Chapter 7

There was nothing Alistair hated more than keeping secrets, which seemed rather ironic in light of the fact that he had to keep so many of the blasted things throughout his life. Until Cailan's death, his entire existence had been kept secret from all but a highly select few. Then there were the Chantry secrets, templar secrets, Grey Warden secrets, and even state secrets. For a man who detested them so much and yet held so many, having one or two more did not seem like it would make much of a difference in the long run.

He had no intentions of keeping this particular secret to himself though, not when the one person who he could trust enough to talk about anything just happened to be at Redcliffe Castle. His first priority, though, was seeing that Nathan was properly taken care of. When they had more or less recovered from their reunion, Alistair called Captain Lyndon and Tamara into his chamber, both of whom seemed relieved to see that their King was considerably less frayed around the edges than he had been a short time ago.

Still holding Nathan's small hand in his own, Alistair studied Tamara for a long moment and cocked his head. "How do you feel about children?"

The woman had been in his Royal guard since right before his Coronation, but this was the first time he had ever seen her at a loss for words. "I…what? ... children?" she echoed. Tamara's skin was already Rivaini dark, but now it was tinged an even duskier shade. If he hadn't known better, he might have thought she was blushing.

"Yes, children. You know, children?" Alistair lifted Nathan's hand and gave it a little shake of demonstration.

Captain Lyndon crossed his arms behind his back, stoic as ever as he waited for the guardswoman to answer.

"Well, er, I don't have any of my own as you know, Majesty, but I'd say the answer to that question depends on the child we're talking about," Tamara said in a guarded tone and gestured at the boy. "This one isn't too bad so long as he stays away from the horses' picket lines. Why do you ask?"

A slight grin appeared on his face at her words before the King announced, "Because effective immediately, you are Nathan's personal guard." Shifting his gaze to Lyndon, he asked, "Which of the other guards would be best suited to take shifts with Tamara? Welborne? No, that won't do, he'll have the boy memorizing the Chant of Light in his spare time, and that'd make me go mad. Madder, rather. Merrill?"

"Terrance. He's as green as grass but he's the oldest of ten or eleven children," Lyndon said without hesitation and drew his heavy brows downward. "Sire, may I point out that our duty as royal guards is to protect you." He put a very distinct emphasis on the pronoun.

"That is indeed your duty. And my order still stands," Alistair said evenly, leveling a steady gaze upon the guard captain.

All hint of redness had faded from Tamara's face and now she seemed pale with dismay. Dropping to one knee, she bowed her head in subservience, saying in a choked voice, "Sire, if I have done something to displease or offend, please tell me what it is and I promise you, I will do my utmost to make sure that it does not happen again. I live to serve you, your Majesty and would give my life to protect you."

"What are you…?" Whatever reaction Alistair had been expecting from the guardswoman, this most definitely was not it. "Maker's breath, Tamara, get up," he said, going so far as to tuck his hand beneath her arm to haul her to her feet. "You haven't done a blasted thing wrong, and this isn't a demotion," he stated.

When he released her, she stood at attention, her expression one of stony disbelief.

He sighed, looking down at Nathan, who lifted his thin shoulders in a shrug. Trying to think of a phrase that would explain the importance of the duty was easier said than done. Now that he had found his son, Alistair had no intention of losing him again. "It's a special assignment," was the best he could come up with. When she still wouldn't quite meet his eyes, he said simply, "Because I trust you with this, to protect him just as you have me these past five years."

Tamara shifted her gaze to him to study him for a moment and then relaxed in increments. Bowing her head, she lifted her scarred hand to her chest. "As you wish, Majesty."

Captain Lyndon cleared his throat and said with solicitous care, "Sire, you've given a direct order, and of course I will comply with your wishes, but with respect, he's just a child. Why would he need protection from more than a nanny or a nursemaid?"

Alistair hesitated, considering his response. He was halfway inclined to tell them 'because I'm the King and I say so' and be done with it, but if he really wanted them to protect Nathan, then it was in everyone's best interest if they had a better idea of exactly who—or what, as the case might be—they were guarding him from. Rubbing his eyes, he finally spoke, "All right then. Well, there's not really an easy way to say this, so I'll just toss it right on out there. I believe that Flemeth is after him."

The two guards darted a quick glance at each other and then looked at Alistair. "Flemeth as in, the legend one, who's been dead for hundreds of years?" Lyndon said dubiously.

