To Sit in Solemn Silence
Her powers of persuasion were astounding. First the blacksmith, then Dwyn, then the bloody Revered Mother. In less than three hours, she'd had Redcliffe up and running again, ready for a new fight against the undead. The others had wandered off to help in various parts of town, and the two Grey Wardens sat near the docks in silence.
Elaine asked suddenly, "Why did you keep your birthright a secret?"
Alistair started at the question. "I – I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I should have. I didn't want it to define me. I've always been treated differently because of it. Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting. I didn't want you to do that. I wanted you to like me for me, not for who my father was."
"Alistair, it does define you. You're the heir to the throne."
"No – no, I'm not. I never wanted to be. I'm not now. I haven't been raised for that. I don't want that."
She smiled at him a bit sadly. "First rule of being a nobleman, Alistair – it doesn't really matter what you want. What matters is what people expect of you."
"Good thing I'm not a nobleman then."
"You are."
"I'm not."
"What are we, five years old? You're King Maric's son. And no amount of common blood on your mother's side is going to erase that."
He was silent. She sighed. "Alright. Look, we're going to have to deal with this sooner or later. But, for now, we have an army of the undead to defeat. So, let's focus on that. Truce?"
"Truce." They sat quietly for a few moments more. "Have you ever noticed that you only call me by my name when you're upset with me? You never say it when you're laughing at me or ordering me around, but as soon as we have an argument, it's Alistair this and Alistair that."
"Are you trying to start another argument, Alistair?"
He grinned at her. "See?" She rolled her eyes and smiled back.