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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
- 86
- 87
- 88
@isisriku90: Thank you! It's always so awesome when ppl like you leave such nice comments. It certainly gives me writing boosts... LOL I am not Alistair, but I for sure have my Inner Alistair and my Inner Rori - and they stubbornly do whatever they want to, dragging me along when I write. I so often take several pages of notes and then I begin to type and they do something completely different. As for Rori's by now rather obvious (for the readers, not for those two adorabel dorks) pregnancy... the Dark Ritual is only a few chapters ahead. So it's not that long anymore for you to find out what will happen, if there will be a ritual and who takes part... ;)
Thank you very much for leaving praise for the awesome artists! They are always happy to hear someone appreciates their art.
@Brad: Awww, that's so cute! Hush, don't tell anybody: I got a sequel planned. ;)
Chapter 87
"Who the fuck does she think she is?" Rori flings her boots into the corner. Her rainbow-coloured archdemon-socks and leather vest follow.
"Uhm... the queen?" Actually I'm as furious as she is, but Rori's so adorable when she's mad, her cheeks burn red and her eyes flash and then there's this incredibly cute pout. Add the fact that she's shoving down her tight leather pants while she keeps ranting, bent forward as she hobbles around to kick the pants of her feet, her curly red hair bouncing around her head - I just cannot help it... "You're so cute when you're angry!"
"I am not cute!" Rori snaps, causing me to laugh out loud.
"Isn't that my line?" I tease, reaching out to help her untie her blouse. She swats at my hands and pulls the ties open herself, tossing the blouse aside unceremonously. She neither wears a breastband nor one of these rather sexy but awfully tricky to open bras.
"What happened to all the fine Orlesian lingerie?" I wonder, smiling a hello! at her magnificent bosom.
"Too small," Rori huffs as she slips out of her panties. I catch them when she tosses them into my direction. "Too uncomfortable." She marches over to the washing bowl sitting on the dressing table. In the light of the candles there, the bruises at her neck become visible when she pulls back her hair. The imprints of fingers around her wrists, the marks at her thighs... She has a whole lot of reasons to be furious.
Rori rolls her stiff shoulders before reaching for the wash cloth. For a moment she just stands there with her head bowed and her shoulders slumped, hugging herself with the wash cloth pressed to her chest. When she lifts her gaze, she examines her reflection in the mirror as if this pale faced girl with the huge dark blue eyes was a complete stranger.
Rori's so lost in thoughts - and I doubt she's day dreaming - that she doesn't notice me approaching and jumps when I put my hands gently onto her shoulders.
"Hush, kitten," I whisper softly and my reward is a small smile across the mirror. She still looks wary, though, hugging herself even tighter, seemingly uncomfortable with her nakedness. She's so tense, I begin to massage her shoulders but she does not relax, quite the contrary.
"Alistair, I... I don't think... I don't feel like... I... need some time...," she stammers, sounding as meek as she looks. "I'm... I'm sorry."
Huh?
What? What is she talking about? What is it she can't do? And why would she be sorry? She looks as if I downright scare her...
Oh!
Oh Maker!
I do hope Zevran's more than just a loudmouth and works off that list of names Rori gave him rather quickly. Or I will have to do it myself.
"Rori, don't apologize. There's really nothing you have to be sorry for." I lift my hands off her shoulders, taking one step backwards.
"I... it's so mean. I thought, it wouldn't matter... I thought, I just could... but I can't... It's you. And you would never hurt me... I... I just cannot help it... I can't right now!" Blast! Now she's crying. And I don't know what to do. Hugging her doesn't seem to be a good idea right now. She let me hold her last night but it was all just cuddling and there was this silent agreement it wouldn't become more.
"Whoa, Rori, stop that! Don't be sorry. It's alright, really." What does she think, I would do? Be mad at her? Dump her? Force her to do something she doesn't want to? She really should know me better! But... I guess, she's too upset right now. That was two very rough days for her.
Her confrontation with Howe and what he spat at her about her family dragged her right back into that nightmare of Highever. Then Anora's betrayal got us into Fort Drakon and she got almost violated. These bastards had their hands everywhere all over her body and that they didn't get to do more was mere luck and Ser Cauthrien's good timing. And if that wasn't enough, meeting that little girl who lost her mother in Highever during Howe's attack, is yet another reminder when she's already unstable. Add the events in the alienage with ghosts and demons and bloodmages and, yeah, well, you get the picture.
