"I locked myself in a cage once, when I was a child, for an entire day. Ahh, good times..."

I'll show her, I will. I'm done taking care of her stupid Orlesian beast. His poop piles are bigger than my head!

The stable master was busy hitching a pair of oxen to a wagonload of supplies. He had barked his orders to Alistair a short while ago. He was to brush and saddle the arlessa's horse. Lady Isolde wished to go riding this afternoon, he claimed, the first time since the arl's son was born that she's felt well enough to do so, and by the Maker, her horse had best look like it was fit to be the mount of Andraste herself!

Andraste was a commoner from Ferelden. She would have never ridden a horse. She was no chevalier neither. She had no business riding horses.

As he watched the stable master, Alistair imagined himself as a noble thief imprisoned for a crime he did not commit, sneaking out of the evil king's prison. He inched around the corner of the stable door, and when he was sure he wasn't being noticed he broke into a run.

He ran across the wide stone bridge into Redcliffe Castle. The guards stationed there gave him no notice, for he was often sent to deliver messages around the grounds. He hated being asked to play messenger boy, but one benefit of the job was that he was generally ignored by the rest of the castle staff. If they questioned where he was going at the moment, no one questioned it for very long. The arl's own mabari were kenneled through the hallways he was entering, so it would be easy to think that stable master sent him to find the kennel master.

Alistair ran through the halls, getting turned around once or twice but finally finding what he was looking for. Redcliffe's dungeon was rarely put to its intended use, so the nearby passageways were oddly silent. Nearly everywhere else in the castle or on its grounds there was always some kind of noise; servants chattering, pots and pans clanging, weapons clashing, cows mooing. No one came to the prisoner cells with any kind of regularity.

Yes. This is good, no, it's perfect! They'll have to look really, really hard to find me in here!

The first cell on the right seemed as good as any, in particular because its door was slightly ajar. As it turned out, the door was far heavier than he imagined just by looking at it. It was made of black iron, with rusted hinges that painfully broke the silence as he yanked on the door to dislodge it. After the rust coating was broken the door moved more easily, but Alistair still had to pull with all his might to get the door to open wide enough for him to slip inside. It was far easier to move the door back to its original position. It slammed shut with a resounding clang that seemed to echo throughout the lower floors. The silence however won out again quickly enough.

At first, Alistair strained his ear against the quiet, fearing that they would find him far too easily. But as time passed, he relaxed, feeling smug that his hiding place had been a success. He pushed against the cell door, and just as he had hoped it had indeed locked behind him. Now that he had truly trapped himself here, he could not scurry back to the stables if he got scared. Or, as was more likely to happen, he could not run to the kitchens if he got hungry and risk discovery. Nope, the only way now that he would be found would be if someone came to him.

His thoughts wandered back to the wrongfully imprisoned thief, his imagination painting pictures of a dashing man who was always on the run, hiding in the woods by day while robbing the local nobles blind at night. He was smart, funny, good with a sword and bow, and always knew more than those of noble birth about how the world really worked. But now, they had caught him. Or maybe he had gotten greedy, going after a tempting treasure and falling into the lord's trap. Or maybe someone he trusted had ratted him out. Yes, that was it. Another thief, a supposed friend, had turned him in for a huge reward. And now he found himself in the dungeon, awaiting the lord's judgment.

After a couple hours, he started to feel hungry. Alistair the Thief would have been fed, at least. Maybe only bread and water, but something! Ooo, maybe even something like hard cheese. He sighed. They would find him soon enough. It had to be afternoon by now. The arlessa would be furious to have her pleasure ride delayed, the stable master only slightly less so for the embarrassment of making her wait.

They think they own me. That they can push me around like I'm some kind of servant. If I were a true prince, they would be my servants. I wonder how they'd like that, having to jump at my every word. First thing I'd do, I'd make the arlessa polish my armor. And then I'd take her horse. Claim that it was needed by my royal father the king, to fight in his battles and win his wars.

