Two Years Later

The supper table was noisy as the family sat down, William and Lilah exchanging angry words and looks.

Alistair raised his voice to be heard, trying to get his children to stop arguing and wondered if he was going to have to physically separate them now. That would be more difficult than it once was. Lilah was still small and slight—he had a feeling she always would be, the deprivations of her childhood leaving a permanent mark—but William had shot up like a weed in the last year, and he started to add some muscle to cover his still growing frame.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down! What is the problem with you two?"

Still glaring daggers at her brother, Lilah said, "He punched Peter!"

"Peter?" He looked over at his wife, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

"The miller's son," Maeve supplied helpfully. "He's the one who delivers flour for me."

"He kissed her!"

Alistair and Maeve's heads snapped over to look at William, who looked quite smug and pleased with himself, and then at Lilah, who had the good grace to blush and look down.

"I see," he said carefully and looked back at his son. "And where does this Peter live?"

Lilah's head flew up, her eyes going wide in disbelief and her mouth opening to protest when she was interrupted by the sharp slap of Maeve's hand coming down flat on the table.

"Oh, Andraste's flaming sword, enough!" She glared at them until they looked away. "The two of you overgrown children are not going to go harass some poor boy because he kissed a pretty girl he likes. Now…eat!" These last words were punctuated by a stern glare and finger jabbed pointedly in their direction.

There was a brief murmur of "Yes, ma'am" and then everything grew quiet as they ate, quiet murmurs of asking someone to pass something replacing the arguments of earlier.

They were nearly done when the bell attached to the back door downstairs rang. William leapt up. "I'll get it," he called, and took the stairs down to the first floor two at time, with the type of heedlessness only found in the young.

Alistair stood, wiping his hands and mouth with his napkin before he and Lilah began to clear the table. The quiet murmur of voices drifted up from downstairs before William's head poked back up the stairway. "Alistair? There's a man here says he wants to talk to you. He said he knows you and that you sent him a message."

A quick glance confirmed the location of his sword, and Alistair nodded to his son. "Show him up."

"A visitor so late?" Maeve asked as she took a bowl from him. "Trouble, you think? With the guard?"

Alistair shook his head, frowning. "No, I don't think so. Will said I sent a message, but I didn't send any today. Or lately. Your guess is as good as mine."

From the stairs, he heard his son practically charging back up, as well as a heavier, slower tread as the unknown man followed him. "Right up here," William said, and Alistair wiped his hands once more, turning to greet their visitor.

The questions he'd started preparing immediately flew out of his head as the man came up the stairs and fully into view, and his jaw dropped open in shock.

"Teagan!"

He gave a quick, disbelieving bark of laughter and then crossed the room swiftly to catch the older man in a rough hug.

"Teagan! Maker's breath, it really is you!" He laughed again as Teagan returned the embrace, a thousand thoughts whirling in his head.

"Come in, come in. Sit down. Let me get your cloak." Teagan nodded and shrugged the garment off, handing it to Maeve who offered her hand. Alistair gestured to the living area, and sat down on the couch after Teagan had settled into an armchair. "I have to say this is a surprise. What are you doing here? Wait, hold on, let's get introductions out of the way first."

He stood again and gestured for the others to come join them. Maeve had pulled back to give the men privacy if they wanted, but William and Lilah were clearly burning with curiosity. Maeve slid under the curve of his arm as he held it out. "This is my wife, Maeve, and our children, William and Lilah. This is Bann Teagan."

"Arl Teagan, actually," Teagan correctly quietly and frowned slightly at Alistair's startled look. "We've much to discuss, Alistair. But I am truly delighted to meet your family."

He bowed gallantly over Maeve's and Lilah's hands with all the courtliness a true gentleman could, and extended his to William. "It is truly a pleasure to meet all of you." Lilah giggled breathlessly, her cheeks a rosy pink and Alistair just rolled his eyes.

"Are you from Ferelden, like Papa?" Lilah asked, settling herself next to her brother as Maeve sat down beside him.

