1-A Freak Storm and a World Changed

Loghain always hated the seasonal celebrations. The laughter, the joking around, the drinking … they all tended to leave one with little self-control and once one lost control … well, it was seldom pretty. It all just made Loghain nervous. The soldiers off duty — and thereby celebrating — were useless in a crisis and the ones on duty had half their thoughts on the parties they were missing and not on what they were watching. It would be the perfect time for Orlais to slip into Ferelden.

Of course, as Anora would point out, Orlais wouldn't dare interfere with their own festivities to debase themselves with a war. Perhaps, with this Orlesian Empress and her Maker-damned Game, Anora was right.

Perhaps, Ferelden should infiltrate Orlais during Satinalia.

"Excuse me, m'lord. May I direct you somewhere?" A young man — likely in his middle teens — had addressed Loghain. Of course, Loghain then had to chastise himself about his own inattention. The young man was tall, appeared in good physical shape and had shoulder-length reddish blonde hair … that was all Loghain could make out initially in the street lantern backlighting along the main street of Highever. The young man smiled. "I'm Alistair Laren and I'm just on my way to the Chantry. We're working on a show for the orphans." His smile dimmed as it seemed he must have recognized Loghain.

"No, I know my way around Highever, Master Laren. I'm just trying to escape all the festivities." Polite, but still aware. Actually, it was refreshing for Loghain to meet someone who didn't grovel to him.

"There's no fun in that, Your Lordship!" The change in honorific confirmed that the boy had recognized Loghain. Then, Alistair smiled again and nodded in deference. "If you need anything at all, just ask a guard for help. Enjoy your time away from the festivities."

However, when the young man turned, his profile in the light caused Loghain to pause. He'd seen that profile before. The man with that same profile had arrived just that afternoon with Loghain. "Are your mother and father from Highever, Alistair Laren?"

He slowly turned back and frowned. This time he was next to a street lantern. There was no mistaking the similarity. "Nay, but the people who fostered me and raised me are Highever natives." He narrowed his eyes. "Why do you ask?"

Loghain couldn't think of a reason to avoid the obvious. "You do realize you bear a remarkable resemblance to King Maric?" He was getting that jittery feeling in the pit of his stomach. Maric didn't have many dalliances, but he did have a few. Some more spectacularly stupid than others. Loghain hadn't heard of a bastard, but this boy certainly could be one.

"I've been told that." There was no humor left on the boy's face. "If you will excuse me, Your Lordship." Loghain got the feeling that this fellow had been told that at least once too often and didn't want to hear it again. Maybe because it was true?

Loghain turned and went back to the castle proper where the party was still going on. There was only one man to ask and Loghain didn't see any need to delay the question. Festivities be damned. Maric was talking to Duncan, the newest Commander of the Grey in Ferelden … born in Highever, raised in Orlais and now back in Ferelden. Loghain hadn't made up his mind about the Warden-Commander yet, but he seemed to be devoted to his duty … to the point that he had blinders on about everything else — namely, the obscene control Orlais held over the order. Loghain walked up to Maric and leaned close to whisper, "Maric, I need to speak with you privately for a moment."

"Loghain! You're actually attending the party? I'm shocked!" Maric had obviously been enjoying his kingly share of Bryce Cousland's private wine stock. "It must really be boring outside, eh?"

Duncan looked down at his glass. "I believe I could use another. May I get you another, Your Majesty?"

Maric downed what was left in his glass and handed it to Duncan. "That's very kind, but you really don't need to run off. Loghain has a reputation for throwing wet blankets and snuffing out my fun. You may as well stay for the show."

"No, no, that's quite all right." Duncan nodded toward Maric and then Loghain. "Gentlemen." Loghain had to admit that perhaps Duncan wasn't blind about everything.

Loghain pulled Maric into Bryce's office and shut the door. The office was just off the main audience room … and the party … but Loghain didn't plan to make a lot of noise. "Maric, did you pawn off a bastard son to a couple here in Highever named Laren?" Speaking the name aloud a second time, Loghain realized that it sounded familiar.

"Wha …? Have you finally lost your mind, Loghain? Of course not!" Loghain could read his old friend like a book. Maric was angry with the question … but he wasn't lying. "What in the Maker's Name brought this up?!"

"A young lad here in Highever could be your son, Maric. Maker, he could be the twin of the scruffy Prince I ran into during the Rebellion when we were both much, much younger." Loghain wasn't going to back off just yet. "Could it be possible that you bedded a woman here … say about fifteen years ago … and he is the result? A son you created but weren't told about, perhaps?"

Loghain saw the punch coming and was able to duck.

Maric was still good in hand-to-hand combat, but he'd been drinking. Unfortunately, Loghain's defensive dodge caused Maric's fist to hit a metal urn which toppled off the corner of the desk and crashed with a very loud clang to the floor. The loud noise stopped their brawl.

It also stopped the party in the outer room … and brought Bryce and Duncan running into the office.

Loghain heard Bryce laugh and tell everyone, "Go back to your fun everyone! It was probably just Elle's mabari." Loghain almost chuckled. Bryce would pay for using his youngest as an excuse. Then, after letting Duncan precede him, Bryce closed the door and turned to face Loghain and Maric. He waited a few moments until the party noise picked back up. "All right, what's going on in here, gentlemen?"

Maric shoved Loghain and said quietly as the door opened, "This idiot is accusing me of fathering one of the boys in Highever, Bryce."

