A/N: The rating on the story has officially changed. Nothing too graphic, but it's definitely not rated "K" anymore.
Lyra and Alistair sat at a small table, vellum and graphite sticks scattered in front of them as they listened to Chanter Sarah's history lecture. Lyra's gaze went to the window, and Alistair nudged her as the chanter's eyes narrowed.
Outside, full preparations for Summerday were underway…incredible smells were drifting in on the wind as the entire village baked and cooked in order to provide enough food to last for several days. Alistair knew that Gert was busier than a fiend in the kitchens. She'd barely given him his customary bowl of porridge this morning before she had gone back to bullying the rest of the kitchen staff into working harder and quicker. Alistair had eaten quickly and gotten out, not wanting to catch any of her wrath as it flew through the hot kitchen.
He had dawdled around all morning, wanting to go down into the field and play with the other children, but nervous about doing so without Lyra there. Alistair didn't go to school with the village children, and there weren't any others in the castle that would play with him. The servants who had children discouraged interaction because of his status as Eamon's ward, and not many nobles brought their children on state visits. When they did, their parents were usually quick to keep them away. As a result, Alistair had had very few playmates in his life, and without the small girl's easy acceptance and confident leadership he felt rather lost. He didn't like the idea of running into Thomas Howe again, either.
So he spent the morning tossing a ball against the wall of the castle, and then when Chanter Sarah arrived for afternoon lessons he dragged her upstairs to Lyra's room, where Eleanor explained the situation. Chanter Sarah was more than happy to have another pupil, and the two children spent the afternoon listening to lectures and writing an essay about the evils of fighting and the merits of good decorum. Lyra was bored absolutely to tears by the time the sky was beginning to fade orange and pink, and the noises from the village were culminating into something that promised excitement. Chanter Sarah gathered Alistair and their supplies and left the room, and she ran to the window to feast her eyes on the activities below.
Eleanor watched the small boy leaving with Chanter Sarah, and decided that her daughter had suffered enough. She'd been an angel all day, and so Eleanor decided to let Lyra out early for good behavior. It was Summerday, after all, and it would be a shame for the girl to miss all of the activities that happened after the sun went down. She entered the room and broke the news to her daughter, whose eyes lit up with fierce joy. Lyra hurtled herself into her mother's arms, covering her face with kisses. Eleanor couldn't help but laugh at her daughter's exuberance.
"I'll be so good, Ma. Promise," Lyra said. "No more fighting, even if Thomas rubs mud in my hair again!"
"Very well," Eleanor smiled. "But if there's even a smidgeon of trouble…" she let the words trail off meaningfully, and Lyra's sunny face went solemn.
"Promise, Ma," she said. Eleanor kissed her cheek, and Lyra scampered out the door, calling to Alistair. The boy's face lit up as she came charging down the hall, and the two of them were downstairs and running out to the field less than a minute later. There was much to do, and Lyra was determined to squeeze every ounce of fun out of the next several hours. They ate, ran, jumped, played, and twirled themselves into exhaustion in the soft green grass, eventually falling down to lie on their backs and stare up at the brilliance of the night sky. Alistair pointed out the constellations he'd learned from Chanter Sarah, and Lyra yawned, eventually curling up beside the boy and falling asleep in the warm, sweet summer air. He was moments behind her, and Eleanor found them later, sleeping as soundly as only children can after spending their energy completely.
.oOo.
"I want you to talk with Eamon," Eleanor said to her husband that night as she was preparing for bed. "I'd like to offer to foster Alistair at Highever."
Bryce looked up in surprise from the book he was reading. "You want to foster him?" Eleanor nodded firmly. He closed the book and set it aside, his face growing serious.
"Eleanor…if you want to have another child, it's not too late…"
"Don't be silly, Bryce. I don't think I could have another if I wanted to – we were afraid when Lyra came along unexpectedly, and I'm much too old now. But that isn't the point." She lowered herself to sit beside him, and took his hand.
"You should have seen him in the room with her, Bryce," she said. "Lyra was more focused and better behaved than I've ever seen her. And the boy is charmed with Fergus…he could use some friends, and it wouldn't hurt our standing if he really is Maric's son."
"Politics, Eleanor," Bryce sighed. "And if he's not Maric's son?"
"Then you gain another loyal knight for your household. Rory Gilmore is being trained already, along with three or four other boys – it wouldn't be difficult for Alistair to settle in. He's so starved for affection…you should have seen him yesterday when I was tending his hurts. The poor thing looked as if he'd never been spoken kindly to in his life."
Bryce considered. "It's no small thing you're asking me, dear. And we don't know what Eamon wants for him…" he took his wife's hand and squeezed it, and Eleanor's eyes pleaded.