"Yes, I am," Teagan replied, sitting back into his own chair with a quiet sigh. Now that they were settling down, Alistair took a moment to take a good look at Teagan. It hit him as a shock to realize that Teagan was old. A quick mental count of the years that had passed since he left Ferelden and he was stunned to realize it had been nearly thirteen years. In that time, Teagan's auburn hair had become streaked with gray, the lines on his face etched deeper—and not all from smiles and laughter.

"Are you and Papa good friends?"

Teagan hesitated a moment and looked over at Alistair. "I'd like to think I could call myself your father's friend, though it has been a long time since we've seen each other."

"We are, Teagan," Alistair confirmed. "There are many I would not call a friend, but I've always thought of you as such."

"That is good to hear, and a relief. I'd hoped that might be the reception I received after your letter, but I wasn't sure."

"The letter! It'd been so long that I'd forgotten all about it." Several months ago, Alistair—at Maeve's urging—had sent a letter to Teagan. He didn't dare to think that anyone had missed him, or even wondered about him, but Teagan had always been an honest man. Alistair had at least wanted to let him and Eamon know that he wasn't dead and was doing fine.

But there had been no response. Months had passed with not so much as a note saying they didn't care. He'd begun to think it had never arrived.

"I apologize for the delay," Teagan said. "Things have been…turbulent at home. It was some time before I could arrange to leave."

"Are you a nobleman?" William asked.

Again, a slight hesitation from Teagan and a glance at Alistair. "Yes. I'm the Arl of Redcliffe."

Alistair drew a quick breath. "Eamon—" he began, but the older man held up his hand.

"My brother yet lives, Alistair, but he is not well. The poisoning, the loss of Isolde, the wrangling with Anora…they all took their toll. He pushed himself as much as he could, but once Connor left for Tevinter, there was nothing to drive him anymore. He gave the arling to me and retired to a smaller country estate. It's helped, but I don't think he has more than a few years left. He…asked me to tell you that he is sorry for what happened. And to ask if you might consider coming home to visit him."

Alistair sucked in a quick breath and leaned against the back of the couch. "Teagan, I…." He trailed off, looking over at his children whose eyes kept going back and forth between the two men. There was much to be discussed, and very little of it would be fit for his children's ears. In time, perhaps, he would reveal to them certain truths, but that time wasn't now, and certainly not in this context.

Maeve—wonderful, intuitive woman that she was—sensed his quandary and rescued him with her considerable tact and aplomb.

"Come, children," she said, getting to her feet. "Time for bed."

"What?" William yelped. "But it's not nearly time for us to go to bed!"

"And in compensation, you won't have to do dishes," Maeve offered evenly. "I'm not saying you have to sleep, but you are going to your rooms."

"But that's not—!"

"Now!" Maeve snapped, cutting off the rant before it could begin. Even Alistair sat up slightly straighter at the barked order. Had she aspired to it, Maeve could've shamed many a commander with her tone that brooked no argument.

Grumbling, William stood and sullenly walked down the hallway, muttering under his breath the whole time, until Maeve lost her patience and smacked him on the back of the head. He glared at her mutinously from under lowered brows, but fell silent. Maeve followed with Lilah in tow.

When the sounds of his family had faded, Alistair looked back over at Teagan to see the older man grinning at him. "That's quite a woman," he offered, and Alistair returned the grin.

"She certainly is. I assure you, she's the reason I'm alive right now." He sighed, rolled his shoulders to loosen them, and then leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees. "But you're not here to talk about my wife, are you? I know that look, Teagan. I saw it far too often from far too many people. What aren't you telling me?"

Teagan leaned forward, mimicking Alistair's pose, and he shook his head. "No, I'm afraid it's not. Tell me, what have you heard about Ferelden recently?"

"Not much," Alistair admitted. "You'll forgive me, Teagan, but I try not to think too much about it. It's…easier that way."

The arl nodded. "I know, and I don't blame you for that. I think perhaps I should fill you in." He paused and narrowed his eyes, gathering his thoughts, and then nodded slightly.

"Things have been unsettled for some time. Right after the Blight, the whole country was fairly well united. People were still grappling with the after effects of the darkspawn taint and coming together to prevent famine and disease. We weren't entirely successful, but it could have been far, far worse."

Alistair winced at that. The land they had seen during their travels had been blighted, and it was a wonder that it recovered at all. That it happened enough to prevent widespread famine was extraordinary.

