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In good times and in bad	By : kruemel Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 14749 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Dragon Age and the characters of the game do not belong to me. This is a no profit fanfiction

Chapter List
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Notes:

Refers to The Stolen Throne and The Calling by David Gaider. Includes spoilers for those who haven't read the books.

This feels so unreal. They want me to become king!
All my life whenever my heritage was mentioned someone made sure I understood that there was no chance - and with no I mean not the slightest bit of a chance - for me to ever become king. Not that I had any ambition! It was just fine for me that this burden wasn't mine. What hurt me about people telling me this was nothing I could achieve was the way they would treat me. As if I wasn't worth being Maric's son. It's the very same now. Eamon's words still echo in my mind. The unthinkable has occurred.
It's either Loghain or me.
That's like the choice between the devil and the deep blue sea.
I'm quite sure they plan on only using me as a puppet. Eamon will be the one to pull the strings. This sounds both comforting and terrifying. I wouldn't have to take responsibility, could still follow the lead of someone else - and I never would be allowed to do what I want.
I don't know where I'm heading. I just walk around without a destination. Someone has just pulled a rug from under my feet and I'm falling. The hole is pitch black and bottomless.
And then there's a hand taking hold of mine and the falling stops. I look up to find Rori beside me. She has grounded me again. We walk in silence until we reach the small garden in the inner court of the castle. I inhale the fresh air greedily when we burst through the doors into the open. The garden is surrounded by thick high walls, the castle looming over the rose bushes. It's like an illusion of freedom. I feel trapped.
I cannot sit down so I pace on the path between the flower beds while Rori sits with her legs crossed on one of the stone benches. Bless her! She knows better than to push me or - even worse offer well meant advice I haven't asked for. Or some platitudes about duty and serving.
This garden is Isolde's. She has brought her Orlesian taste down here. Too many putti, too many embellishments, too much of everything. It's as artificial as this whole farce of making me king.
"I cannot do this, Rori," I blurt out, still pacing. "How could I? I'm not prepared for this. You heard Eamon. He only chose me because there's no other option. He doesn't believe in me."
"I believe in you." Rori says calmly.
"That's real sweet, but..." Usually I value her opinion, but right now I think she's quite biased. She sees me through rose-coloured glasses. I'm not half the man she believes me to be. "Oh, Rori, what shall I do?"
"Say 'Bloody blast it!' and give it a try?"
How does she always succeed in making me laugh? "Says the woman who called me nuts when I suggested she should be teyrna."
"In case we get all this done... defeat Loghain, slay the archdemon, end the Blight... then I guess that's what I will be after all - unless Fergus is still alive. I do hope he is."
I sigh and slump down on the bench next to her, running my hands through my hair. For a while we just sit there next to each other, watching the dark clouds floating across the starlit sky. "I feel like running away."
"I know what you mean."
"You thought about it?"
"Many times," she confesses.
"What keeps you here?"
"You." She smiles and takes my hand, intertwining her fingers with mine. I smile back at her, tempted to tell her I'd run with her if she asked nicely. "And the realization that running away won't make things any better. I can run away from the battle, from the Blight, from my responsibility - but I cannot run away from myself."
Teagan was right. She is a smart girl. I still don't want to become king. But I guess it's better than not becoming king. I will never be able to look at the man in the mirror again if I let Loghain get away with this. It's weird to think about it this way. That I become king for my own sake. Not because of some responsibilty or because I owe someone. Strangely it doesn't sound that terrible anymore when I look at it that way. Don't get me wrong, I'm still scared out of my mind. But I guess... I should give it a try. Bloody blast it!
"So... what do we do now?" I ask, sighing heavily.
"Oh... we still got some time until dinner..." Rori grins impishly at me.
Hey, that's not what I meant!
But she already pounces me, throwing us both backwards and off the bench. We land in a flower bed of white and pink lilies. Isolde so won't like this, having her pretty flowers smashed by two love-crazed Grey Wardens rolling around in her flower beds.
"Somewhere more private!" I manage to gasp before Rori can pull down my pants. I really have to talk to this insatiable little ginger about moderation. Then... on a second thought, maybe no...
Still, I've had enough of awkward moments for today with Teagan and that awful moment at the gathering when Eamon declared I should become king. So i swoop her up in my arms to find somewhere save and secluded...
...
"Alistair, may I have a word with you." Rori and I jump apart, startled by Eamon's voice. I blush when I see him standing at the door, holding up a lantern. I can't help wondering how long he's been there, watching us kissing each other. And it has not been one of the innocent brushes of lips. I've had her with her back pushed at the bookshelf behind her, one of my hands having found its way beneath her blouse, caressing her breasts. And she had one hand down the front of my pants. When we tumbled into the library it was dark and empty and we didn't expect anybody coming here at that hour.
That much for more privacy.
