Denerim marketplace seemed oddly untouched by the tensions in every quarter of the city. Rilian looked around, taking in silks as bright as peacock feathers - the scent of herbs and spices - the glitter of a fine armour stand. Forgetting Arl Eamon's instructions not to tarry on their way to his estate, she and Alistair browsed gleefully. She spoke to a woman selling Orlesian oils - she thought of Leliana immediately and wanted to buy her something that reminded her of home. She heard the woman's story - and was amazed at a land where human commoners were treated as badly as elves (worse - Vaughan Urien had been unusual in actually grabbing his women in broad daylight; at least most shems waited at the outskirts, and relied on desperate women who needed that extra coin to barter themselves.) The fact that her parents had managed to shield her from that amazed her still. Rilian had had a father who could make even gruel taste appetising - and a mother who had taught her to read, to sing, and to wield daggers with deadly grace. Adaia had never told her why she had left Orlais to settle in a place that seemed too small to hold her - now, having met Leliana and heard Liselle's story - she guessed. A bard played hard and fell harder - Ferelden and Cyrion had offered sanctuary. At least for a time. Rilian had never questioned how her mother could have afforded the books, clothes and wonderful toys of her childhood - not until the day, five years ago now, when the guards had arrested Adaia. They had cut off her right hand in the square - the standard punishment for theft. Rilian had cared for her - had tried to show her mother that she was more than a hand to feed her family or pluck a lute - but Adaia had died six months later. Memories of that day in the square bled into those of Vaughan Urien's death. Rilian still had nightmares about the vengeance she had taken...which of the women did you enjoy the best; did they scream as loudly as you do now?...but she wouldn't have undone it.
It wasn't long before the sight of a familiar haughty face – beautiful save for the mouth that was pinched to resemble a cat's bum – and angry screech: "careful of that box, churl – it's worth more than you'll make in a year!" drew her attention. A smile quirked Rilian's lips – half-amused, half-ashamed. Her mother's bardic training hadn't been wasted – she'd had the knowledge to make a good servant. When Cyrion – who was the head pastry chef for Lady Habren's father – had gotten her the position of lady's maid he had thought her made for life. But no – she'd had to open her big mouth; had lasted two months before being sacked. The memory of her father's disappointment made her frown unhappily. They had gone without firewood that winter.
The five years as a dockworker that had followed had solved that problem, and been unexpectedly satisfying. No screeching noblewomen to deal with. Even the men had left her alone, more or less, because the average day's work left them too tired to do anything but shuffle to the mess hall, stand in front of the massive woman they nicknamed Fatty Glug, and mutter: "Gimme whatever's goin'…" Swift as thought, the sensory memory of soft cloth and laughter stole through her mind…Shianni's voice: "It's a beautiful dress…oh. I, uh, guess they didn't have your measurements quite right"… her own sinking heart as she realised she was probably going to dwarf her groom. Being tall and muscled, it was easy for the other girls to tease her about being part-shem (not true – Rilian was not a bastard; Adaia and Cyrion had been devoted to each other.) It wasn't the same rejection as racism. The hurt was the same though. But the moment she'd laid eyes on Nelaros all doubts had disappeared. The young blacksmith was the first Elven man she had met who had made her feel delicate and light as a feather. He'd had a smile like sun on flowers…
"Hey – you're going to walk into that wall if you don't look up…"
Rilian turned to look at her companion. Light hazel eyes sparkled mischievously. Alistair had Nelaros' idealism and Cyrion's steadiness and an offbeat sense of humour entirely his own. As she studied him, she caught a glimpse of what made him so accident prone. He was too many things at once: the boy who had been "raised by dogs" – a templar – Duncan's protégé – and the man he was becoming. The differing parts of him seldom came into balance. She found it endearing. Yet today it saddened her. Who would he be after Arl Eamon made him King?
"Sorry," she said sheepishly, "I was…"
"You were thinking about home." Sometimes he was almost eerily perceptive. It was the thing Rilian had longed for and dreaded ever since they had begun the journey to Denerim. Only a few streets and a wrought iron gate separated her from the family she missed like a burning ache. Yet here she was, dawdling, shopping, anything to put the moment off…
Because she didn't know whether Captain Arvall had kept his word. Because the only thing that had made leaving home bearable was the image of Cyrion and Shianni and Soris safe. That image was a treasure at the back of her mind; and fragile as glass.
