Chapter 59: Honor and Glory

The fire burned hotly in the cold night, consuming the royal body of King Maric's son with its cleansing flames. Only two people watched the burning and they stood as still as the statues that guarded the Tower of Ishal. Having thoroughly routed out the darkspawn that inhabited the fortress for so long after its fall, the pair weren't concerned about having been left alone by their friends.

Wynne, exhausted by the battles and constant healing of her companions, retired to her tent while Zevran simply bowed out and left to his own devices, which was really to watch over Hadrian and Alistair without being intrusive about it. Something about this moment told the dark-skinned elf that perhaps Hadrian needed to be alone with his lover. He had never seen the way Hadrian looked like he did now – eyes almost blank and trembling hands, especially when the body was taken down from the spikes it was forced unto at the bridge. The man acted as if he intimately knew the former King of Ferelden but Zevran knew better than to ask, especially with how Alistair was behaving around him.

As if sensing his thoughts, Alistair's eyes snapped upwards and red eyes flashed angrily at him before softening immediately when Hadrian turned into his arms, soft hiccups echoing out in the frigid air. Apparently, standing sentinel wasn't enough but it was all right. Zevran wanted to see how Wynne was doing anyways. Perhaps he could convince to lay his head in her bosom and perhaps she would deny him that comfort once again.

-o0o-

Little wolf, I can smell you now...you can't hide from me

The voice hissed out menacingly at him and Hadrian found himself running through the woods, branches hitting him in the face while shadowy figures chased him down. Guttural shouts followed him until he reached the edge of the forest only to find himself looking at his own family's castle, encased in an angry conflagration. Screams and shrieks rippled throughout the area; the voices of the dying reached out to Hadrian and the young man started to head into the hearth of his home when something pulled him back.

"You're too late..." His father whispered to him, the burnt skin peeling off his face so as to reveal the glistening muscles underneath. Bone shimmered where it was laid bare to Hadrian's horrified eyes and a pink tongue could be seen moving between rows of teeth.

"You left us to die at Howe's hand," cried out his mother and her hands took his, only to wrap them around her throat. Against his will, she tightened them until choked gasps were all Hadrian heard. He tried to pull away but the hold was too strong and, thus, he helplessly watched his mother die by his hand.

"You were supposed to train me to use a sword," little Oren cried out and he appeared before the man, a sword having pierced his chest. "not to die by one...Uncle"

"No! No! I tried to save you...I didn't want to leave!" Hadrian shrieked and he all but collapsed to his knees, sobbing in his hands as the voices of the dead crowded him in accusatory tones.

"Hadrian..." A newer voice, belonging to the only one he has touched and still lives. The deep growl had him look up, despite his fear of seeing the dead staring down at him, and there Alistair stood in front of him. The man's back was to him so he couldn't see the deep red eyes flash angrily at the intruders. All he saw was the golden armor glinting so brightly that he had to close his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them again, the dead had vanished into the very darkness they were formed from and Alistair was gone.

"Alistair?" Hadrian called out and his own voice echoed back at him. "Alistair?!"

Then an answering howl rang out and Hadrian turned around only to come face to face with a monstrous being that he had only seen once.

"And so we meet again, Hadrian," the behemoth spoke out in a reverent tone, as if the entity was more awed by the sight of a mere mortal than the other way around. "You've grown much since the last time you were here."

"You're..." The implication that he would be visited by the one responsible for his "gift" weighed heavily in his mind.

The behemoth chuckled but with the way his serrated teeth snapped at the empty air made him a little apprehensive about what the High Lord would do to him.

"High Lord is one of the many names your kind has given me...perhaps you will know my true name in time, as all mortals do."

"Where is Zarieth?" Hadrian was fully aware of his Wolf Protector's absence since his loss of control due to Flemeth's subtle manipulation. The wolf had not made an appearance since then and it worried Hadrian. Such an event had not happened before and the young man wondered if he had lost Zarieth forever.

