Chapter 5
"I heard a rumor," Lyna began lightly, "that some royal dimwit who doubles as a hat rack has been looking for me…"
Arl Teagan, Lady Kaitlyn and the elf with Lyna all gasped in unison at her unorthodox greeting. Alistair was grinning like a fool and knew it, but could no more stop than he could stop breathing. After weeks—months, even—of wanting to see her, of working out in his mind exactly what he would say the next time they met, now that she was in front of him he found himself wavering between being utterly tongue tied and a desire to grab her up in his arms and swing her around in the Remigold dance.
Gathering his wits enough to speak, he said with feigned confusion, "A royal dimwit, you say? Hmm, can you describe him? Perhaps we've met?"
She straightened, managing to look thoughtful despite the faint hint of a smile playing along the edge of her lips. "Well let's see. He's tall, about your height, actually. Blonde hair, brown eyes. Oh, and he's getting a bit thick around the waist from overindulging on fine cheese."
Alistair gave a wise nod at each adjective until she reached the last one. Wincing a little—he hadn't really put on that much weight, had he?—he shook his head with regret and said, "Oh dear. I thought I had an idea of who you might be referring to, until that last part about the cheese. Nope, sorry, afraid I don't know him."
"He also happens to have a death grip on my hand at the moment," Lyna whispered and tugged insistently on her hand to free it.
Flushing, he released her, feeling just as much of a bumbling idiot in her presence as he had so long ago when he'd mustered up the courage to give her a rose. "Oh, you mean that royal dimwit. I thought he sounded familiar."
Teagan cleared his throat, wavering between laughter and a desperate struggle to maintain some level of propriety given the stature of their guests. "King Alistair, I see you remember Warden Commander Lyna. She and Senior Warden Fiona arrived last night," he gestured at the second elf.
The other Grey Warden was female and older, though it was nearly impossible for Alistair to guess her age. Elves may not have been as ageless as they had once been, but he knew they still aged slower than humans. She was also very short and slight, even for an elf. The polished white staff with a glowing silver ball clasped in the claw end identified her as a mage, despite the fact that she was wearing finely meshed chain hauberk and a red linen skirt.
She seem completely nonplussed by the familiarity of his exchange with Lyna, and judging from the set of her jaw and the glint in her expressive dark mahogany eyes, angry about something. That had to be a new record for him, making someone mad before he'd even met them in any official sense. Making sure that his tone held nothing but respect, he said, "You honor us with your presence."
Senior Warden Fiona's throat worked for a few moments before words actually came out. "The honor is mine, your Majesty," she finally said in a choked voice and bowed.
Alistair shot an inquisitive glance at Lyna but she seemed just as mystified by the other Warden's response as he was.
The awkward silence was broken by Bryce's plaintive request, "Cookies now? You said I could have a cookie!" The little boy frowned up at his parents from beneath a shaggy lock of red hair.
Lady Kaitlyn shook her head with a rueful smile, "I better get him to the kitchens, or we'll never hear the end of it. You must be thirsty after your journey—can I have one of the servants bring you something to eat or drink, your Majesty. Or perhaps you, Lyna or Fiona?"
"Cookies actually do sound good," Alistair said. "They have them in Orzammar, but I confess I wasn't brave enough to try one. I was afraid it'd be made either of some vile-tasting moss brew or nugs."
"Whatza nug?" Bryce asked and his father chuckled.
"A bit of a cross between a rat and a pig, when you get right down to it," Teagan explained, ruffling his son's hair. "Dwarves eat them quite a bit, from what I understand."
"We'll see if one of Eamon's books has a picture of one you can see," Kaitlyn said, taking her son by the hand before directing her attention toward Redcliffe's guests. "Supper should be ready shortly, if you wish to freshen up." Bryce yanked on her hand, trying to drag her off toward the kitchens and the woman laughed before accompanying him.
Fiona had used the child's distraction to compose herself, though she still seemed angry about something. Alistair saw she was looking at him from the corner of his eye, but when he glanced in her direction, her gaze slid away, as though she were reluctant to meet his eyes.
"Did—is Wynne not with you?" Lyna asked worriedly. It was common knowledge that the King never traveled anywhere without his grey-haired Court Mage. "She's all right, isn't she?"
Now that her absence had been pointed out, Teagan frowned. "I thought the messenger said she was with you when you rode into Redcliffe…"
"Oh she's here, just not, well, here. And healthy as a horse, though please don't tell her I said that, or she'll give me an earful. You should have heard her the time I made the mistake of referring to her as being as well aged as a fine cheese." Alistair grimaced at that memory. "She wanted to visit the general store in town for…" he caught himself right before he said Nathan's name, realizing that the more he said about the boy, the more he'd have to explain. "Uh… supplies. A few things we were running low on. She should be here shortly," he said with a cheerful smile, hoping his hesitation had gone unnoticed.
Unfortunately, two of the three people in the King's immediate presence knew him better than anyone else in all of Ferelden, and they both quirked their eyebrows at him with equal skepticism.
The newly appointed Arl was on the verge of saying something when one of his knights came into the hall and walked over to whisper something in his ear. Making a face, Teagan pulled at his beard before he nodded and said apologetically, "Excuse me for a moment, please," and followed the knight out the doorway leading to the courtyard.
Alistair turned to watch them go and as he did, Fiona bit off a sharp gasp of surprise. When he faced her again, she had a stricken expression on her face, and her wide-eyed gaze was focused on something at his shoulder. "What? Have I got a spider on me or something?" he asked nervously, brushing at his shoulder with a hand. The big ones were bad, but the little ones could squeeze between armor joinings.