He angrily rubbed his eyes at the thought, wiping away that awful burning sensation before it grew into something more. His foot lashed out, as if it was out of his control, and kicked over a bucket long since left and forgotten here in his cell. It clattered across the floor, hitting the opposite wall with a resounding crash. Eventually he slid down into a sitting position, leaning against the wall with his knees held in close to his body. Even more time had passed, but without being able to see the sun he had no idea just how much. It felt like hours and hours, but that could just be his stomach talking.

He listened yet again, and still he heard nothing. Reassured that the dungeons were still empty of anyone besides him, he reached down into his tunic and pulled out the amulet he always wore. It wasn't something he did often anymore, not since the older stable boys started mocking him for wearing a necklace.

"My father told me that King Maric got him on some serving wench! Funny, you'd think he'd believe himself a prince, not a princess! May I get milady anything? A frilly dress? Fancy ribbons for your hair? What about a pair of pretty shoes?"

It had been the shoe comment that did it. It made him think of the arlessa and her wardrobe full of ornate Orlesian shoes, which he had been tasked with organizing once. It earned the boy, the son of a minor bann visiting Redcliffe, a punch to the face and a broken nose. Alistair was banished to the kitchens for a month, scrubbing pots and cleaning butchered chickens.

He rubbed his thumb over the pendant. He often found himself doing that when was upset about something. Originally the amulet had been decorated with the symbol of Andraste's holy flame, but over the years the soft pewter had slowly worn down and the symbol was getting harder and harder to recognize.

She would have come looking for me. She would have scolded me for running off, but then we would have gone to the kitchens and had a warm dinner. Lamb and pea stew perhaps, or maybe some leftover roast from the arl's table sent back to the kitchens.

His vision started blurring again.

Stop blubbering, you giant baby. You're ten years old now. Ten! Almost a man grown. Grown men don't simper about their dead mothers.

Alistair's attention was snapped back to reality when he heard the deep throaty barking of mabari disrupting the quiet. Had they come looking for him at last? And they were using the mabari to track him! They must have been truly worried over him going missing.

Several minutes passed, but instead of the noises getting louder they grew quiet. The hallways were no longer silent, for the mabari would bark once in awhile and he could hear the muffed voices of guards. But things had clearly settled down to a state of calm.

It was then that the truth hit him. All he had overheard was the nightly bedding down of the arl's prize mabari. They hadn't been looking for him at all. They were just going about their business like it was any other night. And it was indeed nighttime by now, if the mabari were being kenneled for the evening.

If I were a true prince I'd have them all hanged. Maker, if one of those precious hounds went missing the entire castle would be routed and made to help search for them.

Shoving a few bits of loose rubble out of the way, he curled up on the dirty floor. Maybe if he slept for awhile, he would feel better when he woke. It felt odd to miss his normal corner of the stables, but straw was indeed far more comfortable than flagstones. Some part of him hoped that being missing from his normal sleeping place would cause someone, anyone, to come looking for him in the morning.

He woke several hours later, again to the sound of barking mabari. It was dark, darker than before he nodded off, for most of the torches in the hallways outside the cell block had burned out overnight. The silence that was left in the wake of the mabaris' leaving was unnerving, and the dark didn't help to improve things. It was then that Alistair suddenly realized just why there was a bucket in his cell. It made yesterday's imaginary romp as Alistair the Noble Thief lose a fair bit of its shine, for there was no garderobe which the bucket could be emptied into.

A short while later, he began to hear the sounds of shuffling from the hallways, and something that sounded like his name being called out. He listened long enough to be sure he wasn't imagining what he heard. When he was certain, he headed to the very back of the cell, where the ceiling sloped down the floor forming a rough semi-circle. The whole area was dark and damp with mud, for the condition of the outer cell wall had deteriorated greatly thanks to a slow steady drip that clung wetly to the stone bricks. A particularly wicked thought ran through Alistair's mind. He began taking handfuls of mud from the floor and wall, which he then smeared all over himself. His arms, his legs, his face and hair, even his clothes he plastered with mud. Even if whoever was looking for him actually managed to find him here, hiding in the dark covered in black mud, they would at least need to clean him up before sending him to his punishment.

