A/N: I am very stalwart in typing this; I feel really ill after eating some bad Quorn bacon. Bwoaaahh.
Alistair doing magic tricks...I'm sure you know Steve Valentine is a magician, don't you! Not to mention a magician/murderer in a recent episode of one of my all-time favourite shows Monk. I used the word 'Mum' because Ferelden has mostly English accents, no? I know, I don't say it either. Thanks for some lovely reviews for the last chapter. Did not expect them! Merry Christmas, for those celebrating! Are you getting the odd Underline Bug? :S

Five Years Later

"I was hu-happy until you threw me out!"
"Happiness is a prison, Evey. Happiness is the most insidious prison of all."
"That's warped! That's warped and evil and wrong! When you threw me out I went to live with somebody. I...I was in love with him. I was happy! If that's a prison, then I don't care!"
~ V For Vendetta (Alan Moore)

Alistair had never fully understood why she had made him King. He had once told her that he understood, but he didn't; not fully anyway. Even as he sat here now, surrounded by his nobles and followers he did not understand. It had been nearly six years after everything. After the defeat of the Archdemon, after his coronation and after his (he shuddered at the thought) wedding. A meeting of sorts had been called in his estate. The richest, most powerful leaders near and in Denerim had gathered there; apparently there was some sort of trouble in Orlais, and Anora feared they would bring their trouble to Ferelden in the form of war. Alistair had tried as much as he could to keep his focus on the middle-aged advisor addressing them all.

"...Making this a suspectable reason for the upset North in Orlais. I am sure we are all, however, aware of their riches. They are a proud country, greedy some say. What I propose is this; gather an army of a respectable size, so that we, and Orlais know that we are well prepared for this possible uprising."
Alistair's mind began to wander for a moment. He remembered the last time he had fought properly; alongside his friends, his love and even some of his enemies. Alistair had not seen any of them after the celebrations, especially not Trija. He remembered the night well.

It was hard to actually recognise any of his friends under the bright colours, and, of course, under the loud victory song of the Bard. A massive crowd had formed for the Bard and her songs, possibly a few tipsy admirers. The Bard was a gorgeous human maiden, probably not much older than seventeen, accompanied by her musicians. Alistair knew that Leliana had been talking to the girl in between songs, but he could not find the woman anywhere. Spotting her red hair at the front of the crowd, he carefully squeezed through it, wanting very much to go unnoticed by any of his own admirers.
"Leliana!" He shouted. Seeing her head turn, she waved at him enthusiastically. The song was near its end when he got to her.
"Come for a song, Your Majesty?" She asked into his ear. He grimaced at those words.

"I-uh, not yet, I was wondering if you'd...seen Trija?" A familiar look lit up Leliana's eyes.
"Ohh, I saw her go outside with Soris." She pointed a finger towards the door and beamed at him. Alistair patted her upper arm in thanks.
"Great, thanks Leliana." He broke away from her, his walk turning into a jog. Again, the elf was no where to be seen near the exit of the estate. Late-comers were quickly coming through the massive, open double doors, arm-in-arm and in their best clothing. There were humans, elves, dwarves, even some races Alistair could not name but none of them was the Hero of Ferelden. Alistair cursed strongly under his breath, realising she had already gone...without saying goodbye. He flinched when he felt a hand placed on his shoulder. He turned around and felt the disappointment stab through him; it was Anora.
"Are you coming back to...your people, my lord?" She asked icily. Alistair took a step away from the cold woman, making her hand drop from his shoulder. She sighed.
"You know she's not going to come back, Alistair. I think you and I both know that she's too strong-minded to be humiliated in such a way as to see her love getting married." Anora scoffed.
Alistair turned around to her.
"Just what is that supposed to mean?"
"I was merely-" Anora ended her sentence. "No, never mind that now. Come back to the festivities. It seems the commoners would like you to perform them a magic trick of sorts." She added sarcastically. Adding a remark under his breath and taking one last look at the door, Alistair followed his wife.

"What are your thoughts, Your Majesty?"
Alistair looked up from the carpet he had been staring at.
"I....er, yes! War...certainly if..er-"
"What my husband means that we will, by all means, be prepared against such an attack." Anora interrupted his mumblings. The gathering seemed to exhale in relief.
"Sire, if I may suggest...?" The advisor piped up. Alistair smiled warmly at him and gestured.
"By all means..." He trailed off pathetically, not remembering his own advisor's name. The advisor did not seem to notice this, but proceeded regardless.
"I would advise that we send for the Hero of Ferelden; Trija Tabris. It has been recorded that she lives in Highever now with another Tabris. If we could have her with us, with her own soldiers, involved in the city's defense, we would be practically untouchable."

Alistair wanted to kiss the advisor. On the mouth.
"That is an excellent idea, Recro." He finally remembered the name. He could see Trija now: her icy-blue eyes, her prematurely-silver hair, strands flying to caress her cheek. She never could tie her hair properly. Perhaps it would have grown longer with the time. He knew her well though, she wouldn't have it too long. It would be in the way.
"Should I send some men to Highever, Sire?" Recro stopped his train of thought again. Alistair raised a hand to dismiss the suggestion.
"No, no, I do not mind going."
Alistair wanted to grin as much as his face would let him.