"That's the one, yes, but rumors of her demise were, well, exaggerated. She was very much alive when I met her nearly six years ago. Ironically, she and, ah, one of her daughters saved my life at the Battle of Ostagar. And Lyna's as well, I suppose," he said with a rueful shrug.

The guard captain cleared his throat, "Not to be doubting what you saw, but honestly, Sire, how do you know it was Flemeth at all? It could have been anyone, couldn't it have?"

Alistair snorted, "I suppose it could have, but she told us her name was Flemeth, she reportedly has a nasty habit of possessing the bodies of her maleficar daughters to extend her lifespan over centuries, and oh, she could shapeshift into the form of a high dragon. Until someone more convincing comes along, Flemeth is as good a name for her as anything else."

"A… high dragon?" Lyndon opened his mouth and then shut it with an audible snap. "Your point is taken, Majesty."

"Why would she be interested in him at all?" Tamara asked, giving Nathan a careful examination. "He's just a child, right?"

Looking down at his son, he could understand why she was asking. Aside from his eyes, the boy seemed completely unremarkable, right down to the fidgeting he started up when he realized all of the adults were staring at him. "We aren't really sure what her plans are, though we do believe it has something to do with his scars. You two know about those?" he wondered, as it occurred to him that he wasn't sure if any of the guards had seen the child's legs.

Both guards nodded grimly. "Welborne and I saw them that first morning, after he'd set the horses free on the picket line," the captain responded in a low voice.

"Wynne and I think he's been used for some sort of blood magic ritual, though we've no idea to what end. We do know the boy has certain characteristics—not magic, of course, not in one so young—that would make him of particular interest to her. As to how we know that Flemeth in particular wants him, he told us." Alistair wisely did not mention that the information came out in a dream. He could be thick-witted on occasion but he wasn't that far gone.

Lyndon blinked. "He told you? I wasn't aware he could talk at all, I've never seen the boy say a word."

"Well, he's not quite so chatty as I am, but who is? However, he has spoken to Wynne and I on occasion, and he does a good job of communicating without words." The King gently requested, "Say hello to Captain Lyndon and Tamara, Nathan."

The little boy gave the guards an engaging grin and waved 'hello'.

Laughing, he asked again, "Can you say hello, instead of just waving?" Nathan shook his head and hid his face against Alistair's thigh.

"Oh yes. He's a veritable fountain of information," Lyndon said with dry humor.

"Isn't he though?" He couldn't help but be amused of course, and tugged the boy away from his leg. "Tamara's going to take you back to play with Bryce now. You be good, and I'll see you at supper."

Nathan nodded, pulling his small hand away from the King's to slip into the guardswoman's. Her hand was right at eyelevel for the boy and when he saw the scars on the back of her hand, his eyes widened. Ever so gently, he traced one fingertip over the mottled raised flesh and then tilted his head to look up at her. "Hurts?" he asked worriedly.

Tamara had stiffened at the touch but her stern expression softened at his question. "No, they don't hurt. Not anymore," she assured the child. The woman kept her eyes lowered as she sketched a quick bow at Alistair, "Excuse us, your Majesty. Come on with you then, you don't want to keep young Bryce waiting, do you?"

Alistair watched them leave and then said to Lyndon, "Well then, I suppose I'll give you your leave. Inform Terrance of his change in duties. Oh, and please tell Warden Commander Lyna I need to speak with her at her earliest convenience."

"Of course, Sire," the captain said and left him alone.

He barely had time to pace one complete circle around the floor when there was a knock at the door and Lyna walked in, a concerned look on her face. "I was just on my way to check on you when I ran into Captain Lyndon. He said you wished to speak to me, is everything all right?"

As close to bursting with his news about Nathan as he was, her first sentence distracted him enough to ask, "You were coming to check on me? Why?"

"Fiona said she had been talking to you when you started acting all twitchy and strange," the Dalish elf said, and added with light humor, "I tried to tell her that neither of those conditions was out of the ordinary for you, but she seemed quite concerned, so here I am." She studied him, a light frown touching her lips. "I rather see what she was talking about though. What's going on?"

"It's that obvious, is it?" Alistair chuckled. Aside from the fact that he trusted her more than anyone else in the world, that was another reason he never bothered to keep the important secrets from Lyna. She could take one look at his face and know if something was troubling him. Running nervous fingers through his hair, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. "How best to say this?" he asked himself out loud. Knowing what he wanted to tell her and putting it into words that made sense seemed like two completely different things, now that she was standing in front of him. He felt such a tumult of emotions that he could hardly focus his thoughts. "Maybe we should sit down first?" he suggested lamely.