"Your shield," the elf mage said in a broken tone, clenching her hand around her staff until the knuckles went white. Fiona's face was pale and she bit her lip for a moment before saying, "It just caught me off guard."
"This was Duncan's shield," the King said, studying her expression, "but, from the look of it I guess you knew that."
Lyna explained, "She mentioned that she knew Duncan, but I never thought to ask how well."
"He was like a brother to me," Fiona explained, drawing in a slow breath and releasing it. "I gave it to him, that shield. It was a bit of a…" Her voice trailed off and she shook her head with a sad smile, "He hardly ever used it—preferred his short sword and dagger. I guess I had thought it lost with him when he was killed."
Duncan may have been dead for five years, but Alistair felt his loss acutely, and looking at Lyna, knew she was feeling the pain as well, though she had only known him for a short time before his death. He still recalled the moment when she had given the shield to him after finding it in the Warden's Denerim warehouse with vivid detail and how much it'd meant to him to have something to remember the man who had been more of a father to him than anyone else, including Arl Eamon.
"I'll give it back to you then," he said and tried not to think of how odd he'd feel without the familiar weight on his back.
The mage jerked her head up and looked directly at him for the first time, eyes wide. "What? I—No. I am a mage, what use would I have for a shield? You keep it. It seems fitting that you, of all people, should have ended up with it." Fiona's lips tightened the moment the words left her mouth and she blinked before turning to walk out of the room with quick graceful strides, her staff clicking on the stone floor with each step.
More than a bit confused, Alistair watched her walk off and turned back toward Lyna. "Are all the Wardens in Weisshaupt like that, or is it just her?"
The Warden wrinkled her nose, "You remember the ones who came down from there in those first few months after the Blight ended? That's what most of the Grey Wardens in Weisshaupt are like."
"How could I forget? It was like meeting a bunch of short versions of Sten." It was a slight exaggeration at best. He'd never met a more grim lot of people. One would think they'd be happier about the first Blight in four hundred years coming to an end so quickly. If anything, they had been angry about missing it. There was no telling what they would have done to Lyna and Alistair, king or not, had they known the truth surrounding the Archdemon's death.
"Well, in their defense, living in the Anderfels is rather like living in the Deep Roads," Lyna pointed out. "Darkspawn raid constantly, and have for hundreds of years. They fight the same never ending battle on the surface as the one the Legion of the Dead faces underground in Ferelden. But, to answer your question, no, Fiona isn't really like the rest of them. At least she hasn't been during the time we've been travelling together." A slight frown touched her lips, "She was fairly quiet actually for most of the journey. Asked a few questions about the Blight, Ferelden and Duncan. And you, of course," she added, as though that were a given.
He supposed that should not have come as a surprise, but in a way it did. "Me? What'd she want to know about me? And while we're on the topic of me, what'd she mean when she said it was fitting that I be the one who ended up with the shield?
Lyna shrugged, "I don't know, most of the Grey Wardens ask about you at some point or another. You are both a Grey Warden and a King, how could they not be curious? Perhaps Duncan mentioned you to her in a letter or something along those lines, so she knew he was particularly fond of you."
"That could be it," Alistair said thoughtfully. "Fiona. Now that I think about it, it does seem as though he may have mentioned her name before, but I can't quite remember." Shaking his head, he said, "It'll come to me, eventually. It's been a long time ago, after all."
Crossing her arms, she sighed, "Yes it has. It'll be six years since the Battle of Ostagar come autumn. It doesn't seem like a long time at all, and yet, it does."
"A lot happened during that time though," he reminded her. "You've fought darkspawn, saved Dalish elves from an old werewolf curse, cleansed the Circle of Mages from abominations, found the Urn of the Sacred Ashes, rebuilt the Ferelden order of Grey Wardens, put a king on the throne…"
"Two kings, actually," she pointed out with a crooked smile that didn't quite meet her eyes.
He grimaced and ducked his head, "I know, I was trying to forget about the second one."
Laughing, Lyna tilted her head to look up at him. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"
"Old habits die hard." They stared at each other in silence for a long moment and Alistair felt that familiar tightness in his chest he always got around this particular woman, when he had so much he wanted to say and didn't know how to put it all into words that would make any sense and his head was on the verge of exploding with the sheer effort of keeping it all in. "Lyna…." he finally began, his tongue feeling as though it were wrapped in wool when he started to speak.
Interrupting him, she spoke in soft tones, "I'm very sorry about Chana, and the baby as well. I only heard just recently when I arrived back in Ferelden."
Her sympathy drew him up short. It was bad enough hearing it from everyone else, but from her, of all people, it was ten times worse. He couldn't even bring himself to look at her as she continued.
"I know the words are meaningless in light of your loss, but I just wanted to let you know, you have my deepest sympathies."
The words couldn't be any more meaningless than the marriage was, Alistair thought with bitter humor. She was waiting for him to say something though, and he shifted from one foot to the other before saying awkwardly, "Thank you." He wanted to say more, but Lady Kaitlyn chose that moment to walk back into the main hall, bearing a platter with some goblets and a small tray with cookies and cheese on it. "Maybe we can talk later?" he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.
The dark-haired elf gave him a brief nod. "Of course, your Majesty." His disappointment in her formal response must have shown on his face, because she hesitated for a long moment and said, "Perhaps we'll speak further after supper, Alistair."
It would have to do for now.
Wynne and Nathan still had not arrived when Teagan led Bayard into the large room. After giving the Arl, Kaitlyn and Lyna a formal introduction to the black-haired mage, the King excused himself to his rooms for a brief time to change out of his dusty travel gear and armor, and into something more suited to wearing at the dinner table.
