It was a standard morning in Skyhold. Fighters practiced in the yard. Ambassadors from various allies met with one another, consulting about the most recent political actions of the Orlesian civil war, or the casualties at the most recent battle.

The stronghold was oblivious of the pending arrival of their most sizable ally.

Then the ground began to rumble. A low and steady purr that was sensed only by a few. The sound of marching soldiers' feet beating on the ground grew louder and louder as they drew near, until it seemed like the entire keep was shaking in an earthquake. Hundreds of men marched under the banner of Ferelden: two center facing, red rampant mabari on gold. The sigil of House Theirin. 'One from Many' were their words.

A white steed carried the King at the front of the sea of men. Alistair had been offered a private carriage, but he declined. Just because he was King did not mean he was above riding his own damn horse, he thought. Being treated like a child was Alistair's least favorite part of the whole King business. As if making important decisions for the Kingdom was so challenging that he had to be coddled when he was not in court. In fact, he was not even supposed to be here, on his way to Skyhold.

His wife, the clever and tenacious queen that she was, thought she could sneak 500 of his men right from under his nose. She had been avoiding him for nearly five years now, evading her obligations to the crown and her commitments to their marriage. In a number of ways. But alas, despite her dreadful display of affection, he still loved her deeply.

Her heart beat faster as she observed the army approaching. Her mouth was dry, the pit in her stomach seemed to be growing, and a sensation of nausea was taking over. Something was not right.

In pursuit of some sort of control over the situation, Caoilainn crossed the yard to climb the stairs to the battlements. With a better view of the sight before her, her eyes narrowed like a hawk.

The banners were visible and the lines of bodies became clear in her view. Dumbfounded, she blinked… and blinked again.
At the head of the army was a white horse, gilded with elaborate, red armor. Riding it was a handsome man with a shit-eating grin on his face. A man with strawberry blonde hair. He was wearing the Ferelden crown.

Caoilainn's jaw dropped.

The army stopped some yards away from the gate, but the man on the white steed trotted closer.

"Hi honey!" He yelled up to Caoilainn who looked down from the battlements, mouth gaping.
Caoilainn was suddenly dizzy but she stared back blankly. Wordless.

Without realizing that she was moving, her feet dutifully carried her down the stairs of the battlements. Surprisingly, she managed to descend the stairway without falling over from shock. Caoilainn pondered her own sanity as she turned to watch his horse trot through the gate. Given the choice, she would rather assume she was losing her mind than admit this was not a hallucination.

She faced him. Time stopped for Caoilainn when they made eye contact, his gaze and cheeky grin leaving her immobile. She knew she was in trouble.

Alistair knew she knew she was in trouble.

Even after the incredibly long ride to get here, which he may have rushed just for this particular moment, Alistair was excited. Yes, his ass hurt from riding, he was hungry for a decent meal, and longed for a real bed, but the satisfaction he got from the look on his wife's face when she saw him was worth it. He had instantly spotted her looking down at him from the battlements. She was that predictable.

There's that look of utter dismay, he thought lovingly as they locked eyes in the yard. She'd been caught, red handed.
The 500 man army standing behind him was proof. Of course, he could have nixed Caoilainn's request when he found out about it, but he knew this would surely be more fun. The striking woman who stared back at him had the face of someone who was finally met with repercussions of an excess of power. Caoilainn had been untouchable for too long, and her ego had bloated as her influence grew.

Underneath his amusement with knocking her from her high horse, as he sat atop his, he genuinely longed for her company. For her smile, her touch, and her love. Undeniably, the sight of Caoilainn- simply being in her presence- tugged at his heart like a line for which she had the reel. He didn't disparage this fact; it simply was. That did not stop him from finding enjoyment from teasing her in the meantime.

"My love…," he greeted. His voice rang with his familiar pet name for her. It was what he always called Caoilainn, once he admitted feelings all those years ago. It was soft and kind and for a moment, she thought Alistair would give her a pass for this particular transgression. "Dear," the word stung. It was an appropriate way for a nobleman to address his wife and Alistair used it deliberately, sarcastically. "What do you think you're doing with my army?"

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