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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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- 42
- 43
@isisriku90: My sentiments exactly. But the more I am grateful for the reviews I get. I'm always like SQUEE! So thank you again. Alistair indeed can become a great king. As canon he is. There's comic books where he is king and has an adventure with Varric and Isabella. And if you play a female noble (Cousland background) you can make him king and your Warden queen - you just have to make sure you announce this during the Landsmeet because he won't ask the Warden. Which I think is a bit sad because I like to imagine he'd make a proper proposal. Add the Royal Wedding mod and you get to see their wedding at the end of the game. I love Origins because the characters are so well developed. I adore them all. I'm playing DA2 at the moment because I know I will get Inquisitions for christmas, and DA2 makes me want to bang my head at the wall. (Sorry to all those who love it. I don't.)
Anyway, glad you liked the chapters, Here's the next one. Hope you - and all the other readers - enjoy it as well.
Merry Christmas to everybody!

Chapter 42
The atmosphere of the tower is so oppressive it suffocates even Rori's cheerfulness and makes her brooding. The mages hurry along the corridors, voices muffled, eyes cast down, shoulders slumped, pressing to the sides mostly as if they try not to be seen by the watchful eyes of the templars.
"I cannot understand how Wynne could stand it here. Even without all the abominations and demons it is horrible here!" she murmurs when we follow Ser Cullen to the dining room. We've been invited for supper, simply because it would be suicidal to climb into that nutshell of a boat right now.
The sky is almost black, a sharp wind whips at the few slim birch trees at the shore and the dark waters of Lake Calenhad. Rain pours down, drumming at the windows of the tower.
The meal takes place in a wide hall with several long tabels and benches in rows. On a dais stands another table where the Knight-Commander, the First Enchanter and the more important templars dine. Below the mages have taken seat with some heavily armed templars patrolling the hall, looking over the shoulders of those they have to guard. I don't know if this is normal or if Greagoir has taken special precautions after Uldred's rebellion. Ser Cullen shifts uneasily in his chair next to Greagoir. He keeps watching the mages with squinted eyes, his lips a thin line of grim determination.
It is quiet in here. Nobody talks, not even in a hushed whisper. It awfully reminds me of the dinners at the Chantry that were held in silence with one sister or brother reciting from the Chant of Light. It was horrible! Whenever I entered the dining hall, I felt the uncontrollable urge to say something. Anything.
And I found ways to break that silence.
Like when I scribbled a note for Sister Astrid, informing her of the fat black spider sitting on her head. There was no spider but... oh, that look on her face was priceless! She jumped off the bench and started screaming shrilly while she shook her head wildly to get rid of the non-existent spider. I almost fell of my bench, laughing.
Or one time when Brother Roland was reading from the Chant of Light with his long pauses and a voice so monotonous and low that a Tranquil sounds spirited compared to Roland, I just couldn't help mocking him.
And once when nobody was looking, I slipped under the table, crawled to the far end and reappeared right next to the Revered Mother with a loud BOO! Oh, I cannot even count how many pots I had to scrub.
Right now, I feel that awful itchy sensation again, that urge to babble and break the silence. Especially when I see one of the older mages climb a little ladder that leads to a lectern above the dining tables. He clutches a very thick book that looks awfully boring.
"Good evening, gentlemen," Rori greets our hosts as we take our seats, frowning at the fact that they only nod when in reply. If she had been raised in the Chantry she'd know better.
Greagoir clears his throat. "We dine in silence," he whispers.
"Really? Why? Isn't that awfully boring? Fergus and I made it a game when we were kids, who could stay silent longer. I always lost," Rori babbles way too cheerfully. For someone who doesn't know her, she probably seems quite her usual self. But she's far from feeling comfortable. I know by the way she squeezes my hand under the table as if she attempted to break it. She beams at the frowning Knight-Commander in such a disarming manner that one can see his resistance melt.
"Well," Greagoir chuckles, admitting his defeat. "I think as we have guests today, we can have an exception to the rule."
Rori sighs in relief and so do I.
"Alas, this allows me to ask one question that has been bothering me all day long." Irving steeples his fingers as he propes his arms up on the table. "Prince Alistair, the assistance you have asked for considering the contracts of the Grey Wardens, do you also intend to use this obligation to secure your claim of the throne?"
Blast it! Maybe silence isn't such a bad thing after all. At least I don't have to answer questions I don't feel capable of responding to. My mouth suddenly is awfully dry and I have to take a sip of water before I can even attempt to answer.
