King Alistair
He watched as she left Ferelden for the last time.
King Alistair Theirin, formerly, Alistair of the Grey Wardens watched as the warden procession made its way out of the village of Redcliffe. He stood upon the parapet of the great castle, his eyes never leaving the company of men marching down the road to Orlais and beyond. The last time he had stood upon this tower had been almost ten years ago, he had been a boy then, a boy about to be cast out of the only home he had ever known…
Now he stood ruler of a nation, a ruler, and one of its saviors.
He sighed heavily.
His shirt and trousers were made of the finest black silk, the black iron breast plate had never seen battle and likely never would, but it was expected of him for the ceremony that had just concluded to look like the warrior everyone believed he was. His Father's sword was sheathed at his belt; the black cloak that covered his shoulders was trimmed in black bear fur. What he was wearing now likely would have fed an elven family in Denerim for a month.
It should have made him feel regal, like the king he was supposed to become; alas it did not do that…
He felt like a pretender, and idiot.
Kallian had been the real hero. He had just been along for the ride, now he had palace…
…and she had grave.
He fought back the tears that wanted to fall. He had cried too much since Fort Drakon, but always in private.
He was a king now.
It would not do to let his subjects see his pain, especially not for an elf.
Especially not for the woman he had loved, loved…then discarded.
His fingers curled into angry fists, he wished to dash them against the stone, to dash them bloody, yet he resisted that temptation.
The wounds from the last time had only just healed.
Wynne would likely not aid him this time, and even if she did, he would have to face the look on her face, that pitying look.
He did not wish to see that look again.
The honor guard protecting the casket was more heavily armed then most royal delegations, not that that was a surprise. The wardens were bearing precious cargo back to Weisshaupt, not just the body of the Hero of Ferelden, but the head of the Archdemon as well.
His eyes narrowed in hatred, the beast's skull and what remained would be examined once it reached the warden stronghold. It had been many years since the last Blight, a new generation of Warden Mages and Alchemists were no doubt curious about their fallen enemy. As for Kallian…she…she would…
He sniffled.
She would take a place of great honor. She would be laid in the great crypt beside her fellows, the heroes of the previous Blights, those brave men and women who had ended the threat of four previous Archdemons. A vision forever immortalized in marble, her name would be remembered forever. She would be a symbol of greatness and sacrifice for generations to come.
Yet…he would trade it all to see her again, to hear her laugh, to see her frown, to feel that friendly poke in the ribs when he said something stupid.
To feel her body pressed against his, her warm lips on his, to feel her legs…
A shuddering sob escaped him, he had tried to stop it, but he could not. He…he…
He had ended their relationship after the Landsmeet in Denerim. He had not wanted to, but he had had no choice. Kallian deserved more than to be known as the king's elven mistress, his…his whore…
He knew that some would say those words, even if they had absolutely no idea what they were talking about.
He had hoped that she would find happiness, that she would meet another after they had ended the Blight. He…he had not known what was being asked of them, what it took to end the life of an Archdemon, and even when he did…
Kallian had not hesitated.
Ferelden needs its king, it does not need me.
Those words haunted him; they would haunt him for the rest of his days.
Kallian had been wrong.
She was needed.
He needed her.
Now…she was gone…
…and he was alone.
He put his head in his hands and sobbed.
He thought he was out of tears.
It appeared that he was wrong.
He cried for his loss, and for her.
He cried for the Hero of Ferelden, the true Hero of Ferelden.
His fellow warden.
His love.
She had been the true hero, he…he was just a fool, one day everyone likely come to see that.
He feared that day, the day that the people learned truly what they had lost.
…The day that he failed to save them…
…The day that he failed.
IOI
Six Months later:
The Palace was a flurry of activity.
Eamon Guerein, Chancellor of Ferelden rushed down the halls of the Palace, a small army of advisors following in his wake. The former Arl of Redcliffe issued orders to this servant or that; everything had to be made perfect for tonight's festivities. This would be the first time since the Blight that the capital would be hosting the great and near great of Thedas.
He did not intend to disappoint them.
Seven months ago the Blight had ravaged this city, now it was well on the way to recovery, to rebirth. The line of Kings shattered by Loghain's betrayal at Ostagar had been remade in the form of King Alistair. Now it was time to start rebuilding that line.
Now it was time for His Majesty to start thinking about the future.
They were coming.
From Orlais, the Free Marches, Antiva, even as far away as Nevarra. Daughters of noble houses, whose names were almost as storied as Calenhad, the Silver Knight, they all descended on Denerim like moths to a flame.
The elder noble smiled to himself.
With a little luck, one of these fine ladies would finally free the King from shackles that had bound his heart these many months. For too long now Alistair had mourned the passing of the elven girl, his fellow warden. It was time for him to move on.
It was time for him to start thinking about the future of the Kingdom.
