of documents clutched in his hands, and his eyes widened in alarm when the man deposited them soundly on his desk. He pulled the end of his quill from between his teeth and studied the pile for a long, incredulous moment.

"Please tell me these are not all marriage proposals." His voice was stern and impatient even to his own ears, and he fanned the corner of the pile with his thumb.

The steward gave a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "Indeed, Your Majesty." He gave an apologetic bow at Alistair's deeply beleaguered sigh. "Your palace holds within it the most sought-after hand in all of Ferelden. Every noble in your country with an unmarried son is clamoring at your door, so to speak."

"My daughter is more than just a hand," he snapped. The steward blanched at his uncharacteristic tone. Alistair sighed again, and scrubbed at his face with his hands. He desperately wished Olivia had not had to leave for Amaranthine this week, of all weeks. She was much better at intimidating nobles than he was. He thought he had finally found his footing in all this king business, but this issue of marriage proposals had his head spinning. "She's only just turned three years."

"I'm rather surprised they waited as long as they did," the steward remarked wryly. "It is not rare for a princess to be promised as early as her first year. With all the... excitement, they've been a bit distracted."

Alistair snorted. Distracted was not quite the right word. More likely, they had been waiting for a better option. The Bannorn had been in a collective tizzy when he had declared his first child his heir, despite her gender. He had been reminded to the point of exhaustion that the line of King Calenhad had always been male, despite his repeated insistence that he simply didn't care. When they'd had their son a short year later - rather sooner than they had intended, but they had gotten a bit carried away in the knowledge that the Taint no longer loomed over them - he had been more than happy to assert that the order of succession had not changed.

Apparently the joke was on him.

He flipped through the stack of documents, more unimpressed with each house crest that was revealed. "Ha!" He rolled his eyes at the crest of Oswin and shoved the stack of documents away. "If Bann Loren expects me to take him seriously, he's a bigger fool than I thought."

The other man smiled. "The marriage of the Crown Princess of Ferelden creates the most powerful political alliance in the country. Every noble will be offering any asset they have to you for the chance to raise their status so high."

He propped his chin up on his fist, glaring at the offending documents. Every arl, bann and minor noble in his country was throwing gold and favors at him; he held their fates in the palm of his hand.

All he had to do was trade his child like so much chattel.

There was a soft knock at the door of his study, and he gave a distracted grunt of acknowledgment. After a long moment of silence, the door opened, and the tentative face of a young lady-in-waiting appeared.

"I'm deeply sorry to disturb you, Your Majesty, but - you told us to come get you for anything at all and - "

His face snapped up to her, a questioning eyebrow arching high on his forehead.

"Your Majesty, my Lady requests your presence most urgently."

Alistair unfolded himself gingerly from his chair and stretched his arms high over his head. His back cracked in three places and he wondered just how long he had been hunched over his paperwork. With deft fingers, he unhooked the clasps of his jerkin and deposited it on the back of his chair, rolling the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows. He hadn't realized just how oppressive the heat of the room was until he no longer had the press of heavy leather against his back.

"Your Majesty?" The steward looked to him questioningly, and Alistair lifted the stack of documents into the other man's arms before starting casually toward the door of his study.

"Get rid of them."

The steward looked surprised. "I - should I not see if the Queen might like to look over them first? She - "

The King turned and plucked the bundle from his hands, before strolling briskly to the blazing hearth and depositing it into the flames without a second glance. The sound of soft, fluttering parchment gave way to the crackle of blooming red fire. He gave the steward a last, dismissive wave of his hand before exiting the study, the lady-in-waiting shuffling behind him.

The hour was late, and the Royal Wing was silent but for his determined footsteps echoing against the flagstones. His conversation with the steward had left him initially unnerved, but now, as he walked the halls of the palace, a sense of calm washed over him. He felt tall. Powerful. His reign as king had so far been tumultuous, fraught with indecision and doubt. But he was finding more and more that where his family was concerned, that doubt ceased to exist.

It did not take long for him to reach the nursery. The footman outside the door gave him a low bow, and he waved him off before disappearing through the door.

"Papa!" He had barely taken more than a step into the room when a tiny missile barreled toward him, and he swept her up into his arms with a large grin. The halo of her wild black curls stuck out in every direction, and her enormous brown eyes were wide as she looked at him.

"My love, it's very late. Why are you still awake?" He gave her the sternest look he could, but knew his persistent smile ruined the effect. She threw her tiny arms around his shoulders and buried her face into his neck.

"There's a monster!" His brow furrowed, and he looked to her lady-in-waiting with questioning eyes. The lady gave him a small smile and a shallow curtsy.

"I told her there's no monster, but she insisted that you're the only one who can find them, Your Majesty."

His grin widened, and he looked back to his daughter, who nodded with great assurance. "Well then," he announced, in his grandest king voice, "we'll just have to make sure to scare it off!" He crossed the room to her bed and deposited her into the nest of blankets, before darting off to a nearby corner and sweeping up a small wooden sword with a flourish. She laughed, high and musical, and the sound never failed to make his heart soar.

Alistair pointed the sword flamboyantly at the large wardrobe near her bed, giving her a questioning look, and she nodded with wide eyes. He glanced back at the lady-in-waiting and gave her a kind smile. "Lady Aline, I think we have this well in hand." She blushed, curtsied and left them to their game. Alistair marched toward the wardrobe and threw open the doors with an exaggerated roar, jabbing the small sword into the darkness with wide sweeps. His tiny commander shrieked and bounced in her excitement.

"The evil monster is slain, Your Highness!" He gave her a sweeping bow, his nose almost touching the floor, and she giggled. He gently closed the wardrobe doors once more and placed the small sword on her bedside table, before perching beside her on the bed. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep now?"

She crawled into his lap, curled up against his chest, and he smiled, utterly in awe of this perfect creature he had helped create against all odds. She gave a wide yawn and nodded. "Do Princess Ellie!"

He chuckled. "Again? Aren't you tired of that one yet?"

She shook her head, her eyes drifting closed. Alistair smiled and leaned against her headboard, pulling her close to him and surrendering to a large yawn of his own. "There once - " Another yawn. "There once was a very beautiful princess named Princess Ellie. She was strong, and kind, and beloved by everybody in her kingdom." Her breathing had become slow and heavy, and his heart clenched with adoration. He smoothed her wild hair. "She was going to be a great queen someday, and she would marry whoever she wanted. Or nobody at all, that would be fine too."

He paused and frowned. "And nobody was ever going to make her do anything she didn't want to do." She snuffled. Alistair pulled her tighter against him, shaking his head at himself. His own eyes were feeling heavy, his long day catching up with him, and he allowed them to drift closed.

"One day, Princess Ellie rode her great griffin into the woods..."