"We could go together," Alistair's eyes were dark and intent, "I'd like to meet your family." He had made an intuitive leap that carried him into the centre of her fear, and was offering his support. She didn't quite have the words for what that meant to her. Rilian's idealism did not extend to a belief in happy endings; she knew, even if Alistair wouldn't admit it to himself, that Arl Eamon's plans to make him King held no room for an Elven consort. It shamed her slightly that she could so easily accept it - not because she was noble, but because after losing Nelaros - after having done that to his murderer - she could never be a happy wife. The past was always with her. It was his friendship she could not bear to lose. Whatever happened at the Landsmeet, she decided, she would never sacrifice that.
"Let's go, then," Rilian agreed, steeling herself as she had to do before battle. Together she and Alistair headed for the Alienage gates.
The towering gates reared upward; chill iron railings jutting up into a bruise-blue sky, their tips gilded rose by the afternoon sun. Rilian thought of darkspawn spears, of blood...the sickly iron stink of it as Nelaros fell to the stone; Vaughan's screams when she... Rilian shuddered. Why was she thinking of this now - the Alienage was safe; had been beautiful in the evening light when Duncan led her away - she was going to see them all again in a few heartbeats...
"Sorry - no visitors allowed beyond this point." The voice belonged to a balding guard who idly picked his teeth with the point of a knife. A shudder of revulsion rippled through her - strange after months of seeing human soldiers as family - this one probably had a wife and kids, just as they did...
"But I'm from the Alienage," she blurted.
"I wouldn't say that too loudly," he warned her, with a kind of rough sympathy, "Arl Howe's had the area closed off; there were riots - something about Arl Urien's son...he's had to - restore order..."
Rilian wondered vaguely why the guard was taking a step backwards; a glance in a mirror would have told her. He confronted pale, flat features; hard-shut white lips and fixed glittering stare, the eyes all golden around pupils contracted to pinpricks - a blazing rage, condensed by silence like the core of a furnace.
Alistair gripped her shoulder, tightly, tried to pull her away: "Rilian - hey, Rilian - it may not be as bad as it sounds; Arl Eamon can deal with Howe, at the Landsmeet - let's go talk to him."
In a colourless white-hot voice Rilian said, "You're right - fighting will do no good; I need to think." She allowed Alistair to lead her away. She needed to get to her family - needed to; it was like an instinct - but he was right. Fighting on home ground had gotten Nelaros killed; this battle would be fought on enemy territory - in the chambers of the palace itself...her six months leading an army had taught her about choosing her battlefield. She didn't really take in the rest of Alistair's words - not until he suddenly stopped before an unfamiliar wooden door:
"It can't be - this looks like...Goldanna's house? Could we just - go knock on the door?"
Because she had been following Alistair's lead, Rilian stopped when he did. His light brown eyes were filled with a painful mixture of guilt and excitement - delighted he had found his sister; worried it would hurt Rilian to be dragged into meeting someone else's family at such a time. It was strange, really, how easily she could read his thoughts on his face - and endearing. Rilian found she welcomed the distraction. She nodded, her taut muscles relaxing in slow increments, lips quirking upward into something like a smile.
The joy on Alistair's face was so brilliant her spirits began to lighten, as if touched by the sun. "Will she even know I exist?" he asked, as if to himself, "My sister. That sounds very strange: "sister"...sisterrr..." He looked both comical and brave, accessible to joy and pain; troubled, sweet and precious.
"Come on - let's go, before you lose your nerve." And Rilian gave him a little push forward.
The woman who met them looked more - understandable - then any other human woman Rilian had met so far, except for Liselle. She wasn't a wise and powerful Circle mage - a fierce and feral golden-eyed sorceress - a beautiful and amazingly talented bard - or a spoiled noblewoman whose shrill voice could probably strip paint. Even her greeting: "You have linens to wash? I charge three bits on the bundle, you won't find better. And don't trust what that Natalia tells you, either. She's foreign and she'll rob you blind!" was so like something Shianni would have said that she almost smiled. Shianni wasn't as physically strong as Rilian, but she worked longer hours, and had often teased her about being soft. She'd had the same kind of professional rivalry with the competition, though they always closed ranks in the face of shem abuse.
Alistair was shifting awkwardly, as if not quite sure what to say. "I know this is kind of strange, but are you Goldanna? If so, I…I'm your brother."
The woman paled; her eyes - she had Alistair's eyes - narrowed. "What kind of tomfoolery are you up to?"