As the Fates would have it, right at that inauspicious moment, Elethea — the youngest Cousland — walked in. She quickly closed the door. She was taller than her mother — Teyrna Eleanor Cousland. She had short-cropped dark red wavy hair and dark brown eyes. She was eighteen. "Now, that was an interesting statement to walk in on. And, to think, I was only intending to deride you for besmirching my mabari's good name." She smiled at the group staring at her. "I know exactly who you're talking about, Your Majesty, and I'd like to know if that one is true. I happen to have quite a few sovereigns riding on the answer and I'd love to be able to collect from Fergus."

Duncan was good, but not fast enough in swallowing his surprise and embarrassment.

Loghain noticed. "Duncan? Do you know something about this?"

Duncan took a deep breath. "That is Alistair's answer to give."

Elethea … or, Elle, as she liked to be called … explained that Alistair was at the Chantry waiting for her to join him, so Bryce asked one of the castle guards to find Alistair Laren and bring him to the office. It took a while, but no one said much. Maric looked more miserable as the minutes passed.

No doubt trying to go through his list of paramours, Loghain thought to himself. He did notice Elle giving her father a look of worry.

Shortly after Bryce saw to it that everyone had a drink and some snacks were brought into the office, Alistair was escorted in. He took one look around the room and took a knee in front of Maric, "Your Majesty." When Maric only waved his hand that Alistair should stand, Alistair cleared his throat. "What can I do for you, Your Lordship?" he said to Bryce. Even for fifteen, the lad held his own.

Once in the room, in the light, with Maric right there … there was no doubt in Loghain's mind. Alistair exhibited all the typical Theirin details … the nose, the lips, the shape of the eye, even down to the frown that both he and Maric were sharing.

Bryce broke the silence. "Alistair … well, I'll just get to the point, my boy. Is Maric your birth father?"

Alistair sighed and turned toward Loghain. "Who would have guessed that Teyrn Loghain would take a nighttime stroll through the streets of Highever just when I was heading to the Chantry?"

That made Loghain smile. "Who indeed, Alistair."

Alistair then held up a hand to stop Duncan from interrupting and turned an actual sympathetic look toward Maric. "I just found out myself a couple months ago. Yes, the woman who gave birth to me is Fiona, an Orlesian Grey Warden mage you … turned to in the Deep Roads fifteen years ago, Your Majesty."

"Oh my … the Deep Roads. Must have been horrible down there," Elle mumbled quietly. Loghain hoped his own face didn't show any indication that he had also accomplished the same incredibly stupid and yet magnificent feat with Rowan before the end of the Rebellion … before she was wed to Maric.

Alistair sighed again and addressed Maric. "You see, Duncan grew up along with Gilsen Laren's family here in Highever. Fiona and Duncan were traveling to Denerim to leave me with you when their ship was forced here for repairs after an unexpected storm. Fiona's life obligations … mage obligations … prevented her from raising me.

"Anyway, the ship required extensive repairs. They brought me into Highever to ask the Larens to raise me. Since fate intervened, Fiona didn't want me to know about you or her, either, but Duncan told me the entire story when I reached an age to understand. Thought a man should know his truths. After some thought, I'm glad he did." He stood straighter. "I consider Gilsen and his wife, Nalah, to be my Father and Mother, Your Majesty. I would like to keep it that way."

Maric slumped down in a chair. "Maker's Breath," he whispered.

"That storm did more than land Alistair with the Larens. We barely survived. It made me reorganize my priorities," Duncan said quietly. "Life is precious and time moreso. Especially for Grey Wardens." He smiled at Loghain. "As you've noted from time to time, Loghain, since I became Warden-Commander, I seem to be readying for a Blight rather than just regular vigilance. The memory of that brush with death was the main reason I was spurred into action."

"Interesting," Loghain said. "Darkspawn attacks are infrequent, but I agree that preparation is preferable to being caught unawares."

"Elle, you will leave now and you will not say a word of any of this to anyone. Do you understand me?" Bryce was obviously very sorry he hadn't just shuffled his daughter out of the room immediately.

"But, Father, that means that Alistair is a Prince," she said. Then, she noticed Alistair's narrowed eyes boring a hole through her and Elle cleared her throat. "Sorry, Alistair. I won't say a word, I promise. I'm quite fond of all you Larens."

"Thank you, my Lady. The last thing I want is for any embarrassment to come to them." Alistair downed a glass of redberry juice that Elle had poured for him.

"None will, Alistair. I swear." Then, Elle looked at Bryce. "Right. Leaving now." She grinned. "I'll just continue on with the story of Midnight's mabari mishaps … and I'll make your excuses at the Chantry, Alistair. Sudden illness or some such."

After Elle left the room, Bryce walked up to Alistair and put his hand on the the boy's shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Or send word to me?" Maric asked. His obvious despondency almost made Loghain wish he hadn't started this. Almost.

"Like I said, I grew up with parents who loved me. The woman who bore me didn't want the royal life or the Warden life for me. I honored her wishes." He shrugged. "No offense meant, Your Majesty, but I think here was a better place for me than the palace. If you had known about me, what would you have done?"

Maric's thoughtless answer to that question brought an angry flush to Alistair's face and made him turn to Duncan. "Thank you so much for letting the Larens raise me, Duncan." And, then, he walked out of the room without another word, even though he gave the appropriate nods and bows to everyone there.

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Weeks earlier, in one of the high towers of the Golden Spire in Cumberland, a young mage assistant to the Grand Enchanter heard a high-pitched … growl? … come from Fiona's office. That was shortly followed by her storming out of her office. "Andah, send word to Val Royeaux that my visit there will need to be postponed for several months."