Lyna cocked her head, raising an eyebrow. "Sit down? All right, now you're starting to make me nervous." She made her way over to a low, cushioned bench alongside the wall to sit down and watched him join her. "I'm not sure if it's your intent but I'm rather getting the feeling that I need to hold on to something," she murmured.

He drummed his fingers on his knees for a few moments while she sat tensely, waiting for him to speak. Finally, he turned slightly toward her and announced, "I know why Flemeth is after Nathan." It seemed as good a place to start as any.

"Yes, I know." He must have looked surprised by her words, because she reminded him, "You and Wynne said it had something to do with his, well, whatever it is," she gestured with one hand. "The thing that helps keep him from being harmed, which, by the way, I'm admittedly still having some difficultly accepting without seeing it in action."

"Well, I have an explanation that may make the extent of Nathan's gifts a bit more believable for you, how about that?" he asked. Something occurred to him and he asked curiously, "What exactly did Fiona say to you? She was the one helped me piece it all together at the end, you know."

"She didn't say much of anything to me, other than that she was worried she had said something to upset you, and seemed genuinely concerned." Lyna seemed baffled by that, "Which is another thing I wanted to ask you about. In the two months we've traveled together, I've never exchanged more than a sentence or two with her any given time. Talking with her isn't quite as painful as talking with Sten, but she's not exactly chatty, by any means. Yet I got the impression that you two had talked? Like really talked?"

Alistair flashed a quick grin, "Well clearly she was won over by my winning personality and looks, that or she had some mercy on me while I was hiding from Violet and Penelope," he added, glaring at her. "She helped run them off, and then, well we got to talking and… Blast it, you're distracting me from my point. You were always too good at that, you know."

"It's a gift," she said modestly, tossing her head and brushing her hair behind one pointed ear. "Seriously though, finish what you were saying."

"Right. Alright then, moving right along." He drew in a slow breath and looked at her face, asking, "Do you remember what Flemeth called Nathan in the dream last night?"

Lyna winced, rubbing her temple. "How could I forget, I get a headache thinking about it. Urthemiel, right?"

"Yes. That was the name." Alistair's muscles tensed with anxiety as he continued, "Fiona knew who—or rather, what—Urthemiel was." He fell silent, looking away from her, and now all the emotions that he'd been trying to keep clamped down in front of Nathan, Tamara and Lyndon were on the verge of breaking lose with a vengeance.

She waited patiently for him to go on, leaning forward to get a better view of his face. "Alistair?" Lyna called his name and when he turned to look at her, she gasped at the sight of his tortured countenance. "Alistair, what is it?" she asked, reaching out to rest her hand on top of his and giving it a squeeze.

He swallowed, turning his hand palm up to twine his fingers with hers as he explained, "Urthemiel is the Tevinter name of one of the Old Gods. The Dragon of Beauty, to be exact, the very one I killed at Fort Drakon." Alistair felt her fingers curve with shock, the nails digging hard into his palm, and was beyond the point of caring. He shifted on the bench seat to face her directly and could hear the pain in his voice when he said it out loud for the first time, "Lyna—he's my son. Nathan is my son."

"Your…" She blinked, piecing everything together and then cursed fiercely in elvish. "The spider bites. Morrigan must have shapeshifted and…" Disgust twisted her expression. She started to say something, and then shook her head. "I… how did you find him?" she asked when she could speak again.

Alistair felt bile well up in his throat when he realized exactly how his son had come by all those scars on his legs. "Find him? I didn't find him, he found me," he admitted bitterly, his face red with shame. "I suppose he got tired of waiting for me to come save him after what, four years of putting up with Morrigan's motherly affection and decided to come see what the holdup was." Hatred flared white hot in him when he spoke the Witch's name.

Lyna's eyes darkened with sympathy and she lifted her hand to rest on his cheek, "You can't blame yourself for what she's done to him, Alistair. You had no way of knowing…"

"Didn't I?" he interrupted sharply, jerking away from her and rising to his feet to pace the floor. "I knew from the moment we met her that she couldn't be trusted. I mean, come on, Lyna, did either of us entertain the notion that she'd be raising a child in anything even remotely resembling a normal home?"

