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The life of a Royal Bastard, Alistair	By : Kitty_Hawk Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 4349 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not in any way own any content of the Dragon Age Franchise. I make no money from this work.

Chapter List
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All I wanted to do was get under the furs with her in her tent, though I knew I wouldn’t be able to think once there. Her curves would torture me without mercy; my mind would only be on ways to torture her back. So even though she had lead me into her tent, I looked out while she removed her armor, trying to remember what I needed to say.
“Alistair? Have you gone shy on me? You won’t keep me warm by standing like a sentry at the door. That is what Bucky is for.” Rose called, walking up behind me and leaning her cheek on the plane of my back. She took my hand and turned me about, trying to read my face judging by how she knotted her brows. Looking into her green eyes, I could not focus on any coherent thought. So looking down but holding her hands, I began speaking.
“You know how I was raised by Arl Eamon when I was a child, until he got remarried and I was sent away to the chantry. I know so little about my mother except that she died giving birth to me. I only had one thing of hers, an amulet of Andraste, made of sapphires woven with mithrael into a tear drop. It was beautiful when sunlight passed through it. When Eamon sent me away, I was so mad and angry that I threw the amulet against the wall and it shattered to pieces. It’s one of my greatest regrets. If anyone was like a father to me, it would be the Arl, but he isn’t my father. While I once had something of my mother’s, I have never had anything of my father’s. Some think I am a bastard child of the Arl, I am a child of a union that many would keep secret.”
I paused, focusing on Rose’s hands in mine, running my thumb along the planes of her hands. Her hands are so small, fitting perfectly in mine. Taking a deep breath, I continued.
“When I was young, my ears came to a bit of a point, which I grew out of in adolescence. I came up with wild stories, saying I was a dalish elf, running wild in the forest. Never have I seen the dalish in my life. Never would I have imagined that partly it was true. It was the Arl and Duncan who would tell me where I am from. My mother was dalish and met my father when he once ventured into the forest. Apparently they had some adventures together, along with the Grey Wardens, that’s how they met Duncan. My mother thought my father was a knight, on mission from the king. According to Duncan, they rivaled and bickered with each other constantly but it was that that brought them together as lovers. The necklace I had of hers was actually supposedly a joke gift, given by my father since she worshiped the old gods. So of course, that is how I came along. If they had been different people, I might actually have had a normal childhood. The problem was, my mother was a dalish elf of the warrior class, and my father… was the ruler over the land, King Maric. So, I am not just a bastard, I am a royal one.”
With it out, I was finally able to look up at her, but she remained silent, scrying my face.
“Rose please say something.”
“I am looking into your face. There was a painting of King Maric right after he fought the Orlesians at Highever. The painting seemed so larger than life, like no one could exist that had those traits. Though when I look at you, I can see the same nose and lips and tendency to unruly hair.” She said, smiling as she ran her fingers though the tuft of my hair that always sticks up in the front. “Why didn’t you tell me this all before? You know you can trust me for a while now. I am a bit hurt you didn’t tell before, especially before we go to see Arl Eamon, who is the only other person who seems to know your secret.”
“Oh please don’t be upset. Anyone who thought I was a lord’s bastard has treated me differently than anyone else, generally negatively. Anyone common born treated me like I was someone high and mighty and anyone high born treated me as dirt. I wanted you to know me as I am, as a man who wants to make the world better.”
“I can see where you are coming from and it makes sense. I still feel it’s a bit of a shock.”
“Yeah, it’s hard to tell someone. Hey you know how you are always calling me a bastard? You are so right! I am not just a bastard but a royal one, I have crown made of paper to prove it. I keep it under my pillow.”
“Really? Maybe we should sleep in your tent, cause I need to see this.”
“So are we all right?”
“Yes Alistair, on one condition.”
“Which is?”
“As long as I can call you my prince whenever I like.” Rose said with an impish smile.
“Oh no, anything but that. I would prefer court jester or anything over that. Oh, I knew the …” Rose cut me off, placing her lips on mine and kissing me rather wickedly.
“Rose, I mean it. I…” her lips return to mine like magnets of polar opposites.
“Oh damn it woman, call me whatever you like.” Bringing my hands to her face, deepening the kiss.
Dear Maker, do we know how to torture each other. I broke away as I noticed how Rose’s arms are covered in goose bumps from the cold. I leaned my forehead against hers.
“I think it best we get you warm. It is snowing outside. Now what is the use of a portable grey warden heater that makes bad jokes, if he can’t keep you from shivering?”
I lead her by the hand to the furs and bedroll, letting her get under the covers first and snuggling in behind her. I wrapped my arm around her, my knee between her legs, and my head surrounded by her unruly brown hair. Kissing her on her shoulder, I closed my eyes, enjoying the peace of the moment.
“Good night, your majesty.” Rose said with a chuckle.
I growled into her neck in frustration. “Oh I think you have the titles all mixed up dear, it is you that can lead me anywhere.”
Rose takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. So we fell asleep this way, tangled together with the snow falling upon the tent.
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The life of a Royal Bastard, Alistair