Alistair looked out over the main hall of Fort Drakon. It had been well over a year since they had fought their way though this tower to the rooftop to fight the archdemon. In some ways, it felt like it only a few days had passed since then, and in others it felt like another lifetime, someone else's lifetime, in fact. The fort looked much the same except for the darkspawn, of course, but a lot had happened since the end of the blight. A coronation, a wedding and most recently he had weathered his first landsmeet as king. He hadn't been too worried, figured it couldn't be worse than the first one. With the blight and civil war ended, most were very supportive and willing to give him a chance. Then of course marrying a Cousland, especially one who had led the battle against the blight and had slain the archdemon herself, hadn't hurt.

In truth, his marriage to Kathryn had appeased many of the nobles concerned with his lack of training and education, but that was a bonus. He loved her more than he ever thought it possible to love anything, and thanked the Maker that for some inexplicable reason she wanted to be his wife and was also willing to be queen. In his weaker moments, he had wondered if it hadn't been the other way around, that perhaps she had married him so that she could be queen. But while she could have tried to take over the throne and rule though him, as Anora had and countless other nobles, she hadn't. She helped, supported and advised him, tried to teach and allowed him to learn and even make mistakes. It seemed as though with the defeat of the blight she felft her life's purpose had been fulfilled. She seemed content with that and while she could have done anything and had anyone, she wanted to stay with him. In any other circumstance, he would have followed her to the ends of Thedas itself. But now he had a duty, a responsibility to Ferelden, to its people to lead them through. He had been given a opportunity and enough good will to have a chance to succeed.

However, he also knew that despite all, people have short memories and there are always people who stand to benefit from a change in leadership. Then there were those who had supported Loghain and Howe and had lost much when he became king. If he proved to be a poor king, he could lose his throne. His... throne. Funny how that's exactly how he thought of it, as his throne. Especially considering how much he had protested against being appointed. At least at first he had, but somewhere, sometime during the blight, he had changed. During the Landsmeet, Kathryn had asked him who she should appoint ruler of Ferelden and he had said with more conviction than anything else he had ever done, to appoint him. Granted he didn't trust Anora but he had wanted the throne, wanted to be king and wanted to be a good king. He wanted to prove that he could rule the country and rule it well, that he could hold the country together, that he could lead it through the blight and its aftermath. He wanted to prove it to... well, everyone but mostly to himself. And if he was honest, he wanted to prove it to a father he had never meet and never would and who would never know that his bastard son had become king.

He had concluded his business and prepared to return to the palace. He had a very important appointment with the library's mouser, a glass of brandy, and a book on political theory. Kathryn had quite obviously been raised to be a teyrn, in case something had happened to Fergus and he suspected to be a backup queen to Anora. (He tried not to think about that too much, the idea of Cailan and Kathryn literally made his skin crawl.) She had, at his asking, suggested books for him to read in order to learn about all aspects to governing. He had worried that they would be tedious or more likely too complicated for him to even understand but that had not proven to be the case. In fact, he found he enjoyed them. The librarian had let slip that many of these had been given to Cailan but he had not read them, preferring the books on history, myths and legends. Somehow, Alistair wasn't surprised.

He made his parting comments to the captain, and then felt the cold air blow through the hall as the main doors opened. A group of soldiers, battle hardened, tough and no-nonsense came through. He could feel the atmosphere in the room change, the tension level double and then double again. He looked to the captain with a questioning look. "Members of Loghain's army." The group came in but stopped when they saw him. He had the feeling they had been waiting, if not praying, for this opportunity.

"Look, men!" said one soldier, who looked like he had seen a lot of action in his time. The kind of person you didn't want to meet in a dark alley or on the battlefield, or anywhere else for that matter. If Alistair could be intimidated, he no doubt would be. So, he figured, it was a good thing he couldn't be. But still he had a feeling that things were going to get ugly. "The bastard!" the soldier said loud enough for everyone in the entire hall to hear.

The captain turned to him. "Sounds like someone wants a few days in solitary."

"No." Alistair said. "You can't punish him for speaking the truth. I am a bastard. Everyone knows that."

"Still, he should have more respect. This is your king." The captain said to the solider. The man stared at him. Yes, Alistair thought, this was going to get ugly.