Someone was coming. Alistair could hear their footsteps, but they did not sound hurried. Nor was this person calling his name. He did notice that the dim light filtering into his cell was getting slightly brighter. Someone was lighting the torches in the hallway outside the main door.

"Bann Teagan!" a voice, probably the lamplighter's, called out suddenly. "The door to the dungeons is open!" Alistair heard a hiss escape his lips, and he pressed himself even more against the back wall.

"Do you see the boy in there?" Holy Maker, it really was the arl's brother looking for him. He hadn't known before that moment that Bann Teagan was even at Redcliffe, he must have arrived yesterday while he was down here. He knew he was in for it now, if the arl had sent his brother to find him.

A stranger's head popped through the door, and took a quick glance about. "Not that I can see, milord, but a dungeon is a great place to hide in the shadows. 'Ere, take one of my torches." Alistair squeezed his eyes shut when he saw Teagan's familiar form come across the prison threshold. Some small noise must have escaped him, and he heard Teagan gasp.

"Alistair? Is that you hiding back there? Maker's Breath, what's happened to you?!" Alistair sighed. He had been found. That was what he had wanted all along… right?

"Yes, Bann Teagan, it's me." He walked up to the front of his cell, suddenly ashamed by what he had done.

"Locked in a cell and covered in mud. Was this some kind of prank, lad?" Teagan asked as he reached over to grab the giant key ring hanging nearby on the wall.

"No, ser, it wasn't. I thought it would help keep me in the dark. Y'know, like a sneak thief hiding in the woods, covered in sticks and brambles. Except, I only had mud." That sounded so much better than his original thoughts on the matter, of that Alistair was sure.

Teagan turned the large iron key in the cell's lock and forced open the door. "Come, Alistair. We'll have to get you cleaned up quickly. The arl is waiting and I can't present you to him looking like this."

The arl. Andraste's flaming sword, he was in for it now, he was sure of it.

After a quick bath, hastily provided by several buckets of freezing cold water from the well, Teagan lead a sopping wet and shivering Alistair up the main stairs into Redcliffe Castle. As they climbed, Alistair's stomach growled so loudly that Teagan turned around to look at him.

"How long were you locked in that cell anyway?"

"…since yesterday morning." Alistair watched his feet carefully, making sure they didn't trip over any of the steps.

"We'll have to make sure we get a hot meal in you before… well, I'll make sure it happens, anyway." And with that, Teagan pushed open the heavy wooden doors and ushered the damp boy inside.

Arl Eamon was waiting for them, standing on the main hall's dais in front of the roaring hearth. Alistair recognized the woman standing next to him, though it was certainly odd to see the Revered Mother outside of the Chantry. At the arl's opposite hand stood a Templar, dressed in traditional white armor and embroidered maroon robes.

"Ahh, Teagan, you found him. Was there a problem?" Arl Eamon regarded Alistair, clearly curious about why he looked like he'd just been dredged out of Lake Calenhad.

"He is dripping on the carpets! Teagan, why did you bring him inside like… well, like this?"

Alistair hadn't seen her standing there off to the side. Hearing her voice, full of anger and shaped by that accent which made her even uglier in his eyes, Alistair's anger flared.

"Teagan got me all wet like this, Lady Isolde. It wasn't my fault!" He figured he was on his way to being severely punished anyway, it really didn't matter anymore if he also got in trouble for sassing the arl's wife.

"Enough, Alistair," Eamon said, his tone brooking no argument. "Isolde, why don't you go check on Conner? I can handle our business with the Chantry."

She stiffened, but did not argue. "Just see that it is done, Eamon. This should have happened years ago." She glared at Alistair as she headed out of the room. "Good riddance!" She closed the door forcefully behind her.

"Alistair, lad, come here," Eamon said as he got down on one knee and tried to catch Alistair's gaze. His former harsh tone was gone from his voice, but that scared Alistair even more. He approached the dais, swallowed, and waited.

"You know Revered Mother Hannah, yes? From the Chantry down in the village?"

Alistair nodded. "Your Reverence."

