Denerim.

Eamon always came here in winter. For politics, the Landsmeet. Things Alistair didn't understand. He had been just excited that he, for the first time in his life, was allowed to accompany his foster father to see Ferelden's capital.

He had heard stories from the other stable boys before their departure, of course. Fables of a marketplace as huge as Redcliffe itself, of candied apples, and rats as big as Mabari hounds. Alistair hadn't seen a Denerim rat just yet, but the buildings, trees, and streets were bigger and wider than anything he had seen before. It only made sense to him that everything had to be huge because the palace with the king was also in this city. The gray stone castle rose high into the air and was visible from far away, even from his seat in the cart when they arrived.

Alistair wondered if the king ever would get lost in his grand castle with all these rooms, but Eamon had him forbidden to come with him there, like so much else. There were many rooms in Eamon's estate—not as many as in the palace—but for Alistair, there were still none free. Isolde's face had instantly changed color and she had begun to sputter foreign words in her high screeching voice when she saw how he ran through all the rooms with his muddy boots. That was the point where Alistair knew he was in trouble. And yet, he couldn't understand why it had been wrong to be excited. It was the first time he ever had left Redcliffe, after all. Eamon had scolded him for his mistake and now he wasn't allowed to go inside anymore.

Alistair tried to distract himself from the fact that it started to grow dark and thought about how great it would be to be king. Then he would have people doing all the work for him and everyone had to be nice to him. He could order all food he ever wanted, even the biggest cheese or cake and no one would dare to tell him to stop eating.

The growling of his stomach interrupted his thoughts and he pressed himself more into the corner of the kennel. He had found out that the cold wind couldn't reach him there. He looked down at the golem doll—figurine—Eamon had given him earlier and wished it were something to eat. He hadn't eaten much today, had mostly forgotten it while running excited through the large streets, trying to see all at once. Alistair had enjoyed this freedom. No one told him what to do and no stupid Isolde or Eamon scolded him for trivial things. For a few hours, he could pretend to be king and the many figures he built of snow were his faithful subjects.

It had ceased to be fun when the sun was slowly going down and the place shrouded itself in scary shadows. Eamon had no stable of his own here in Denerim, but a Mabari kennel in the courtyard of his mansion. So Alistair thought it would be a good idea to go there, for at least he wouldn't be alone in the night.

Alistair shuddered and one of the big Mabari there whined and inched closer to him. He touched its black, thick fur, buried his hands into it to feel the warmth, stroking it. The hound moved closer still, its body warm and solid against his. It licked over his face to give solace in its canine way.

Alistair decided he liked dogs.

There was peace here, among the Mabari. None of them scolded him or cared if he was not a noble, but a mere bastard. They liked him how he was, unconditionally. They were better than all stupid Eamon and Isolde's and people, who looked at him with disdain and would never accept him for what he was.

A simple, lonely boy left outside during winter.