"No, First Enchanter Irving, I have no such intentions. This is a matter solely concerning the Grey Wardens. I may be the heir of the throne but for now I am a Grey Warden and my only goal is to end the Blight. It is very unfortunate that Ferelden is also facing a civil war in times like this but I will not misuse the Grey Wardens as kingmakers as such is not their responsibility. It is but a mere coincidence that I happen to be both a king's son and a Grey Warden. Who is to rule Ferelden will be decided at the Landsmeet - hopefully without any more bloodshed."
"Forgive my wariness, your Highness."
Every time he calls me Highness, I have to remind myself he's addressing me and not someone else. It's awkward but every attmept of making them call me Alistair fails. They just ignore my request. If I thought people would listen to me once I am to become king, then my hope fails at the stubborn ignorance of the templars and mages to consider something as simple as the way I'd like them to address me. It's as if I had said nothing at all. At least that's something I'm familiar with.
"No offense taken, First Enchanter."
Rori nudges me in a way that could be accidentally but when I look she gives me thumbs up, keeping her hands under the table so that nobody can see.
I guess, that means I haven't made a complete fool of myself. But as I am not the only walking-talking catastrophe here, I think, I better make sure, Rori isn't going to offer any more confessions. "You don't happen to have forgotten something important once again?" I whisper in her ear.
"Like putting my panties back on? You should know, Alistair. You checked twice before we came here," she retorts with the sweetest smile. "You'd like to have another look?"
"As much as I'd love to, I'm afraid, I have to recline. But I might get back to that offer later."
The mages still have their dinner in silence. It's as if we are actors on a stage performing a play for an unwilling audience. It doesn't feel right. Neither for me nor for Rori or anybody else in this hall.
Meanwhile Rori tries to cheer up Ser Cullen by bombarding him with questions he only answers because he's a polite man. "So, where do you come from, Ser Cullen?"
"From a small village in the south. Honnleath. You probably have never heard of it." He keeps watching the mages, never faltering in his alertness. Rori could dance the Remigold naked and he wouldn't as much as glance at her.
"Actually we've only been there recently." Rori admits after a short moment of hesitation.
"Really?" For a very brief moment Cullen's attention is drawn away from the mages. "There's a statue in the middle of the village square, it's actually a golem."
"Well, it's not there anymore," I remark. Like most of the villagers. With the difference that the golem is quite well while most of the villagers are dead. Rori and I exchange a look. Should we tell him that Honnleath was overrun by darkspawn? He could have family there but he already has so much to cope with. Rori would want to know no matter how much it hurt. I... I think Ser Cullen should get the chance to recover from what he had to endure during the rebellion of the mages before he learns of more tragedies. I fear he could break down. So I shake my head no. Rori doesn't look happy but she doesn't object.
"Gone? I wonder what happened to it," Cullen murmurs, unaware of the silent argument that has taken place in front of him. "They wouldn't have removed it, would they? It was rather popular."
"It's travelling with us."
"You are in control of the golem!? The villagers always said its control rod was broken."
"Well, it is broken. Sort of. We could activate the golem but we cannot control it."
"Then how...?"
"It has its own free will."
That has her the attention of Irving and all the templars and of all mages sitting close enough to be eavesdropping.
"That is most remarkable," Irving comments. "I have never heard of a golem with a free will. Do you think I could examine it?"
"Shale - that's what it calls itself - well, it isn't really fond of mages."
"Maybe we should recruit it then," Cullen remarks dryly.
While Irving questions me about Shale, Rori keeps looking over her shoulder at the silently dining mages. Her expression is one of sympathy and concern. To her it has to look like a prison. The strict rules of the tower make sense when you know what this is all about. In the Chantry silence during dinners was no more than a matter of discipline and respect. Here, it is a way to protect the templars.
It's not easy to be a templar. You have to watch over the mages, watch for a sign of demonic possession, and if you see it, you must not falter. You have to be ready to kill them. Forming relationships with the mages, being friendly with them - it makes things difficult. That's why we get trained from the very beginning to not fraternize with mages. Some even stop thinking of them as human beings. I never managed to make myself look down upon a mage like that. I am wary around mages - okay, paranoid. But I could never forget what they are.
Well, Morrigan, she makes it very hard for me to believe she could be human. I doubt I'd have much problems killing her should she turn into an abomination. Although I doubt she could get much worse, possessed or not.