"Once the immediate danger had passed, things started to go back to the way they were. The Blight and civil war led to a large number of deaths, and in the power vacuum left behind, people's greed got the better of them. Normally, this wouldn't have been that bad, but there were other factors. One being that Orlais began making noises about reclaiming their lost province. They've made no overtly aggressive moves yet, but most suspect it's only a matter of time."

Here he paused and Alistair quirked an eyebrow. "And the other factor is…?"

Teagan gave a quick laugh. "Well, the biggest remaining factor is…Anora."

"Anora," Alistair stated blandly. "Last time I looked, she had things fairly well in hand. Don't tell me she's gotten tired of bossing everyone around." He looked up as Maeve came back into the room and settled back down beside him. Taking her hand, he squeezed it in silent thanks and she flashed him a warm smile.

"No, she hasn't gotten tired of it," Teagan replied. "Quite the opposite, really. But, before I go on, how much does Maeve know, Alistair?"

"Everything," he replied. "She knows everything, Teagan"

Teagan nodded in relief. "That makes things easier."

"You were saying about Anora?"

"Anora is fine. When all is said and done, she's a good queen. I won't lie and say everything is perfect and everyone is happy, but on the whole, Ferelden is prosperous. Anora is good at what she does, and furthermore enjoys her work."

Alistair grinned. "Better her than me, I always said. But I fail to see the problem."

"The problem is that Anora likes holding all the power a little too much. She never remarried, and it appears unlikely that she ever will. She's had no children, and unless the Maker intervenes with a miracle, she never will."

Dread settled in the pit of Alistair's stomach like a lead weight, and he shifted uncomfortable. His hold on Maeve's hand tightened, and he felt her fingers grip his back with a reassuring strength.

"You know the Bannorn, Alistair. With no heir, debate and concern has arisen over what will happen when Anora dies. Not," he added hastily, "that we expect that anytime soon. Anora could probably rule for another thirty or forty years quite easily. But Ferelden's recent history does not support a long lifespan for her monarchs and people are growing anxious. Already there's been argument and squabbling over who they think Anora will name as an heir."

"Teagan," Alistair said slowly, "please tell me you're not about to suggest what I think you are. Because your brother did this once, and I'm even less enthusiastic about the idea now than I was then."

"No, Alistair," Teagan said gently. "I'm not going to suggest you come back to settle the issue of an heir. Though I will admit, it was a possible solution, depending on what I found when I arrived here."

"Depending on what you found?" Maeve asked.

"Yes. Alistair's situation when I arrived would have determined much, the most crucial factor being if he had children."

Something dangerous flashed in Maeve's eyes. "He does have children," she said tightly.

"My dear lady," Teagan said quietly, "I mean absolutely no disrespect. The home and happiness you've built here would be the envy of many I know. But you are from Ferelden, are you not? Surely you remember the pull of the Theirin bloodline. It is not a lineage lightly cast aside, and many would follow any who carried the name. I am not saying that is something that should happen, but it is true nonetheless. If Alistair had children of his blood, however, it would be one possible solution to the problem we now face."

"I swore oaths, Teagan. I swore off the Theirin bloodline. That would preclude any children I did have from being in line for the throne."

Teagan laughed. "And if the Landsmeet decided it, Alistair, those oaths would mean nothing."

"They mean something to me."

"I know they do, Alistair. I know." Teagan sat back and wiped a hand across his face. "I didn't mean to imply otherwise. Your word has never been in question. I think, perhaps, you would not have made so terrible a king as you think."

"Thanks?"

"You're welcome. In many ways, I'm relieved to cross that possibility off my list. It very likely would have caused as many problems as it solved. Don't worry, I'm not going to propose you make a bid for the throne."

"Thank the Maker!"

Teagan joined in with Alistair's chuckling, and then coughed. Maeve leapt to her feet.

"Oh, what a horrible host I am. I'm sorry, Arl Teagan, would you like some tea?"

"Just Teagan, please," he nodded. "And some tea sounds lovely, though I wouldn't object if you had something stronger."