"As was recently pointed out to me, we had no way of knowing that the baby would be a child and not something else entirely," she reminded him and stood. "He was the Archdemon of the Fifth Blight, after all. Something of that might have lingered and…"

He cut her short again with a swift slicing motion of one hand, "I didn't even care enough to check. If there had been even the remotest chance that the baby could have been as normal and helpless as any other baby, a decent man, a father who cared about the well being of his son would have made the effort to be sure, and I didn't even do that." Alistair fell silent, breathing quick ragged breaths and tears stinging his eyes. He sank down again onto the bench, hunched over with guilt and covering his face with his hands as he asked in a broken voice, "Maker's breath, Lyna, what kind of man does that make me? What kind of father have I been?"

The elf sat down, wrapping one slender arm around him. He felt the gentle pressure of her head resting on his shoulder before she gently reminded him, "It's not like you've had a lot of experience with being a father, or even a good role model of your own while growing up, when you get right down to it. Nathan sought you out and doesn't seem to blame you for what's been done to him, and I doubt he wants you blaming yourself either."

Alistair exhaled a slow, shuddering breath, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand before he sat up enough to draw Lyna into an embrace. She settled against his chest, resting her head in the crook of his neck. "I know I've said this recently, but I've really missed talking to you, did you know that?" he whispered, and brushed a kiss to the top of her head. "I mean, seriously, horribly bad missed it. It gets boring talking to myself all the time."

Her shoulders shook with a silent laugh and her arms tightened around his chest. "I'm sure Wynne's had her ear bent a few times as well."

"Mmhmm," he nodded and then grimaced, sighing, "I have no idea how I'm going to tell Wynne about Nathan, you know. Telling you wasn't exactly easy."

Lyna shifted in his arms. "Tell her you're just continuing the standing tradition of having royal bastards."

That got a chuckle out of him. "Yes, that'll go over well." Alistair held her in silence for a few minutes and said, "I don't want to tell her. I mean, I want her to know Nathan is my son. I'm not ashamed of him or anything like that. I just don't want to explain to her exactly why I was willing to…" His voice trailed off and he could feel himself flushing. "I mean you know. With her, of all people." The loathing in his tone left little doubt as to who he was referring to.

"Well you can't tell her everything anyway, you know," she said after a moment.

Confused, he asked, "How do you mean?" Not that he was looking forward to telling Wynne the whole sordid story, but even so.

She drew away from his chest enough to look up at him, "I mean you can't tell her everything. One thing that was made very clear to me during my trip to Weisshaupt Fortress was that keeping the precise details regarding how an Archdemon is slain secret is paramount. We are absolutely forbidden from telling anyone who is not a Grey Warden, and they don't even want new recruits told until at least a year has passed since their Joining unless there are extenuating circumstances. That's why you didn't know, even though you'd been a Grey Warden for six months. Riordan would never have told either of us had there been any other choice."

Alistair frowned, "All right, I get keeping the whole thing about the Archdemon dying essence being pulled into a Grey Warden and killing them both a secret, but how exactly are we supposed to tell Wynne who, or what, Nathan is if we have to leave that part out? I won't lie to her about this. I can't."

"Nathan is a child, first and foremost," Lyna said, before her brows drew together in thought. "I mean, that is what he is, isn't it? Not an Archdemon in a child's body?"

He shook his head emphatically, "No, he's definitely not that. He's got some unique gifts but there's no trace of the taint in him that I can sense. The Chantry says that until the darkspawn corrupt them with the taint, the Old Gods are spirits that have taken the form of dragons and imprisoned underground by the Maker himself. Whatever he once was, as near as I can tell, now he's an innocent. A lonely little boy who's been kept apart from others all his life." Another surge of guilt filled him at that thought.

Thinking that over, she asked, "So what exactly would happen if he encountered darkspawn now that he's a child? Would he be tainted again? Or is he immune now?"

Alistair considered that and his tone was grim when he answered, "I have absolutely no intention of ever letting darkspawn get close enough to him to find out."

"Fair enough. We'll tell Wynne after supper," Lyna announced. "You just let me do most of the talking. If she asks you anything specific about the ritual that you'd rather not talk about…"

"Play dumb. Got it."

She scowled up at him, "You are not dumb. I know it, and so does Wynne. I was going to suggest that you just say you don't want to talk about it because doing so makes you sick to your stomach."

"That won't be hard," he said and gave her a rueful smile, "since that's exactly what it does."

Laughing, she hugged him again before she started to pull away. He loosened his grip on her enough to drop a quick affectionate kiss on her forehead. "I'm glad you are here, Lyna," he said simply and then released her to stand up.

"I am too," she confessed. "I'll see you at supper. By your leave, my liege." Lyna gave him an exaggerated bow and slipped out of the room smiling before he had a chance to complain.

