Is this really happening? He asked himself.
He stood waiting. Eamon was nearby. Adorned in royal armor, embellished with gold and white, Alistair kept reminding himself to breathe. He sweat profusely underneath the layers.
The red carpet of the hallway at the Royal Palace seemed to stretch endlessly. It forced his stomach to dance, jittery, jumping with nerves. Vision tunneled, as if the hundreds of people on either side of the hall were not present. Music played, but he did not hear it.
The door at the other end of the hall opened. His stomach leapt when she entered. Breathtaking. Beautiful. He gulped.
Beaming proudly, Fergus, her brother, walked at her side. One gruelingly slow step at a time, she came closer.
Certain his heart stopped- his breathing certainly did- Alistair locked onto her intense, loving and decided stare. He remembered to inhale, slowly taking in air, stretching out his breath.
With reluctance, she looked away to see their companions and allies on either side of the aisle. It gave him a moment to observe her, donned elegantly in white and gold. Gorgeous. Brilliant. Everyone bowed as she passed. She would be a magnificent queen. His queen.
Closer. Her silvery-blue eyes met his again and Maker's breath, she smiled. Incredible. His insides twisted up and joyful tears pooled in his eyes. He had to keep blinking to make sure he was not dreaming. This fascinating woman was walking to him, to stand beside him in love. Forever.
Even closer. Caoilainn and Fergus came up a few steps until Fergus bowed and released her hand. She walked the remaining steps on her own.
Beneath her warmth, her confidence, Alistair knew she was nervous. She kept checking the ground to make sure she did not misstep. When she met him at the altar, she gripped his hand desperately. He felt her cool palms, damp with anxiety.
Her long, ashen-blonde tresses braided intricately for this event, and her beautiful eyes, made-up, large and crystalline as if she had recently cried. He understood the grief of her parents, deceased, unable to join her on this wondrous day. But Maker, she was stunning.
They turned together to face the Revered Mother. Caoilainn held Alistair's hand tightly for support through the ceremony.
Then they were married, and shared a kiss far more polite than those they shared in private to pronounce their union to Ferelden. The depth of their love and emotion was vibrant in their affection. Cheers and applause filled the hall; a few lone whistles echoed throughout. The commotion was followed by another hush when Alistair and Caoilainn turned to face the hall.
Starry-eyed, Alistair watched as Eamon placed the crown on her head. It fit perfectly, magnificently. Alistair saw the tears welled in her eyes. She never let go of his hand.
Consumed by the rapture of this special day, neither would have suspected within a year she would begin an affair with another man.
He still remembered the way her perfume smelled.
The first few days were bearable. He made it through the Inquisition meeting, refrained from interacting with Caoilainn. Just give her space. Efforts to give her time and distance wrought with impatience proved more challenging than he expected. Time and space for what? His requirement was simple. Give up Nathaniel. His mind fabricated reasons for her delay that heightened his dread.
Strolling through the encampment one morning, he observed her commanding the Grey Wardens breaking down their camp. Graciously guiding Wardens with diligence and care, she loved them and they her. Out of her sight, he watched her yelling strictly, pointing her finger to order large groups. He also saw her put her supportive hand to her Wardens backs, lifting them up when they needed help, and joining in the same tasks she ordered them to complete. She was still such a strong woman, even since the Blight. Rest, breaks in her duties or training were non-existent; still the fierce woman he met when she was just a new recruit.
Mother of Griffons. He admired, but the thoughts that followed made his heart grow heavy. I'm unnecessary confusion. She might be better off without me.
The thought had occurred to him more than once. If Caoilainn were not married to him, if she were free to command the Grey Wardens without her ties to the throne maybe she would be happier. The incessant pressure she put on herself to give him a child would be absent. She could devote herself fully to doing what she loved: being a Grey Warden.
Jealousy filled his mind. Her connection to the Wardens, something he still pined over. Wishing desperately to share the fuel the Warden bond gave regularly. He experienced it now with her army so close by. It was comforting, motivating. But he was an outsider tapping into their bond without purpose. Like a void that could never be filled, he craved to be with them. To rejoin that animal-like company she trained so well.
He shook his head to clear it. Love is unconditional. Love is sacrifice. It required him to give up his pride, overcome his naivety. Love could only prevail with work. Copious amounts of effort and in this case, a willingness to forgive for things he may consider shameful. Distrustful. He decided his love for her was more meaningful than his ego. Whenever he questioned his ability to forgive, he reminded himself that.
After watching her in her element for a few more minutes, he departed toward the Ferelden section of the camp. His emotions stirred. Love. Anger. Desperation. Deep sadness. How long can I wait for her decision? And if she leaves… for someone else? Can I handle that? He tried to stop his line of thought. As it stood now, he was waiting. Constant admonitions of the harm worrying about the unknown, the only thing that gave him peace of mind. He made it to the Ferelden encampment to discuss the state of the Ferelden Royal Army with his advisors.