We both are utterly relieved and glad to get out of the tower again. And Cullen is utterly relieved and glad to get rid of us. He accompanies us to the shore to make sure we really climb into that boat. No offense taken. The man does his job and he's good at it. If I was him, I'd be highly suspicious of two Grey Wardens recruiting a bloodmage who committed horrible crimes.
Jowan's excuse - although he didn't call it an excuse, he had that much decency - was that he defended his love, a female initiate. Rori's far too practical to simply be touched by a sad story. Although it probably was influencing her decision to recruit him. She wouldn't have done so, if Jowan had simply been power-hungry.
Back at the Spoiled Princess, when Rori comes to my room, she's still perturbed by the atmosphere of the tower.
"I feel sorry for those who can't leave that place. Mages and templars likewise." She pushes a wooden case aside to sit on my bed. She's so beautiful tonight in that simple darkblue dress. It's a bit crinkled from her having it stuffed into her backpack, but it's still pretty.
"Unfortunately it is necessary. Templars and mages cannot be friends."
"You are friends with Wynne."
"And it would break my heart if I had to kill her."
Rori nods. She's not happy with this but there's really nothing she can do about it. She has other battles to fight.
"When are you going to tell me what this is?" She knocks her knuckles at the wooden case. "You've been draging it around for a while now."
"I am utterly surprised you haven't yet been snooping," I tease, pulling a clean but equally crinkled shirt from my backpack. It has a hole or two but at least it is clean. "I'm afraid I'll be more looking like a bastard than a king tonight."
"I never snoop!" she protests, arms akimbo.
Oh, beware the wrath of a ginger!
She's so cute when she's trying to be mad at me.
"Yes? Then what would you call your attempts to find Sten's cookie hiding places? The poor guy has been trying to keep his cookies save from you so desperatedly, I feel sorry for him."
"It's a game. That's got nothing to do with snooping," she insists, poking the wooden case curiously. "Do you know where he hides them? I haven't found them for some time," she adds sullenly, pulling the box closer to examine the locks.
"That's because he stuffs them in between his underwear. The filthy ones." Grinning I watch her poke and turn the wooden case.
"Ewwww. He can keep those!" She pulls a face, sticking out her tongue.
"Hardly," I chuckle. "Now you aren't stealing from him anymore, Barkley is."
"This dog knows no decency." She looks questioningly at me and I know she dies to know what's in that case. I pretend I do not notice the curiousity in her large blue eyes or the way she tilts her head and bites her lips. "Alistair," she finally whines. "What's in that box?"
"Alright. It's a gift. For you."
"For me?" she squeals girlishly. "Then why haven't you given it to me yet?"
"I wanted to wait for the perfect moment..."
"Alistair, every moment is a perfect moment for a gift! Especially when it's one for me." She bounces on the bed excitedly. "Can I open it? Do you have the keys?"
"They have to be somewhere..." I start looking around but by the time I find them Rori has picked the locks. "Impatient thieving magpie!"
"It's not thieving when it belongs to me," she points out, lifting the lid. "Oh... oh, Alistair!" She's awestruck. Carefully she touches the shining wood of the fiddle before she takes it in her hands, admiring it. It's not a pretentious instrument but very simple in it's beauty, still Rori loves it. She presses it to her chest and squeals in delight. Then she pounces me, fiddle still in hand.
"Careful, careful!" I laugh but she silences me with a kiss that ends us both in bed together. If this is her way of saying thank you, I should give her presents more often. Her dress is even more crinkled afterwards. I lie prone and lazily watch her in all her naked beauty as she tunes the fiddle. The first few notes sound more like someone scratching their fingernails across a blackboard.
"What a pleasant melody. You should play for the archdemon if you ever get the chance. This certainly is a better weapon than floral arrangements."
She smacks my naked butt with the bow. "I haven't played in a while. And I never claimed I was a virtuoso." Concentrating, with the tip of her tongue sticking out between her lips, Rori gives it another try. She's bewitchingly cute. This time she also does much better. It is a simple tune but beautifully interpreted, a rather popular folksong I've already heard in taverns. She's so giddily joyful it transfers into her play and what she lacks in skill, she compensates with her charm.
"Better?"
"Much." I kiss the tip of her nose and smile at her lovingly. "In case we fail as Grey Wardens you can start a second career as street musician, I do my rounds with the hat to collect the coins and Barkley can learn some tricks."
"We'd be starving," she laughs, putting the fiddle away.
"Then we better succeed in slaying the archdemon, right?"
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In good times and in bad