Nathan and Bryce sat together at supper again, tended to by Lady Kaitlyn. Pretending that the boy was nothing more than Wynne's ward was very difficult now that he knew the truth, and he had to forcibly keep himself from looking over toward the two children. He suddenly found himself wondering if Maric had felt like this the time he had come to Redcliffe with Cailan, and remembered the regret he had seen in the King's eyes.

I will not be raising my son as nothing more than a castoff though, he decided bleakly. As soon as they got to Denerim, he'd tell Eamon—Maker's breath, the former Arl would have kittens when he found out—and have the boy confirmed as his son and heir before the nobles.

Lyna seemed to having trouble not staring at the boy as well, and Wynne's gimlet eyes weren't missing any of it. Had they not already planned on talking with her about Nathan, Alistair had a strong suspicion the mage would be pulling them aside anyway to ask them what was going on. She was too sharp by half.

Fiona said next to nothing the entire meal, though she seemed to be genuinely relieved when he told her he was feeling better. As she had done the previous night, she excused herself from the table as soon as everyone was finished eating.

Alistair chatted with Teagan and Lyna, doing his best to ignore the coquettish stares that Violet and Penelope were giving him from the opposite end of the table.

Teagan watched with a smile as Wynne and Kaitlyn shooed both boys out of the room for bath time. Thoughtfully, he observed, "I think I've finally figured out why Nathan looks so familiar. He looks a lot like you did when you were around that age."

Alistair found himself at a loss for words, before he blithely inquired, "Does he? I think your memory is failing you in your old age, as I have it on excellent authority that when I was that young, I spent most of my time covered in mud."

The red-headed man laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, "Indeed you did."

Teagan and the King went to the Arl's study again, to discuss the meetings with the banns from earlier in the day. Most wanted Alistair to come visit them at their homes, but as it was, he'd be at least one more month on the road before he made it back to Denerim. The planned visits to Lothering, the battle memorial at Ostagar, Gwaren and South Reaches left him little time to visit individual banns.

Of those, Gwaren would be the most trying stop along the road. Alistair had appointed Wulff, formerly the Arl of West Hill, as Gwaren's new Teyrn following Loghain's execution. It had been a tactical decision. Wulff was widely respected throughout Ferelden and everyone knew of his family's bravery in evacuating West Hill ahead of the Blight and the loss of his sons in the effort. However, most of the common folk from Loghain's former teyrnir had been fiercely loyal to the Hero of the River Dane. At times, Alistair suspected that being Maric's son was the only thing that kept the rough town from breaking into outright revolt. He certainly would not be receiving a warm welcome, at any rate.

The meeting ended as it had the previous night, with Kaitlyn bringing Bryce in to say goodnight. She gave the King a warm smile as she handed her son to Teagan, saying, "Your Majesty, remind me to tell Wynne that she is welcome to bring little Nathan with her any time she comes to see us. He is such a sweet boy, and Bryce simply adores him."

Chuckling, he said, "I will pass the word along," and felt the teeniest amount of pride that his son was well liked by those who met him.

Unfortunately his light mood faded the instant he walked out of the Arl's study because Violet and Penelope almost pounced at him, rather like a pair of dogs after a three-legged cat.

"Your Majesty, fancy seeing you here!" Penelope simpered, batting her eyelashes.

Alistair shot a glance at his guards. "Yes, it's quite the coincidence, running into you out here in the hall. Why, it's almost as though you were lying in wait for me," he drawled out and began to walk down the hall, the two noblewomen following close behind.

Penny had the presence to flush at his insinuation, but Violet was too stupid to recognize sarcasm because she giggled flirtatiously, "I know, what a stroke of luck!"

Tossing her brunette locks, Penelope said, "We were just on our way to the garden to do a little stargazing." She gasped suddenly as though a fantastic idea had suddenly come to mind and her chest heaved upwards, "Oh! Your Majesty, you should join us, we would love to have some company, wouldn't we, Violet?"

"Some company?" Alistair echoed, giving the two women a weak smile. "Er, well that's a very generous request but…" Anything else he was going to say faded into obscurity at the sight of Lyna's mabari hound bounding up the hallway coming straight toward them, his tongue lolling out in a happy canine grin.

Violet and Penelope squealed in unison and threw themselves at Alistair, clinging at his neck and shoulders and—Andraste's flaming knickers, did one of them just grope his rear end?—Bowen jumped up on him, the massive canine's weight enough to knock him back a step. The dog barked happily, licking his face with long swipes and wagging his stubby tail so hard his entire hindquarters shook as well.

