"Fine, fine," she sat up on her elbows glowering at the rooftops across from them, "so I'm a complete pushover. You've called me out."
"What? No, not a pushover. I've watched you push over people, right off cliffs. Took everything in me to not wet myself," Alistair sat up to join her, but she glared down off the edge upon those ant-people who'd scattered back to their mounds. From the grit in her teeth he realized he struck a nerve he didn't know was there. "You're an optimist, you put your faith in people and then they've got faith invested back in you like some kind of faith scheme which now sounds like I'm describing the chantry. Lanny, I, you're something else."
She lifted up her bloodied hands and gazed through them. The only woman to have ended a blight and survived, the first mage Arlessa in ages counting. Twisting back to him, an ornery grin rose, "No kidding."
"Ha, I'm not the only one who knows it. You wouldn't believe how many damn marriage proposals I get."
"You'd think the gentry would already know you're married."
Alistair scrunched his nose up and shook his head from her taunt. "It's too cold for me to keep up with your wit."
"Maybe you should burn those proposals for warmth then."
"What makes you think I don't? Keeps the palace nice and toasty year round." He wasn't kidding either. After his own marriage status was solved, hundreds of men and some women hoping to get in on an open spot to rise to the status of Arl flooded his desk. They were all superfluous claptrap from little more than charlatans who weren't fit to be in the same room as the Hero of Ferelden much less marry her. All save one, but that came with its own one thousand problems and he'd never drawn up the courage to tell her.
"Why do they bother me?" she asked aloud, her voice whisper soft.
"Because they think 'Ooh, I'm gonna get me some of that tasty tasty power everyone keeps going on about.'" Alistair sagged, aware of what she really meant. "We want to live up to what they want but we can't, no matter how hard we try."
"I am meant to be a grey warden," she said, but there was less conviction as of late, her own eyes dancing around the edges.
"So was I, but now my ass is polishing thrones and I've got to fit a crown on my fat head," he glanced around the rooftops of his city in his country. Maker, what kind of sick joke was He playing at to give him an entire country? Alistair could barely be trusted with a spoon. "It's nice having you here, seeing you again and all."
"I come to Denerim often enough," Lana shook her head. "In fact, I was here less than a fortnight ago."
"No, that was Solona Amell, Warden Commander and terrifying scary lady who'll bite your head off if she doesn't get her way. Or maybe it was the Arlessa who's the same but slightly nicer about it. I forget what business you were on." She snickered from his summation but didn't argue. Alistair nudged his shoulder into hers. "I missed Lanny, it seems like she shows up less and less."
"I miss being her as well, and having Ali around," Lana smiledthat smile, the twist of her lips that could knot his own innards into pretty little bows. When she first beamed it upon him he knew he was a goner. Six years and nothing had changed. "King Alistair is a bit too formal at times."
"Me? Formal? The man who dropped pudding onto the Antivan diplomat's head?" Alistair raised his voice and pointed at his chest in shock.
"All right, not formal formal, but you know what I am driving upon. You...we're not us, we're the other us."
"I hate other me," Alistair grumbled in play. "He's so smug with his fancier shoes, and better hair cut, and thinking to wear a cloak outside instead of freezing to death on the roofs."
Sighing, Lana skirted her fingers across his arm, pushing more warmth through his body. "You could have just asked."
Before she pulled her magic away, Alistair snagged her hand which drew her curious eyes upon him. "Lanny, I know you're wardening as best as you can, and doing an amazing job at it. But, if things ever get tough, go bad, get dark, you could always come here for awhile. Become an arcane adviser. That's a thing mages do in other countries. Advise people on how to avoid magic, which shouldn't be that hard when they're not mages themselves, or sit in a high tower and do evil things with crystals, I think."
Her eyes darted across his face. He'd offered it to her numerous times over the years and she'd always turned him down, but for the first time she looked prepared to accept. Then she folded up his hand in hers and pressed it back to his chest. "I don't think that's wise."