I'm not as happy as a sandboy myself, but that's mostly because I am concerned about Rori. I love her. And after Fort Drakon I can honestly say, I love her more than my own life. I'd do anything, absolutely anything to protect her.
"Can I... can I hug you?" I ask shyly, raking my hand through my hair nervously.
Rori nods slowly, looking timidly at me across the mirror. Then she turns abruptly and flings herself at me as if she was afraid she wouldn't find the courage inside of her if she hesitated. I wrap my arms around her, holding her close while she cries.
All these tragedies, our brushes with death, I still feel as long as Rori and I are together, we have a chance to survive and perhaps even be happy. Or I'm just fooling myself and these wounds will never heal. Whenever I utter such doubts Rori usually defiantly declares that we will have our happy ending. But now when she wipes her snotty nose at my shirt as she nuzzles against my chest, it's her to doubt.
"What are we doing here, Alistair?" she whispers hoarsely. "How could we ever believe we could stand a chance? We should just run as fast and far as we can and leave this all behind..."
"Hey, hey! What happened to 'Bloody blast it, let's give it a try'? We've come so far, we cannot run away now. It was you who told me you could never forgive yourself if you gave up."
"You shouldn't always listen to me," Rori mutters, banging her forehead against my chest repeatedly. She sounds so devastated and not at all like the fearless leader everybody wants her to be.
"We'll get through this together," I remind her, placing a kiss on top of her head.
"First I have to get through a meeting with Anora alone," Rori pouts.
"I could accompany you," I offer. "She's not in the position to order you around."
"I doubt Leliana's plan is going to work when we put you and her into the same room," Rori sighs as she shrugs out of my embrace. She returns to the dressing table to wash herself. Usually I'd snatch the washcloth from her and clean her... and then one thing leads to another and... happy lamppost licking! Of course I can behave myself! Maker! But she's so hurt, I don't even want to appear as if I was pushing her, so I sit on the bed and try to appear busy by emptying my whole backpack onto the floor. The stench is unbearable - and I am utterly relieved when I find it's not my socks but the dead rat Barkley must have dropped into my backpack like ages ago...
"Uhm... see you later," Rori murmurs when she's ready for her confrontation with Anora. It's a bit of an awkward moment and I don't know what to do, so I clumsily lean in to give her a peck on the cheek same time as she moves forward and we bang our heads together.
"Ow!" I rub my forehead, grinning goofily. "Sorry, that was... I didn't mean..." That's when Rori grabs me by the front of my shirt and pulls me into a kiss, her boldness fading when we're so close that our lips are almost touching. "Are you sure?" I whisper, not daring to move, while Rori makes up her mind. She looks at me with those beautiful dark blue eyes, round and wide and so full of sadness.
Maker have mercy! Really, I mean it! For once HE could go easy on her and just give her a rest. But somehow I doubt it. We're only at the beginning of our journey.
"Bloody yes, I am," Rori breathes - and then she kisses me, crushing her lips against mine.
Maker's Breath! This feels so right. The way her body presses against mine, the softness of her lips, our tongues intertwined, her taste filling my mouth... My arms tighten around her waist and we kiss until we're both breathless and flushed.
When we're forced to let go, Rori's eyes shine. You can still see, she's been crying but once again she has found a way to recover her strength. And now this ravishing woman smiles at me so lovingly, it makes me shudder in awe.
"Soooo, off to Anora," Rori sighs, reluctantly letting go of me. I'm unwilling to part from her now... and I really don't see why I have to... soooo... what can I say? Those five steps that seperate us from the door are enough room for some more kisses...
"Go in and win!" I call after my beloved fellow Warden when she finally is on her way to meet the treacherous queen. Rori's thoroughly late, having made Anora wait for another half an hour. Good of her!
Ten minutes after Rori is gone, I get summoned to meet Arl Eamon in his study. With a wide and cheeky grin plastered all across my face, I bounce down the corridor, passing by the mabari who has slumped down in a dark corner and with thorough satisfaction gnaws on and drools all over some rather familiar looking shoes.