The High Lord let out a harsh bark of laughter and the sound of it caused the little hairs on Hadrian's neck to stand up.

"Worry not, little wolf. He is needed elsewhere, however, as your own self is taking over, thanks to Alistair's rise to Alpha status. There is much to do for you both and this Blight is but a small stepping stone to your greatness or to your doom."

The words echoed endlessly around him as the entity's form dissipated into the darkness, leaving Hadrian alone once again.

Blue eyes snapped open and the young man jolted out of his bedroll, gasping as the last vestiges of his nightmare drifted away only to leave behind a warm sensation of another body lying next to him. The fire's soft orange hues encased Alistair's body, making him appear more like a sleeping beauty rather than a savage warrior that Hadrian has known him to be. Lines of worry and stress on his face smoothed out in sleep and Hadrian was sorely tempted to retrace those lines with his fingers. However, his movements must have woken his lover up as well for Alistair's eyes fluttered open and refocused on him.

"...hey..." Alistair's voice was hoarse from slowly waking up but Hadrian didn't mind it. "You're ok?"

"Yeah..." Hadrian didn't care to elaborate on why he was awake before dawn. Alistair slowly sat up and wrapped his arms around him, all the while gently nuzzling his throat.

"Bad dreams again?" Alistair murmured softly and Hadrian moaned at the sensation of soft lips pressing gently against his skin.

"More like reminders of what I lost because of this damned war," Hadrian sighed heavily. "They would have liked you, you know? Especially...especially father and little Oren."

"Tell me about them," Alistair gently asked of him and Hadrian did, surprisingly. He told stories of how he and Fergus would play pranks on each other well until they were of age to find a young noblewoman and marry. He even told Alistair the details of how he was given this gift of lycanthropy but without the bloodlust involved. The subject of King Cailan having initiated a relationship, short and sweet as it was, caused Alistair's eyes to narrow a little bit in jealousy but that was all the reaction Alistair had when Hadrian made references to his past relationships. Nathan Howe was spoken of in disdain for Hadrian did not know either way if the father and the son had plotted his family's downfall together or separately.

"Howe will be there at the Palace when we confront Loghain," Alistair pointed out and Hadrian unwittingly let out a snarl in response. "And we will kill him and Loghain for what they've done."

"Much as I wish to," Hadrian replied, "the Landsmeet is the only way to sway the nobles to our cause. Killing a man who was deemed a hero to them without sufficient evidence will hinder us even more."

"Good thing we're seeing Arl Eamon today then, hmmm? That pesky Archdemon won't wait for a bunch of doddard fools to make their minds up and say 'it's the Blight, nor Orlais we should be worried about!'"

The last statement made Hadrian laugh a bit and he couldn't help but relax in Alistair's arms. This was why he submitted so easily to another man. This strange comforting and loving man was the only one who could possibly make him laugh in a time like this.

"C'me on. We should catch some more sleep before we have to meet with old graybeard," Alistair whispered in his ear and Hadrian found himself all too willing to follow his lover's advice.

Alistair's endearing name of 'old graybeard' certainly matched Arl Eamon's tenacity in manipulating events to his favour as well as voicing out his complaints regarding their relationship. While Hadrian dearly wanted to just grab his lover and run away from all the political machinations of nobles, the young noble knew that they needed Arl Eamon to speak for them at the Landsmeet. The old man may be manipulative but he still cared for the welfare of his vassals and the commoners of Ferelden. Bonds formed out of war and strife could not so easily be broken. Thus, while Hadrian disliked how Arl Eamon handled his affairs, treating Alistair poorly a decade ago and at the behest of an Orlesian woman, the young man still respected the older lord as a person. His father often spoke of Arl Eamon with great fondness and the relationship between the two oldest noble families was strong, made even stronger now when having to fight together against a common enemy.