"But, Grand Enchanter, we've been working on this journey to visit the Divine for a year!" Andah said, even though he knew it would be useless to argue with her when she got this way.

"Just send the note … I'm going to Ferelden tomorrow. See if you can arrange passage on a ship for me to Highever. Any reasonable ship will do," Fiona said as she rushed down the hall toward the stairs to the sleeping quarters.

"Ferelden?! Really?" When she turned and glared at him, he added, "Nevermind, Grand Enchanter. I'll see to it," Andah said.

"I knew you would," Fiona said over her shoulder as she ran up the stairs.

However, his curiosity got the better of him. Andah stepped into Fiona's office and saw a crumpled note on the floor next to the fireplace. He picked it up. All it said was, "I told him. D."

Andah had no idea what that meant or who the "him" or the "D" were. Could it be Duncan? Her old Warden friend? Still, who was the 'him' … and what did D tell him? he thought to himself.

But, that really was none of his business … for the moment. No doubt, the nosy Templars would be searching through her office while she was gone, so he neatly folded the note and put it into one of his robe pockets.

Andah ran up to the messenger bird tower and sent a message to Chancellor Roderick in Val Royeaux and another to First Enchanter Irving in Ferelden. He didn't know if her destination was the Circle there, but it was a good cover. Then, he went to Fiona's room and knocked on the doorless frame. When she looked up from her packing, he handed her the note he'd rescued. "You may not want to leave such things behind, Grand Enchanter."

She ripped it out of his hands and it looked as though she was going to yell at him, but she just stopped and sat on her bed. "Sit a moment, Andah."

When Andah sat next to her, she quietly explained, "The message is from Duncan. You met him last year when he came through Cumberland. He told me then that he was feeling uncomfortable about keeping a certain someone in the dark. I should have realized he would act on that feeling. The Templars have probably already read it anyway." She took a deep breath and continued, "Fifteen years ago, I was a Grey Warden mage and got assigned to help the Orlesian Commander of the Grey on a trip into the Deep Roads. It was horrible. King Maric went with us because he had traveled the Deep Roads. The part of the Deep Roads where Maric could lead us. At least, that's what we were told was the reason. Maric and I turned to each other during the trek. A son was the result. After a gruesome encounter with a talking darkspawn called The Architect, I was no longer tainted. I couldn't remember what the darkspawn did to me. Attempts for me to rejoin failed, so the Grey Wardens didn't want me. I dutifully returned to the Circle and ended up here. Duncan was my friend. We were going to take the babe to Denerim … to Maric, but a surprise storm blew us off course and forced us to land in Highever for repairs. Duncan knew a wonderful couple in Highever. They took the babe and promised to raise him as their own." She crumpled the note again. "I told Duncan I did not want the boy to know about me or Maric and then I get this. I have to go see about it in person. Do you understand?"

Andah sat there stunned for a few moments, but he nodded. "I've sent the birds off with messages to Chancellor Roderick and Irving in case you go there." He stood. "I'll see to that ship passage for tomorrow right now. It may take a few weeks travel this time of year." After he got to the door, he turned, "Please be careful, Grand Enchanter. I'm from Ferelden. What little I remember is that the country is a loosely woven net of individuals who think they have all the answers."

Fiona just laughed. "A better description I have not heard, Andah. Thank you."

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Alistair walked home in a daze. The Larens were his foster parents, but, as he told Maric, he considered them his parents. The look on Maric's face, when Alistair asked him if he would have honored Fiona's wishes, answered many of the questions he'd had after he found out. Maric would not have honored Fiona's wishes. He would have found someone else to raise him, though. And, Alistair didn't like the person that Maric mentioned as a foster noble.

Moments after entering the familiar brass-bound wooden door, his mother called out, "Alistair! We weren't expecting you home until very late." Nalah Laren was probably never considered a beautiful woman, but she was always a woman everyone wanted for a friend. Always ready with a smile and a hug. She was on the short side and her dark red hair, now worn in a braid wrapped around her head, had grown lighter and thinner over the years, but her brown eyes were as expressive and sympathetic as always.

Alistair bent down and kissed the woman on the cheek. Nalah had raised him, loved him unconditionally. If any of this ended up hurting her, there would be hell to pay. "I have to speak with you and Father."

Nalah picked up on Alistair's seriousness and nervousness. "Gilsen, you need to come downstairs. Something happened tonight."

Alistair heard the shuffling of his father putting on his shoes to come downstairs. His father was a bear of a man. Even though he was hardly old enough, his hair had gone entirely white; however, he was strong from his years at the forge and anvil. That's how Gilsen had met Duncan. Their fathers had worked at the castle smithy. When the last Orlesian overseer arrived in Highever, he made a lot of changes. Orlesian lackies forced Duncan's family to move to Val Royeaux and told Gilsen's father that Highever only needed one smith. The end days of the Orlesian Occupation almost wore the family down, but they were determined to survive.

Unbeknownst to almost everyone, Gilsen's father was a spy for the Couslands and Maric. After the Orlesian usurper Meghren was executed with Maric's blade in his chest, the Larens were instrumental in ousting the Orlesians from Highever … gathering information that also assured the Couslands continued oversight in Highever.

In the few moments it took for Gilsen to make his way down the stairs, Nalah had made Alistair a cup of hot tea with cinnamon and honey. "What's wrong, son?" Gilsen asked as he came to sit at the table after squeezing Alistair's shoulder. It was such a simple gesture, but Alistair had grown to expect it, need it.

