Alistair laid his hands flat on his desk and looked up at the only father-figure he had left in his life. Though Duncan had been more father to him in six months than Arl Eamon had been in all the years Alistair had lived under his roof.
"Are you hinting at what I think you're hinting at, Arl Eamon?" Alistair asked, feeling like the coolness of the wood under his palms was seeping into his hands, up his arms. Good. Perhaps it could soothe the hot anger that was beginning to throb in his brain.
"A friendly inquiry between men," the gray-haired man said, spreading his hands wide in innocence.
"I don't consider it a 'friendly inquiry' to ask about my sex life," Alistair said bluntly. "So, unless you have some other point you'd like to get to, you'll want to leave off that sort of buddy-buddy talk."
"If you insist on having it this way, then so be it." Eamon's eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms. "The nobles are beginning to talk...about the absence of an heir."
Alistair felt like something in his chest had come loose from its moorings, and was now thrashing about against his ribs uncontrollably. Of course, it was difficult for a Grey Warden to have a child. Two Grey Wardens, well, that was nigh-impossible. But Eamon didn't know that, nor did any of the other nobles. The High Commander at Weisshaupt, enraged though he was at the marriage and subsequent elevation to royalty of two Wardens, had kept his mouth blessedly shut on the matter.
Or perhaps Eamon did know. Why else would he bring this up? Unless he just thought Lorelai barren, in which case, he-
"We are not having this conversation," Alistair said as he felt his face turn into an emotionless mask. Lorelai had told him he was far too expressive, that he gave everything away. He'd been practicing since then, trying to emulate the ice-cold countenance she often had in public. By the look on the Arl's face, he had succeeded.
"We must talk about it, Alistair," Eamon countered, though the command in his voice was gone. "You know that I adore Lorelai, everyone does, but-"
Alistair was on his feet before he'd made any conscious effort to be. "I have been back to Ostagar, Arl Eamon," he said tightly. "I have seen the letters you wrote to Cailan before his death. Do not think to suggest the same things to me."
"There must be an heir." Eamon held his ground, though he'd uncrossed his arms. His hands were pleading now instead. "I am not suggesting you set her aside, but perhaps an...alternative method is in order."
"Get out," Alistair growled. "Right now."
"Alistair!" The Arl's face was one of comic surprise. Under different circumstances, Alistair may have actually laughed. "Did we rid Ferelden of Loghain's mad tyranny simply to be right back where we started once you and Lorelai are gone?"
"Get out," Alistair repeated, feeling his heart pounding dangerously fast.
"Alistair, please-"
"If you wish the embarrassment of being thrown out, I can arrange that," Alistair snapped, cutting him off.
Eamon glared at him, all signs of cajoling gone. He lifted a finger, as if to scold a child. "You must listen to reason! You must-"
"Quiet," Alistair ordered suddenly. In the halls, he could hear a commotion of some kind, the guards' voices raised in angry alarm. Now adrenaline crashed through his veins along with anger. He was hoping someone had tried to infiltrate the castle. And he was really hoping that person had evaded the guards and was coming straight for him.
The idea of splitting someone's skull open sounded perfect right now.
But the guards would never let anyone get that close to the precious King. No, no. If he wanted action, he'd have to leave the study and find it for himself.
Not caring about Arl Eamon in the slightest at the moment, Alistair came out from behind the desk and was through the door before his former caretaker could even utter a question. Following the noise, he winded through the twists and turns of the corridors easily. He knew this path: it was going toward the throne room.
"I don't care what rank you are, you sodding moron! We're going to see the King and the likes of you are not going to stop us!"
Alistair stopped dead in his tracks in the hall. Where did he know that voice? It was naggingly familiar. Apparently there wasn't going to be skull-cracking today, after all. Pity. It seemed to be just some enthusiastic callers. Well, he supposed he should smooth over what was going on, anyway.
"Look here, nug-licker, tell that shield-carryin' pansy to get out here! We've got something he's gonna wanna hear!"