"Eamon might not know what he wants for him. If you make the proposal, at least he can consider it," Eleanor said, putting as much reason into her argument as she could.
"It means that much to you?" Bryce asked, his eyes hesitant. Eleanor nodded. Bryce rubbed the back of his neck and struggled to find the right words that would both placate his wife and leave him an out from a potentially bad situation.
"Look, Eleanor, let's not make any decisions right now. I can appreciate your intentions, but let's just observe him for the rest of the week, and then I can talk to Eamon." Bryce kissed his wife's cheek, and Eleanor huffed in annoyance and crossed her arms at him. Bryce began to laugh.
"And you wonder where Lyra gets it," he chuckled.
.oOo.
The moon crested over Redcliffe, and eventually only the most serious revelers remained in the square. Most of the nobility had returned to the castle by midnight, although not everyone was in bed yet.
"You are a minx," Cailan said playfully. Anora smiled in response, and tapped her finger on the map on the desk, trying to recall him to the task at hand.
"Cailan, be serious for three seconds, please. The Bannorn is experiencing drought. Your father is handling the problem, but—"
The prince groaned, and came to stand behind her. He slid his hands around her waist and moved to press his lips against the smooth skin of her neck, and she ducked sideways to avoid him.
"Focus, Cailan," she said, and he sighed, and looked at the map.
"Where are the most fertile areas of the Bannorn?" she asked, and he jabbed randomly at the map, not even feigning interest.
"Not even close! Cailan, honestly…you'll be the king someday. You must take all these things into account—"
"It's Summerday, Anora," he complained. "A holiday that celebrates life and love, and here we sit, studying maps. Do you know what most of the people of Redcliffe are doing right now?"
"Sleeping?" Anora arched a perfect brow.
"Not exactly." Cailan drew her hair aside and breathed in the scent of her skin, freshened by lilacs and powder. She stiffened, but he was too far gone to notice.
"When are you going to give in to me, Anora?" he murmured, and turned her around. She pasted a bright smile onto her face before he could notice her discomfort.
"My prince, we aren't married yet. There are proprieties that must be adhered to…"
"Damn that," Cailan whispered, and drew her in to kiss her deeply. Her response was automatic, sliding her hands around his neck and matching his fervor. His arms tightened around her waist, and he groaned, feeling her body pressed so near to his. She ended the kiss a moment later in an attempt to control the fallout. Cailan was clearly disappointed.
"I love you, Anora," he whispered, his brows furrowing. "I really don't see why we can't be married now. We're adults –"
"Adults? You think eighteen and nineteen is adult. Really," she laughed, her mind racing to put him off. She knew she would have to marry him eventually, but…
"Yes, I think eighteen and nineteen is adult. Adult enough for this," Cailan said. "You grow more beautiful every day, and you're driving me insane! If you're not ready to get married, I understand. We'll wait. But don't keep putting me off…" His eyes pleaded with her. "You have no idea what I feel for you."
Hormones, Anora thought distastefully. She looked back at the map, and inspiration struck.
"Cai, learn the map, and I'll allow…something," she said, and his eyes lit up.
"What kind of something?" he grinned, and she grimaced inwardly at the keen look that covered his features.
"Learn the map, and find out," she teased, and wondered how much longer she'd be able to keep this up.
.oOo.
Maric ran his hand over his hair, making it glint with red highlights in the lamplight. Loghain sat nearby, a stern look on his face. The king was trying to get something across, and he finally settled for the simplest words possible, ending his inner struggle to find phrasing that would soften the shock.
"I want to make it official, Loghain. I want to claim him." He glanced up at Loghain's blue eyes, which hardened at his words.
"Maric, you can't," Loghain said. Maric glowered at him.
"Why not? The heir and the spare, right? Why wouldn't the Landsmeet accept him?" Maric jumped up and began to pace. Loghain sighed, and rubbed his forehead as Maric continued to speak.
"I really thought I could do it, Loghain. I really thought I could leave him here, and just keep my hands out of his life…but seeing him now—I want my son," Maric said. "He doesn't have to know about his mother. We can keep that a secret—"
"He may not even survive past thirty!" Loghain exploded. "He may have been Tainted by that damned knife ear—"
Maric strode forward and seized Loghain's collar, his eyes blazing. "Don't you ever, ever speak that way of Fiona! She was a hero….the Grey Wardens have more honor than you or I will ever have. They give their lives for Ferelden."
"So do soldiers, my liege," Loghain said, unimpressed with this bout of passion. Maric glared at him for another moment, and then let him go and continued to pace.
"You're not supposed to know about the Taint," Maric muttered. "I was a fool to tell you. Fiona wasn't even supposed to tell me about that."
"What do you think would happen if Alistair's parentage were discovered?" Loghain challenged, and Maric ignored him, his eyes on the rug as he walked.