"You could call it a vacation. An extended one, where you don't move around much or get to see any pretty sights. Unless the stables counts as scenery. I...think about it anyway. Put it in your maybe pile, which is probably stacked to the moon. In the mean time, I'm thinking we should move this party indoors. I know a great way to sneak into my place and the kitchen staff always leave a pie or two out for me."
"In the middle of the night?" she scoffed.
Alistair shrugged, "If you're gonna be king might as well hold out for a few perks."
Wiping off her legs from the dust, Lanny rose up. She extended a hand to him, and with less grace than her, he staggered up to his feet. "I wish I could, but I'm afraid I need to be off by dawn's light. I'm taking a ship from the harbor to the Free Marches."
That caught his attention and Alistair whipped his head to her. "The Free Marches? Maker's Breath, don't tell me you're heading to Kirkwall?!"
She blinked from the change in him, all flippancy replaced by a frigid terror. "I, why? What does it matter where I intend to set port?"
"Well, on top of them going all lawless after the qunari went a'converting with disembowling, I've been hearing things about their Knight Commander that'd curl a dwarf's beard. Their whole templar order are stuffing elfroot in their ears bonkers."
"What things?" her arms folded tight across her chest, that terrifying warden commander slipping out. "How are you hearing of these?" Lanny's eyes pierced through him, and he forgot to wipe away the guilt across his face. "Andraste's ass, Alistair, are you involved with the mage underground?"
He extended his hand and pinched his thumb and forefinger close together. "A tiny bit."
"For all the...do you have any idea what that could do to Ferelden if the templars found out? If the chantry? What it would reflect back upon the circle if...?" her anger broke and she sagged, an exhaustion crawling up her arms. "Of course you would help them. Even if you accomplish it in the most bone headed way imaginable you have to do what's right."
"I'm not certain if I should be proud or insulted," he said.
"I'm not either," Lanny sighed, wiping at her eyes. "Regardless of the troubles in Kirkwall, I'm a grey warden and long past my harrowing. What could they do to me?"
"Lanny, please, I..." he stomped his feet in the ground to try and bring warmth back to his prickling toes and also find the courage. "The things I'm hearing, the templars are breaking chantry law left, right, sideways. They're turning mages tranquil who survived the whole demon in the head thing for reasons as pitiful as sending love letters. Accusing people of blood magic for any excuse to cut them down. If they..."
Alistair caught both her hands in his, holding the warmth tight in his grip as if he intended to read her palm. He couldn't face her as he peeled back upon the lead shield he kept in place. She told him to stop worrying about her after he'd let her go, but Maker, he swore to do whatever she asked of him but he couldn't do that. "If they caught you, thought they could get away with it, and...and branded you, I..."
"It's all right, Ali," her fingers turned over in his hands and held them tight. "My business is in Ostwick. I have to check in upon a research proposal that's gone dark. The whole order has... I hope it's only darkspawn keeping them busy. I will keep away from Kirkwall unless necessary."
It was foolish beyond measure for him to worry. She regularly fought Maker only knew and things even beyond Him regularly without Alistair's knowledge. But the idea of the templars ripping away the shred of Lanny that made her who she was kicked up a hornet's nest in
his heart. Here in Ferelden he could protect her, the chantry kept away for good measure, knew better, but out there... Out where the Grand Cleric turned a blind eye to the blasted templars breaking their own damn laws, he was as toothless as a worm.
Lanny pulled her hands away and dug into the knots along her shoulder, "I should return to my room. Try and catch some semblance of sleep before the voyage."
"Right, sleep's good. Oh and I may have slipped your dog a few bites of our dinner. Just a couple...five or so."
"Maker," she moaned tipping her head back. "Don't think I don't know you did that on purpose. You know what kind of smells he'll make through the night." Her anger slipped away like foam on the sea and she smiled, "It was good seeing you again, Ali."
"You too, Lanny. And promise me that, just tell me you'll come back again...you know, next year."
"Of course I will, it's tradition."