"Barkley!" I exclaim and the dog's head rockets. Shoe still locked between his jaws, the mabari is the personification - or in his case the doggy-fication - of guilt. At spotting me, he drops the shoe and casually covers it with his large paw, trying to look innocent when he so isn't. "Was that Anora's shoe?" I inquire.
Barkley tilts his head to one side and whines.
"Don't worry, old boy, I'm not going to peach on you."
The dog barks happily and wags his tail, before going back to thoroughly ruin Anora's fine footwear.
"You're such a good boy," I praise him, patting his head before I move on to meet with Eamon. "And, you know, I've found that dead rat in my backpack. You should find a new hiding place for it, don't you think?"
The arl for sure doesn't beat around the bush. "Alistair, we have to discuss your future as king," he says before I even get to close the door behind me. "You are the last of the Theirin bloodline and thus your death without producing a heir first would most likely cause another civil war."
By now I have managed to reach the chair Eamon points out to me and slump down.
"Your affection for Rori Cousland is quite obvious," the arl goes on, pacing the room casually as he introduces me to his plans. "She is the last of her bloodline, too, but the Couslands still have strong allies and she will regain the teyrnir once you are king. I am quite sure, you won't object to marrying her, will you?"
"Err..."
"Is she fertile? And healthy? You have been in an intimate relationship with her for how long?"
"Whoa! Wait! We're not discussing this, are we? This is private!" I squeak, squirming on my chair. Eamon glares at me like he used to do when I was called to his office as a little boy when I played a prank on one of the maids or stole cheese from the larder and the imprints of my teeth convicted me.
"Alistair, it is essential that she can conceive," Eamon snaps.
"Well, she can't. With two Grey Wardens together, the chance to have a baby is practically zero," I stammer, taken aback by Eamon's forcefulness.
"Then you cannot marry her," Eamon says matter-of-factly.
"What!? Whoa, noooo! This... this is not your decision!" I feel like someone's pulled a rug from under my feet. I am falling and I'm afraid, when I hit the ground I won't be able to get up again.
"Alistair, you are going to be king. You have a responsibility to secure the succession to the throne. Cailan died without an heir and look where we are now!"
"Well... then I'm not going to become king!" I say defiantly. The way Eamon looks at me very much reminds me of Morrigan. I guess that means I totally failed at sounding strong and manly.
"Don't be ridiculous." Thus said Eamon turns his back on me and talks to his bookshelf, uttering thoughts out loud that aren't meant to be commented on. "Rori Cousland is no option. We have to find you a wife quickly. Juliana Mac Eanraig maybe. Choosing Angus' daughter could also calm him down for you breaking up with his niece..."
"I do not want to..."
"Though Juliana is already 24. A younger wife would be preferable. Since Cousland cannot have heirs, you could give Highever to her uncle to ensure his support."
"Pardon!?" I sit there slack.-jawed and can't believe what's happening. The arl cannot possibly expect me to backstab Rori by not only dumping her but also sell her teyrnir away to her own uncle! This is... this is... politics.
"Habren Bryland is 15...," Eamon ponders about some more women I could marry. Women I do not know... or in this case... a child.
"Isn't that a bit young?"
"Younger than her are happy mothers made," Eamon points out. "Her father is partly Orlesian - that could cause trouble with the other nobles, but could bring us back into peace talks with Orlais. I wouldn't recommend a wife from Orlais or anywhere else. The nobles of Ferelden need a royal heir of a Fereldan bloodline."
"Stop!" I groan, but Eamon knows no mercy.
"There's Anora of course. I suspect she cannot conceive but marrying her for now would secure the allegiance of both our supporters and Loghain's. In case she wouldn't give you a son within - let's say - the next three years, you could still divorce her. Even if she had supporters, I doubt there would be many. A barren queen is like a dead horse - you should find a new mount then."
Someone's making strange gurgling noises... it's me. Andraste's flaming sword! Did that man just say I should marry Anora! And have a child with her... which means I would have to... she would... lick my lamppost!
Doom!
DOOM!
I am getting quite an impression of how Rori has to feel after all those men groped her breasts and shoved their fingers between her legs... and that awful woman hasn't even touched me yet! The mere imagination...
Ew!
EWWWWWWWWWW!
"I think, I'm going to be sick," I mutter.