Rilian was suddenly acutely aware of how she and Alistair must look: both of them armed and armoured - the price of their weapons alone would have fed this woman's family for a month. A vivid mental image of how strange and threatening Duncan had first seemed to her - dropped into the heart of the Alienage like some exotic and dangerous beast - popped into her head. How could she have forgotten? Would she and Alistair seem wealthy and dangerous to her own kin? Trapped inside her were the different selves she had been: the girl to whom fifteen silver bits had seemed a horde beyond her dreams, and the soldier - the "Hero of Redcliffe" who was supposed to crown a King - mysteriously conjoined. She blinked away the sudden strange sensation of seeing the world in double vision and returned to hear Goldanna saying:
"They told me you was dead! Them's at the castle – I said the babe was the King's and they throws a coin at me to stop my mouth and just sends me on my way all on my own..."
"I...I didn't know that," Alistair stammered, and the look in his dark, lost eyes squeezed Rilian's heart. Why did I let him walk into this mess unready? We could have sent a message; dressed like civilians - I could have prepared him... Instead he had walked in with his heart in his hands, and from the look he gave her it was as though it had just dropped to the floor at her feet.
"Goldanna - Alistair came here to find his family," she tried softly.
"And who are you - some tart after him for his money, I expect..."
Rilian almost laughed at that, thinking of the first time she had met him: the big clunky human wearing dented splintmail and smelling of cheese. She managed to keep a straight face, and squeezed Alistair's hand when he would have defended her. They were going to hear a lot worse at the Landsmeet. From what she'd heard, Elven mistresses had been a weakness of Alistair's father. Unbidden, all the words she'd ever heard from guardsmen slithered from dark corners and crawled back into her brain: crude - dehumanising, she would have thought, if that were not a contradiction in terms. Those words had nothing to do with her and Alistair, and everything - I will never let them talk that way about us; I will not be that woman... She loved him, but there were times when love wasn't enough.
"Well, he's found it - for all the good it does me. I don't know you, boy. Your heritage means nothing to me. Your relation means nothing to me. I've got five mouths to feed and unless you can help me with that, I've got no use for you."
Alistair drew himself up with a dignity Rilian was proud of. "Then let me promise you this, Goldanna: I'll do whatever I can, speak to whomever I have to, to ensure you and your children are taken care of." Then he was stepping back - taking her hand - pulling her toward him as he headed for the door. "I want to go. Let's just - go..."
Outside, he stopped, his big hands shaking slightly - the boy's face upon the features of the man. Rilian had thought she was going to comfort him - tell him he didn't need some long-lost half-sister - tell him he already had all the family he needed right here. But Alistair's next words stopped her: "This is the family I've been wondering about all these years? That...shrew...is my sister?" Outrage was beginning to creep into his voice: "I can't believe it! I...I guess I was just expecting her to accept me without question. Isn't that what family are supposed to do?"
A lifetime's anger, slow-burning behind her taut expression, took Rilian by surprise. "Everyone is out for themselves. You should learn that. Did you think her first thought would be of you when it was obvious she hadn't eaten properly for days? When twelve hour's work a day isn't enough to feed her children" ...The hunger of your children hurts worse than your own... That was Cyrion's voice, infinitely weary; he had not known Rilian was listening. "I remember looking after cousin Iona's little girl, thin and sick, and watching armed guardsmen stride past, smelling of meat and new-baked bread. Arl Urien said we Elves were lazy cowards - said it with his plump belly full of food; his guards in a square around him. He said we should understand his greater problems. Greater than hunger? Than cold, than sickness? Can there be worse than choosing which child shall have a crust of bread?" Her voice was tight with unshed tears and old anger still caged; the gate guard's words were raw wounds.
Alistair's face crumpled. "I meant what I said to her," he said softly, "I'll not let her children go hungry. And - if I become King - I'll tear down the Alienage walls." The look in his eyes - that eager, hopeful expression of youth rising to challenge - melted Rilian's heart. It was so like something Alistair would say - and so like what his other half-sibling had promised at Ostagar - that it brought a lump to her throat. Even in her worst moments in the Alienage, she had always belonged - even when she had felt too-tall, or too-outspoken, or too-curious about the outside world, she had always known what she was rebelling from. She had forged her own identity from the bonds of family. She tried to imagine what it must feel like to have lived for twenty years and never once have known it: I guess I was just hoping you would like me for who I am... Arl Eamon saw a challenge to Loghain: a piece to be moved across a board - Duncan had seen a recruit... and what do I see? A ruler to bring justice - equality between Elves and humans – gold and jewels for all - meat and ale and honey... A child's dream, after a beating. Nothing to do with Alistair's wishes. It was a heartbreaking realisation.
"You are a good man," she told him softly, "You will make a good King. But you must learn to stand up for yourself. Otherwise you will always be Arl Eamon's puppet - or mine."
Alistair was looking at her a little blankly, not really understanding. But she had the feeling this conversation would prove important in time; more than she'd realised.