Alistair sighed. "Teyrn Loghain saw me outside as I was heading to the Chantry. Loghain went to the castle and confronted the King. Teyrn Cousland got involved. I was called to the Teyrn's office." He put his head in his hands. "It went downhill from there." Alistair really didn't say anything definite, but he knew they both realized exactly what he was talking about.

Nalah pulled her stool next to Alistair and put her arm around his shoulder. "I imagine that didn't go very well."

"We all knew it would come someday, son." Gilsen smiled warmly as Alistair looked up. "As soon as you grew into that Theirin face, it was just a matter of time." His father laughed. "There was no way we were going to keep you hidden away … especially not with your friendship with Elle Cousland."

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door … but it wasn't Elle. It was Teyrn Loghain. They all stood. Loghain thanked Nalah for the offer of a cup of tea, but declined for the moment. "You must be Nalah and Gilsen. Alistair had nothing but kind words and appreciation of your care over the years. You must be very proud of the fine young man he's become." Everything Alistair had ever heard about Teyrn Loghain belied the kind and polite words the man just spoke.

Gilsen smiled. "That we are, my lord Teyrn."

Loghain came over to Alistair. "Alistair, I am profoundly sorry for how that turned out."

Alistair smiled. "Thank you, but there's really no need for an apology, Teyrn Loghain. As my father just mentioned before your arrival, my face would have made it inevitable sooner or later."

"Forgive me for saying this as well … but Fiona was wrong to keep you from Maric, irregardless of how he would have reacted. I don't fault any of you in the least." He shrugged. "The fact that Duncan kept Fiona's secret isn't sitting well with Maric or with me."

Alistair threw up his arms. "And, if Duncan had said something? The result would have been the same. I would have been pawned off to a nobleman who either saw me as a threat or an opportunity … or both!" Alistair looked at Nalah. "The King mentioned Arl Eamon as an option."

"Dear Maker, Alistair. I don't think you would have liked that environment." Nalah lowered her voice. "I only say this because the Teyrn's feelings are well known to match my own. That Orlesian Arlessa would have driven you mad … or driven you out in short order."

Loghain smiled at Nalah. "Matches my feelings about Isolde exactly, madam."

But, Alistair wasn't finished. He motioned toward Nalah and Gilsen. Keeping his voice even and not raised or confrontational, he continued, "I would have lost the benefit of being raised by my parents here, in a stable environment … noble upbringing of the better sort, I believe. Perhaps I don't know all the ins and outs of the nobility, but my mother has seen to it that I have learned about Thedas. The world comes through the Highever port, Teyrn Loghain, and after people from all over Thedas make dock, they look for a blacksmith. My father has kept his ears open to any news and we are as up-to-date as possible about what's going on in the world. The Laren family has always been loyal and devoted to the Couslands, even during the Rebellion. Lady Elle Cousland didn't know the king was my father, but we are friends which began due to a mutual interest in helping Highever's orphans, so I was also privy to a lot of detail about what is happening in Ferelden. My education was far from lacking. Elle even got me into some lessons with Brother Aldous up at the castle. I'd even wager it was superior to anything I would have learned at the palace or from some noble, or his wife, whose intentions could be questionable."

Loghain looked surprised. Actually, he looked a bit flabbergasted. Alistair was afraid he may have said too much until Loghain smiled. "I stand most ably corrected, Alistair. The only person who has ever put me in my place as eloquently was my daughter, Anora. And, that, young man, is one of the highest compliments I've given anyone in a long time."

Gilsen took Alistair's shoulder. "However, Teyrn Loghain has a valid point when it comes to politics, son. Your mother and I are certainly not good teachers when it comes to treachery and lies."

Loghain nodded. "Lesson One in that class: There is an absolute overriding fact of life when dealing with some of the nobility, Alistair. One of which Gilsen just reminded me. Some are only out for themselves. Sadly, that is a lesson that Anora and Cailan have learned from birth." He smiled and bowed. "You both have raised a fine lad, but he is a prince. I'm unsure what that will entail in the future, but please remain open to discussing it with Maric whenever he comes to terms with the shock he's gotten this evening." Then, he turned and walked out of the door … before Nalah could get to it to open it for him.

"Prince? Maker, save me," Alistair whispered as he sat to drink his tea.

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Maric paced in Bryce's office. He was in no mood for celebrating this evening and asked Bryce to convey his apologies for sudden illness, likely from too much good wine. He wasn't ill, in the physical sense, but he was heartsick. Why didn't Fiona trust him? Why didn't Alistair? He heard Cailan's loud bravado in the outer hall and shook his head. Maric had to admit to himself that Fiona had been right not to trust him. He had been a horrible father to Cailan … and the boy might soon be King.

Maric had already put things into motion … an invitation to Ostwick … to meet with leaders of the Free Marches … an end to the arguments with Loghain about just sending Bryce … last minute instructions about leadership to Cailan, subtle encouragement to lean on his wife Anora for solid advice.

What no one knew was that Maric would really be on his way to Antiva, not Ostwick. He had a promise to keep that no one — not even Loghain — could know about.

At least, that was the plan until Alistair showed up. One thing was certain. He absolutely could not abandon Alistair right now.

Not even … for her.

Loghain walked in and handed Maric a glass of mulled apple juice. "I have it on expert authority that this will cure what ails you, Maric."

Maric took the offered beverage and smiled. "Nan. A long time ago on a visit here, she found me with a hangover." He lifted the glass in the general direction of the kitchens. "To you, Mistress Nan." He took a long drink. "Just as good as I recall."

"I've just been very eloquently put in my place by Alistair and the Larens. Handing him off to Eamon would have been a catastrophic mistake." He held up his hand to stop an interruption. "One I may have initially thought was wise … not likely, but may have."