He made his way back downstairs, shadowed inobtrusively by two of his guards as always. Captain Lyndon intercepted him near the foot of the stairs to give him a brief update on Seamus' condition and to inform him that he and the guards had been settled into the Arl's barracks for the duration of their stay in Redcliffe. The servants had already set the long heavy tables that they would be eating at when he reached the dining hall, but it wasn't quite time for dinner yet.
Teagan and Lyna were seated at a table and deep in conversation—or more like negotiations from the sound of it—when Alistair returned to the main hall. Bryce had a pile of wooden blocks in various sizes and shapes spread out on the floor and was stacking them. Both the Arl and Warden stood at the King's entry, and he waved his hand, encouraging them to reclaim their chairs. "Please, I should hope we're past all that formal business by now, aren't we? I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"Even if you are, it's just as well, since the Warden Commander seems determined to recruit two of my best men into the Grey Wardens," Teagan accused with good natured humor as they sat down again. "With any luck, your timely arrival will deter her from trying to wheedle a few more away from Redcliffe."
The warden's eyebrows shot upward into her bangs, "Two of your best men? When I first asked you what you thought of Kendrin, you said when he came here you weren't sure if he knew which end of the sword to hold."
Alistair pulled up a chair as well, keeping one ear on the conversation while watching as the red-haired boy stacked the blocks up on top of each other, forming a precarious and swaying tower that eventually toppled over with a loud clatter, scattering the wooden pieces everywhere. One hit him in the boot and he leaned down to pick it up, offering it to Bryce with a warm smile.
The Arl coughed behind his hand and shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, perhaps I did say that, but he's made a great deal of progress in his training since then. Jameson really is one of my better men, I'm actually surprised you haven't noticed him before now."
"I am too, actually," Lyna admitted, lifting a slender hand to rub her pointed ear tip. "Still, if they accept, I do think they have the best potential among of those I've seen here at Redcliffe."
Sighing, Teagan nodded his agreement. "If they say yes to your offer, then I have no argument."
Bryce grinned and took the block in his small hand, gesturing at his fallen masterpiece. "I was makin' a castle."
"A castle?" Alistair echoed, trying to look both surprised and impressed. "I thought for sure it looked like Fort Drakon, actually. Have you seen it?" Belatedly he wished he'd thought to tell Wynne to pick up some toys to help keep Nathan occupied while she was out shopping.
Giving an eager nod, the boy said, "Fort Dwagon! I wanna make that next!" He sat down cross-legged on the floor and began to stack the blocks again, building toward another wooden tower.
Teagan chuckled at the boy's enthusiasm and said, "He's been to our estate in Denerim a couple of times. This summer will be his first Landsmeet. Not that he'll get much out of the nobles wrangling and arguing, but still… who knows, he may meet his future wife there."
Shaking his head, Alistair made a face, "I hate Landsmeets. I didn't like them when I was a boy, and I loathe them even more now."
Lyna frowned, disapproval written all over her face. "You'd seek to arrange a marriage of convenience for him? At the age of three?"
"What? Maker's breath, no," Teagan assured her. "I would never agree to an arranged marriage, regardless of his age. I mean, seriously, if my own had been arranged, I'd have never had the opportunity to meet Kaitlyn. I simply meant that he may encounter a girl who catches his eye later when he's of an age. But that could happen anywhere, not just at a Landsmeet."
"Your Majesty, my Lord, if I may, please," one of Teagan's knights interposed himself with deferential respect, "Court Mage Wynne and her ward have arrived from Redcliffe."
"It's about time, I was about to send out a search party," Alistair said, getting to his feet along with the others as Wynne entered the hall, holding Nathan's hand. The shopping trip appeared to have been a success, from the look of it. The boy was dressed much as any other boy his age, a plain cream colored shirt, dark vest, and heavy brown trousers. He wore soft boots instead of more traditional buckled shoes.
Captain Lyndon was right behind her, and had a burlap sack hefted over one of his shoulder. He murmured, "I'll take these to your rooms."
Wynne gave him a grateful smile before turning her attention on those in the room. "Arl Teagan, it's a joy to see you again! And…" Her blue eyes widened as she recognized the elf with them. "By the Maker, Lyna, is that you?" she gasped, raising her hand to her chest with shock.
"It is," Lyna grinned with genuine pleasure, and even though it was utterly childish, Alistair could not help the jealous surge that welled up in him when the two women embraced warmly, laughing and patting each other on the back. "It's so good to see you again, Wynne," she said, straightening again and brushing one of her braids back behind an ear.
"Wynne, welcome to Redcliffe Castle. It's a pleasure to have you here as always," Teagan said, giving the mage a bow and a smile.
The new arrivals were more than enough to distract Bryce from his tower building, and he made his way to stand beside his father and stared at Nathan, who was looking back at him with equal curiosity. "I made Fort Dwagon," he announced with no small amount of pride. "Wanna see?"
Nathan seemed taken aback by the sudden request at first. When he looked up at Alistair for permission though, there was such a wordless longing in his eyes that the King could not help wondering if this weren't the first time the poor boy had ever been asked to play. The sad truth is, it likely was.
"Why don't you go check it out? Bryce has been working very hard on it and maybe you can build something too," Alistair said, pretending he didn't see the warning look Wynne was giving him. What was he supposed to do, ignore the boy? Nathan nodded, his eyes shining with eagerness as he followed Bryce back over to the blocks and knelt down to watch as the younger boy showed off his creation.
Lyna had her head cocked with confusion as she looked from Nathan to Alistair to Wynne. "He is your ward?" she asked curiously.
"Yes, for lack of a better term," the grey-haired mage said with a brief nod. "As you can see, he's become quite attached to Alistair, despite my best efforts." Wynne gave him a quelling look.