Hadrian watched with a careful eye the two nobles conversing in quiet tones near the fireplace. Even leaning against the wall furthest away from the hearth, his body felt comfortingly warm. Armor was replaced with satin clothes, a style befitting that of the second most powerful noble family. Fergus was also there, standing off to the side and with Zevran close at hand. He wouldn't dare to say this to his friend, but Zevran's small stature and almost submissive attitude when compared to his own brother clearly indicated that the elf was certainly the "girl" of the relationship. Then again, perhaps Zevran's numerous encounters with men in the bedroom would trump that card. Who knows and Hadrian shook his head, trying to shake away the awful images of his brother and the elf entangling themselves in bed.

"What yer shakin' yer head for, Warden?" A deep voice broke through the images, thankfully, and Hadrian, a little startled that a large and bulky dwarf had sneaked up on him, jumped a bit before stilling and then realizing that the red-haired dwarf had no alcohol on his breath. A remarkable thing indeed.

"Oghren, are you ok?" He had to ask and the dwarf gave him a baleful glare before simply shrugging his shoulders.

"Just realized that perhaps not being drunk at least once in a year would get Felsi in bed with me quicker than I can say 'nug-humper."

"I'm sure," Hadrian's reply earned him a rough slap to the back, which hurt more than Hadrian cared to admit, but it elicited a hoarse chuckle from the dwarf warrior.

"Listen, uhh...I'm not good with words...but..." Oghren began to say and the dwarven seemed at a loss for words. Hadrian just waited patiently for the dwarf to verbally get something off his chest. After a few more seconds, Oghren sighed heavily and then looked at him square in the eye.

"I just want to say thanks, for everything," Oghren finished and if Hadrian hadn't known better, the dwarf's cheeks blushed a little bit. "For getting my head outta my ass about the whole Branka thing and then seeing Felsi again."

"Why are you acting like this, Oghren? If one of us is going to die in the Blight, it's me," Hadrian said, a little too casually according to the dwarf.

"Ya better not let the blonde kid hear ya say that," Oghren's green eyes glanced briefly at Alistair talking with the Arl before returning to his own. The dwarf then excused himself with a belch that came from eating too much of the sweet meats and Hadrian's eyebrow quirked in confusion at Teagan himself laughing with the dwarf.

Whatever Arl Eamon had to say to his lover, it wasn't very encouraging for Alistair's voice suddenly grew louder until it overwhelmed the other senseless din of those chatting about.

"Why? It's because I love him!"

All heads turned towards the fireplace, where Alistair stood in front of the Arl Eamon in an almost threatening manner. Though the man's back was turned to all of them, all the spectators could feel the tension rising between the older man and the bastard Prince of Ferelden. Hadrian pushed off the wall he was leaning against and was about to accost the two when Fergus stopped him.

"Wait and see, brother," Fergus whispered to him. "Perhaps it is time for the future King of Ferelden to step up to the plate."

Arl Eamon appeared a little shocked by the young Prince's declaration but, ever the savvy one, he regained his composure quickly and gifted Alistair a very stern glance.

"Be that as it may, Alistair," the Arl's voice was quiet and calm compared to Alistair's booming tone, "the kingdom will need an heir and..."

"No. You may be able to fool King Cailan into thinking that your way is the best way but not I," Alistair growled lowly.

"And just what is your way?"

"The one built on trust and honor, not secret dealings and such," Alistair replied and, just now noticing that he was the focus of all those who attended the meeting, promptly turned and stormed off towards the main entrance.

"I think that concludes this meeting," Zevran quipped and the elf received a few disapproving states, to which he easily shrugged it off.

Hadrian, on the other hand, walked after Alistair and no one else followed after him, perhaps having gained some entertainment already from observing an altercation between the Arl and the bastard Prince.

-TBC-

A/N: This chapter was one of the most hardest to write as I tried to convey the feeling of Alistair becoming more self-confident thanks to Hadrian's influence. Please comment as I would love to hear more from the readers. To those who have reviewed the last chapter, thank you very much! :D It means a lot to me when reading over reviews.