"I've met the Larens, Loghain. Gilsen's father made sure Mother and Bryce knew what was going on here in Highever at great danger to himself and his family. He made sure Highever was ready for Bryce to return. They are fine people." Maric took a deep breath and shook his head. "No doubt they raised him well." He put down the glass and threw up his arms. "But, what do I do now? I'll need to speak with them before I do or say anything. Not tonight, but sometime tomorrow perhaps."

"Perhaps you should consider forgetting you ever found out, Maric," Loghain said quietly.

A quiet knock at the door had Maric and Loghain look at each other. "Enter," Maric said.

Elethea Cousland walked in with her mabari Midnight and shut the door behind her. "Your Majesty, Your Lordship …"

"If you're here to find out what I plan to do in regards to Alistair, you'll be disappointed." Maric picked up the juice and took another swallow. "I have no idea."

That just made the young lady smile. "Actually, Your Majesty, that makes me feel better. Throwing out demands and ultimatums wouldn't work well with Alistair. Believe me. I've tried on several occasions to no avail."

"How did you become friends with Alistair, Ellethea?" Loghain asked.

"At the Chantry, of all places. I'd been given bench-cleaning duty as a punishment for … something. I don't recall anymore. It was years ago. Anyway, Nalah and Alistair spent a lot of time with any orphans who came through. Nalah because that's just the kind of woman she is and Alistair because he realizes how lucky he's been. One of our farm-holder families was decimated by that sickness that went around a few years ago … an entire family save one little boy and several breeding mabari." Elle reached down and skritched Midnight's ear. "They breed fine mabari and the whole family had been special to us Couslands. Always worked their farm to its full potential, never any trouble. Without even knowing all of that, Alistair convinced Ser Gilmore and Hodner to go with him … as Nalah would not let him go off alone. They rode out the day after and visited neighboring farm-holds to see if he could find a home for little Niclah … maybe even the mabari."

Elle smiled again. "He couldn't find one that met his expectations even though some said that they would take the boy." She sat on the corner of Bryce's desk. "Alistair widened his search and found a young couple working on a smaller farm a bit farther out who had just lost their elders to the same sickness. Brounah and Alica Marsinik. He brought them back to Highever. After father met them, he granted Niclah's family farm-hold to them and granted them temporary custody of the boy and the three mabari.

"Alistair and a rotating guard/escort rode out there every day for a few months, took them food, helped on the farm-hold, made sure the boy got close to the same home he had. They kept breeding mabari. They bred Midnight." Elle looked up. "Alistair was eleven. I was fourteen. I took turns with him so he could spend some time at home," she added. Then, she grinned, "The Marsinik's are now prosperous and Niclah is already helping out. He loves his visits from Uncle Alistair and Auntie Elethea Ladyship. Niclah keeps trying to find a mabari to imprint on Alistair out of appreciation, but so far, the right one hasn't been born to put up with Alistair."

That brought a smile to both Maric and Loghain, but Maric's soon faded. "Damn, girl, you've just made it harder on me." He looked … not unkindly … at Elethea. "Don't you think someone like that is worthy of his birthright?"

Elle took a deep breath, presumably to argue, but then just sighed it out. "I see your point. But, my point is that it really should be Alistair's decision. I respectfully request that you give him until he turns eighteen to think about jumping full into royalty, Your Majesty." She smiled and added, "Not that you have to stay away all that time. I think he'd really benefit from getting to know you."

She looked confused at Loghain's smirk, but Maric knew exactly why Loghain was smirking. "I'll consider your wise words, Elle." Maric glared at Loghain. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear you set this all up to keep me from going north."

Loghain put up his hands in defense. "I swear to the Maker I didn't know about this until you did right here in this room tonight."

Elle smiled. "Father's been wanting to go to Ostwick for a while, Your Majesty. Mother and Nan have a rather long list of things to bring home with him."

Maric was a bit surprised that Elethea knew about it all, but Bryce did share things with his children. "I'll speak with Bryce. Tomorrow. I bid you all good night," Maric said before he got up and headed for his room. He had no idea how to contact Flemeth to let her know he would be delayed in going to her daughter's lair at the Silent Grove in the Tellari Swamp. Oh well, he thought to himself, she just knew to contact me to make the arrangements, perhaps she'll just know that I won't be coming for a few more years.

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Shortly before Satinalia, Flemeth had received a note from a "friend" in Highever, a mage of the Mage Collective. So, Duncan has finally told Alistair the identity of his real father, she thought to herself after reading it. She had always been curious … and annoyed … about that strange storm that blew the ship ferrying Duncan, Fiona and the newborn Alistair to Highever instead of Denerim.

Fate or coincidence? A constant question in her life. It could have been manipulation. There were very few who could conjure and direct a storm. Flemeth could, but it wasn't her. If it was manipulation, she needed to find out who did it sometime. That damn storm almost did what no one else could do so far in her long, long life. It came up so suddenly that it nearly killed her when, in her dragon form, she got caught in it. Perhaps it was the Maker, but then he turned his back on humanity. It said so, right there in their vaunted Chant. Back to fate or coincidence, she supposed.

If Ancelan hadn't been working in the smithy with Gilsen Laren after that storm, Flemeth might have never known about Maric's bastard. A mage working in a smithy. It was the perfect cover. Strength of muscle was only denied to Circle mages. The Mage Collective operated throughout Thedas and the Chantry was mostly none the wiser. Oh, the Chantry Templars knew about the Mage Collective. They just had no idea how wide-ranging it was. The Collective bought off trouble with bribes of extra lyrium. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement for the most part.

