Thanks to mutive for all her help!

-o-

This was an enormous waste of time, Anora thought, as she considered the players. Irving and Greagoir both surely had more important things to do, and she could tell by the irritated looks they kept sharing that they tended to agree with her. Arl Eamon had insisted on this meeting, though, and Alistair allowed it, because it was Eamon.

"Connor needs to come home," Eamon said. "I know he's a mage, and traditionally mages are trained in the Circle Tower, but mages don't usually have the resources that I do. I can hire a private tutor for him."

"Right," Greagoir said, under his breath. "Because that worked out so well the first time."

"It would be different now," Eamon said. He glanced at Isolde, who was standing quietly behind him. "Obviously my wife made a grievous error in hiring a blood mage to tutor our son. I propose that we hire someone officially, through the Circle Tower, and set up a private school for him at the castle, so that he can be home with us. I'm willing to pay any amount."

"I suppose that... could work," Alistair allowed.

Irving crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't understand why the Arl thinks he should get special treatment," he groused.

"Because he's an Arl," said Anora. The men turned to glare at her. She returned the look coolly. "I'm sure you get special treatment because you are the First Enchanter, and the Knight-Commander." She raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me that you think that you don't."

"Even so," Greagoir said. Anora sighed and looked away.

"Connor is well cared for," Irving said. "There are many other kids his age at the Tower, so he's not so lonely anymore. In some ways I expect he's happier with us than he was in Redcliffe." Anora glanced at him; this was not the best argument to use with the boy's parents, and Irving seemed to realize it too late. He cleared his throat. "We've made sure that he's been assigned the very best teachers. We know he's an important child, and we are both doing our very best to assure he has a positive experience."

Alistair frowned. "It's not really a substitute for a family, though, is it?" he said.

"The Circle is a type of family," Greagoir said. He folded his arms. "I don't see why this is even a question."

"He needs to be with his mother," Isolde said, tears glittering at the corners of her eyes. "He needs to know I still love him."

"You could visit him," Alistair suggested.

"Actually, she can't," Greagoir said. Anora looked at Irving, who nodded his agreement. "We don't let apprentices see their families, as it disrupts their studies. It's a very delicate time and they need the isolation." He shrugged. "At least until they pass their Harrowing."

"Which could kill him!" Isolde screeched. The Orlesian woman burst into a fit of perfectly understandable tears, and all the men fell to pieces over her. Anora sighed. She did not think there was anything she could do to help the situation. The answer seemed obvious to her, but Eamon was Eamon, and Isolde was typically hysterical. She sat and silently watched her husband dither.

"Isolde, don't cry, please," Alistair said. "Look, I know the Templars are... scary." He glanced at Greagoir. "I'm sorry, I'm sure you know I have some problems with your organization. But they do serve a purpose. Maybe it isn't the best place for a child to grow up, and we can think about changing that system in the long run, but I think the Circle is the best place for Connor, right now." He looked at Eamon, and the Arl glowered back at him. "Or maybe not." Alistair turned to her and said, "Help me out here, Anora."

Anora blinked, startled to hear her name. Alistair's eyes met hers, and she looked to the Arl and his wife.

"We need to do whatever Irving and Greagoir think is best," she said, as Alistair sat back and watched her. "I understand you are concerned about your child, but they are the experts in this, not you. It might be different if he were a lesser talent, but he's already proven himself to be dangerous." She glanced quickly at Alistair, who made a small movement with his hand. She said, "He belongs in the Tower."

Alistair nodded. "I have to agree."

"But—"

The King shrugged and that was the end of it. Eamon bowed. He shepherded his wife on his arm, and took his leave of them. The First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander bowed and followed after.

When they had gone, it occurred to Anora that she had not been alone with Alistair for almost a week. Through a bit of snooping, she had discovered that he had been sleeping in a guest room in the east wing, and had let him be. Alistair spread his hands, in an expression she didn't quite understand, and she drew a breath.

"I really appreciate that you want my advice," she said.

He cocked his head to the side. "Of course I want your advice," he said. "You're really smart, and I'm, you know... not."

Anora considered this and sighed. "You're not actually all that stupid, Alistair," she said. "You just like to pretend."

"Yes, it's an elaborate ruse," Alistair said, laughing. "I'm actually an evil genius. And here I thought I had you fooled."