Maeve's gaze caught Alistair's, and the silence turned uneasy for several moments. Alistair swallowed, cleared his throat, and looked Teagan in the eye.

"We don't have anything stronger, I'm afraid. It's best that we not have it in the house. I'm sorry."

There was a second of confusion in Teagan's eyes before understanding dawned in his face, and he gave a quick nod. Alistair found himself profoundly relieved that he didn't have to explain.

"No apology necessary," Teagan said, and Maeve nodded and bustled into the kitchen.

"So now that I'm not a contender for a fancy chair I don't want, what else do you want from me?"

Laughing, Teagan shook his head. "Eamon does still want to see you, Alistair. Despite all that happened, he considered himself responsible for what happened to you. Seeing you alive and healthy would probably do him a lot of good, and certainly make his remaining years less stressful. And I love my brother enough to do what I can to help him."

As Maeve put the kettle on and fixed mugs, Alistair mulled over what Teagan had told him. He'd never forgotten Ferelden, not really, and the arl's visit had stirred his curiosity. Perhaps it wouldn't be so out of the question to go back, just once, and finally put all of his demons to rest.

"Perhaps a visit might be arranged," he said quietly. "I can't stay, there's no way Anora would ever allow it, even I know that. And my life is here. But…I might like to say goodbye, properly this time."

Teagan nodded. "I would like that, I truly would. And you need not worry about expenses." Holding up a hand to forestall Alistair's objection, he continued, "Redcliffe has been prosperous these past several years, and both Eamon and I have been quite frugal. Allow us to do this for you and your family, Alistair."

After a moment of hesitation, Alistair nodded. "All right."

"Excellent!" Teagan clapped his hands and rubbed them together in satisfaction. "Ah, thank you, my dear," he said to Maeve as she came in, somehow carrying three mugs in one hand, a pie in the other, and a stack of plates and forks balanced on her arm. Alistair leapt up to take the plates from her arm, and then mugs for himself and Teagan.

"I overheard your conversation," she said to Teagan as she sat down and deftly sliced and served pie, "and I've no objection to going back to Ferelden—I have many fond memories as well—but are you sure it will be safe?"

"Yes, I think so, though I'd sooner not go around shouting Alistair's last name. And I'd recommend avoiding Denerim and Amaranthine, just to be on the safe side."

"Amaranthine?" Alistair asked. He knew to avoid Denerim because of Anora, but why the arling?

"I, uh, well," Teagan tugged at his collar. "The Grey Wardens hold Amaranthine, Alistair, and I think is best if we not walk into the Warden-Commander's stronghold. She's…been known to hold grudges."

The Grey Wardens.

The Warden-Commander.

Solona.

Alistair's lips thinned. "Right then. No Amaranthine. Highever?"

"Yes, I'd say that would be for the best."

Alistair nodded decisively. "Good. I'd always wanted to visit Highever."

Maeve's inquiring glance caught his eye and he shrugged. "Kind of stupid, really. Duncan said he was from Highever, and during the Blight..." He trailed off, swallowing against an old, dull burn of grief for the man who'd been the first to truly value him. "During the Blight, I'd always thought I'd go up there and put up some kind of memorial. As we all know, I never got around to it."

There was a thoughtful sound from Teagan. "You know, Alistair," he said slowly, "you might be able to still do that. The Teyrn of Highever, Fergus Cousland, is a good man. He lost much during the Blight himself, and would no doubt be open to the idea of honoring your request."

Alistair frowned, struggling to recall what had happened during that frantic year in Ferelden. "Cousland? I thought…didn't they all die? I recall something about Howe massacring them during the Blight."

"Yes," Teagan said heavily. "He killed all those at Highever, including the teyrn's young son. Fergus himself was at Ostagar, and thought lost, until he was discovered as a captive among the Chasind. He reclaimed his teyrnir and rebuilt it. In fact, he's currently being floated as the most likely heir for Anora. He or one of his children. The Cousland line is older than even the Theirin, and carries a great deal of weight and respect, especially given what he went through."

"And your wanting to help with a monument for Duncan wouldn't have anything to do with perhaps me giving the teyrn and those who support him my blessing, now would it?" Alistair asked dryly.