Flemeth taught any Collective mages — who were interested and strong enough — about the ancient magic arts, especially shapeshifting and, in return, they kept her informed. Handy for an old woman in the swamp to be connected to what was going on elsewhere. It always helped to mention a few actual facts when she explained her foresight.

With the Collective's help, she survived. Perhaps, that storm wasn't all bad tidings.

Fifteen years ago, Ancelan overheard Gilsen being called home in the middle of the day and thought it odd enough to follow his master and hide in the alley behind the Laren home. He heard an earful.

On the way back to the smithy, Ancelan heard that someone was being tended for an injury by a fellow Collective mage in their secret infirmary … an old cave in one of the nearby cliffs. So, he went out to tell his friend in the infirmary that Maric had a bastard son. Flemeth overheard their conversation. After that, it became clear that an alliance with the Mage Collective could only be a good thing.

In a more recent report to Flemeth, Ancelan detailed that Maric was going to Highever for Satinalia. The way things like that worked out, the boy would, undoubtedly, run into his father somehow. According to Ancelan, there was no mistaking that Alistair was of Maric's blood.

She decided to spread her dragon wings and fly to Highever and find out for herself. It was easier now that the Dragon Age actually had other dragons flying around. Flemeth surmised that she should be able to make it by Satinalia, or soon after. She hated to leave young Morrigan alone, but the girl was old enough and competent enough to keep up the wards and the patrols around the area.

Flemeth had noticed an increased presence of darkspawn in the Wilds. No doubt, Warden Commander Duncan had also noticed. So, Duncan was probably in Highever as well, courting the nobility to the possibility of a darkspawn incursion. The man might mention the word Blight. Might wait a few more months to call it that. He seemed to be a bright man who might think that no one would believe him yet.

King Maric would believe him.

Maric already knew a Blight was coming. Flemeth had told him decades ago during the Rebellion. She also told him that his son would be instrumental in the Blight's defeat. Flemeth now wondered if it would be Cailan or Alistair.

Fate, indeed.

She changed to her raven shortly before she arrived in Highever and flew around the outside open passages of the Highever Castle. A party must have broken up and Maric and his guard were heading toward the guest quarters. From the direction they were walking, Flemeth guessed which room he was heading for and got there first. She quickly changed into a small mouse and waited in a shadow by the door. It was the right room. The mouse expertly scurried between the feet of the helmeted guard, entered the door with no one the wiser and hid behind a chest.

"No need for a bath tonight," Maric told the escort. "I'm heading right to sleep."

The mouse/Flemeth could tell he was depressed about something. It wasn't hard. He was notorious for his brooding. He knew. Likely just found out.

Once the guard closed the door and left him alone, Flemeth reformed into herself and put a silence rune on the door. "You're all broody. I suppose you're about to tell me that your trip to Yavana is going to be delayed?"

Maric frowned and shook his head. "I just found out that I have another son, Flemeth. One who deserves his birthright more than I ever did. So, yes, I won't be leaving for the Tellari." He added a mumble, "I figured that you'd just know … about the delay, not the bastard son." He looked up sharply. "You didn't know about Alistair, did you?"

Flemeth frowned. "Foresight is never that exact," she sort of lied. Well, her foresight didn't tell her about Alistair, after all. "This needs to be done now, Maric. You swore a promise to me."

"I will go … in a few years … just not right now," he said. She could tell he was nervous underneath the brave façade.

She let him worry a few more long minutes. She paced a moment and then turned toward Maric. "There may be an alternative way but I do not know if it's reliable over such a distance. It has only been worked out recently. If it doesn't work, though, you still owe me. Understood?"

"How will I know if it worked or not?"

"Because I will tell you, one way or the other."

"How will I know if you're telling me the truth?"

Flemeth laughed and then switched to deadly serious is a flash of an eye. "You'll have to trust me … or should I have let you die in the Korcari along with Ferelden all those years ago?"

Maric sat on his bed and thought a few minutes. "What's this alternative?"

"Ever the intelligent man, Maric Theirin. I will need to arrange for someone to take a vial of your blood every other month for one year. You will need to be in the same place for this. Denerim?" she asked.

He thought a few more moments. "No, here. I plan to spend some time with Alistair."

"I will meet you near the public stables behind the inn tomorrow afternoon. From there, I will take you to someone who can take a vial of your blood, perform the new preservation spell on it and get it to Yavana. We should know within six months if it is working. For now, I take my leave." She removed the silence rune, cracked open the door, changed into a mouse and scurried out.

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Maric frowned and shut the door. "Maker," was all he said before he lay down to eventually slip into a fitful sleep that lasted until after lunch the next day.

The next afternoon, Maric headed into Highever to meet Flemeth's blood taker. He'd had to sneak away from the palace and convince his guards that he was going to be fine. He caught sight of "normal-looking" Flemeth waiting at the entrance to an alley behind the Foggy Noggin tavern.

He was about to turn that direction when he saw someone he hadn't seen in … oh, fifteen years or so.

"Maric!" Fiona shouted as she walked up from the docks with her bags still in her hands. "Maker, I didn't think I'd just run into you like this." She frowned. "You know, yes?"

"Yes … why didn't you at least tell me?" Maric asked as he pulled her to the side to a presumably quiet alcove.