He smiled at her. Anora's eyes found the delicate scar at his jaw and followed it to his ear. It might have been caused be an arrow, she thought, the point grazing his chin as he turned away from it. Widest at the center, beneath the crease of his smile, it tapered out toward the ends and disappeared into tendrils.

"Zevran," he said. When she looked confused, Alistair ran his thumb along the scar. "He got a shot in before we took him down, and this was before we found Wynne, so it didn't close neatly. Smarmy bastard teased me about it, too, once we'd recruited him." Anora nodded, and he dropped his hand. "You were staring."

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." She looked away quickly. "I hope you aren't self conscious about it, Alistair. I mean, really." She shrugged. "If anything, it adds to your appeal."

Alistair frowned. "My what?"

"Oh, please." Anora met his eyes and laughed. "Alistair, you know you're handsome."

Cailan had always known, anyway; he had been rather cocksure about it. Alistair shifted in his chair. His brow wrinkled as he returned her gaze suspiciously, and Anora felt unexpectedly exposed. She shook her head.

"Well, I should get to work," she said, pushing herself to her feet. "Good day, your Majesty." His eyes followed her as she strode out of the room.

-o-

Anora stood by the shelf in her study, looking for a book. She knew the Temple of Andraste was going to become an issue, in the very near future, and she needed to brush up on the specifics. She pulled out Thedas: Myths and Legends and sat down with it, opened it to the page on the sacred ashes, and read it again for the fourth time.

She didn't know why she bothered. Brother Genitivi was a terrible writer, and sometimes his prose was completely opaque. Anora was annoyed by his use of gerunds.

There was a knock at the door, a staccato double-single strike that she recognized as Alistair's. "Come in," she said, without looking up.

He entered. She glanced at him quickly, and noticed he was flushed. It was possible he had been running, she thought. The scar seemed brighter against his skin.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," she said.

"What are you up to?" he asked. He gestured at the book in her hands. "Obsessing about minutia again, I expect."

Anora frowned. "I'm trying to run the kingdom, Alistair." She drummed her fingers along the spine of the book. "You'd be surprised how fortifying it can be."

Alistair shifted, a tension passing across his shoulders. "I didn't come here to insult you," he said. She exhaled and wasn't sure she believed that. "I just came because I realized... well... I realized you were trying to be nice to me, before. When you said..." Anora looked up, and his voice trailed off. "Eamon once told me you were quite the charmer, but I've never really seen it before, so I didn't recognize it."

Anora gave him a quizzical look, and he shook his head. "That came out wrong," he said. "I mean... Thank you. It was very sweet of you to say." He sighed. "All I really meant to say was 'thank you.' I don't know what all the rest of this was about."

Anora set aside her book. "You're welcome," she said.

They stared at each other. Anora noticed he had his hands behind his back, and she tilted her hand to the side. Alistair stepped towards her. He brought his hands out in front of him, clasped together around something she couldn't see.

"Hold out your hand," he said. "I have something for you." He opened his hands and deposited a pile of wilted leaves and petals into her waiting palm. Anora inspected them curiously.

"It's a dead rose." She looked up at him, cocking an eyebrow. "I don't get it."

"Oh, well... hmm. It wasn't always so dead. I guess I've been carrying it around for a really long time now." Alistair took a deep breath. "I tried to give it to Nya once, but she didn't want it."

Anora was still cocking an eyebrow. "So now you're giving it to me. This very dead rose." She looked at the sad bits of flora in her hand again. "Thanks?"

"It's not just a dead rose," he said quickly. "See, we were in Lothering right before it got sacked. The place was in pretty bad shape, but it happened to be that there was this one flower there, behind the Chantry. Actually, I found out later that the flower might possibly be holy. It had something to do with Leliana's vision, but I didn't know that at the time." Anora stared at him blankly. Alistair paused to take a breath before continuing, and she saw color climbing up his neck. "I just picked it because I thought it was pretty," he said. "It was the one pretty thing in all that darkness. Which is sort of like you, I guess. I don't know. You're very pretty." He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "This all sounds really pathetic, saying it out loud. It seemed more romantic in my head."

Anora still didn't understand. "You want me to have this?" she asked, puzzled.

He shrugged. "I guess."

She cupped the flower in her hands. It was the sorriest excuse for a flower that she had ever seen, so completely beat up and tragically withered and tied together with a story that was equal parts silly and sad. It was the most hopelessly sentimental gift she was ever likely to receive. It was cloying and treacly and sort of cute.

"I'll... treasure it always," she said, frowning.

-o-