He resisted the urge to stick out his tongue and said, "I know, I'm such a bad influence."
Teagan was stroking his fingers along his beard in thought as he watched the two children begin to add to the tower of blocks. "I can't quite put my finger on it but he seems familiar to me for some reason."
"You've seen him before?" Alistair asked, his tone more curt than hopeful.
"No, I'm fairly certain I've never seen him before," the Arl responded, squaring his shoulders a bit as he looked at his king. "But at the same time…" his voice trailed off and he studied Nathan's face again before shaking his head. "Perhaps he just has one of those faces that seems to remind me of someone else," Teagan said, sounding a bit dubious.
"So you don't know who his parents are?" Lyna realized, glancing between Wynne and Alistair.
The King's jaw tightened and he ground out, "If I knew who they were, they'd be having an extended stay in the deepest, darkest dungeon in Fort Drakon I could find."
"Alistair," Wynne said sharply.
He said nothing and avoided meeting the disconcerted gazes of both Teagan and Lyna. The intensity of his reaction had caught both of them off guard, but he wasn't going to apologize for it, not when he meant every word he had said.
Oblivious to the seriousness of the adults' conversation, the two boys continued to add to the tower. The utter disappointment on Nathan's face when Bryce added a block off balanced enough that the top half of the 'tower' crumbled down was priceless. It faded into giggles as Teagan's boy pushed another section down with his fingers, causing the blocks to clatter to the floor, and then another, until together the entire tower collapsed into ruins. And then they gathered the blocks up and began to build another.
Wynne shifted her staff from one hand to the other, explaining in a low undertone, "The boy—Nathan—appears to have been used as the focal point for some kind of magic ritual, one I've neither seen nor heard of."
Lyna bit off a sharp gasp of surprise, her head jerking as she looked between the grim-faced King and his court mage. "What kind of magic ritual? You mean blood magic, don't you." It was more of a statement than a question.
Swallowing hard, Teagan looked back at the dark haired boy playing with his son. "How can that be? He's hardly older than Bryce." He, as much as any of them, knew first hand the potential dangers of magic, having been a victim of it during his nephew Connor's demon possession years earlier.
"We aren't exactly sure, to be honest," Wynne admitted. "We just know there's a distinct pattern of abuse…"
"More like a distinct pattern of torture," Alistair growled, running his fingers through his hair in a quick angry gesture.
The mage sighed, unable to refute that point, and went on. "Anyway, it seems as though it's been going on for a long time. Quite possibly it started within days of his birth. The scarring is," she paused, searching for an appropriately descriptive word and ended up just lifting one thin shoulder in a shrug, "most grievous."
"His clothing hides the markings?" the elf asked quietly, studying the child for signs of his injuries.
The King said, "Nearly all of them are on his legs, between his knees and his waist. The most recent ones are still healing, and are on his shoulders."
Lyna nodded, her pale green eyes sympathetic and her lips quirking into a slight smile. "I guess it's just as well he's in the care of the best healer in all of Ferelden, isn't it?" she pointed out and inclined her head at Wynne.
"Mmm," the mage said noncommittally, keeping her attention focused on Nathan.
"My, you four are a gloomy lot," Lady Kaitlyn commented as she walked up. "Is everything ok?"
"Everything's fine, dear," Teagan said, slipping his arm around his wife's slender waist and giving her a hug. "I hope you're here to tell us supper is nearly on, why do you think we're all down in the chops?" he asked with a grin, though his eyes were still troubled.
From the look of it, Kaitlyn wasn't falling for his feigned good mood but was too gracious a host to question him further about their subject of conversation, at least in public. In private though, it was another matter. She gave the grey-haired mage a warm smile, "Wynne, it's such a delight to see you again. I hope you're doing well?"
Wynne nodded, "As well as can be expected with our good King dragging me all over Ferelden."
Affronted, Alistair said, "What? I asked if you wanted to stay at the Palace this time and you said—no, you demanded—to come along to keep me out of trouble."
Drolly, Lyna said, "No doubt that's been working about as well as usual."
"Maker's breath, I gave up on that years ago," Teagan grinned. "Talk about a waste of time…"
"I have hope for him yet," Wynne said with utmost patience.
"Er… Hello? I'm standing right here, you know," Alistair huffed and turned to slip his arm inside Lady Kaitlyn's elbow. "My Lady, if you would do me the honor of accompanying me to the dining hall, we'll leave this sorry lot behind so they can talk about me where they don't have to worry about my listening in."
"Well what would be the fun of that?" Lyna quipped.
Kaitlyn lifted her hand up to stifle a giggle before nodding. "Of course, your Majesty. Right this way. Bryce," she called to her son, "put your blocks away, it's time for supper. And who's this?" she asked with surprise, looking at Nathan as the two boys stood up in unison.
"That's Wynne's ward, Nathan," the Arl told her. "I'm sorry, love, I should have told you we'd have one more at the table. Still, he's just a little fellow so the table won't need too much adjusting. Perhaps he could sit beside Bryce?" Teagan glanced at Wynne to see how she'd receive that suggestion.
"I'm sure he would probably enjoy sitting beside his new friend very much," she said with a warm smile for the two boys.
Nathan nodded, grinning so broadly that it made Alistair's face ache just to see it.
Both Fiona and Bayard were waiting in the dining hall when the others entered. The Grey Warden mage's eyebrows rose when Nathan was once again introduced as Wynne's ward, but she didn't ask any questions. Alistair suspected those would come later, when she and Lyna were alone.
Following tradition, the tables and settings were arranged so that, as king, Alistair sat in the place of honor at the head of the table. Arl Teagan and his family sat to his right, and Lyna, Fiona, Wynne and Bayard to his left. The knights and guards settings stretched down the wings of the long tables, from the highest ranking to lowest, the King's royal guards tucked in between the two.