Ferelden was rebuilding, but it was slow work, hard work, an alliance could only help the process. If the king chose a girl from a wealthy noble house from across the waking sea, it would be a boon to his country, or a hindrance of nothing came out of the next few hours.
The chancellor pursed his lips.
Many eyes were on Ferelden right now, not all of them friendly. There were many in Orlais who would like nothing more to invade Ferelden while it was still weak. Then there were still plenty of Loghain loyalists hidden among the nobles. Men and women who still clung to the belief that Anora MacTir was still the rightful ruler of Ferelden…
Alistair needed to make a statement. He needed to show their enemies that Ferelden was not weak. He could best do that now by making new alliances…
An alliance sealed through matrimony would serve them best, not only would it bring them new resources, but it would also give the kingdom what it desperately needed.
The chance of an heir to the Throne of Calenhad, poor Cailan had failed the nation on that point, five years of marriage and still he remained childless…
Alistair could not afford to wait that long.
There were too many eyes watching.
There was too much at stake. Several lords crossed his path on the way to the throne room. Their daughters following in their wake, the Chancellor nodded respectfully to each of them. They smiled politely and continued on their way.
He glanced at each of them, wondering which one might hold the key to Ferelden's future.
He was confident that some good would come out of this event, with so many young ladies in attendance, how could it not?
Now all that was required was the guest of honor.
Where ever he was.
"All is in readiness, brother."
Arl Teagan of Redcliffe paused as he encountered the Chancellor and his entourage. Eamon was grateful that his younger brother was here. There was not as much…negative history between the King and the young lord. Sometimes, Eamon's past decisions affected his relationship Alistair, in those instances, Teagan's presence was invaluable.
Instances like now.
"Excellent Teagan, excellent," he said with a pleased nod, "Now all we need is the King and we will be ready to begin."
Teagan frowned.
"Alistair is not here, yet?"
"No," the chancellor sighed, "He went riding earlier, and has yet to return to the royal apartments, his guards returned, but his Majesty insisted that he take care of some business in the stables before tonight's…affair."
Teagan chuckled.
He had always been more amused by Alistair's antics than his elder brother.
"I will go and fetch him, brother," the Arl promised, "I trust that you can keep the guests calm until we arrive."
Eamon nodded, it would not be that difficult. He had planned for this after all, in the last seven months he had come to expect the king's reactions to certain events, to judge the young monarch's moods.
His mood involving tonight's event, was far from positive.
Alistair did his official duties well enough, but whenever Eamon even mentioned a search for a wife, the young monarch fled like the setting sun.
At first the chancellor had accepted this behavior; it could be chalked up to the king mourning the passing of his friend, but now, after six months…
It was time to let the past go.
Alistair had a duty to his kingdom.
It was time he lived up to it.
IOI
"Whoa! Easy there, now…easy!"
Alistair sighed as the pale mare whickered under his touch. She shook her muzzle as he tried again to sooth her.
The horse was a recent addition to the stable, a gift from the Bann of Waking Seas. The mare promised to be one of Alfstanna's finest chargers.
Eamon had called her a fitting gift for a new king, and a fine show of allegiance from the Bann of Waking Seas.
Now they just had to get her used to her new surroundings, the mare was quite spirited.
Trust was not an easy thing to gain.
Alistair had taken her out this morning on a guideline. She had been saddled but had no rider. They needed her to get used to the weight, and the feel of a saddle, after that, they would see about a rider.
He was dressed simply today, white shirt, black trousers, and muddy riding boots. He would have felt a fool dressing up for such a mundane task. He had no desire to explain to anyone why his fine noble riding clothes got ruined should the mare get spooked and pull him into a pond or something.
No for something like this, he preferred to not stand out like some dandy fool. He had been a warrior once, a fine one.
Alistair frowned.
He was starting to miss those days.
He had spent the most of his time these last few months seeing to the countries reconstruction, not an easy thing in the aftermath of a Blight. The darkspawn horde had tainted so much of the land, it would be years before anything would grow there, if ever, and what did was certainly not fit to eat.
The King had put his people first. Everything he had done was to see to the welfare of his people. Eamon did not seem to understand the affect the Blight had on the southern Bannorn. It was just numbers to him; he had not seen the damage himself. Redcliffe had been fortunate; it had only suffered a minor darkspawn raid. There were parts of the south that were all but dead.
It would take time to nurse those lands back to health.
Then there was the matter of seeing to his obligations to their allies. Ferelden had not defeated the Blight on its own after all. They owed the mages a boon, the dwarves, and Dalish elves too, he could not just forget their contribution, there sacrifice.
His frown deepened.
He knew several lords that were already trying to rewrite what had happened here. They had hired scribes down playing the sacrifice of Fereldan's allies, and seeking to take full credit for the Archdemon's fall.