"You do have some manners, it seems…" Mother Hannah said, her face relaxing into a slight grin. "Yes, Eamon, now that I see him up close, I can see the resemblance you spoke of."

"Indeed," Eamon agreed. "I never had cause to suspect Maric's words on the matter."

Maric. Alistair's stomach tied into knots. King Maric. My... why were they bringing him up? Had he sent for me? Did he want to see me?

"Alistair, listen to me," Eamon continued. "I know this will be hard for you to understand. But I need to send you with Mother Hannah and Knight-Commander Harrith. They have agreed to allow you to join the Chantry, to eventually be trained and sworn to them as a Templar."

Did the room just start spinning, or did someone hit me over the head? "A… a Templar? But… why?" His stomach felt like it had fallen down to the area around his knees. "Why would they want me?"

"It is not a matter of want, Alistair. It is your duty as well as your father's wish that you remain out of courtly affairs. The Chantry can provide you an education as well as a life of devotion and service once you are a man grown. So it has been decided. If you have anything you want to bring with you, I suggest you go retrieve it."

You knew it was too much to hope that the king had changed his mind about you. And yet you did. Stupid, stupid Alistair.

"But… Arl Eamon… ser… Why can't I just stay here? I don't care about royal stuff. And I promise not to run away anymore, not ever. I'll stay in the stable, and muck the stalls, and brush Lady Isolde's horse, and do whatever is asked of me. I'll be good, the best nobody ever. Please." He bowed his head, both to show the arl how sorry he was as well as to hide the tears that yet again he was unable to hold in. He felt too hurt to truly care much about them, however.

"Alistair, please. This has nothing to do with your behavior. It will go easier for all, including yourself, if you don't make a fuss over this." Eamon bent down, and lifted Alistair's chin with his forefinger. "I'm sorry, son. But what must be must be."

"I am not your son!" Alistair screamed, wrenching his face away from the arl's touch. He bolted for the side door, but as fast as he was Teagan was faster. He grabbed the hysterical boy and held him until the worst of his flailing subsided. "Alistair, lad," Teagan said quietly. "My brother is only trying to do what's best. Come now, and let's go get your things from the stables."

Alistair sniffled as he tried to regain control of himself. He was shaking with the effort. Looking up at Teagan, a man who had always been friendly and thoughtful of him during his frequent visits to his brother's arling, his sadness was suddenly replaced with rage.

"Fine. It's clear that no one wants me here any longer, not just the arl's bitch of a wife." Alistair glared at Teagan, wondering how he would react to his stinging words.

"Another reason it's best to get you out of the stables. You'll learn to keep a more civil tongue in your head, living under the Chantry's roof." Bann Teagan called back over his shoulder. "We will return shortly, though I do need to stop by the kitchens first. The lad has decided to starve himself for the last day, and I don't want to send him off on an empty stomach."

"Fine, fine, just bring him back here when he's ready to leave," Eamon said, clearly dismissing them

And just like that, Alistair found himself walking out of Redcliffe's keep, heading toward a life he never wanted. He had no idea when, or even if, he would ever return here after today. It was then that he realized that he had forgotten to tuck his mother's amulet back under his tunic. He reached for it, intending to return it to its normal place... but what did it matter anymore? He was leaving Redcliffe Castle. His mother was a nobody; a serving girl of no importance to anyone, save one night when she dallied with a king. She was dead, and his father wanted nothing to do with him.

With a harsh jerk, Alistair yanked at the necklace, breaking the delicate clasp in its chain. As they passed under the inner portcullis, he looked briefly at the pendant's face one last time before throwing it against the nearby wall. The pewter disk shattered when it hit solid stone.

Yeah, that's right. I don't need you anymore. I don't need Arl Eamon, or Bann Teagan, or anyone here in Redcliffe. I don't need anyone at all. All I need to do is swing a sword, kill mages, and recite the Chant of Light until my tongue falls out. Why should I care about anything else? No one else does.

He glanced back at the castle while crossing its massive stone entrance bridge, which caused his anger to boil yet again. The arlessa's parting words ran through his head. That's the first and last time the arlessa and I will agree on anything, ever. Good riddance, indeed.