They should be at the Emerald Graves forward camp in a few more days. His advisors explained as he sat at a large table in the King's tent; the advisors stood across from him. They had spread a map of the region in front of Alistair, pointing to locations on the map as they spoke. He half listened, until one mentioned the Grey Warden scouts should return within a day of their arrival to the Graves.
It meant Nathaniel would return to her.
Sharp, stabbing pain drove through Alistair's heart. He had gone ten years not talking about this with her, but now it was hard to ignore his indignation. Especially when she took so long to agree to give the man up.
He excused the advisors from his tent.
Denied rage boiled beneath, rage he thought he dealt with. Emotions brought hot, angry tears to his eyes. Tumultuous, furious. He rubbed his hands along the grainy texture of the mahogany table. Attempts to calm himself failed, to focus on his senses and replace the negative thoughts with the positive. She's waiting for him. The thought conquered his composure, his chest heaved. And in an instant, the rage boiled to the surface. His hands found the lip of the table. Yelling wordlessly, his muscles flexed. With a crash, he flipped the table over and stood. Maps and papers floated to the ground in the aftermath.
He paced the length of the tent, angry with himself for acting out on his anger, and pointedly angry with Caoilainn for her infidelity.
Face red with fury, perspiring, his heart pounded in his head. He had to breathe, deep breaths, many of them. It didn't work. Alistair let out another yell and left the tent. Walking out in the clean Orlesian air, he crossed through the encampment alone. The chill in the air was not as cold as it had been in the Emprise du Lion days prior. Now they neared the Exalted Plains, from which they would travel south.
He walked to a pond just outside of the camp. Trees surrounded and lily pads floated on the surface. Staring out into nothing, his nerves finally quieted. Throwing stones into the water seemed to help. They skipped on the surface before plunking beneath to some unknown depth. Ripples spread outward and dissipated. He watched them intently, allowing the patterns to soothe him.
"Alistair?" Her voice was smooth like honey. Caoilainn. He caught his breath but remained quiet, confused at the contradiction to the rage that fired within him a few minutes ago. "Alistair, can I speak with you?"
He closed his eyes, still facing the water. Am I ready to hear whatever she has to say? With another deep breath, he turned to face her. Standing just a few steps away, he read her posture. Shoulders slouched, not the stern and caring Commander he saw that morning. Her eyes cast downward. When she looked at him, he saw the exhaustion in her red and puffy eyes. She had been crying. Alistair nodded in response to her question.
A few steps brought her closer, but she stayed out of arm's reach. "I'm sorry." The apology was impassive, unreadable.
He felt tears tempting to rise. The worst possible explanation of her apology came to his mind. His eyes widened. No. Please, Caoilainn. Don't . He stayed silent, breath held, unable to find words.
Caoilainn sighed. He did not think it possible, but her shoulders slouched even more. "I'm sorry I've failed you."
The attempt to stay his tears was failing. They pooled slowly, delayed, unsure if they were warranted. He stood straighter, but his face wrinkled. "What are you saying?" He asked with every effort to hold the trepidation from seeping through his tone.
Caoilainn shook her head. Her eyes were watery. "I'm not…" She tried to breathe. "I'm not the woman you deserve. I don't see how you could ever forgive me.."
A few tears fell and his heart dropped to his stomach. Is she giving up? "Caoilainn… I love you. Always. We can work through this." Heartache filled him but he did not want to want to beg. Don't make me beg.
"How?" She asked harshly. "How, Alistair? You should be furious with me. Ten years, Alistair. Ten years. It's unforgivable. I know that. I knew that and I continued! You deserve so much better." Her inflection rose, angry and fervent.
Alistair's tone met the level of hers, and he crossed his arms."I am furious, Caoilainn. I'm frustrated and angry and I cannot believe that you-"
"Then why?" She interrupted him. Her hands rose toward him, palms up. She clenched her fists and shook her head. "Why did you chase me?" She paused and whispered. "… make love to me in Skyhold? For love of the Maker, Alistair, why would you do that if you're so angry?"
Alistair's sighed with disappointment. His voice lowered but the frustration audible. "How many times do I have to tell you? I love you. I always will. No matter what."
She looked away. Her brow furrowed upward, pleading. "Love isn't enough. We can't just fuck our relationship back together." Her words were sharp, but the tremble in her intonation softened the edges of her cursing.
"I know that." He looked downward and his ears reddened.
What she said was true, but the intimacy they had shared recently was powerful and undeniable. It was one way he was sure he could get through to her.