Recro had gone to the records to check exactly where Trija Tabris lived in Highever. It felt weird to think that name again after all these years of trying to bury it. Tree-jaaa Tab-risss. Alistair sounded the name out in his mind. He was surprised at the child-like excitement building up in him. It grew even more when Recro had written down the address. Aparrently it was a modest house on the outskirts of Highever, in the middle of a field, no less. That sounded just like her. Away from the little towns and little people. Alistair had assured Anora that he would be fine travelling by himself; it was not that far a journey; perhaps a day and a half.

* * *
He stood at the small house now. It was just as he had imagined it. Small, handsome and situated in the middle of a golden field, surrounded by (of course) more golden fields. There were a few children dotted around these fields, playing games and making fond memories. Alistair took a few moments to observe them, smiling to himself. The town was visible just behind the house, dwarfing it in comparison. He could hear shouting coming from the other side of the door. It was, however, not angry shouting. It was a male voice shouting part of a conversation to a friend in a faraway room. It was familiar, but not recognisable. Taking in a deep breath, Alistair placed his knuckles against the door and rapped smartly. There was a few moments of silence in which he felt like an utter fool.

"Soris! SORIS! Bloody Soris!" Screamed a calm female voice. "Can you- get the- oh bloody, hell. Since when does she bloody knock..."
The door was flung open and Alistair found himself face-to-face with none other than Trija Tabris. The wind was knocked out of him and he blinked at her stupidly for a minute. Her lips opened and closed in shock and she wore the same expression as he did. Her once short, silvery hair was now grown to her elbows, turned slightly blonde from the sun, it dazzled when caught in the sun's light. He noticed she had traded her turquoise eye make up in for a slight tinge of orange, the colour of the sun when it is about to set, her cheeks were blushing slightly; he couldn't decide why. It was odd to not see her in a heavy set of armour, but in a simple dress that matched the colour of her eye's make-up, the fabric on the arms a plain white, but the sleeves swirling down and around the arms and resting around her palms. She was still...beautiful. Even more gorgeous, if that was even possible. It was her that reacted first. She swept into a bow, something she would not have done for a human lord a few years earlier.

"Your Majesty." She uttered, her voice breathy, but just as he remembered. She straightened herself. "Please, come in."

* * *
Trija turned away from the man at door and tried to still her shaking hands by wiping them or her dress. It was a very bad idea for him to be here. She had not expected to see him ever again, especially not in her family home. She could sense him following her into the front room of the house. She wanted to kiss him, that was the first sensible thought she had; but it was not sensible. Composing herself, she turned back to the King. He seemed to stare at her for a minute before summoning up the courage to speak.
"Please..." He started. "You don't have to call me...'Your Majesty'.

Trija thought on this. "Then what will you call me?" She asked quietly. It sounded like a trick question, so Alistair hesitated before answering.
"Miss...Tabris?" He offered. The woman laughed heartily but did not take that conversation further.

"So, A-Alistair...why-what has brought you to Highever?"
"Denerim may be in some sort of danger." He sighed. "Anora thinks that Orlais is plotting against us, or something to that extent, and that they will be attacking Denerim any day soon."
"Ah. And you...how is Anora?" Trija lowered her voice. Alistair nodded.
"Oh, she's....great." Alistair cleared his throat. An awkward silence fell between them. All Trija could think of was all those years ago.

"I'm willing to...give it a shot, if you want me to."
"Just follow my lead, Alistair."

She was not sure if he was thinking of the same things, or just willing the situation to end. She decided to break the silence.
"Alistair, you should re-" Trija was interrupted by the door a few feet away banging open clumsily, and someone entering. Alistair heard the person before he saw them.

"Muu-uum!" Moaned a childish voice. It was a little girl, she looked about four years old, coming only halfway past Trija's knees, but she was walking steadily. Her blue eyes were lit up with excitement, her brown locks were probably once brushed carefully, but they were now wind-swept and dishelved. Trija put a hand to her face and cursed under her breath. "Motherr, I just pushed Jace into some mud by accident and he said he's going to get his Dad but it was an accident because he was already sitting by the mud and Alivel dared me to-"
Trija walked over to the excited little girl and knelt in front of her, placing both her hands on her shoulders.
"And do you ever think that maybe Jace gets bored of being pushed into the mud all the time by you, Sal?" The little girl narrowed her eyes at the woman.
"No." She stated matter-of-factly. Trija suppressed a laugh and sighed, getting to feet.
"Salvia, this is...well, this is Alistair. You have to be extra nice to him, ok? He's an old friend of mine and he's very scary. He knew Leliana." Salvia gasped in admiration.
"You knew Leliana?" Trija shushed the girl.
"Alistair...this is-" She was interrupted by Salvia giggling wildly. The woman sighed again.
"What are you giggling at?" Salvia tried to look innocent.
"Nothing!" She beamed.
"As I was saying," she shot Salvia a deadly look. "Alistair, this is Salvia. She's...my daughter."