He had heard some of these tales himself. They spoke only of the battle of Denerim and the courage of the Ferelden knights. There was little mention of their allies, except for a minor mention of the circle of magi.
The dwarves and the elves were barely mentioned, likely destined to be forgotten, or at least they would have, if not for him.
Alistair refused to let such tales stand unchallenged. He had consulted his own scribes, telling the tale of the battle of the Denerim Alienage, how the elves of the city had fought as bravely as any knight, fighting with primitive bows and kitchen cleavers.
Dwarven soldiers had helped push the darkspawn back, but if not for the assistance of the city elves, the whole Alienage would have been lost.
Kallian's people would have been lost.
Alistair shook his head.
He had tried to do right by her, to honor her memory. He was doing everything he could for the elves. Many were understandably hesitant, for too long they had suffered under human cruelty. He wanted to change that, it would be difficult, but one day, he hoped to earn their trust.
He owed Kallian that much.
He intended to see what happened to her before the Blight to never happen again. Never again would a man like Vaughan Kendals hurt the people of the Alienage.
He would make sure of that.
The King sighed.
Maybe that was why he was so bothered by today's event. It seemed to be a waste of time and effort. If Ferelden needed allies he would make a treaty with his neighbors, there was no reason to have half the nobles in Thedas parading their daughters around like prize ponies.
The mere thought of it sickened him.
He knew that Eamon blamed his attitude on Kallian, but that just wasn't it. His feelings had nothing to do with his late love.
He would have to take a wife soon, to at least try and produce an heir. He knew that and accepted it. What he didn't want was to be simply the king to his future wife.
When she took him to her breast, he wanted her to know that there was more to him than just a crown. He had heard the tales of Anora and Cailan from the servants, the few that would talk. His brother and his wife would often spend weeks apart, and when they did see each other, few civil words were passed. Such tales had been kept from the people, but…
Alistair shook his head.
He wanted more than that. More than just a woman to try and give him heirs, he wanted someone he could talk to, someone who did not see him as a joke, or a bastard who had just gotten lucky.
He wanted…
He wanted…
He sighed heavily.
He wanted someone like Kallian, even though he knew that that was impossible.
All those women waiting in the palace, they had come for one purpose…
And it was not to make him happy.
He fed the mare an apple, she accepted it readily enough. Slowly, he was starting to earn her trust…
…One day he hoped to be worthy of it.
It was unlikely be he could hope.
He wiped the straw and dirt off his clothes; he needed to get back to the palace before Eamon sent out a search party.
He was not in the mood for another lecture about his kingly duties. He understood them quite well, thank you…
He wasn't any good at them, but at least he understood them.
He broke into a brisk walk hoping to get back to the royal apartments before anyone noticed he…
EEEEEP!
He had been moving too quickly, not watching where he was going.
He paid for that.
The young woman had been heading for the stables as briskly as he was leaving them; neither had had time to stop.
They collided like to jousting knights.
The girl went down, but not before snagging his shirt.
The king of Ferelden let out a tiny squawk as he fell.
They ended up in a tangle of limbs in a large mud puddle, dirty water rushed up his nose and into his mouth.
Sputtering Alistair tried to stand.
He reached down trying to find something solid, he found something soft wrapped in silk.
"What are you doing?!"
Alistair froze.
One of his hands grasped the girl's breast.
Oops.
The girl glared up at him, her raven hair wet, her fine golden gown stained brown and black with mud and muck from the stables.
Her blue eyes promised murder.
He…he wasn't sure what to do! He…He…
"I…um…"
Say something stupid!
"Let go of me," the girl snarled.
He looked down at his hand, and her breast.
"Nice dress," he said, "Very soft."
The girl snarled.
She flipped him into the mud, hard.
He coughed and came up sputtering. The girl had finally climbed out of the mud hole. Raised voices could already be heard approaching, that and the sound of armored boots.
Alistair glanced down at the mess that was him.
How was he going to explain this?
The girl was wiping at her dress, but it was unlikely that the muck would ever fully come off.
"What did you think you were doing?" she demanded.
He shrugged.
The girl rolled her eyes.
"Father is going to kill me; I can't meet the king looking like this! I…"
Three guards arrived.
"Thank the Maker you're here," she said, "I…"
The guards ignored her; they went to Alistair's aid.
"Are you alright, Your Majesty," the lead guard inquired.
That stopped the girl cold.
Her jaw fell open, her cheeks turned scarlet.
Alistair gave her wan smile.
"Well," he said, "At least you got to meet the king."
The girl fled, leaving the guards to fish their monarch out of a mud puddle.
He coughed, watching her retreating form.
It was then that Teagan arrived. He took one look at the scene and chuckled.
"This looks familiar," he quipped.
Alistair sighed.
He supposed it did.
He shook his head.
Long live the King.