Chapter Two
Memorial
9:44 Skyhold
Peaceful. Someone went to an awful lot of trouble to make this green section away from the swords, the politics, the piles of horse shit, and the manure from their mounts peaceful. Alistair hadn't been to a lot of gardens in his time. Sure, there were the ones in whatever palace Celene pretended to have a conversation with him in. Referring to herself in the plural gave him a headache. He kept having to pinch himself to keep from asking if there was another empress hiding under her dress.
Those were manicured within an inch of their life. If a blade of grass dared to rise above a half an inch, chevaliers would swoop down from the rafters and slice it back in line while calling for its families dishonor. Here there was a rhythm to the plants but no pattern, if that made any sense. It pulsed with a gentle kneading across the brain, not picturesque or orderly but calming and peaceful. He would have enjoyed spending time in Skyhold's garden if it weren't for the shrine near the gazebo.
Bending down, Alistair ran his fingers across the tiny blue flowers vining up the plaque. Brass, very elegant and recently shined up too. It was screwed in below a tasteful relief of a faceless woman with droopy sleeves that'd catch in the wind if ever used in a fight as she squared off against a nameless foe. The relief felt very generic save the pouf of hair around the head. That was her two-hundred and ten percent. She would wind it up in braids or those rows along the side of the head for battle, but when her life took a breath Lanny'd let it out. He'd spot the ebony hair bursting over the back and sides of the chair while she was deep into a book from across the room. A pain stirred in his soul and he bit back on the guilty fear that he'd never see it again. No, the shrine was lovely all save the damn plaque.
"I was informed the king of Ferelden was in Skyhold, but could scarcely believe it."
He didn't turn around to face the owner of that sweet Orlesian accent, he didn't have to. "Never expected you'd to be here either. Or are you going over the books and inspecting the furnishings before you take over?" Now he turned back to find Divine Victoria standing behind him, only her porcelain face visible in that sea of hat most holy. "Check the doorknobs. There's a real market for used screws, so people'll nick half out of every faceplate and no one's the wiser."
Leliana blinked from his suggestion, then she turned back to her two guards and waved them off. They grumbled, neither of them happy about leaving their Divine in the presence of what had to be a mad man raving about doorknobs, but they weren't about to disobey either.
Alistair saluted to them then turned back to the shrine. He ran his finger over the plaque once more, the name etched deep in a solid script. "Solona Amell," he said. There was some more about her being the Hero and sacrificing herself for the world, but that wasn't the part that concerned him.
"It was her given name," Leliana said.
Staggering to his knees, which felt more like work with every passing year, Alistair rose to eye up the Spymaster turned Most Holy. "She hated it, which you knew."
"Perhaps..." Despite being in the pristine white robes of the chantry, the Divine plummeted her own knee into the grass and dropped a few white flowers before the shrine. As she turned them in place, he recognized the petals as andraste's grace. "Perhaps I was hoping it would give cause." Leliana leaned back to rise, with Alistair offering his hand to steady her. "Something to encourage her to...it is foolish. And you have not answered my question."
"I had business with someone here, your Most Hatness," he said sliding back on his heels.
Leliana's crystal eyes cut through him like he was made of cheese, which given his diet was a distinct possibility. "The Inquisitor is not in the... mood to accept visitors at this time."
She was being kind to the man who nearly launched all of southern thedas into a war with the Qunari, then had his hand chopped off, then gave up his Inquisition to the chantry. There were probably a few more thens in there, but Alistair only got the bare minimum from a few of his aides as he ran out the door. He had other problems to solve.
"You think I'm here to enact justice against him because his horned friends interrupted a delightful party my wife was hosting?" Alistair asked.
Her eyes darted down his chosen plebeian wardrobe. Not that the fancy Ferelden armor wasn't a real winner at court and could blind a man at twenty paces, but it also put a big "here's a king" sign on whoever wore it. He'd managed to scrounge together just enough to keep himself decent, warm, and practically incognito. The blue worked lovely with his coloring.
"The Exalted Council has disbanded, a decision made," the Divine's bite shone through in her few words.
"Is it one you agree with?" he asked folding his arms up.