Now that voice he'd know anywhere, unfortunately. Quickening his pace, Alistair turned the corner, entering the corridor just outside the throne room, in time to see one of the guards attempting to take Oghren's battle axe. The surly dwarf was about to put up a fight to keep it. A fight that, Alistair knew, would end in more than a few dead guards.
"Stand down, gentlemen," he said, entering the room.
"But, Your Majesty," blurted one of the guards. "These two just walked in-"
"As they should've. They're Wardens." Looking now, it was extremely easy to remember who the other voice belonged to. Sigrun blushed and stammered in his presence more than anyone else he'd ever encountered. Hard to forget someone like that.
"Apologies, Your Majesty." The guard gestured swiftly, and the rest backed off. The one wrestling with Oghren dropped his half of the axe and retreated an extra few paces out of the dwarf's reach.
"Yeah, you better run," Oghren grunted.
"Back to your posts, then," Alistair said, waving his hands at them. Normally, he would not have been so curt, but his blood still boiled at his conversation with Eamon, and now a nagging feeling of dread was starting to seep into his mind. Theses two should be with Lorelai. Why were they here? "I'm sorry about that, my friends. They can be a bit...overzealous in their duties."
"We need to speak with you, Your Majesty. In private," Sigrun said as the guards left, speaking for the first time since Alistair had appeared. "It's urgent."
The dread increased to a deluge, drowning out the unspent adrenaline and smothering the rage. "As you wish. Come this way." He gestured for them to follow him
At first, Alistair didn't even know where he was taking them. It seemed his feet knew something he was not privy to. Soon, however, the path became clear. Opening the door, he led them into the practice room.
Their footsteps echoed in the bare room, scattering the dust that lined the floor. He and Lorelai had not been using it lately, but just walking into it brought back memories of their first months in the palace. No darkspawn to fight, a real roof over their heads, and political problems around every turn. They'd stumbled onto this room accidentally, and immediately took it over with all their armor and weapons.
It had given them a sense of normalcy to practice. With their lives suddenly so different from anything they'd ever experienced before, especially for Alistair, it had been calming to boil everything down to fighting.
The room made him feel comfortable, loose, which was good. He had a feeling he was going to need it. Spinning to face the two dwarves, Alistair resisted the urge to clench his hands into nervous fists. "Well?"
Sigrun's new confidence seemed to finally fail her. She twisted her hands as her brow furrowed. "Your Majesty..."
"Girl, if you make me say it, I swear on the grave on my cheatin', lyin' wife, I'll-" Oghren threatened.
She shot him a glare, and steel strengthened her spine again. "Your Majesty, the Commander has been taken."
For a moment, Alistair could only stare at the woman before him. "What...did you just say?"
Sigrun repeated herself, but he didn't hear it. He couldn't hear anything over the furious bellowing inside his head, like a wounded predator had been let out of its cage to run rough-shod in his mind. And wounded it was.
Lorelai always said they were each many different people all bound together in one body. He agreed, but he'd never felt it like he felt it now.
The wounded creature was the part of him named Husband. The part named Lover. And it was screaming its throat raw.
Pressing his palms to his temples, he started backing up, backing away from the reality the two dwarven Wardens had brought to his doorstep. He didn't stop until he collided with the far wall, half-sliding, half-collapsing to the floor. He buried his face in his hands.
What in the Maker's name was he supposed to do?
He knew what he wanted to do. Take every single army Ferelden had and raze the entire country to the ground. That would make it easy to find her, wouldn't it? Oh, he'd rebuild it, not to worry.
Can't raise the armies, love, his wife's voice echoed in his head. It might be political. You raise the armies, let all of Thedas know that someone has taken your Queen...and they've already won.
Might be? He had a hard time believing it was anything other than political. But he could think of no enemies, none who would do such a thing. The only part of his brain not being consumed by the screaming, the only part still able to function, ran down a mental list of Ferelden's relations with every country he could think of.
Who cared who'd done it? That could be sorted out later. Husband was calling for blood, and Alistair was extremely inclined to oblige it.
His hands clenched convulsively, and his nails dug into the skin of his face. If so much as one hair on Lorelai's head was out of place, he would bathe in the blood of those who had done it. Maker damn morality, fairness, and justice. He wanted the heads of those responsible. Preferably on pikes outside the palace gates.