Yes, yes, we got rooms but there's maids cleaning the mess we made earlier when we set Rori's room under water and I scattered the contents of my backpack all across my room in a hurried search for dry clothes. And instead of chasing them out, I just swept us both into the adjoining library. My fault. I should have seen this coming.
"If you don't mind, Lady Cousland." Eamon at least has the decency to pretend he hasn't seen anything he was not meant to see.
Even Rori's ears are bright pink when she quickly curtsies to Eamon and then hurries past him out of the room.
"You are rather fond of Lady Cousland," Eamon comments once Rori has closed the door behind her, muttering 'Blast, blast, blast!' under her breath.
"I really don't know how you got that impression," I mumble with my back turned to him while I hastily try to stuff everything back into my pants that certainly is not meant to be looked at by Arl Eamon. Really, why is this always happening to me? The conspiracy is at work again and someone is standing somewhere in the shadows, snickering and smirking.
"Is this going to be a problem?"
"What do you mean?"
"Alistair, a king cannot always follow the calling of his heart..."
"Whoa... wait... one moment! You only just decided I should be king and now you're telling me..."
"I only want you to be prepared. A political marriage could become necessary..."
"I won't listen to any of this. You cannot take her away from me." I storm past him but he grabs my arm and I don't dare to yank myself free. Glowering at him I wonder what else he has in storage. All this makes me sick to my stomach and I have to remind myself repeatedly I am doing this for myself. It doesn't sound as convincing anymore as back in the garden.
"Alistair, please... I am trying to help you and that makes me wonder how much influence she has on you. I knew her father quite well. And I got the impression, that Bryce's daughter is a little spitfire."
"Oh yes, she is." I laugh and to my surprise I don't sound as bitter as I feel. Maybe the thought of Rori butting heads with Eamon cheers me up. I'd place my bet on the ginger.
"So, is it you making your decisions or is it her dictating them? You are about to become king. I have to know what I am dealing with." Already worried Rori could cause trouble? Well, she certainly will. Trouble is her second name. Go and try telling her she's got to end our relationship because I should consider a political marriage!
"If she dictated my decisions she'd not be the only one," I snap. "It was neither my idea nor my wish to become king. You said it was my duty."
"Alistair, if there was another choice..."
Anger, I guess, is far better than whining. It for sure is a way to release the tension. I really don't know where I find the courage to talk to the Arl like that. Blame Rori. She's the one who told me I got to look after myself more often. Right now I feel like I'd be stripped of everything that's dear to me if I don't fight back. I am not going to put up a brave front here. "See, that's another thing that doesn't sit well with me. You and Teagan didn't seem to be exactly thrilled by the thought of me becoming king. I'm a fill-in you don't believe in."
"Alistair... no, that's not what I mean." Eamon sets the lantern down on the long table in the middle of the library and pulls a chair out for me to take a seat before he sits down himself. I prefer to stand, though, my arms crossed in front of my chest. Sighing, Eamon rubs his face tiredly. Sadness and sorrow make him look older than he is.
"Maric hated to be king." His voice is no more than a whisper and I think I must have misunderstood. Maric? Maric the Saviour? "He was a good king but it didn't make him happy. He never felt he could live up to the expectations people had in him. You are so very much like him."
I'm stunned. Stumbling backwards I fall on the chair Eamon has prepared for me. I've never heard Eamon talk about my father. For years I've tried to learn more about my parents, but all I got were curt answers. Everybody was clearly avoiding the topic and whenever I insisted they would get mad at me. Maric always had been a far away figure to me. Someone larger than life. The man who had not wanted me near him.
"Your mother knew how unhappy it made him. It was the reason why she didn't want him to raise you. She didn't want that life for you, the burden of being a king's bastard and a possible rival to Cailan. She believed it would make your life a misery just like your father's. I think she'd have rather kept your heritage a complete mystery, to not let you know at all Maric was your father. But it proved impossible. Too many knew and although we tried not to let the rumour spread, we couldn't keep it from you."
"Well, you did for quite some time," I remark dryly. I have to clear my throat twice to actually manage to speak at all.
I remember well when I first learnt that King Maric the Saviour was my father. There had been comments before, whispers when I passed by, people staring at me. I was too young to understand. But then I was there when Isolde confronted Eamon. She didn't care I heard her, acted as if I wasn't there.
It was a winter's day, shortly after my ninth birthday. Eamon was in his study with me. I loved when he invited me to join him there. He would look at books with me, teach me heraldry and history. I was always so eager to learn. I yearned for his praise, that little bit of attention he gave me. When Isolde came in that very day, I was sitting next to him with my head bent over a book. I looked up to greet her but her glare silenced me. I didn't understand what I had done wrong to make her despise me. She didn't beat around the bush. She told Eamon to his face she wouldn't live in the same household with his bastard. Eamon sighed and told her I wasn't his son. He had told her so often but she wouldn't believe it because he wouldn't give away who my father was. They had a fight that night. It was real bad. They shouted at each other, Isolde threw books at Eamon... and I was the cause of all this. In the end Eamon snapped at her: "Maric is his father. He's the king's bastard."