Caoilainn looked to him, jaw set, tears flowed freely. Her chest rose proudly, guarding herself for the answer to whatever she was about to ask. "And how did you learn to do all those things you did?" She paused intensely. "... Was there another woman?"
The question was unexpected. Shocked, he took a moment to answer, slowly shaking his head. "Never, Caoilainn." He gazed at her with intent and took a step forward, reaching his hand out to cradle her head, holding their eye contact. "It was only ever you."
Her chest fell, and she looked down. With her eyes closed, her shoulders shook silently for a few seconds. When her gaze lifted, she frowned. Denying his affection, she backed away. "Then where did you learn that?" He remained quiet, face neutral, lips pressed. Caoilainn's voice rose, "tell me, Alistair!"
"I can't tell you that." He mumbled, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."
Her blue eyes searched him, scrutinizing his expression for any shred of an answer. Attempting to reveal none, he stood straighter, his chin lifted just an inch.
Caoilainn gave an embittered laugh and her hand brushed a strand of her blonde hair back and held it to her head. Her mouth gaped open. "Did you… did you have spies on me? Watching me… sleep with another man?" She sneered.
Grey Wardens were notorious for their sexual prowess and appetite and Alistair knew his wife to be particularly amorous. It was an area of their relationship that diminished before she left. So he learned about her preferences with the information he gathered from his scout at Vigil's Keep. Applying what he learned in an effort to connect was now coming back to slap him in the face.
"I had no other ways of reaching you," he admitted blankly. It was not an excuse, but he feared it came across as one.
"It's sick, Alistair," she reviled.
"And what was I supposed to do?" Alistair exclaimed, his shoulders rising. His tone escalated again. "You wouldn't write back. Always conveniently absent when I tried to visit. I did what was within my power as the King."
Her eyes widened and her cheeks blushed. Her voice was low and meek, embarrassed. "Well now with your power as the King, you've had your men see me, your wife, the Queen… naked. In bed with another man. It's violating. Unconscionable. Humiliating." Brow furrowed pitifully, she maintained her tear-filled glare.
Pot, meet kettle. Insulting thoughts came to his mind, and he was tempted to berate her with them. But the argument would be useless and would not remedy their dispute; he suspected her words stemmed from her guilt.
"And I'm sorry," he offered firmly, the bitterness mostly removed from his voice. "I saw no other way." Despite the completely avoidable circumstances of her transgressions, she had a right to be upset. Her privacy was infringed upon.
Though she glowered in silence, shooting daggers at him with her eyes; he knew she was thinking about what he said. After a few long, drawn-out moments, her eyes red and swollen, her chest still rising and falling with emphasis of emotion, she replied. "I'll never be enough for you, Alistair. I am not the woman you see." She sounded frustrated. Typical for Caoilainn, having found no rebuttal to his statement, she instead admitted complete defeat. Her head turned away, crying, scowling at the ground.
His hand gently found her chin, and he moved her to face him. "Listen to me." He paused, brow creased, and let her give her teary glare until she eased. "I am telling you that you are who I love. Yes, I'm still angry… and I want to forgive you. I hope you'll do the same."
She opened her mouth to argue but Alistair shook his head. "Let me speak, my Queen." Lips closed tightly, Caoilainn stayed silent as Alistair continued. "I wouldn't be the man I am today if not for you. Because you're enough, Caoilainn. You are exactly the woman I see, standing right in front of me."
"We'll be worlds apart…" She murmured her fear. The trip from Ferelden to Vigil's Keep was minimal, but their responsibilities magnified the distance.
"But together. We'll figure it out. Let me be the man you needed all those years ago," he assured, putting his arm around her and pulling her close.
If Caoilainn's plan for a cure to the Calling proved fruitful, she might return to him earlier, he hoped. All selfish desires, he withheld reminding her this. He had no wish to pressure her into having a child just so he could have her back at his side. Especially since it would require her to leave the Wardens and the bond they shared.
Her body relaxed in his arms. She eased into him and her arms wrapped around his neck. Close, warm, she looked up to him. Tears still streamed, but she gave a tired and hopeful smile which he reciprocated with his own. Holding her tight, Caoilainn whimpered as he tilted her back. Supporting her weight in his arms, his lips pressed against hers. She melted, sighing, welcoming his affection as her arms bound around him. Eventually, he broke from the kiss and steadied her on her feet.
"I need to go," she mumbled, looking downward and tucking loose hair behind her ear. He sensed her reluctance, the loving delay, and the worry stirred beneath.
The mysterious woman, so aloof and guarded. He came too close, too quickly. Their trust still needed to be rebuilt. Though he wanted to hold her tighter and assure that their relationship would heal no matter her fears, now was not the time.
"I love you, Alistair," she breathed, kissing his cheek before walking away. She avoided his eyes.