If not the armies, then what? Just him and her Wardens? He didn't like that, not one bit. No offense to them, but other than Oghren, he hadn't fought with a single one of them. Now was not the time to be figuring out each other's fighting styles.
Sigrun was saying something from nearby, something about Nathaniel Howe, about a tracker.
Tracker? He needed more than a tracker, he needed help. But where to get help? Sigrun had asked to speak in private because she didn't know who she could trust, and how could he know, either? He hadn't felt so short on allies since...
Allies are but a wing's beat away, Lorelai's voice whispered.
Lurching to his feet, he almost knocked Sigrun over, who'd been crouched by his side. He reached down to steady her, an automatic reaction, before bolting from the practice room. From behind him, he heard Oghren's surprised shout, and Sigrun's snarled command of, "Just follow him!"
Alistair had no idea how he managed to make it to the roof. He certainly didn't feel coherent enough to have made it, and yet here he was. Shoving the door open forcefully, he startled the very creatures he was there to see.
As they turned to glare at the disturbance, he abruptly remembered the first time he'd laid eyes on them.
Lorelai stood on the roof of the castle, their companions gathered around her in a loose half-circle. Alistair stood off to the side, trying to hid a bemused grin behind his hand. Though what his new wife had planned was a mystery to him, as well, he was having a problem mustering up curiosity.
It was that whole "new wife" thing that kept blocking his mind from doing anything constructive.
Watching Lorelai's wedding gown billow in the wind like the sails of a great merchant ship, he inhaled deeply as the scent of perfume borne on that wind caressed his skin. A goofy grin plastered itself across his face. Oh yes, he was going to be borderline useless for quite some time.
"Shouldn't you be starting your honeymoon?" Leliana asked, fluttering her eyelashes.
"Oh, Leliana, my crimson-haired flower, they started that months ago!" Zevran, his arm linked with the bard beside him, gave her a nudge in the ribs. "Unless your hearing failed you all those nights in camp, you should know that."
The Orlesian giggled and batted her eyes in mock innocence. "Why, Zev! Whatever can you mean?"
The pair broke up into laughter, and Lorelai rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "One of the many blessings of the end of the Blight: finally splitting you two up!"
Zevran gasped, slapping a hand to his cheek in distress. "We have failed to entertain the Queen with our traveling show! Alas, she will behead us!"
"No! Not my head!" Leliana's face was properly horrified, before she fluffed her red locks whimsically. "Where would I keep my hair?"
"Enough!" Lorelai shouted, laughing. "I'm trying to make a sad, yet uplifting speech here!"
"That appears to be going well," Alistair chimed, tilting his head to the side innocently.
"Don't you start." She waggled her finger threateningly in his direction. "You're stuck with me. They, on the other hand..."
"We'll be good," Leliana assured her with a slight bow.
Zevran made a locking motion near his lips and tossed the "key" over his shoulder.
"Thank you," Lorelai said, getting the last giggles out of her system. Falling silent, she began idly tracing the edge of the stone wall with a fingertip. "Forgive me, I'm no good at goodbyes."
Alistair felt his heart clench at her tone, and he watched the line of her shoulders shift, stiffen, brace for what was coming.
"I want to thank you all for many things. For your aid in our quest, which we would've most certainly failed without you. For sticking around when things got dark, because I never would found the light at the end without every...single...one of you."
Lorelai looked up finally, and the dying sunlight lit up the tears in her eyes like flecks of crystal. Alistair wanted to go to her, to ease the sadness that gripped her, but he wouldn't. She had something to say, and she would never forgive him for ruining her speech.
"For sticking around, and helping us rebuild Denerim," she continued. "For staying for the wedding." Grinning, she gave them all a wink. "It would've felt...empty without you there."
"It was an honor, kadan," Sten rumbled from the back of the group, his expressionless face as hard as always.
Lorelai inclined her head at his words. "So, since we owe you so much, I decided not to say goodbye, at all."
"Ah, this is the part where she holds up captive," Leliana whispered sinisterly, grabbing the former Crow next to her. "Run, save yourself, my friend!"