Leliana pursed her lips and she glanced around the gardens to size up the listening ears. Skyhold seemed emptier than the last time he was here, but that was just before a big battle and he hadn't seen much as the advisers tried to throw him out on his rear, the biggest one grumbling for his blood. "There are trying times ahead," she said diplomatically which only caused Alistair to snort.
"When aren't there? In the past ten years it's been blight, civil war, darkspawn attacks, civil war again, mage rebellions, ancient evil magister who wants to be a god, then qunari invasion."
"Nearly qunari invasion. We stopped it," Leliana said, unable to separate herself from her Inquisition.
"I'll be certain to send you an embossed thank you note for it. Are flowers in this year for stationary? No, I'm not here for your Inquisitor, if that's your concern. It's not about the Winter Palace, the Exalted Council, the Qun thinking we'd all look good with horns, or...that other thing we're not supposed to talk about."
The Divine's lips pursed like she'd gnawed into a ginger root from his inelegant way around that thing only the highest of the high knew about. Alistair suspected he was only told because Lanny would have wanted him to know, wanted Ferelden to prepare. She was Leliana's weak spot, but she was his too.
"If it is for none of those reasons, then who are you here for?"
Right on cue, a mabari's bark echoed through the holy ground. A few angry scholars glared up from their studies at the interruption, but the scowls slipped away as they spotted the Commander of their little camp petting the offending dog's head. He looked even more determined than when Alistair left him, which seemed to defy some laws of nature. If he scowled any deeper, his lips would recede into his mouth and never be seen again.
"This would be who I'm waiting for," Alistair said turning away from Leliana.
Whistling for the dog to follow, Cullen stepped towards them. "Most Holy," he said tipping his head in subjugation to her.
"Commander...?" she had a question at the end of her greeting as she didn't but almost tipped her head at Alistair.
"It is difficult to explain."
"We're off on a little adventure," Alistair interrupted, a cheeky grin stretching his face. "Assuming you got permission, of course." Cullen nodded as he scratched at the back of his head, regret already palpable. This was going to go swimmingly.
The Divine blinked, shock
twisting up her face. They'd completely obliterated her tight control of the game. "You...and," she pointed at the scowling templar. "Together? Traveling? Are you certain?" Leliana whispered the last part at Cullen who only sighed and shook his head.
"Come now," Alistair batted away their concerns, "we had fun adventuring together once."
"Yes, I suppose so," Leliana said, her posture tightening as she gazed up and down at Alistair. Her little spy brain was trying to dig into him to figure out why he was here and what he had planned. But Alistair learned how to combat that tricky mind of hers by playing the complete idiot. He waved at her and shrugged, giving away nothing. Shaking her head in defeat, she leaned towards Cullen, "Do not trust him with a map, and for the love of the Maker, never let him make stew."
"Understood," the templar said, nodding as if her advice was sacrosanct law.
"Hey! That stew was good. Not bad. Survivable, anyway. No one died from it."
"Commander," the Divine placed a hand along his now armor-less forearm. "Are you certain that this is a wise course?"
"I..." Cullen glanced up and his eyes dug into Alistair trying to find his weaknesses. "I must do this, Your Perfection."
"Then I wish you all the luck in thedas," Leliana said. Her vision drifted down to that little shrine, "and I hope you find her." Both men snapped up at the Divine driving right at what brought them together, but she slipped away towards her guards and whatever needed to be done in the great hall.
"That woman will never stop scaring the piss out of me," Alistair said. "And I once thought she was harmless. Mostly harmless. So...you're here, you asked the big boss if you can go, I'm guessing."
"I did," Cullen said. The templar watched Leliana's wake while his pet dog chewed away at the grass.
"Good, good," Alistair nodded his head. "Do we need to make it official with some bloody handshake or are we fine to set out as is?"
The templar breathed quickly and his voice dropped to a stern timber that made Alistair's legs lock. "Tell me honestly, is this the truth of it? You have Lana's phylactery and it...it is operational? This is not some ploy or, Maker save me, a foolish dream beyond sanity?"
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