The guards didn't seem to know who he needed more protection from, the dog or the two shrieking harpies clinging to him. "Bowen!" the King exclaimed with relief, rubbing the dog's head and ears just where he loved it the most. "Who's the cute puppy? Hmm? Who's the cute and adorable puppy?" The mabari danced on his hind legs, pawing at Alistair's chest and quite conveniently pushing both Penelope and Violet away from him in the process.

Lyna turned the corner of the hallway ahead, her eyes widening with feigned surprise when she saw them. "Your Majesty, I was just on my way to meet you and Wynne. I hope I haven't kept you waiting?" She gave a quick whistle and Bowen snuck in one last lick before hopping down and trotting back to her side.

"Not at all, I was on my way there now when Bowen ran into me. Quite literally, in fact," Alistair grinned. Apologetically, he said to the two girls, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass on your suggestion for tonight as I have a previous obligation. Enjoy your stargazing though and have a lovely evening," he said, extricating himself the rest of the way from their grip.

Penny and Violet looked crushed, but what could they say? Both of them muttered goodnight and hurried off, readjusting their clothing and hair and giving Bowen a look of utter loathing as they left.

The elf watched as Alistair wiped his wet face off on his shirt sleeve. She walked closer, affectionately rubbing her hound's head with one hand before saying, "Remember back when you said the 'Get Alistair' command would never come in handy—that shows what you know."

"I also remember saying that you taught it to him because you have a warped sense of humor, and I'm quite certain I was right about that," he stated with a grin.

"Perhaps," she acknowledged, her pale green eyes bright with amusement.

Nathan was still awake when they reached Wynne's chamber, patiently waiting for his good night hugs from Alistair, who obliged the little boy, wrapping his arms around his small frame and kissing his forehead. "Good night, and sleep tight."

Then the child held out his arms for Lyna as well. She was startled by the gesture and hesitantly gave him a quick hug, then went so far as to call Bowen over too. "Sleep well, little one," she said, tucking the covers around his shoulders and then rose to her feet. As they left the room, her mabari planted himself right in front of Wynne's door and stretched out for a nap. The elf was quiet when they walked the short distance to Alistair's chambers. "He's so…" She paused, trying to think of an appropriate word.

"Trusting?" Wynne suggested, smiling. "I think the same thing when I watch him interact with others. In a way, it seems strange, given his treatment at the hands of others, but I suppose that in spite of what he's been through, like any child he still wants to be accepted and loved." The old mage made her way over to the same bench he and Lyna had sat on earlier and eased down onto the cushioned seat, turning to rest her staff against the wall. "Now then," she said calmly, peering up at Alistair. "It seems you have something important to tell me about Nathan?"

Even though Alistair suspected she knew something was up, her forthright words still caught him a bit off guard. He darted a quick look at Lyna and sat down beside her. "How did you know?"

She sighed, raising an eyebrow, "Because I'm old, not stupid. I can see it in your eyes when you look at him, that something's changed for both of you. I'm just not sure if it's good or bad news."

He raised his hands in helpless gesture, "I suppose that in a way, it's a little bit of both, strange as that sounds. Hm. How to say this…" his voice trailed off as he tried to muster his courage. Strange, he'd have thought it'd be easier to say it out loud the second time, but if anything it was even harder.

Wynne waited in silence, and when he still didn't speak she gave Lyna a questioning look. "Well? What is it?"

"No," she responded, shaking her head. "This is something he needs to tell you himself."

"Thanks for the support," Alistair said in a dry tone. "All right, then. About Nathan. See, here's the thing." He paused again, looking at the mage, who quirked one eyebrow at him and finally said in a rush of words, "Oh, blast it, Wynne, Nathan's my son. There, I said it. Now you know."

She stiffened at his words but her expression remained blank when she asked, "How do you know?"

"Excuse me?" he asked, not sure he'd heard her right

"I said, how do you know that Nathan is your son?" Wynne said, enunciating each word for added emphasis. "I'm sorry Alistair, this is hard for me to say, but are you sure this isn't a matter of you wanting a child so desperately that you are attaching the connection to the first convenient child to come along?"

His breath left him in a rush of air at her question, and felt his face reddening with heat and embarrassed anger. "That's not it at all," he grated, furious at the insinuation.

"Wynne, how could even think such a thing?" Lyna demanded.

