Redcliffe Castle

Arl Eamon slowly shut the door to his office, taking a deep breath to maintain his composure. "Alistair, you're not thinking clearly. You just fought a battle and you're flush with emotions. You have to think this through. I raised you better than this."

"You didn't raise me, my lord. The Templars did."

The boy was still trying, just like he was as an adolescent. "Alistair, you must think of Ferelden. You cannot be serious."

"Deadly serious." The prince's expression was hard, his eyes set. He wore a magnificent silver and gold doublet, accentuated with gaudy slashes in the fabric, that bore the rampant wolf, symbol of the Theirin kings and queens. This was not the same silly boy that went off to guard the Mage's Circle all those years ago. I am going to marry her, my lord, with or without your blessing."

"And what then? If all we've worked for comes to fruition and you become king and you make the Warden your queen, what then? Will there be an heir? How likely is that?"

"Not likely. And, being king was never my goal."

"It is the only goal. Anora is strong, yes, but Loghain is stronger and he has shown us that we cannot let him rule the land. You understand that, don't you, Alistair?"

"I do."

"And Anora is not of the Theirin line. You are. You are the only one and with the Warden, you are unlikely to have any children. What happens in Ferelden when a king or queen passes without heir?"

"Civil war."

Good. Alistair was calmer now, more reasonable. The welfare of the realm must come first. "The more kingly choice would be to marry Anora and consolidate both factions."

"But I do not love Anora." Defiant again. The boy was never easy to deal with. Two steps forward and three steps back.

"Love has no place in the battle for the crown."

"My lord, if I may…you married Isolde for love, did you not?"

Eamon paused. He raised his finger to speak, but he could not counter the words of the prince. There were cries of outrage when he married an Orlesian against all logic. Then, their son, Connor, showed magical ability. For love, they tore the Fade and nearly destroyed Redcliffe to keep Connor with them rather than send him to the Circle. He blew out a long sigh. "For love…. Oh, Alistair, my boy."

"I'm not a boy anymore. I am a prince."

"So, you are, my prince. So, you are," the Arl said, wiping his face with doe skin gloved hands. "You must be king and you must plan for the future. If…if you are to marry the Warden, you must think upon the future of the realm. I understand that she has declared Amethyne to be her daughter?"

"Yes, she is a wonderful child. She will be arriving in Redcliffe this evening with, of all things, an escort of former werewolves. Can you believe it?"

"You mean the ones from the forest where you lifted the curse?"

"The very same. Still hairy and growly, but much nicer now."

Eamon came around to Alistair's side and put his arm around the young man. "I am glad for you and the Warden. It is the Maker's blessing that you found love in all of this madness."

"Thank you. Why is it that I get the feeling that there's more?"

"You were always perceptive in that, Alistair. You must understand that Amethyne can never be proclaimed heir to the Ferelden throne. The nobles would never accept an Alienage elf as their ruler."

"I know…civil war…death and chaos…dogs and cats, sleeping together."

"This is no laughing matter, my prince. King Cailan perished without issue and now, this is the mess that we are in. Every moment that you are in battle, the Theirin line is threatened."

"I'm sorry. I still get flippant when I get nervous. I'll probably have to learn to live with it."

"As will we all."

"Alice will not like that, but I think that you are right. What can we do? Anora seems unlikely to produce any children either. If not Amethyne, then who?"

Eamon had agonized for weeks over this one moment. He had poured over so many details of lineage and legality and it all kept coming down to only a few choices. Ferelden's future might lay in the next word that he would say. "Connor."

"Connor? Your son, Connor?"

"Adopt him. Make him your heir. Alistair, of the major noble families, there is no one else. Anora is the last of the Teynir of Gwaren, and Alice, the last of the Couslands. Would you see a Howe on the throne one day? I think not. The old names are fading away and the nobility will fall into the abyss. I have called the Landsmeet to convene in two weeks hence. Connor is the only choice for the greater good."

Alistair sighed. "Why does the greater good always feel like the worser bad?"