"I have no wish to be a captive again," Shale responded in a decidedly grumpy voice.
"She's kidding, Shale," Lorelai said quickly, holding her hands up.
The golem grunted noncommittally.
"Anyway," Lorelai cast a stern eye on a still-giggling Leliana, "I had something a little more...freeing in mind." Turning behind her, she unlatched a large wooden door and swung it open.
Alistair blinked in surprise as their companions burst into a mixed babble of surprise and wonder. Inside the large structure that had gradually been built over the last few days stood several very large, very steely-eyed, very...unpleasant-looking-
"Birds!" Shale's bright eyes narrowed dangerously. "It made me sit through that strange ceremony, and then it dragged me onto the very top of this structure...just to put me in such close proximity to birds!"
Wynne reached out to place a restraining hand on the golem's massive stone arm. "Perhaps we should hear what Lorelai has to say about them, before we go about squishing heads."
"Hmph! I shall not squish anything. For now."
Lorelai mouthed a quick "thank you" to the white-haired mage, who nodded with that ever-present enigmatic smile on her face. "No bird has a better sense of smell than a vulture," she commented idly, reaching out to stroke the bald, wrinkled head of the nearest bird. "And these vultures have been trained to smell for you, and only you, my friends."
Alistair, despite his own surprise, noticed Zevran's eyes narrow intently.
"I have spent many hours...discussing the nature of my requests with them," Lorelai was saying. "They have agreed. Each vulture has memorized one of your scents. If we should ever need you, they can find you, no matter where you are."
Leliana clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, how wonderful! I didn't know rangers could do that!"
"They can't," Zevran said, speaking despite his "locked" lips. All traces of humor were gone, and in its place was awed respect. He bowed his head to Lorelai. "I feel you'd be hard-pressed to find even another master ranger capable of what she has done."
Lorelai blushed, and fussed with her wedding gown. "We all have our talents."
"So...I never have to see this bird unless it requests my presence?" Shale demanded.
"That's it, Shale. I promise," Lorelai answered.
Shale's gems flared a bit, their light casting small strange shadows across her body. "It shall be as you ask."
Alistair raised an eyebrow a few inches, but he seemed to be the only one who'd noticed the change in pronoun that Shale had used. Or, perhaps everyone else noticed and was refraining from drawing attention to it.
After Shale's acquiescence, the rest nodded and muttered agreement.
"Now, if we ever find ourselves in as big a mess as the Blight again," Lorelai grinned with a bit of pride, "allies are but a wing's beat away."
Alistair scrambled for the scraps of paper kept in the compartmentnext to the great wooden structure. The vultures eyed him with interest, their cold glares fixed on him with enough intensity to make him nervous. He started writing, struggling to make sure his penmanship didn't make the messages completely illegible.
Sigrun and Oghren burst onto the rooftop just as he was finished with the last one. Oghren burst into raucous laughter. "Smarter than I thought by half! I'm impressed, boy!"
"What are-?" Sigrun's tone was bewildered, to put it mildly.
"Fancy meeting a slew of war heroes?" Oghren asked her, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Suddenly, he turned to face Alistair. "Hey, is there one for-"
"No," answered Alistair shortly, knowing what the dwarf was asking. "She never trained one for herself. These came from the Anderfels; she could only get enough for the lot of you." While he spoke, he approached the vultures cautiously. They weren't exactly inspiring him to move any faster, with their unfriendly eyes, curved beaks, and wicked talons. Feeling his mouth dry up, his feet stuttered to a stop.
He'd never been up here without Lorelai. He had no idea how the birds were going to react if he approached them. Suppose they attacked him? Suppose he was forced to injure them, or even kill them, to save himself? It would be the end to the only plan he had.
Worse, what if they simply wouldn't do it without her? What if they just sat here in their shelter, and ignored him?
"Please," he said to them, forcing his feet to close the distance separating them and holding the scraps of paper out. "Please. Take these to our friends. I need them."
For an agonizing half a minute, they simply glowered at him, alien eyes full of disdain and mistrust. Alistair felt the roaring in his head grow louder, as if it could make itself heard to scare the vultures into doing its bidding.