"Your king, maybe. But he isn't our king. No, we will not bow knee to the murderer of a hero, to one who stole the throne from the rightful queen." The soldier said, his voice getting louder and louder.

"We fought a duel for the crown and he lost. " Alistair said with complete composure. "I didn't murder him. I executed him... for crimes against Ferelden, for the murder of its king, and the destruction of an entire army to cover it up. He may have saved this country once, but he was going to destroy it. Someone had to stop him, before the blight destroyed everything, if there was anything left of this country to destroy after he got done with it."

"You expect us to believe all that. He was a hero! He loved this country, fought for it before you were even born. There is no way that you... fought and defeated him." The soldier shouted, not that he needed to, everyone was listening.

Alistair stepped towards the soldier and lowered his voice. "I have faced an archdemon, fought a darkspawn hoard, defeated demons and abominations beyond number. I have killed more people than you can count, including Loghain. Do you think for a moment that I'm afraid of you?"

"You only survived because of the warden. She's the hero, you are no better than her whore." The soldier said. "But she isn't here to save you now, is she? What are you without the fancy armor and the enchanted sword? Nothing, that's what. Just some bastard that your father was too ashamed of to claim as his own."

"You've said your piece. No doubt you felt you had to... take some measure of revenge for a man you loved. I get that. But that's enough. Unless you are planning on doing something other than talking, I have better things to do." Alistair turned away from the man and started towards the entrance.

The soldier called after him. "What can I do? Here? Surrounded by your army. If it were a fair fight I'd take you down. Anyone of us could, easily. But here you're safe and you know it. Everyone here knows that you don't have the stones to fight us."

Alistair stopped and closed his eyes for a moment. "Maker, forgive me." He murmured to himself. Then he opened his eyes, set his jaw and then turned to face the soldier. "That sounded like a challenge. A formal challenge. A... um... demand for blood rights for the death of your general and... I accept. There are enough witness here, so it's legal." He pulled off his armored gloves, unbuckled the royal breastplate and removed it, then took off his armored boots and threw them into a pile, placing his shield on top. The sword he laid carefully next to them. "So, by right and under penalty of death, no one can interfere."

The soldier looked at the rest and then suspiciously at the king. "Nice show but you wouldn't dare." The solider said.

"Actually I already did. Didn't I, captain?" Alistair said. All turned to look at the captain, who was shocked beyond words. He could do little more than nod. There is little respected more than the old ways, the rights of blood and the honor of a formal duel. Whatever happened the king was on his own. The captain prayed that he knew what he was doing. Mummers went through the growing crowd. Within moments it seemed as if the entire population of the fort, if not the city, was there. Alistair picked up a simple wooden shield from a nearby weapon rack. It had been some time since he had used one of these. He tested it to make sure it was solid and then walked off several paces from where the soldier stood. Standing there, in little more than his woolen undershirt and breeches, with only the wooden shield as a weapon, Alistair said "Are you ready?"

"Damn right, I am!" was the answer that echoed from the other end of the hall.

The soldier threw down his cloak to reveal a set of high grade medium strength armor that marked him as a captain or lieutenant or perhaps an elite guard. Even better, Alistair thought. The soldier unsheathed his greatsword which was also high grade, probably silverite. The edge nicked from the many battles it had participated in but still sharp. Alistair could tell by the way he walked and set himself that he was well-trained with lots of experience, sure of himself and his ability, which no doubt was considerable. But the soldier had underestimated him, he could tell by the look on his face, by the showy swings he took for the crowd. He thinks I'm Cailan. Alistair thought. He took a quick look to the people surrounding them, and he had to suppress a smile. They all do. He could see the looks of worry on their faces, the thought racing through their minds... this poor boy stands no chance against a real solider... in their minds, the fight is already over and he had lost.

But I'm not Cailan, he thought. I'm not some pampered child reading fairy tales about kings and dragons, sleeping on silk sheets and mattresses of goose down, given golden armor and priceless weapons he barely knows how to use. He had slept in a barn, trained with weapons since he was a boy, barely strong enough to lift a wooden sword, for hours upon hours, day after day, at times from dawn to dusk, till bruised and too exhausted to move, with the broken bones and old scars to prove it. His hands were calloused from gripping his sword and shield in battle after battle, not soft from lifting jeweled gobbets at banquets. He had lost count of the number of men, mages and monsters that had died by his hand. He wasn't some spoiled prince pretending to rule. He was a warrior and a king. It was time they all learned that and he had determined that this soldier would be the first.