Supper was delicious and thankfully, uneventful. The conversation remained light and causal throughout most of the meal. Lyna did most of the talking, as many were curious about the details of her trip to Weisshaupt Fortress. She answered their questions without giving any more information than she had to, carefully steering conversations away from the Orlesians, who, despite the fact that 35 years had passed since their rule of Ferelden, were still regarded with a great deal of suspicion.
Nathan seemed to be having the time of his life. Kaitlyn tended to both of the boys, making sure they got enough vegetables, insisting that they try at least one bite of everything put on their plate. The boy couldn't seem to decide which was more preferable, imitating Bryce in being reluctant to try something new, or being praised by his mother for being brave enough to do so.
Fiona said hardly a word during the entire meal. On more than one occasion, Alistair caught her staring at him, an unreadable expression on her elvish face, but whenever he did, she either nodded with formal respect or averted her eyes away or down at her plate. When the desert plates were being carried away by the servants, she was one of the first to leave the table, though she did excuse herself with exquisite propriety first.
After dinner, Teagan and Alistair retired to the Arl's study to discuss the upcoming Landsmeet and a few issues that had come up. The King's decision to allow the City Elves a place on the Royal Council was still a sticking point for many of the nobles, for example. The death of the Queen and lack of an heir for the throne would no doubt be another, one that he was firmly unwilling to discuss at this time, and quite possibly ever.
Of more concern were the rumors he had heard while in Orzammar, that the noble and warrior castes were so upset with King Bhelen for allowing the casteless to regain both honor and privilege by helping the Legion of the Dead slaughter darkspawn they had begun to resort to assassination attempts to remove him from power. The Dwarven King had been heavy into his cups when he'd thrown out the offhanded suggestion about disbanding the Assembly completely, but Alistair had a sinking suspicion that he really might follow through with it. Orzammar was enjoying a level of surface trade and prosperity unequalled in its long history but was turning the Thaig into a dictatorship worth it? He wasn't sure, and hoped not to find out.
Their 'shop talk' came to an end when Kaitlyn brought a very sleepy Bryce into the study to say night-night to his father. The tender affection Teagan showed when he kissed and hugged both his wife and son was almost painful for him to watch, and Alistair said his own goodnights to the family before slipping out of the room.
Tamara, the only woman assigned to the royal guard, was waiting outside the room with Welborne when he emerged. The dark skinned woman lowered her head, lifting a scarred hand to her chest as she spoke, "Court Mage Wynne respectfully requested your presence in her chambers when you were done, your Majesty."
Alistair raised an eyebrow. "Did she really request to see me respectfully?" he asked, putting an emphasis on the last word.
Welborne cleared his throat and the crow's feet at the edges of Tamara's deep brown eyes lengthened. She bowed her head, a dry, crooked smile touching her lips as she responded, "Not really, no. Shall I tell her you are indisposed, Sire?"
"Of course not, or I'd never hear the end of it." He made his way to Wynne's rooms, the guards trailing a short distance behind. The castle was quiet as the evening wound down. When he reached the door to her room, he'd barely lifted his hand to knock before she yanked the door open.
"It's about time," she said with exasperation, moving aside as she beckoned him into the room and then closed the door behind him, leaving his guards stationed outside.
Confused, he asked, "Am I missing something?"
Wynne gestured toward her large bed, where Nathan was sitting up in a sleeping gown on one side. "He won't go to sleep. In fact, he keeps trying to get up and leave the room," she adds, giving the little boy a stern frown.
"That's not good, we can't have him wandering the castle halls," Alistair said, grimacing, and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. "Not sleepy, are you?" he wondered with a smile, reaching out to tousle the boy's dark hair. "After such a big day and spending so much time playing with your new friend? I'm surprised you haven't keeled over already, poor Bryce could barely keep his eyes open long enough to give his parents a goodnight hug."
Nathan shrugged and then yawned so wide that his eyes began to water and he had to wipe the moisture away with the back of his hand.
"He is tired," Wynne grumped. "He just refuses to lie down and sleep."
"Lie down, now," Alistair ordered and after a slight hesitation, the boy sighed and lay back until his head rested against the pillow. Tucking the covers around his small chest, he asked, "Don't you want to go to sleep?"
Shaking his head stubbornly, Nathan patted the bed and then pointed at the blonde man's chest.
It took a few moments for him to decipher the wordless message the child was trying to convey, but he thought he understood. "Aha, I think I see now. You want to sleep in my room? Is that why you kept trying to leave?"
The boy nodded, his eyes hopeful.
"I figured as much," the mage said without surprise. "He can't, of course. You know this."
Sighing, he nodded. "I know, I know. Yet another reason that it stinks to be the King," he muttered under his breath and addressed Nathan. "I'm sorry, but while we're here at the castle, you need to sleep in Wynne's room. You don't really want to sleep with me anyway, I snore and drool."
Nathan stuck out his lower lip in a very distinct pout, his brows drawing together sulkily.
Alistair's will wavered at the boy's expression, but really the situation was untenable. There was no way he could sleep in the same room as the King, Wynne's ward or no, without drawing unwanted attention. "Look, I know it's hard to explain but, it's complicated. It just wouldn't be proper," he tried to explain, and then decided to try a different route. "Besides, I didn't want to be the one to have to mention this, but Wynne is really afraid of the dark. Terrified, actually."
That earned him a look of pure skepticism and Nathan peered up at the mage with suspicion.
"It's true, I do get a little nervous at night, a holdover from, well, darker times than these," Wynne confessed with a small smile.