"Pull yourself together, Alistair! Ferelden needs a strong king. A king who does whatever is necessary to protect his people and his kingdom."
"Yeah? Then why don't you become king!?" I snap, anger rising inside of me. He cannot expect me to do any of this when I so do not want to. I mean, I get that there has to be an heir to prevent a civil war - in case there's a kingdom left after the Blight. But... Merciful Andraste, help me! I... I cannot live without Rori... I love her... how could I...
I feel like crying but I doubt it would make a good impression if I started bawling in front of Arl Eamon.
"We already talked about that, didn't we?" Eamon sighs, sounding as if he was talking to a retard. "I wouldn't tell Rori Cousland right away," he goes on. "We need her and the Mac Eanraig's support at the Landsmeet. The Fade has no fury like a woman scorned."
"Okay, let me get this straight," I croak, not sounding at all like myself . "You want me to break up with the love of my life so I can marry someone who I do not love and produce an heir of the Theirin bloodline and - as if that wasn't bad enough - you also want me to act like a base bastard and only discard Rori like useless waste after I put her upon?" My voice becomes louder and louder with every word, menacing and angry. I am hopping mad as I rise from my chair so abruptly that I knock it over. My face is contorted in fury and my fists are clenched at my sides. I have trouble to rein myself in as not to punch the arl straight in the face.
The effect on Eamon: zero.
He stays all calm and composed and makes me feel like a complete idiot when he comes around the desk and puts a hand on my shoulder. "This is asked much of you, your Highness," he says with sorrow in his voice.
"Too much!" I press through gritted teeth.
"But a king," Eamon goes on as if I had said nothing at all."A good king is not a free man. His wishes, his dreams and visions, they do not count when they compete with the needs of his people and the safety of his kingdom."
Great. Just great.
I really wonder why anybody wants to be king - or queen. But I guess they don't waste too much thought on the responsibility part. I wish I was like that. I wish I could give a damn. Then I could tell Eamon to shut the fuck up and do however I please.
Unfortunately I'm the nice-boy-type.
So if I now said no, I would mark myself as a selfish ignorant fool, no more than a defiant child with a crown too big for his head.
Oh Maker, what Eamon says makes sense... I know, he is right... that he's only being reasonable, although I begin to miss the difference between his games and Loghain's...
My heart... I can feel it breaking... I... I am dying inside. And I'm sounding awfully pathetic... What is left for me if there's no Rori? If her sweet smile doesn't greet me in the morning? If her warm embrace isn't comforting me in the middle of the night? If she wasn't there to fool around with me and make me laugh? I... have wondered before... but that was about her dying... and now... now I begin to wish I won't survive the Blight...
Eamon looks at me as if he expects me to do something, say something when right now I don't even know which side is up.
I'm... I'm speechless.
In that suffocating silence, there's a sound... like someone sobbing.
"What was that?" Eamon walks over to the door that stands ajar. Together we peek out into the corridor. There's a movement I catch out of the corner of my eyes, but when I look there's nothing there. The corridor is as dark and empty as I feel.
"Perhaps the cat... or that mabari," Eamon mutters and shuts the door firmly. "All the things we talked about stay inside this room. Not a word to nobody. Especially not to Rori Cousland."
"You want me to lie to her..."
"I want you to act like a king."
I sigh, fist both hands into my hair and pull. As this doesn't help at all, I punch the wall until my knuckles bleed, crying out in furious frustration with each blow.
"Feeling any better?" Eamon asks when I sink to the floor.
"No," I mutter. I wish he would go away and stay away. I wish they all would leave me alone. Somehow Rori's idea of running away doesn't sound that impossible anymore.
A sharp knock at the door drags me out of my gloomy self-pity. Anora storms in, her face a mask of fury. Erlina follows behind, carrying a pair of shoes that got slobered all over. "Where is Cousland?" the queen demands to know.
"Shouldn't she be with you?" Eamon asks after a polite greeting.
"She left after she declared she'd rather support the archdemon at the Landsmeet," Anora hisses.
That much for Leliana's plan.
I am somewhat proud of my little spitfire...
At the same time, I panic. Anora becoming queen is my only chance to stay with Rori...
"That beast she calls a dog ruined my shoes!" Anora shrieks with Erlina holding up the corpus delicious?... corpus delicate?... corpus deli-whatever... oh, blast it, the exhibit behind the queen's back.