She huffed and sat on a low stone fence with large purple flowers vining around parts of the top. It would have made a beautiful painting, if any part of the day's situation were different. "I was going to give him to you to raise, Maric. Duncan and I were headed to Denerim, I swear. But, this freak storm blew up and we went off course. There was some mast damage so we had to sail for the nearest port, which was Highever. Duncan knew the Laren's. They weren't Grey Wardens or nobility. It was perfect, in my view."

"He was my son, Fiona. Don't you think I had the right to know?" Maric asked, surprisingly without any recrimination or hatred.

Fiona appeared to be going through a list of responses. "I know that duty is strong with you, Maric. Duty and loyalty. You would have found some noble to watch over him … just in case. No doubt in my mind it would have been some noble you blindly trusted."

"But, you … you could have at least told me later when I couldn't do anything about moving him. Why didn't you send me a letter ten years ago … or five years ago?" He put his hands on his hips and looked up at the sky. "Loghain ran into him on the streets here for Maker's Sake."

Fiona became wistful. "I have not seen him either since that day," she said quietly. "He looks like you?"

"Loghain says he looks the same as I did during the rebellion," Maric said. "I would agree." He started to sit next to Fiona but then remembered he had an appointment to keep. "I need to meet with someone for a short time right now. Go to the Laren's house and I'll come there. We can talk more."

She stood and picked up her bags. She cocked her head, "You're not nearly as angry as I thought you would be."

Maric just sighed. "The Larens have raised a fine young man. How can I get angry with that?" Before he turned and headed into the city, he said, "I'll be there as soon as I can." He pointed out the house and watched Fiona walk away. Then, he turned to meet Flemeth.

"So that is Alistair's mother?" Flemeth asked. "Pity he didn't inherit her magic."

"Then, he'd be in the Circle and I'd have never known," Maric mumbled as the two walked toward the stable.

"Nor would I have had to make all these convoluted arrangements for you," she said.

Maric was surprised at how easily the stable hand/mage … no doubt from the Mage Collective … took his blood. There was no pain and not even a dot on his arm where it was drawn. He was a bit light-headed from the large amount of blood that was taken. He agreed to meet the man on the same date every other month. The man cast a preservation spell on it and Flemeth took her leave. Maric didn't know who was going to get it to Yavana and he really didn't care.

He rushed to the Laren house and knocked on the door. Nalah opened the door and took a knee. "Please, dear, dear lady, it is I who should bend knee to you," he said as he helped her up. He looked around and was surprised to see Cailan sitting at the end of their dinner table laughing with Alistair. Alistair passed Cailan a coin.

"All right, what predictable thing did I do?" Maric asked.

Alistair smiled. "Cailan whispered to me what you would say when my mother gave you deference. He got it word for word. Even the two 'dears'." Maric noticed a small twitch on Fiona's face when Alistair said that Nalah was his mother. That was just something both he and Fiona would have to get used to.

Cailan pushed the coin back to Alistair. "Elle told me what's been going on. That was too easy, Alistair. I'll wait until we make a truly random wager." He looked at Maric. "Elle also told me you had 'turned to each other' in the Deep Roads, Father. I have to say that I rather like both Alistair and Fiona, so it must have been a good call."

Fiona stifled a laugh, or maybe, it was a groan.

Nalah picked up a basket next to the door. "I need to run to the market before Gilsen returns, so if you will all excuse me, Your Majesty, Your Highness, Grand Enchanter … Alistair," she said with a nod, leaving them alone without a referee.

Alistair took a deep breath. "So, now that everyone seems to have gathered here today, I have one ground rule: if anything or anybody comes against either of the people who raised me, there will be serious consequences. Is that clear?" He stopped answers that were about to come from Maric, Fiona and Cailan at the same time. "Intentions are all well and good. Actions matter. I ask you to watch what you say, please, and I remind you all that Elle is a good friend of mine. If you talk, she'll find out." Alistair turned to Fiona. "Elle has people who tell her what's going on all over Ferelden. On a regular basis."

"I see," Fiona said. With a slight smirk, she added, "I shall have to find the time to meet her. Perhaps we can share information, too."

Alistair replied with a mighty sigh and then continued, "Father said last night that they blessedly were unable to teach me about lies and treachery, but I'm not blind. I know my very existence is anathema to a lot of people, so I ask that you not tell any other noble in Ferelden."

Maric nodded and then smiled. "I'll need to make sure Elle's spies stay busy on other things. I'll also charge Nathaniel with keeping her busy." Then, he sighed, "I had hoped that you would consider becoming a Prince of Ferelden," Maric said quietly.

"No!" Fiona said loudly and firmly. She looked at Maric and then, Cailan. "You both know how the life at court can crush the most resilient spirit." She smiled at Cailan. "I've heard that you are both friendly and exuberant, Your Highness, but you must admit that you've seen the toll all of it has taken on your father. Am I right?"

Cailan looked to be about to argue, no doubt a practiced response whenever King Maric's notorious occasional melancholy would surface. He sighed and said, "Everyone knows about that, Grand Enchanter."

"Grand Enchanter, the truth of the matter is that I still don't know what future I want to pursue," Alistair said quietly. "I've done a bit of non-dangerous work with the Highever Guard, perhaps a knight of Highever at some point … perhaps a Brother in the Chantry … second heir to the throne scares me to death, Your Majesty." He looked at Cailan. "Tell me it doesn't scare you, too, sometimes."

"Not sometimes, Alistair. All the time," Cailan admitted. "But, it is my duty, my birthright. I cannot walk away from it."

"But, if you had the chance?" Alistair asked.

Cailan looked toward Maric and sighed.

Maric chuckled. "If either Cailan or I had the chance, we would run screaming as far as we could. Am I right, Cailan?"