It was probably even true, Maker knew that there were nights that Alistair found himself jumping at shadows. Especially with the dark dreams of darkspawn the taint still brought him, Blight or no. "There, you see? It'd really mean a lot to me if you could stay in here with her and look after her while she sleeps. Could you do that?" he asked in a serious tone, as though charging the boy with a very important task.
Worrying his lip for a moment, the little boy sighed with resignation and nodded.
"Good lad," he smiled. "Good night, then."
Nathan sat up again, lifting his arms up to give Alistair a hug that he gently returned. "Night-night," the boy murmured in his piping young voice before releasing him.
Standing, he moved out of the way as the child gave the mage a hug as well and then settled back on the bed, rolling over to his side. Wynne pulled the covers up over his shoulder to tuck him in and then rose to her feet, walking with Alistair toward the door. "Hopefully that will keep him from roaming the halls at night," she said quietly, looking up at him.
"I think it will," he responded. "How do you think it went today?"
Her brows drew together in thought and she said, "Better than I had anticipated, but I feel as though a great many questions went unasked—or unanswered."
"That's probably for the best, because I don't know about you, but I don't feel like we have a lot of answers yet, and they may be some time in coming," Alistair spoke in a low voice.
Wynne pursed her lips. "Have you considered that when the answers do come, we may be wishing we remained ignorant? 'With much wisdom comes much sorrow—the more knowledge, the more grief,'" she quoted.
It was a brief phrase that held a lot of truth in the simply spoken words. "That's not from the Chant, is it? If it is, I don't recall ever hearing it before."
"No, it's not from the Chant. It's just a proverb I heard once that stayed with me. One I find usually ends up being true in the long run, unfortunately." She shook her head and peered up at him with a weary smile. "I think it's time for this old woman to get some rest."
"Good night, Wynne," Alistair said, opening the door and slowly closing it behind him. Tamara and Welborne were still stationed outside in the hall. He paused in thought for a moment and looked between the two guards before saying with quiet authority, "Tell Captain Lyndon that I want a guard assigned to Wynne and the boy at all times, from here on out. Discreetly as possible."
Both guards' eyes widened with surprise at the order and they looked at each other before looking back at him. "I will tell him at once, Majesty," Welborne said, bowing before he turned on his boot heel and walked off to find the guard captain.
He glanced down the hall to where the door to his own chambers was. There'd be two guards posted there all night, within sight of the door to the Court Mage's rooms, so there'd be no need to add a third guard to the rotation.
"Expecting trouble, here at Redcliffe of all places, Sire?" Tamara asked, her fingers trailing over the hilt of her sword.
Alistair shook his head, "Maker preserve us, I hope not. I just got this feeling, like… I don't know." He gave her a sidelong glance. "Maybe it's my Grey Warden senses warning me of danger, or something. It's been a while since that's happened."
The guardswoman accepted his explanation without question, though after a slight hesitation she spoke again, "What would you have us tell Wynne when she asks?"
And she would ask, there was no doubt about that. She had been Court Mage for five years, and never once had she had a guard appointed to her in the past. Alistair's voice hardened, "Tell her the order comes directly from the King. If she has complaints, refer her to me."
"Yes, your Majesty," Tamara said, pressing her scarred fist to her chest again and bowing.
They waited in silence until Welborne returned with Lyndon himself. To his credit, the Guard Captain gave his King a nod and did not ask any questions. He immediately took up post in the hallway, positioning himself along the wall rather between the doors to Alistair and Wynne's rooms.
Despite the long day, Alistair was still too restless to turn in. He wandered down the castle halls until he reached the library. The familiarity of it drew him in and he paused long enough to tell his guards that he didn't want to be disturbed before entering. He ambled along the rows of books, tilting his head and squinting a bit to read some of the titles in the dimly lit room. It was odd how all libraries seemed to have that same distinct aroma, of ink and parchment and paper. Rather like stables in that regard, though the smells there lingered a bit more.
The quiet murmur of voices from outside caught his attention. Walking around the edge of the stacks, he saw that Welborne and Tamara were standing in the doorway, blocking Lyna from entering. He'd almost forgotten their brief discussion from earlier, when she'd agreed that they would talk later. "Let her pass," he told them. The guards nodded in unison and moved aside enough to let the irritated warden inside the room.
"I'm sorry about that, Lyna. I had told them I didn't want to be disturbed," Alistair admitted.
Tossing her head, the elf sniffed. "So they told me." Her pale green eyes flickered with uncertainty, "If this is a bad time, we can talk another time…"
"No!" He said it so quickly the word was out before she'd even finished speaking. Feeling heat rising in his cheeks, he spoke in a more normal tone, "Now is a good time to talk."
Lyna's lips twitched as though she was trying not to smile and she inclined her head. "Very well, your Majesty. What shall we talk about then?"
Scowling at the honorific, he said, "For starters, how about you call me by my name, instead of my title." Alistair paused, adding in an almost pleading tone, "Please."
Her eyes softened and she gave a brief nod of agreement. "Very well, Alistair."
The lilting roll of his name off her tongue made his heart skip—Maker he'd missed her so—and he was back to feeling like an awkward Chantry boy again. His face felt flushed again and he looked away from her, hoping the low light hid it. Two high-backed lounge chairs were set up in front of the fireplace for reading and he gestured at them with one hand. "Come sit?" he offered and led them over to sit in front of the fireplace, where the logs had burned down to cracked, smoldering coals.
The elf sat down with easy grace, resting her hands on the chair arms. Her fingertips lightly drummed their surface as they sat together in awkward silence.