Finally, one of them shuffled forward and stuck its leg out.
In the tidal wave of relief, Alistair almost tied the wrong message to the bird in front of him. He forced his shaking hands to calm, forced his howling mind to think.
Colors, darling.
Right. They were color-coded with bright bands on the birds' legs. Green for Zevran, red for Leliana...
In a few minutes, all the messages were ready. "Please," he whispered again.
With a rush of wing beats and an explosion of loose feathers, the vultures pulled themselves into the air above the palace. Alistair watched them until they disappeared into the horizon. His only hope went with them; he could think of no other solution.
His ribs squeezed his heart in a sudden, painful jerk. Lorelai might not have the time it would take for their friends to respond, let alone get here. This might be nothing more than a waste of time, a waste of his wife's life.
Smothering the panic, Alistair took a deep breath. Despite his terror, despite the howls of Husband and Lover, another part of him knew better. It was a part of him he hadn't thought actually existed, but it made its surprising presence known with its icy grip of logic.
Of course she had time. Under the assumption that this was political, that meant whoever had done it wanted something. Money, land, power. Something. Killing her would gain them nothing.
They'd lose their bargaining chip, Lorelai agreed, her smooth confidence helping to soothe his panic even more.
And if it was political, but they sought to murder his wife to blame another nation? Or to so stricken him with grief that he could be easily manipulated, or easily usurped?
That cold, implacable new (although not so much new as extremely well hidden until now) aspect of himself shook its head. No. That was not what they wanted. He could feel it in his bones. Alistair tried to solidify that feeling, knowing he would need it in the days to come. Days that would be filled with nothing but waiting.
"Sigrun," he whispered, not taking his eyes off the spot on the horizon where the vultures had vanished.
"Yes, Your Majesty?" she answered immediately.
"I believe you mentioned that Anders had gone to Vigil's Keep."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"We'll send him a message, tell him to return here with a few members of the Silver Order."
"Ha! I like the way you think, boy!" Oghren grunted. "We never did have enough warriors in our camp."
"Who should I ask him to bring, Your Majesty?"
Alistair paused for a moment. Who, indeed?
Ask Sigrun. Lorelai's voice brushed his thoughts like wind through the plains. She'll know them, her choices will be good ones.
"Who do you think?" he asked her.
There was lump of silence, but still Alistair didn't turn around. Let the woman think. And he was fairly certain that she would be able to think better if he wasn't staring at her.
"Aednat and Aideen, Your Majesty," she finally answered.
"The Twins?" Oghren's bark of surprise was quickly following by rough laughter. "You want to bring those hellcats with us?"
"We call them the Twins, but they aren't related, Your Majesty," she explained. "They fight like they're one person, as if they know each other's thoughts. They are greatly feared in battle, if a bit...wild."
"'Wild'?" Oghren echoed. "That's an understatement! Point those two girls in the direction of anyone or anything you want dead, and just stand back!"
"Sounds good to me," Alistair answered. "Sounds perfect, actually, as long as they leave some for me."
"Aaah, I can't guarantee that, Your Majesty," Sigrun answered, and Alistair thought he detected a note of – Maker forbid – humor in her voice.
"Well, I'll just have to move quickly, then, won't I?"
"Indeed," the former legionnaire agreed.
In the following silence, Alistair tried to solidify his grip on the strange, recently-surfaced part of himself. He would need it, along with the knowledge that there was time for waiting. Its thoughts, its ideas felt so alien. And yet it was so soothing, so brutally capable of making decisions that Husband and Lover could not. Husband and Lover weren't going to be any good to him right now. They would only be useful much later, when it was time to make those responsible answer for their crimes. Until then, he'd have to rein them in, keep them in check, and try to keep their roars of pain and rage quiet enough that the newly discovered part could think.
The new part nodded its head as it flowed through his mind and body. Alistair's lips curled in a small, bitter smile. All those who whispered their doubts of him in darkened corridors and shadowed rooms could be invited to shut their mouths. Five years in the making, and only showing itself in an event of extreme necessity, it was there nevertheless.
The aspect of himself named King had finally stepped forward into the light.