"Heh, Anora would hunt me down and drag me back, though," Cailan said. He shrugged. "Being married to a smart and beautiful woman is not so bad," he added with a wink.

Maric stood and paced a moment. "Last night, Elle came to speak with me and Loghain. She had a suggestion and I think it is the way we should go." He turned toward Alistair. "I shall leave the decision up to you, Alistair, but I would like a decision by the time of your eighteenth name-day. However you decide to proceed with your life, I … I would like to spend some time with you. Meaning, if it is all right, I'll be spending a lot of time here in Highever … say every other month for a year or so … as I'd like to avoid major disruptions in your life."

"Okay, I'll have to be the speaker of realism, here," Cailan said. He waited until everyone turned questioning looks his way. "Everyone in Ferelden already knows about you, Alistair. It's the reason that Elle's informants are so useful. Assume that and you won't be surprised when people start calling you titles and such. It's just the way of things. We won't say anything, but we really don't need to say anything. One look at us and anyone can see we're sons of Maric. Servants have families all over Ferelden. I have no doubt Arl Eamon has his own spies here." At Fiona's glare, Cailan continued, "Alistair is a fine young man, Fiona. He needs to learn how to handle the nobility. Father and I … maybe even Anora at some point … have things to teach him so he's not blindsided. That's just the way it is, Fiona, and you know it."

Alistair sat quietly through all the speeches. He looked at Fiona. "Cailan makes points that I hadn't considered. However, all I can promise is that I will try to make a decision by my eighteenth name-day." He smiled at Maric. "I would enjoy time with you." He looked at Cailan and added, "Maybe not here all the time. I'd like to meet the Princess."

"I think for the next year, we should meet in Highever, Alistair. After that, if you're still interested in travel, we can certainly discuss it. I look forward to getting to know you."

"And, I, you … Maric," Alistair said.

They spent an hour or so on a few general things about palace cheese cellars and Denerim. Alistair forced Maric and Fiona to tell him about that fateful trip to the Deep Roads. Cailan was excited to hear it as well since Maric had never really told him.

After Maric finished, they all heard a most unusual bird's caw that sounded almost like a laugh. When Alistair looked outside the open window, he told everyone that he saw a raven fly away from the top of one of the shutters outside the Laren house.

Maric knew who it was.

Once Alistair sat back down, they touched on magic and mages and Templars before Nalah returned. Maric and Cailan excused themselves, but Nalah insisted that Fiona stay with them. Alistair was glad Fiona stayed. He had a lot of questions about the Circle and the Wardens … and she had a lot of answers.

Duncan stopped by to greet Fiona and tell them all that he had to travel to Denerim. Loghain had invited Duncan to travel with them so they could discuss "just what the Orlesian Grey Wardens" were planning to do in Ferelden.

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Things went pretty well during those three years. Everything Cailan had predicted came to pass, but hadn't changed Alistair's life in Highever too much. Elle kept him in the loop with anything she heard from her "observers".

After one conversation, Alistair despaired that so much was known about him. Elle only exclaimed, "Thank the Maker there are so many listeners around, Alistair." She leaned closer to him. "I knew Nathaniel was going to ask for my hand in marriage a good month before he got up the courage to do it! Good things can be passed around as well, Your Highness. Just let me know if you ever have anything for me to send around."

The lessons about the nobility were difficult to learn, but he eventually saw how to deal with them. He learned that his humor and respect went far to defuse most tense moments. Arl Eamon Guerrin rushed to Highever to invite Alistair to visit with him and the Arlessa, but … how sad … something usually came up preventing that from happening. Elle gave him advanced notice of that and they were able to keep arranging something getting in the way of him going to Redcliffe.

Alistair and Anora got along very well. She was most pleased at how quick a study he was in the "proper way of things" … even though he joined Maric and Loghain in hating anything Orlesian, especially The Game. He only attended one Landsmeet and insisted that no chair be placed on the dais for him. He stoically stood behind and to the side of the royal chairs. That act brought many nobles of the Bannorn to approach him and wish him well. Of course, there were still some glares.

After all was said and done, only one noble was truly outspoken against his remaining in Ferelden. Arl Rendon Howe lobbied often for Alistair to be sent away someplace he wouldn't be recognized. His favored suggestions were Kirkwall to become a Brother in the Chantry … or, Weisshaupt to take the Grey. For some reason, it seemed Arl Howe personally disliked Alistair. Alistair had no idea as to why.

Maric ignored Howe. Bryce ignored Howe. Alistair considered the Grey seriously, much to Fiona's disappointment. The Chantry, and becoming a Templar, soon moved to the bottom of the list. Alistair was cautious enough to realize that going anywhere near Orlais put him in jeopardy. It became clear that Maric valued Alistair. It was something that Alistair appreciated, but it made Maric vulnerable to blackmail if someone kidnapped his bastard son and used him as a pawn. Almost everyone, including the Chantry in Highever, felt that the Chantry was too dangerous for a bastard son of the King of Ferelden.

Eventually, his eighteenth name-day neared just as someone new arrived in Thedas …

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AN: No, this isn't a continuation of Elle Cousland's tale in "Duty of a Cousland." It's a new timestream where many things are different, with some things the same. Same Elle, starting earlier, different situations. Elle will be a fairly minor character here. I just liked the character, so I put a version of her in this timestream as the youngest Cousland. ;)

So, Chapter One sort of set the stage in this timestream. After reading a few self-insert stories, this idea came to me. Don't worry. The protagonist will be in the next chapter. All belongs to Dragon Age.