After a short time, his typical anxiety in her presence, combined with a deep rooted psychological need to fill the empty silence with something—anything—could no longer be ignored. "So how have you been?" Alistair asked, trying to sound casual. "You look well." The words had no sooner left his mouth than he felt like an idiot for saying anything at all.
Lyna blinked at him and then started to laugh helplessly, shaking her head. "I 'look well'?" she echoed his words in between soft giggles. "Oh Alistair… It's been how long since we last spoke one on one, without audiences or expectations, and that's the best you can manage? 'You look well'? Well thank you very much. You look well yourself," she said with dry humor.
Mortified, he lifted his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry but, as usually happens around you, my head sort of exploded and that was the best I could come up with on such short notice," he said, starting to chuckle as well. Watching the play of firelight on her delicate features, he tried to collect his wits enough to speak more coherently. "I've missed you," he blurted out.
The smile faded from her lips and she didn't say anything, so he blundered on, confessing, "I just wanted you to know that I've missed you, Lyna. I've missed you so much more than I can say." He closed his eyes and shook his head, unwilling to look at her, not sure he wanted to see her expression at his confession. Inhaling, he rubbed the bridge of his nose and then ran his fingers through his hair in a quick, agitated gesture and opened his eyes to look at her directly. "I've never regretted anything more in my life than what I did, what I said to you that day, when I told you that my duty to Ferelden came first. That it came before you. I am so, so sorry."
A muscle in her jaw twitched and she sat in the chair, her back stiff and fingers clenched tight around the arms. Averting her gaze, she stared at the fire.
Alistair sighed, clearing his throat and bowing his head. "So. There it is. What I wanted to talk to you about, though I guess I've done most of the talking, haven't I? Nothing unusual there I suppose," he said without humor, feeling equal amounts of misery, shame, and yes, relief, that he'd finally mustered up enough courage to say what he'd wanted—what he'd needed—to say for nearly five years.
Neither of them said anything for a long moment and then she spoke, in a voice that was barely above a whisper. "You lied to me."
He wasn't sure if he'd heard her right and blinked at her. "Pardon?"
"I said, you lied to me," Lyna repeated in a louder voice, her eyes darting at him and sliding away. "You told me once that you'd never hurt me. You lied."
Giving her a slow nod, he acknowledged the truth in her words. "I did. I did lie to you when I said that. Of course, I didn't know then that I'd be…well, it doesn't really matter, does it?" Alistair realized and sighed. "Either way, the end result is the same. I hurt you when I said I wouldn't. So I lied."
Plucking at the cushioned padding over the arm chair with her fingertips, Lyna closed her eyes and opened them again, leaning against the back of the chair. "You were right though." She bit her lip, digging her blunt fingernails into the fabric before speaking again, "It took me a while to see it and admit it to myself—travelling helped, when I went to Orlais and the Free Marches—even to Weisshaupt Fortress. Alistair, you have no idea how much they respect you and they've never even met you. You are Maric Therrin's son, a descendent of Calenhad the Silver Knight himself, and a Grey Warden to boot. You helped defeat the Archdemon in the first Blight to come to Thedas in more than four centuries, though I think the fact that you defeated the Hero of the River Dane in a duel to the death did more to impress them…" Her lips twisted into a sad smile at the irony of that.
He blinked at her without comprehension. "What exactly are you saying?"
"I'm saying that you were right, that you did have a duty to Ferelden in regards to producing an heir—or at least to try." Drawing in a ragged breath, she said, "The Therrin bloodline has continued for 400 years. It would have been wrong to let it end, especially only thirty years after Maric wrested the crown away from the Orlesians."
Alistair was struck dumb. It took a few minutes for him to work up the ability to speak, and even then he couldn't suppress the bitterness in his tone, "For all the good it did. It seems the Therrin bloodline is going to end with me, one way or the other."
She drew her arms in close against her body as though she were chilled and pointed out, "You could marry again."
"No," he grated. Lyna looked at him, startled by his fierce response, and his face was stony when he went on, "I will not enter into another marriage of convenience to a woman I do not love, not even for the sake of duty. I won't do it." Drawing in a deep breath, he let it out and added brokenly, "I can't do it."
Silence again fell upon the room and without warning, she gave a sharp bark of laughter. "We're sorry pair, aren't we? Both of us were devoted enough to our duties to Ferelden that we allowed ourselves to be pulled apart, but neither one so devoted to it that we'd risk letting the other die by killing the Archdemon."
He reddened and looked away, "I couldn't bear it, knowing there was something I could have done that would have kept you from dying. Better to live apart from you than to lose you completely."
Lyna sighed with resignation and nodded. "My sentiments exactly, wrong as they may be. Thus, my comment about us being a sorry pair." She wrinkled her nose and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and knitting her fingers together. "Have you tried to find her?"
There was no doubt in his mind exactly who she was referring too. Stiffening, Alistair glanced over his shoulder reflexively and then edged his seat a little closer. "Quite honestly, I've tried not to even think about her. However, I'd be lying if I said that she hasn't crossed my mind, especially in recent months," he grimaced.
Pursing her lips, she admitted, "I've tried to locate her. Unsuccessfully, of course. She pretty much vanished after the battle, though I did hear rumors of someone matching her description travelling through the Frostback Mountains a few months later. Nothing since then, though."
"I don't know that I want to find her," he muttered, running his fingers through his hair. "Andraste's flaming sword, it's bad enough knowing I helped bring one monster into the world, I'm not sure I could handle another."
Lyna started at his words, taking in the helpless misery on his face and understanding dawned. "Oh Alistair…." she said sadly, blinking away tears as she reached out to take his hand in her own and giving it a squeeze.
He clung to it with the desperation of a drowning man hanging onto a life line and Maker, his chest ached so badly it hurt to breathe.