The mage sat ramrod straight on the bench, saying, "You were not there when Chana and Mara died, Lyna. You did not see the extent of his grief the way I did." The words lashed out so forcefully that the elf recoiled, biting her lip in consternation. "It is a valid question, and Alistair knows it as well as I do."

"She's right," he responded, looking from Lyna to Wynne's stern face. "I did desperately want a child. An heir. Or I would not have gone through the whole bleeding ordeal of getting married in the first place. And then afterwards, when they died, it was a thousand times worse, because it seemed like I might never have one. So she is right in that regard." Alistair drew in a deep breath and said frankly, "If I were my father, or even Cailan, it'd be a very valid question, given what I know and have heard about their proclivities for tumbling serving girls and young noblewomen." He rubbed his hand over his face, and now the redness in his cheeks was due to nothing but embarrassment at what he was about to say. "Wynne, you know I was raised in the Chantry and then trained as a Templar. Until I met Lyna, I'd, uh, never… well, you know. Never…" his hand waved in a vague gesture.

"You were a virgin," Wynne nodded, as though this came as no surprise to her.

Alistair didn't have to look at Lyna to know she had to have been blushing as well. "Yes. That's exactly what I was. One of those." He cleared his throat and went on, "Look, what I'm trying to say is that in my entire life, I've … been… with only three women. Lyna, Chana and… Morrigan."

Wynne's blue eyes widened with surprise. "With Morrigan? But Alistair…Morrigan?" Her mouth opened and shut as she tried to get past her initial shock.

"I know," he said, hanging his head in self disgust.

"You despised her."

"I know!"

No one said anything for a few moments as Wynne digested this new piece of information. "How could you? Why would you?" she finally asked, shaking her head.

Straightening up, he darted a quick look at Lyna before turning toward the mage, explaining, "It was after the Landsmeet. We had all come back here to Redcliffe to muster the armies, and Riordan met us. That was the Senior Grey Warden we found in Howe's dungeons, if you'll recall. He told us that the Darkspawn armies had bypassed Redcliffe and were marching straight for Denerim, and that the Archdemon had shown itself. That we had to muster our armies and march on Denerim as quickly as possible, or the whole city would fall." He fell silent, not really sure where to go from there, or how exactly to explain more without lying outright, or telling half-truths.

"Riordan called us into his chambers," Lyna picked up where his story left off, twining one of her braids around her finger in a nervous gesture. "He was… very blunt about our odds, and how slim our chances of survival were." She turned away from them, her back tense as she shifted from one foot to the other. "There had been four other Blights, not a single one of which lasted for fewer than twelve brutal years." The elf Warden faced them again, her pale eyes shadowed. "Every single Blight only ended with the efforts of entire armies of Grey Wardens fighting alongside the other kingdoms of Thedas. Armies of Grey Wardens, Wynne. And here in Ferelden, we had three, two of which had not even been in the ranks for even a year."

Wynne pursed her lips, lifting her hand to rest along the edge of her jaw. "And let me guess. Morrigan had a plan to help."

Alistair grimaced, saying with difficulty, "She said that it was why she had agreed to come with us in the first place."

"She claimed to know a ritual that would dramatically increase our odds of surviving in the fight against the Archdemon, and by doing so, give us a chance, a real chance, to end the Blight," Lyna said flatly, looking the mage square in the eye as she spoke.

It wasn't quite a lie, but it toed the line so very closely that it couldn't be called the truth either.

"And of course, such a ritual did not come without a price, did it?" Wynne asked, giving Alistair a hard look.

"No, it didn't," he muttered, unwilling to meet her probing gaze.

"In exchange, she wanted a Grey Warden's child," Lyna said in a low voice. "Something I could not give her, even if I had wanted to."

Wynne leaned forward, rubbing her temples with her fingertips and said with weary disappointment, "Oh Alistair—what in the Maker's name were you thinking, agreeing to such a thing?"

Alistair wanted to say that it didn't seem like such a bad idea at the time, but that would have been a blatant lie. "I wanted the Blight to end and I wanted Lyna to live. Quite honestly, I didn't let myself think much beyond that."

"I'm as much to blame as he is, Wynne. I doubt he would have agreed to it if I hadn't talked him into it," she said, guilt darkening her features.

Exhaling, the mage straightened up to study the man at her side. "And you think Nathan is the product of your… union," she said distastefully.

"I do," Alistiar said and tried to explain, "The pieces just all fit together. He's the right age, he's got her hair but a mesh of our eyes. You remember how Teagan said he seemed familiar? He told me earlier that it was because Nathan looks exactly like I did when I was his age. Add in the dreams and Flemeth's interest in him and everything else…" he lifted his hands helplessly. "It just makes sense."