Teagan cleared his throat guiltily. "That thought may have, ah, crossed my mind. Forgive me, Alistair. As much as it pains me, these days I don't have the luxury of looking at much without the considering the possible political ramifications."

"It's fine, Teagan." Alistair waved off the apology. "You're better off just being honest. I've no objection to doing that, especially if it keeps me and my family safe."

After that, Maeve turned their conversation to lighter, more pleasant topics. Teagan and Alistair discussed their work—which seemed equally fascinating to each man—and smaller, less important matters from Ferelden. By the time they realized it had gotten very late, and made arrangements to talk again the next day, Maeve had cleaned up the dishes and gone to bed.

Alistair showed Teagan to the door, and was clasping the older man's arm in farewell, when Teagan hesitated. "Actually, Alistair, if you have a bit more time, I brought something with me for you. I wasn't sure I should bring it with me tonight, but now I don't think I want to wait any longer."

"All right, lead on."

The walked through the cool night air to Teagan's inn. It was a fine establishment, but far from the most expensive accommodations Teagan could have booked. Alistair could tell that its more rustic, homey atmosphere appealed to the arl's Fereldan good sense. A sleepy barkeep nodded as they entered and climbed the stairs.

Unlocking the door, Teagan waved Alistair in, and then set about lighting some of the lamps with a lit taper after coaxing a small fire from the banked coals of the fireplace. That done, he unlocked and opened a trunk resting against a wall. Even wrapped in linen as they were, the shape of the three bundles he removed was unmistakable. Alistair frowned as the first two were laid on a table—clearly weapons, most likely a sword and dagger—and then a third large one, which could only be a shield. With his hand, Teagan gestured for Alistair to take them.

Alistair selected the sword first, and as soon as he began pulling the wrappings off, he had to stop and catch his breath and close his eyes for a moment. Then with all haste, he tore the cloth the rest of the way off, and then just as swiftly uncovered the dagger and shield.

How long had it been since he'd seen these items, held them in his hands, used them for the purpose for which they'd been forged?

"How—?" he started to ask and then stopped, memory crushing the words from his throat with its weight.

"You left them," Teagan said quietly. "At Eamon's Denerim estate. You left almost everything, and while Eamon couldn't stop Solona from taking the armor you found at Soldier's Peak, or Anora from taking Cailan's armor, he did put his foot down about these. When I told him about your letter, and that I was coming to find you, he asked me to bring them."

For long minutes, Alistair just leaned heavily on the table, his vision filled with bright metal, worn leather hilts, and a griffon, proud and rampant, emblazoned on the shield, the symbol of everything he'd once been so proud to be. The last belongings of a good man, taken long before his time.

"Thank you," he said thickly. "I didn't hope to think they'd survived. This means…more than you can know."

Without another word, Teagan caught Alistair's shoulder in a strong grip. They carefully rewrapped the weapons, and Alistair slipped the straps of the shield over his arm to bring it home.

"We'll talk more tomorrow, Alistair," Teagan said. "But for now, I think your wife might be concerned if she wakes up to find you not at home."

"You're right. Thank you again, Teagan."

"My pleasure. And I must say I am profoundly glad that I was able to find you. You seem very happy, Alistair."

Alistair didn't even have to think before grinning and nodding his head. "I am happy, Teagan. More so than I ever thought possible. What I have now…was out of my reach for most of my life. And I wouldn't trade it now for anything."

The walk back home was quiet and uneventful. Alistair let himself back into the house, locked the door behind him, and then made his way upstairs, putting out the few remaining lamps. Maeve murmured sleepily as he slid into bed beside her after shedding his clothes, and he pulled her tight against him. She cuddled into the touch, and dropped back off to sleep. Alistair lay beside her, reveling in the absolute peace and contentment he found here in his home with his family, and drifted off to sleep himself, the last of his demons finally put to rest.

Author's Note: From the reviews, I've noticed that I apparently faield to adequately indicate that this is the end of the tale. Alistair and his family are in a good place here, and there's nothing to be gained by going over a trip to Ferelden. He will go, make his peace with Eamon and his country, and then go home with his family. We dont need to see it, so let's leave him here, happy in the arms of the woman he loves. Thank you all for coming with us on the ride!