"Have you considered it at all, my lord?" Loghain continued, watching Maric work out his demons. "The child of a Grey Warden? They're not supposed to involve themselves with politics.You are the one who allowed the Wardens back into the country. Not everyone agreed with that decision. It took a lot to gain the support for that. And now you've managed to get yourself a child – a son – on one of the Wardens. How will that look? What will the Landsmeet think of that? They'll think the Wardens are trying to take over, and that you're in league with them. That they're using you."
Maric's eyes closed. Loghain leaned back in his chair, watching his king's reaction. He knows this already, Loghain thought. He just needs me to say the words.
"Then we'll keep the secret. We can continue the story that I told Eamon, that his mother was a serving girl."
"Maric, you're a damned fool," Loghain said. "The Landsmeet won't accept him, and you know it as well as I. Illegitimate children are not welcomed…you know that! You'll only put yourself in a weakened position. Cailan is grown, and he's engaged to Anora. Let them provide the spare. Let them be married."
Maric shook his head. "Cailan isn't ready for marriage, and he's certainly not ready to be a father."
"Is anyone ever?" Loghain said. "Were you? Was I? He'll learn. Maric…" he stood, and stepped in front of his old friend, who was threatening to wear a track in the rug.
"Cailan is your heir. This is what's been established, and there is nothing wrong with that plan. Don't try and change things now," Loghain said.
Maric dropped helplessly back into a chair. Loghain watched him for a moment and then began to excuse himself, hoping the subject was closed, but Maric cut him off.
"Then at least let him come to the palace. He can be fostered with me there. He doesn't have to be my heir – but let me have him. Let me have the son I want," Maric said, and Loghain's heart iced over.
"You have a son. Cailan. Be his father first," Loghain snarled, and struggled to rein in his temper.
He had watched Maric's oldest boy grow, seeing Queen Rowan in his eyes and on his face…the woman he had loved, who he had forced to return to Maric and honor their betrothal for the good of the country. He should have been mine, Loghain thought bitterly. Cailan should have been my son, and Rowan my wife.
Maric's eyes pressed shut, and then he laughed, a harsh, broken, hopeless sound.
"He wouldn't even look at me, Loghain…." Maric whispered. "He's my son…"
"All a man has to do to get a son is spend a few moments with a woman," Loghain said. "You haven't raised him, or spent time with him. Eamon has done all of that."
"It can't be too late," Maric said, and ran his hand over his hair again, making it stand on end. "There must be a way..."
"He may be your son…but you're not his father," Loghain said. "Let him go, Maric. Be the king."
The king of Ferelden nodded slowly, and hid his face in his hands.
.oOo.
Loghain returned to his rooms and poured himself a drink, needing to forget about the conversation he'd just had with Maric. He downed it, and then poured another finger of whiskey into his cup, moving to the window and opening it to let the cool breezes of the night into the stuffy room. He sipped, thinking of the king's strange obsession with Alistair.
It's seeing the boy here that's done it, Loghain thought. It'll get worse when he's sent to Denerim. Perhaps… he considered, and threw back his second drink, much faster than was good for him. He moved to the table and poured a third, then took the bottle with him and sat in a chair before the alcohol hit his system hard and made him stagger. It was a fine malt, and he suspected he'd be finishing the bottle.
Thoughts of Rowan snaked through his mind, and he remembered her touch, her scent, the way her eyes had pleaded with him as he pushed her away…
Had to be done. His thoughts were fuzzy as he recalled his part in the king's marriage. Rowan and Maric were betrothed. Had to be married…to unite the country. He took a long pull of the whiskey. Damn Maric. Couldn't appreciate her, couldn't see she was worth ten of that elf…Katriel… He took another pull of his drink, and laughed aloud at the next thought that came to him.
And then Fiona. The man has a type, Loghain sniggered.
He thought of his duty to Ferelden, and was resentful for a moment of everything he'd done, that he continued to do. Should've been born higher, he thought. If I sat the throne, I'd rule well. Better than Maric. Better than Cailan… he thought of his daughter, and his heart softened at the thought of Anora becoming the queen. She's Cailan's only hope, he mused with some amusement, the alcohol affecting his thought patterns. My smart girl. Need to get them married… He set the glass down, his head spinning.
We will hold this country. His thoughts were full of determination. Orlais be damned to hell.
His steward found him a few hours later, passed out in the chair, the bottle of whiskey empty on the floor. The man prepared him for bed and shut the door behind him, leaving Loghain to snore beneath his blankets until the morning.
A/N: Credit to KnightOfHolyLight for the idea of Alistair being fostered at Highever! Eleanor loved the idea, what can I say? Also, I hope this clears up any confusion that might have sprung up about Maric's easy give-in about sending Alistair to the chantry. Love and kisses! ~Eve