"Even the scars on his legs—Wynne, you know that the spider was one of Morrigan's favorite forms to take in battle," Lyna reminded her with a pained expression. "How else do you suppose he got them?"

Wynne's blue eyes flashed with anger and she stood up, stalking a few feet away before whipping around to say furiously, "You should have told me! You both should have said something—anything!—before it got to this point! The things she's done to that boy because of your negligence, the things you both let her do with the irresponsibility of your decisions! You knew better than to trust her! Both of you did!"

The harsh words hit Alistair with a force so strong that he doubled over, closing his eyes and holding his gut, feeling as though he'd just been kicked in the stomach. Wynne's scorn was well deserved, Maker knew he felt it himself. She had said nothing but the truth. He deserved this, not just for what he had done, but for what he didn't do as well.

Lyna hissed and moved to stand between them, cursing, "By the Tree, Wynne, do you think he hasn't been telling himself that since he found out the truth? Does it make you feel better to twist the knife a bit deeper? You told me once that our duty as Grey Wardens was to end the Blight. Well guess what, it ended before it ever even got started because of Alistair. It ended the instant he buried his sword in the top of the Archdemon's head. Do you think you've got a monopoly in doing the right thing, in always making the right decision and not having a single regret about the things you've done, the choices you've made? Because I seem to remember otherwise. We all make the wrong choice at one time or another. Don't go pointing out the splinter in his eye while ignoring the plank in your own," she sneered with her fists clenched at her sides.

He couldn't stand it anymore and lurched to his feet. "Stop it, please. Both of you. Just…enough, please," Alistair whispered wearily. Sighing, he met Wynne's eyes and each word he spoke hurt to say, "You are right. I should have known better. I should have tried to find her the moment the Archdemon died and believe me when I say that I will spend the rest of my life regretting the fact that I didn't try to find him sooner. I've already apologized to Nathan for it and now I'm apologizing to you as well. Trust me, you can't possibly beat me up any more about this than I'm already beating myself."

All of the anger drained out of the mage at his words and Wynne seemed more old and tired than he'd ever seen. She closed her eyes briefly and then opened them to look between the man and elf for a moment. Then she collected her staff from where she'd left it propped against the wall and used it as a walking stick, making her way to the door. Resting her hand on the doorknob, she paused and turned halfway to look at Lyna, admitting in quiet voice, "You are right, of course. There are things I've done that I regret." She seemed on the verge of adding more but merely shook her head, murmuring, "Good night," before she slipped out of the room.

"I suppose that went about as well as could be expected," Lyna said, turning back toward him. She studied his face and asked, "Are you all right?"

Alistair couldn't even muster the energy for lame humor. "Not really, no."

Tears suddenly glittered in her eyes and she slipped her arms around him, his own raising up to encircle her smaller frame and hold her close. They hugged each other in silence for a few long moments before he sighed and began to extricate himself from her grip, running his fingers through his hair. "I think I'd like to be alone, if you don't mind."

She tilted her head upward to peer at him and frowned, "Actually, I do mind."

"What?"

"If you think I'm going to leave you here alone so you can indulge in even more self-flagellation, you're out of your mind," Lyna said, giving him a hard stare. "Enough is enough, Alistair."

Half-heartedly, he began, "I wasn't…" But of course, that was exactly what he'd planned on doing, and he knew it as well as she did.

"Yes you were." She hugged him even tighter and then poked him in the chest, "I'm going to stand right here until you cut yourself some slack."

Alistair couldn't help but laugh at her stubborn determination. "What if our legs get tired?"

To his surprise, Lyna began to push him toward the massive bed, and when the back of his legs bumped into the downy mattress, he balked. "I don't think…" he mumbled through numb lips. It was too much and too soon, and his mind was such a complete mess of emotions and thoughts right now that he couldn't possibly…

She pressed her fingers over his mouth to silence him, asking simply, "Do you trust me?"

It was a ridiculous question and he lifted his hand to draw hers away from his lips, confessing, "More than I trust myself."

Lyna climbed onto the bed and pulled him down with her. Together, they settled back, fully clothed right down to their boots, against the utterly ridiculous amount of fluffy pillows that were piled up at the head board. With a sigh, he lay against her, his cheek on her chest, ear over her heart. It was a rhythm ever unwavering and he let himself breathe its tattoo. She stroked his hair in silence and when he slipped into the Fade, he didn't dream.