It was like he'd slapped me in the face. I was standing there like rooted to the spot. All those years whenever I asked about my father, they told me they didn't know. It was a lie. They had lied to me all the time. And suddenly the whispers and the nasty remarks began to make sense. At that very moment I couldn't even cry. The tears came later. At night when I was alone in my bed in that chamber above the stables. I clung to my golem doll and cried myself to sleep. Until I hadn't known of my father I at least could pretend Eamon had kept me because... he really cared for me. But then I learnt he had only kept me out of loyality to his king. And when he sent me away, he proved me right. Sure, he objected to Isolde's wish for a whole year but in the end, he still sent me away. I still remember every single word of what Isolde told him: "If the king doesn't want to care for his own bastard, why should we? Send him away to the Chantry, that's where such as him go."
I begged and I cried, I threw a tantrum. Nothing helped. In the end I lost. The night before Eamon took me to the Chantry, I stood in front of the small mirror shard in my chamber, looking at the reflection of that skinny ten-year old with his hazel eyes and his unruly blonde hair - and I so wished I could be someone else, someone anybody could love. When the gates of the Chantry closed behind me the next day, I felt like the lonliest child in all Thedas.
"Isn't it ironic?" Eamon chuckles without any amusement, making me return to the present. "Your mother so wanted to prevent you being burdened with your royal heritage - and now here you are about to become king. That's what she wanted to protect you from."
I cannot get rid of the feeling there's something he won't tell me. Yet another secret. The way he talks about my mother, I can hardly believe he's referring to the maid they keep telling me is my mother. Would Maric have confessed to a mere maid he happened to run in at Redcliffe Castle? Hardly. But do I dare to ask? Can I cope with any more of this tonight?
"My mother... who was she?" I blurt out while Eamon is brooding over some long ago memory.
"You know who she was," Eamon says quickly when I'm about to ask him again. The way he avoids to look me in the eyes I am quite sure I do not know.
"She didn't want me to know, right?" My voice is shaking. Everything I ever believed to be true comes tumbling down on me.
Silence is consent, I guess.
"Who was she?" I insist. Strangely the clearest thought in my mind is: Hey, then that shrew Goldanna isn't your sister! Ain't you lucky!
"I do not know, Alistair. They never told me. The only one who knew was your father... and he is gone." Eamon's expression is pained. This is not easy for him but for once I so do not care. If he thinks this is hard, he can try and walk in my shoes.
"Did that even belong to her?" I snap angrily, knocking over my chair when I jump back to my feet. I pull the amulet of Andraste from around my neck and shove it at Eamon. It has a meaning to me. One because I believed it to be my mother's, two because Eamon putting it back together has to mean something, hasn't it? But maybe this is also a lie. All my life has been a lie. Why did she do this? What right did she have to keep my family background a secret? What could be so bad that she felt she had to protect me from the truth? That's the thought that finally calms me down. She wanted to protect me. She cared.
"Yes, it did belong to her. You already wore it as a baby when Loghain brought you here."
My fingers close around the amulet again, and squeezing my eyes shut, I press it to my heart.
Then I flee out of the constriction of the room. Eamon doesn't even try to stop me. I feel like I cannot breathe anymore, the air is thick and suffocating. The pressure on my chest makes me dizzy.
I know this place like the back of my hand. I run until I can't breathe anymore and a sharp stinging pain stabs my side. Only then do I stop, dropping to my knees. I'm high up on the top of the western tower. I had to climb through a gap in the roof to get here. It's been one of my favourite hiding places when I was a boy. They never found me here. I felt so lonely, sitting high above everybody else on the tiles of that roof was quite fitting my situation. While I gasp for air, I try to fight back the tears. In the end I just give in. It's been too much pressure, too much death, too much of anything. And I guess as nobody sees or hears me here, I can cry like a little baby.
I'm still shaken by my sobs when someone softly whispers my name. I turn to see Rori peeking through the gap in the tiles. How in the name of the Maker did she find me? When Barkley's large head appears behind her once she climbs onto the roof, I know the dog is to blame. She gives the mabari a dog cookie, then sends him away. I really don't want her to see me crying. It's not exacty manly. At the same time I don't want her to leave. It's the first time ever I'm not alone on this roof. Without saying a word, she hugs me and gently kisses my tears away. I look into her huge blue eyes and all I see is concern and love. She's not put off by my display of weakness and vulnerability.
I rest my head against her bosom while she holds me, listening to her heartbeat and her song. I love how she sings to me when she comforts me. She's here with me without asking any questions, without demanding an explanation.
Oh, Rori, there's no words to express how much I love you.
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In good times and in bad

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