"Alistair and I were discussing a possible union of the Theirins and the Mac Tirs," Eamon says, completely ignoring the shoes but scowling at me when I snicker.
I take it, kings don't find it amusing when the dog of their possible future ex-lover gnaws on the shoes of their possible future wife...
That sounds so awfully wrong that it sobers me quite effectively.
"There's nothing to discuss because this so won't happen," I growl but like always nobody is listening to me. It's as if I wasn't there. Ain't I supposed to become king? Ain't people supposed to listen to their king? Obviously not when it's King Alistair the Fool!
"A marriage?" Anora scrutinizes me. Her eyes, they are somewhat always cold. There was a time when I admired her... It only took her a few hours to completely destroy the opinion I had about her and her abilities to lead this nation. "It would be like marrying Cailan's twin."
Okay, that's it! I'm out! I am not going to listen to this anymore. I don't give a fucking damn what Eamon thinks or what Anora thinks or if I am acting kingly. This is too much and I so do not want to hear anything about it anymore. I storm out of the study, ignoring Eamon's calls - and run straight into Rori around the next corner.
She's being violently sick into one of Isolde's vases - one of the few she hasn't yet broken in a fit of rage. All I can do is hold back her hair so that it doesn't get in the way. Her condition pretty much sums up what I think about that day.
"Have you talked to Wynne about being sick so often?" I ask once Rori is done and wipes her mouth clean with yet another of my handkerchiefs.
"When? I didn't even have time to eat since breakfast," Rori snaps. She doesn't take my hand when I hold it out to her to help her back to her feet but storms past me with me following behind crestfallenly. She even slams the door shut in my face on reaching our room - only to open it again a few minutes later with me still standing in the same position as I've not yet made up my mind what to do.
I feel awfully torn and not like Alistair at all. I feel used and manipulated and... Maker, can't we go back to slaying darkspawn?
Rori's eyes are all swollen and red, her cheeks smeared with dried tears. There's a look in her eyes, fierce and feisty - I very much doubt, Eamon could talk her into giving me up if it was the other way round. Rori'd simply tell him to go and fuck himself... I bet that's as rude as it sounds. Wynne shouted it at Caladrius and he turned bright red with anger.
And then Rori would find a way to secure the succession to the throne... if there was one at all, she'd find it. But we cannot know that, right? Could I risk the safety of a whole nation because of some vague hope?
Rori pulls me into the room, kicking the door shut, then shoving me against it. Next she's all over me, but it doesn't feel like the passion that normally drives us... She's pushing herself, the tension seeping into her actions... the urgency of her kisses, the way she roams her hands over my body and I over hers... it's desperate... as if we want to hold on to something that's slipping away...
"Ro-rori," I moan, stopping her for long enough to make her look at me. The fear in her eyes mirrors my own. Unlike me, she doesn't want to admit, though, we are defeated. "There's something you need to know..."
Can I tell her? I have to! I cannot just dump her when I become king like Eamon said... But would it change anything? What would she gain but the knowledge of the inevitable? Isn't it better to allow herself and me a few more days of happiness? Or is it just me being a coward?
"I love you," I finally blurt out the only truth I am still sure of. "Maker's Breath, I love you. Now and forever."
"I believe you," she says matter-of-factly.
That's what she says. Not 'I love you, too' or 'I like you well enough' or 'Well, I am loveable'. Nothing like that.
"Ahhh... you do?" I laugh nervously. "Without any proof? I don't have to pluck the stars out of the sky for you or a unique red rose growing in a terrible beast's garden? Nothing?"
Rori's expression softens as she smiles, tiptoeing to kiss the tip of my nose. "You are a good man, Alistair," she whispers, making me feel like the biggest ass that ever walked the face of Thedas. "Actually you are too good for your own good," she thoughtfully goes on. "While I am not as good as people want to beiieve. But that's good, for both your and my good."
I'd like to ask her what in the name of the Maker she's talking about, but she effectively silences me with a kiss. A good kiss. A gentle one full of warmth and love. One that seems so right, she makes me feel like floating. If not for the weight Eamon loaded onto my shoulders, she'd have me soaring to the sky.
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In good times and in bad