The soldier charged, and with a perfectly timed and measured swing, attacked. Alistair knew that any unblocked hit he took would probably be fatal. Trick was not to get hit. He waited for the swing and then deflected the blade and stepped aside. As the soldier's momentum took him forward past Alistair, he gave the solider a gentle kick in the lower back to over balance him and send him flying and crashing face first into the floor. Nervous laughter could be heard in the crowd. The solider gained his feet. Good, Alistair thought, now he's embarrassed and angry. The soldier charged again. Alistair stepped into the blow, preventing the swing from reaching full power. He withstood the blow without the slightest buckling, and then bashed the sword back and the soldier with it. Didn't expect that, did you? Alistair thought. But didn't need an answer. The soldier then set and started an attack, but Alistair could see that it was only diversionary. He let it go and waited for the secondary strike, blocking it. The soldier quickly countered with a series of swings, driving him back. Alistair was patient and waited, blocking and dodging as needed and then as the soldier's timing slowed, Alistair attacked. Knocking the sword back, and getting too close to the soldier for the sword to be any use. Alistair bashed him full in the chest with the shield, knocking him back. Alistair then spun around and with force struck him across the head with the shield. The soldier went to his knees. Alistair turned and walked to the other end of the hall and waited. With great effort, the soldier gained his feet and with fire in his eyes, screamed a battle cry and charged. Alistair stood in his stance nearly motionless and waited. The soldier ran towards him, full of sound and fury and still Alistair did not move. Just as the solider raised his sword above him, Alistair punched the soldier in the throat. The soldier's windpipe was crushed. He fell to his knees, as his sword dropped to the floor behind him. Alistair walked to where his armor and weapons were laying and picked up his father's sword. He walked slowly and purposefully back to the solider, and stood in front of him. The solider looked up to him and Alistair could see that at least he now understood and with a quick and almost imperceptable motion, he slit the soldier's throat.

The soldier collapsed onto the stone floor, his life blood pooling around him. Not a single sound could be heard in the hall. Alistair looked to see the shocked faces of the audience, staring at him. Well, now that he had their attention, he realized that he really should have read that book on oratory first. Too late for that now, he'd just have to wing it.

Eamon ran through the halls of the palace or something close to running. He was not a young man and had badly twisted his knee during the Battle for Denerim. It still caused him a slight limp. One that he barely noticed and that, as most nobles who are wounded in battle, he was quite proud of. But now it slowed him down. Reports from Fort Draken had been flowing in. Nearly every servant, soldier, day laborer, and grocery had heard the story and as the time went on, the story changed and grew. Trying to figure out what had actually happened would be harder and harder. He was waiting, hoping to talk to Alistair himself. There had been a couple reports that he had returned to the palace but he had searched and had every servant searching the place and he was nowhere to be found. Now he was looking for the queen, if anyone knew where Alistair was, it would be her. He turned the corner and nearly collided with Kathryn. "Oh, my dear. I am so sorry. But please... where is Alistair?"

"I don't know. What is going on?" She answered, collecting herself.

"You do not know?" He asked nearly incredulous. At this point she must be the only person in Denerim who did not.

"No, Eamon, I was in the library waiting on Alistair to return from the fort. What is it? What has happened?" Eamon did his best to enlighten her as to what he knew as they made their way to the front door of the palace.

Once there Eamon put on his heavy cloak and turned back to the queen. "I am going to the fort to try to find out what happened and see if Alistair is still there. You do not know where he might have gone, do you?"

The queen gently shook her head, "No, I have no idea." Eamon looked at her for a moment. He wasn't sure if he should believe her or not. He doubted greatly that she truly had no idea where he might be but she was, in truth, an excellent liar, and equally hard to pin down. There was little point trying to get information from her she had no intent of divulging. He fastened his cloak and with a nod, stepped out.

The queen for her part, waited till Eamon was gone and then hurried to the royal apartments. She had to change and somewhere to be.