They sat there for a few minutes, their hands clasped together and it was such a small, simple thing really but somehow after five years of being apart, it was enough.
"I think we should try. To find her." She sighed, looking at him. "We need to know what happened with her, and with the baby too—assuming she had one."
"Assuming it's a baby at all," Alistair reminded her.
Lyna shook her head, a tiny smile appearing on her face. "That's not the usual optimistic Alistair I remember from my wayward youth, the one who talked me into adding 'ohh pretty colors' instead of 'muahuahua, princess stabbity' to our travelling party."
A brief chuckle escaped him, "Well, my luck's taken a sharp turn for the worse since the good ol' days. Besides, five years is a long time. How do we even know where to start looking? I mean, even if she did go to the Frostback Mountains, there's nothing that says she stayed there. She could be all the way in Val Royeaux for all we know. Five years is more than enough time for someone to get lost—especially when they don't want to be found," he added under his breath.
"We won't find anything if we don't look, will we?" she pointed out, giving his hand another squeeze before she gently disentangled it and got to her feet.
Alistair stood up as well, looking down at her, and suddenly that awkwardness was back in full force. "Thank you, Lyna. It was good to talk to you. And by good, I mean, well, you know, nice. Pleasant, even. Is awesome a bit of an overstatement?" he asked her with a crooked grin and shrugged.
Tilting her head, she smiled and gave him an affectionate pat on the cheek. "Ever the wordsmith. Goodnight, Alistair."
Almost reluctantly, he fell asleep. After the previous night of nonstop dream memories, he wanted nothing more than a restful night's worth of sleep, one where he closed his eyes and didn't wake up until dawn with no recollection of the passage of time at all. Of course, wanting and getting are two entirely different things, but even so, he slept throughout most of the night.
When he did dream, it was just that, a dream and not a memory.
He knew it was a dream because in it, he wasn't the King but a Grey Warden, living at the Warden Keep in Amaranthine. Every night after training and travelling, he went home to his Warden-Commander wife Lyna and his son Nathan. Of course, they were blissfully happy and there were many hugs and kisses to be had and given, and more than anything else there was a sense of love and belonging in their modest household.
They were eating supper, everyone's favorite and his specialty, traditional lamb and pea stew. Lyna had just ladled out seconds for Nathan when there was a knock on the door.
Alistair swallowed down a mouthful of stew and gave his wife an inquisitive look. "Were you expecting company?"
She shook her head, "Not that I recall. Perhaps something has come up at the Keep that they need our help with?"
The knocking started again, more insistently this time, and Alistair pushed back from the table and got to his feet. "Just a minute!" he called, making his way over to the door to pull it open.
There was a cloaked, hunched figure waiting there on the door stop, raising her hand to knock a third time.
"May I help you?" Alistair asked, more than a little confused.
The hand shifted to the cloak's hood, tugging it back with a quick jerk and Flemeth grinned at him, her eyes blazing with equal amounts of power and madness. "Why, yes, your Majesty, actually you can help me. You have something that belongs to me…" she declared, greed and craving etched into every wrinkle of her ancient face as she reached out with her clawed hand and it grew exponentially in size, becoming way more claw than hand. Where an old woman had stood now there was a high dragon, hulking and fanged and brushing Alistair aside as she rammed her massive forepaw into the doorway, reaching for Nathan.
His sword and shield were in his hands before Alistair even knew how they got there and he hacked Starfang at Flemeth's forearm, shouting defiantly, "I killed you once, Witch, I can do it again."
The dragon lifted her head and laughed uproariously, her terrible voice blasting through his ears and head so loud he thought he'd go mad from the pain of it. "I HAVE ENDURED FOR 600 YEARS, YOU INSIGNIFICANT GNAT, WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOUR PUNY WEAPONS WILL HAVE ANY EFFECT ON ME IN THIS PLACE?"
An arrow whizzed past Alistair and bounced off Flemeth's scaled hide, followed by another, and another. The last arrow shattered on impact. Despite the fact that they seemed to be having no effect, Lyna still guarded Nathan as best she could, her bow drawn and another arrow notched and at the ready. He huddled under the table, wide-eyed and his small face white with fear as he looked at his father.
"YOU WASTE MY TIME, KINGLING," the dragon roared, each word pounding in his head like a hammer strike as she yanked her huge paw out of the door.
Alistair slammed the door shut behind her, staggering a bit as he made his way over to stand back to back with Lyna, preparing for another attack.
The great dragon ripped the roof clear off the house and slammed her forepaw down, trying to crush them both. They were barely able to leap out of the way in time, and Alistair rolled to his feet just as Flemeth lifted the table off of Nathan, exposing him to her view.
Quick as a snake's strike, she grabbed the boy's small form up in her claws, lifting him toward her spined snout. "I HAVE WAITED FOR THIS MOMENT FOR FIVE CENTURIES AND THROUGH TWO BLIGHTS, AND FINALLY, YOU ARE MINE, URTHEMIEL," she cackled with glee and her jaw dropped open to reveal jagged rows of teeth. The child writhed in her grip, his mouth open in a soundless shriek of terror.
"No!" Alistair bellowed and launched himself at Flemeth, slamming his sword against her chest with a fury borne of desperation, while Lyna cursed in elvish and fired arrow after arrow straight into the dragon's gaping maw.
"FOOLS," she gloated in triumph, turning her mad gaze upon them, "YOU SIMPLY DELAY THE INEVITABLE." With one sweep of her massive paw, she knocked them both aside with no more effort than a person would brush away particularly irritating insects. Alistair slammed into the wall with bone breaking force, sobbing with agony and scrabbling to reach his sword as the dragon swallowed his son whole.